Perhaps it was twenty minutes, maybe an hour, that I remained lying on the ground, exhausted and wounded. All I knew was that, at least on the surface, it was over.
The sun, like an ancient natural enemy of the undead, was doing its job. The scattered corpses were beginning to decay little by little. It wasn't instantaneous, but in many, you could clearly see how their remains were slowly being consumed. Even the zombies that were still moving seemed weakened by the sun's rays. We wouldn't have to do much more: as long as they didn't find shelter, time and sunlight would take care of them.
The women came out of the houses, still holding their weapons, some real and others improvised—frying pans, clay jars, whatever they could find. They quickly mobilized to assist the wounded. I was among them. My vision was still blurry, but I could feel someone pressing on my wound, probably to stop the bleeding. Deep down, I hoped the survival skills I had gained as a beggar would help prevent a potential infection... especially since I had been bitten by a corpse.
-Several hours later-
I was sitting, half-reclined against some crates. Sweat ran down my forehead, and the pain in my body was unbearable. I had slept for a while, but even that wasn't enough to recover my strength. The dizziness was still there, and my head throbbed like a drum. Many of my men were in the same condition as I was—completely drained. Those who hadn't fought were now keeping the camp running: collecting the bodies of our allies, bringing water, and distributing some food to the wounded.
It had been a devastating battle, physically and emotionally. Fighting creatures like zombies, beings that seek nothing but to tear your life away, had drained even the strongest of us. This disaster exceeded my worst expectations. If it had only been the first fifty, we might have gotten away almost unscathed, losing maybe one or two careless people. But reality had been far crueler.
Karma—how should I put it—was a bitch. And perhaps now it was judging me for my past actions, for all the deaths I caused… A single figure kept echoing in my mind: I may have lost half of my men…
But at least it was over. The disaster hadn't escalated beyond what we had already faced. If things had gotten worse, I don't know how I would have reacted. Yes, with the sun on our side, defeating the zombies seemed easy, even without doing much, but this place… this damned world, never gives us anything without a fight.
[Your "Small Village" has defeated a large number of undead (300 zombies) and kept a significant number of survivors alive, demonstrating capabilities beyond expectations. You have earned an achievement that will be recorded in your record book.]
[Due to the absence of prior heroic for your "Small Village," you receive a small bonus to attempt reaching the heroic level. Current promotion probability: Very low.]
[As you are not among those who eliminated the highest number of undead, the probability of creating/modifying a class related to this achievement is: Low.]
[Achievement reward: Related item, (Level: Copper).]
I read the messages with my still-clouded mind. I could barely concentrate on what they meant, let alone what I should do next. I wasn't okay. I didn't want to think about achievements, bonuses, or probabilities. All I wanted at that moment was to rest… to sleep. Sleep a lot.
And that's what I did.
...
Time passed, and I can't say I was any better; perhaps I was even worse. But I didn't have many options. The healing resources we had were scarce, insufficient to treat all the wounded. A difficult decision was made to prioritize some, while the most severely injured… well, we left their lives in the hands of fate. If they recovered, it would be a miracle. If not…
It was in the afternoon when I finally managed to walk, leaning on a cane and with my wound bandaged. I headed to the place where the bodies of the fallen lay, lined up side by side. They were my men, those who had given their lives in this fight. Their bodies had been gathered so that I could decide what to do with them. I thought of burying them, but that would require a mass grave due to the number of bodies. Digging individual graves was impossible in our current state and with so few men fit to work; it would take too much time.
As I approached, some of my soldiers, also recovering, began discussing the options. I was about to give them my order when something froze the blood in my veins: one of the corpses began to move among the others.
It caught our attention immediately. Some thought he might not be dead after all. However, those doubts vanished in an instant when one of the women tried to approach to help and was attacked. My people and I rushed to her rescue, managing to save her. She escaped almost unharmed, though with a bite wound on her arm.
What we witnessed next left us baffled. Our fallen comrade had transformed into the very abomination that took their lives. The sun's rays, which still faintly illuminated the area, burned his exposed skin instantly. My fears came true, and a sinking feeling twisted my stomach as I thought about my own wound...
"Quick! Gather everyone who can hold a weapon! Don't leave a single corpse with its head intact," I ordered in a weak but firm voice and was the first to start.
I couldn't afford to take risks. My sword wasn't with me; I had left it forgotten somewhere. But I still had my dagger, with which I pierced the brain of the nearest corpse, forcing it through the eye with effort. Once I was done, I moved on to the next.
At first, my men seemed disgusted by the idea of defiling the bodies of their fallen comrades even further. But they had already seen what could happen. Gradually, more people joined the task, attacking the corpses, some of which were already beginning to move. Thankfully, there were still a few minutes of sunlight left, which weakened any undead that tried to rise and even destroyed some directly.
