The momentary blankness in their minds lasted only an instant.
Then, the Black Death Society members in the outpost snapped back to their senses, their panic erupting into a cacophony of terrified shouts:
"Damn it! A bunch of Zombie Kings are coming! We're doomed!"
"Where's that Mohican leader now? Didn't he keep claiming he was the boss here? What? He's already dead?!"
"What are you standing around for? Run! If so many couldn't stop them, going against them is suicide!"
"Yes! Take whatever you can carry! Forget the ordinary prisoners; leave them behind to feed the zombies and buy us some time!"
"Talk about bad luck! The branch leader is nowhere to be found, the Bear and his group are still missing, and now we can't even hold the outpost. This is a disaster!"
A mix of complaints and panicked cries echoed endlessly through the makeshift shelters cobbled together with sheet metal.
The normally arrogant members of the Black Death Society were now like rats before a predator, choosing to flee at the first opportunity.
They hastily packed whatever food, weapons, and essentials they could find.
The ordinary people they had imprisoned—kept as playthings or even emergency rations—were mercilessly abandoned by the fleeing gang.
Some prisoners clung desperately to the legs of the gang members, begging to be taken along.
But the gang members showed no hesitation.
Cursing loudly, one of them raised his dagger and plunged it into the heart of a pleading prisoner.
Turning to the others, he sneered:
"You all saw that, didn't you? Try anything funny, and I'll send you to hell before the zombies even get the chance!"
A demonstration meant to frighten.
A warning etched in blood.
Faced with this brutal example, the remaining prisoners dared not resist further.
They were herded back into the shipping containers that served as their cells, left behind as snacks for the zombies and as a delaying tactic for the fleeing gang.
Then, the remaining dozen or so Black Death Society members grabbed their packs and fled north, hoping to escape the pursuit of the Zombie Kings and the Scorpion Queen.
But Zhang Yang had already foreseen their actions.
Watching their frantic retreat from a distance, he unleashed the oppressive aura of a Fifth-Tier Zombie King, blanketing most of the industrial park and instantly commanding hundreds, if not thousands, of zombies into a new horde.
"Surround them. Let none escape," Zhang Yang ordered with authority.
At his command, the zombie horde moved like a tidal wave.
Growls and roars filled the air.
The chaotic pounding of countless feet grew louder and louder.
The ground trembled faintly, and small stones quivered, kicking up faint clouds of dust.
The fleeing Black Death Society members sensed the impending danger.
"Something's wrong!" shouted a burly man at the front.
The others immediately stopped, realizing the same.
A sharp-eyed, provocatively dressed woman scanned their surroundings, her gaze catching sight of the dark shapes closing in from both sides—zombies, swarming like a tide.
"A horde! We're surrounded by a massive zombie horde!"
More gang members realized what was happening, their voices rising in terror.
"Damn it! Those Zombie Kings must have summoned them. They're determined to wipe us out!"
The burly leader clenched his fists, searching for the best way to break through.
His name was Li Meng, and true to his name, he was as fierce as they came. Second only to the branch leader, his strength was on par with the Bear and his companions.
But Li Meng was no fool.
Though he seemed to be the leader of this group, he knew the nature of the Black Death Society all too well.
Cornered as they were, everyone here would be thinking only of saving their own skin.
And Li Meng's suspicions were correct.
Facing the encircling zombie horde, the gang members were indeed harboring selfish thoughts.
None of them cared what happened to the others.
Each was willing to do whatever it took to be the one lucky enough to break through.
Even if it meant betraying their comrades.
"Charge!" Li Meng roared.
With that, the remaining Black Death Society members surged forward, each with their own hidden agenda.
…
As the horde moved to surround the outpost, sealing all escape routes, Zhang Yang and his group strolled into the now-abandoned base.
The scene of hasty retreat was laid bare before them: scattered trash, discarded supplies, and even gnawed rib bones.
These were no livestock bones.
The source of this grisly feast was all too clear.
Zhang Yang's gaze shifted toward the shipping containers that now echoed with muffled banging.
The containers held prisoners, no doubt.
Bladekiller, understanding without a word, stepped forward.
With one swing of his blade, he shattered the locks and chains.
The containers fell silent, the people inside too frightened to make a sound, unsure of their saviors' intentions.
But such feeble attempts at hiding were meaningless.
Clang!
Bladekiller yanked the doors open without ceremony.
A wave of stench poured out.
Inside, dozens of people—men, women, and children—huddled together. They were emaciated, clothed in rags, and surrounded by piles of waste.
It was clear they had endured severe mistreatment at the hands of the Black Death Society.
"Humans often treat their own kind more cruelly than any outsider ever could," Zhang Yang remarked with quiet disdain.
Zombies saw humans merely as food, nothing more.
But the Black Death Society had inflicted suffering far worse than mere consumption.
The prisoners' reactions told the story: even faced with Zombie Kings, they showed little resistance, only a desire for release.
"Grant them mercy," Zhang Yang said with indifference.
The food had been tainted beyond use. Neither he nor his subordinates had any appetite for it.
The prisoners would serve better as nourishment for the lower-tier zombies.
At Zhang Yang's words, Blood Princess stepped forward.
Droplets of blood oozed from her fingertips, forming into crimson arrows.
With a flick of her hand, the blood arrows shot forward, piercing the foreheads of the prisoners.
One by one, the bodies fell.
Though they had died at the hands of zombies, the expressions on their faces showed relief, a grim reflection on the cruelty of human nature.
Casually gathering the bodies, Zhang Yang and his group continued their leisurely march.
They had no fear that the Black Death Society members would escape.
After all, everything was under Zhang Yang's control.
Not only was the zombie horde vast, but the gang members themselves were far from united.
Faced with catastrophe, self-interest reigned supreme among them.
A group of scheming, self-serving individuals could never hope to break free.
What a laughable notion.