Andrew's death brought Miles a measure of solace. At last, he felt he had reconciled with the horrors of his past.
Taking a deep breath, Miles casually pulled a heap of supplies from his spatial storage and gestured to Isaac in the distance.
"Mr. Miles, have you perhaps mastered some sort of secret martial technique?" Isaac asked, momentarily stunned as he approached.
"What do you mean?" Miles replied, puzzled.
Isaac cast a glance at Andrew's lifeless body on the ground and chuckled. "I don't know what method you used to kill him, but to dispatch such a creature with such precision—this is something even the most skilled martial artists couldn't dream of."
This was high praise from a martial arts grandmaster.
Yet, Miles knew the truth. He possessed no such skills—it was merely the power of his psychic ability. Were he to face someone truly strong, like Isaac, he wouldn't last a single round.
"There's no secret technique," Miles said dismissively. "Just a little trick."
Isaac, interpreting Miles's humility as discretion, shook his head. "I've spent my whole life studying martial arts, and I know one thing for sure—what you've done, Mr. Miles, could only be achieved by a true master."
Killing a super zombie without a sound? That was beyond ordinary comprehension.
In Isaac's eyes, Miles was no longer just a man. He was a force to be revered. The respect in his gaze grew deeper, an instinctive submission of the weak to the strong.
Miles chuckled softly, choosing not to correct him. Being worshipped wasn't the worst thing, after all.
"I've prepared what you need," Miles said. "I hope you won't disappoint me."
Isaac opened the car door, his eyes widening in astonishment at the sight of the supplies packed within. Cold-resistant clothing, charcoal, alcohol, and most importantly—food.
Although it was only two boxes of instant noodles, meant to last for a week, to Isaac, it was a treasure.
If he were to throw these boxes into the middle of the neighborhood, they would undoubtedly ignite a bloody frenzy.
Miles's roast chicken might have been a coveted luxury, but only a lucky few ever tasted it. Most people still faced the cruel reality of scrounging for scraps, their daily food portions meager to the point of despair.
Carefully, Isaac stashed the supplies beneath the car seat, ensuring they were well-hidden.
"Rest assured, Mr. Miles," Isaac said earnestly. "From what I can deduce, there should be one or two super zombies in every area. If we expand our search, we'll surely find more!"
Miles nodded coolly. "Good. You know I don't keep idle people around."
"Yes, sir!" Isaac replied without hesitation.
Being treated so casually by a young man in his twenties might have seemed disrespectful, especially for someone of Isaac's status. But to Isaac, it felt natural. He had accepted the hierarchy.
"Defying the strong only leads to death."
He drove back to his villa, supplies in hand.
Inside, Lena and her son were huddled on the couch beneath layers of thick blankets.
"Lena, I'm back," Isaac called out instinctively as he stepped through the door, his arms full of goods. The warmth in his greeting startled even himself.
Lena hurried over, her eyes lighting up with hope. "Isaac, did Mr. Miles give you food?"
She was starving. As a vulnerable member of the group, her daily ration was only a few pitiful biscuits, which she had to share with her son. Without Isaac, she and her boy wouldn't have survived the past few days.
Isaac placed the instant noodles on the table and smiled. "Mr. Miles may be ruthless, but he keeps his word. This is our food supply for the next two weeks. Keep it safe and make sure no one else finds out about it. Understand?"
In a world stripped of morality, survival often required secrecy.
Although Isaac had aligned himself with Miles, his position wasn't as secure as Ryan's. He lacked the impenetrable fortress that Miles called home, which meant he needed to stay vigilant.
Lena nodded obediently, her face softening with gratitude as she glanced at her son.
Thank goodness—they had survived.
Isaac then revealed a larger bag, which contained two cartons of eggs.
His eyes reddened with emotion. If the supplies were Miles's payment for his service, then these eggs were a gesture of goodwill—a sign of trust and acceptance.
"Mr. Miles must have known about the child," Isaac murmured, his voice thick with gratitude. "That's why he gave us these eggs."
Miles, of course, was well aware of everything. These eggs were a calculated move to win hearts and loyalty.
In a post-apocalyptic world, the value of two cartons of eggs was immeasurable.
Others might have taken such kindness for granted, but Isaac was fundamentally a good man, someone who still clung to a sense of honor.
A favor this significant deserved a lifelong debt of loyalty.
Lena, meanwhile, was too focused on the eggs to contemplate anything else.
With these supplies, her son could finally eat well, regaining the strength he so desperately needed.
She quickly prepared a fire with charcoal and began cooking.
As Isaac watched the cheerful mother and son, he felt an unfamiliar warmth stir within him. It had been twenty years since he lost his wife, and his devotion to martial arts had left no time for children.
This boy wasn't his by blood, but in this harsh new world, he found himself unexpectedly softened by their presence.
"Isaac, you eat first," Lena said, setting a steaming bowl of noodles before him, topped with two perfect eggs.
She then prepared another bowl for her son, smaller, with just a few egg fragments, before serving herself a thin broth with scattered noodle scraps.
"Mom, I want an egg too," the boy said timidly, his eyes glued to the eggs in Isaac's bowl.
Lena shot him a stern look. "These were brought by Isaac. Of course, he should have the best. If we don't take care of him, we'll all starve!"
She was a clever mother.
Lena understood her precarious position as a dependent. She knew Isaac was the pillar of their fragile household, and without him, everything would collapse.
Isaac smiled, touched by her wisdom. He picked up one of the eggs and placed it in the boy's bowl.
Then, he halved the other egg and shared it with Lena, along with a portion of his noodles.
"Isaac, this isn't right," Lena protested, flustered. "You're the one risking your life every day. You need to stay strong."
Isaac shook his head, his voice soft. "It's rare to have companionship in times like these. Eat. From now on, we're a family."
Perhaps it was Isaac's gentle charm, or perhaps Lena had finally let her guard down after days of tension. Tears welled up in her eyes as she suddenly threw herself into his arms.
"Isaac, as long as you don't abandon us, my son and I will stay by your side forever. One day, my boy will grow up and care for you in your old age."