Out of caution, I ordered another round of searches to ensure no corpse was left unchecked. We gathered them in a visible area, whether they were zombies or our own. I joined the search, though I left the task of transporting the bodies to others. That's when I found the zombie girl who had bitten me. Her body, now barely covered by sun-ravaged flesh, exposed her bones in several places. Perhaps out of spite or vengeance, I asked someone to cover her and move her to a secluded spot. We would decide what to do with her later.
Our work of finishing off the corpses was complete, but the atmosphere became even gloomier and more oppressive. I couldn't ignore the worry weighing on me: if the dead could rise, then the wounded might also turn into the undead. I was part of that group. While I didn't have to worry about "true death" since I was a "foreigner," that wasn't my greatest concern at the moment.
I called the most capable people for calculations and asked for a count of the injured. Their words were a cold splash of water: we had already lost at least half of our population in the battle. And now I learned that the wounded made up nearly half of the survivors. The situation was dire.
I was mired in depression for a while, but I knew I couldn't stay that way for long. I had to make tough and risky decisions. Finally, while struggling with my condition and contemplating how to ensure the survival of the other half of my people, I decided to claim the rewards for my achievements. Perhaps—just perhaps—I could obtain something useful to light the way forward.
The first thing I considered was attempting the heroic class ascension. I reviewed the available options and, with some hesitation, decided to give it a try. However, as soon as I accepted, a message appeared before me:
[Ascension attempt failed.]
I wasn't surprised. Deep down, I had expected it. I wasn't particularly lucky, and becoming a hero was neither simple nor guaranteed.
I then moved on to review the class options. The process took longer here, but the result was just as unsatisfactory. Several new classes appeared before me, like [Zombie Hunter] or [Zombie Slayer], but there was a problem: adopting one of them meant losing my current [Slaughterer] class. I could resume it later, yes, but it wasn't practical at this time. These new classes were too specific, solely focused on eliminating zombies. If at least one had promised a solution to the infection devastating my people, I might have considered it. But I couldn't afford to lose such a versatile class as [Slaughterer], especially if zombies wouldn't be a constant threat—or so I hoped. To compensate, my current class leveled up thanks to the deaths I had caused.
With that decided, I moved on to the last reward: a related item. I prayed it would be a cure for zombification. Though if it turned out to be a vaccine for just one person, my problem would remain just as severe. A copper-colored flash appeared before me.
[Fragment from the "Book of Monster" (Copper)]
[Tome I Fragment: Zombie]
Anyone who reads this gains +1% damage against zombies.
I watched in surprise as a collection of pages appeared before me, reminiscent of a previous similar situation. I grabbed the sheets and began reading them carefully. The information was clear and precise. While I didn't obtain a cure directly, I did gain something invaluable: knowledge. Perhaps, in time, I could derive a solution.
I returned home, sat in my chair, and started reading in search of answers. The text was fascinating, but what interested me most was the section on infection. What I found wasn't encouraging: zombies were indeed contagious. This meant that I, along with many other wounded, were doomed. The disease would eventually kill us, and we would rise as walking corpses. Fortunately, according to these pages, the zombies we faced weren't among the most infectious or powerful, which granted me a few days before succumbing.
After finishing the reading, I let the pages drop. I didn't have the strength to continue. Since I already had a fragment about the Necrarios, I decided to combine it with the one about zombies. As soon as I did, another message appeared:
[Two fragments of the same object have been gathered.]
[No specific requirements are needed for unification.]
[Fragment from the "Book of Monster" (Copper)]
[Tome I Fragments: Necrario, Zombie]
>All who read it gain +3% damage against Necrarios and zombies. (Reading only one section grants the bonus against the corresponding creature.)
I watched in awe as the pages fused together, bound by a small thread on one side. While the content seemed the same, the pages now looked more durable, and the bonus was greater. A small spark of hope ignited within me. If I managed to gather more fragments, this item could become even more powerful and beneficial for future battles. Though, honestly, I would prefer never to face such destructive enemies again.
My spirits lifted, and I decided to gather the survivors who were conscious and make several announcements. The first was to admit that the wounded, myself included, were infected. Our deaths would mean another zombie in the world. It was something that shouldn't be openly shared in a village, but I decided to do so thanks to the abilities that ensured their loyalty.
I ordered precautions to be taken. The healthy would have priority for housing. The wounded would sleep away from them, under constant watch. The shackles we had would be placed on the necks, feet, and hands of the bitten during sleep. Anyone showing signs of nearing their end or behaving strangely had to be reported immediately.
What worried me most was the night. During the day, sunlight was an effective barrier against the undead. According to the Book of Monster, the weaker undead were consumed under its glow, while only the strongest were immune. Newly turned zombies fell into the vulnerable category. Even on cloudy days, while they wouldn't disintegrate as quickly as others, they would still be weakened.
With those instructions given, I went to rest. I was exhausted—both physically and mentally. Not even the notifications that arrived at midnight could pull me from the nightmares tormenting me as I slept.