Before six in the morning, dairy farmer Chris bid farewell to his wife, parents, and siblings, just as he did every morning. Then, he mounted his tricycle and set off to deliver milk to the various customer households before breakfast.
At about 7:30, Chris delivered the second last bucket of milk in his cart to the head chef of an estate, then started off toward Weisshem.
Before marrying his wife, he had delivered milk to the family inn run by the Doyles for many years.
Since the advent of powdered milk with artificial sweeteners added, fresh milk, which spoiled easily, was no longer as popular as it was when Chris was a child. In recent years, business had been declining for Chris' family, and the Doyles were their last stable customers in Weisshem.
Riding through bumpy dirt roads, Chris arrived at the town of Weisshem around eight. Humming a tune, he turned onto the town's much smoother cobblestone road and slowly approached the town gate.
When he was about 200 or so meters from the gate, Chris craned his neck forward in surprise.
Weisshem was relatively quiet during the day, and it usually didn't get lively until after 4 o'clock in the afternoon. Yet it was just early in the morning, so why were there so many people crowded around the gate?
Could today be some sort of festival in Weisshem? I haven't heard of it, though, Chris wondered while squinting to have a better look.
As he got closer, around a hundred meters away to the gates, Chris suddenly felt something wasn't right.
Why are those moving figures at the gate… so thin?
As he pedaled a little further, Chris suddenly squeezed the brakes in panic, and his tricycle came to a halt.
Those weren't thin people at all! Those moving figures at the town gate were all skeletons!
"O' Lady Gold Coin?!" Chris was dumbfounded. "Wh-what's going on! Wait! Is Mrs. Doyle alright?!"
Many men couldn't get along with their mothers-in-law, but Chris was close with Mrs. Doyle. His entire family liked this kind-hearted lady and supported Chris' choice of a wife, believing that she would have a virtuous character just like her mother.
As he thought about the family inn close to the town gate and his mother-in-law, Chris suppressed his fear and didn't turn tail.
He jumped off and hid the tricycle—a vital family property—in the bushes by the roadside and bravely continued forward on his own.
As he got closer to the town gate, Chris' trembling got worse. When he was less than 20 meters from the gate, Chris could even feel his calves cramping.
Undead! So many undead!
It wasn't just the area at the town gate. Inside the town, on the streets that could be seen, there appeared to be undead activity!
The reason Chris was able to persist without crumbling or fleeing at once was that among the undead were humans too.
From his position crouching in the tall grass under a tree, Chris could see the area just inside the town gate, where a number of tricycles were parked. These tricycles were larger and sturdier than his own, seemingly made entirely of steel, and packed with various goods.
Several living beings stood next to the tricycles and were conversing while the undead roamed around them. Yet, the undead didn't attack these living beings.
This kind of worldview-shattering scene gave Chris a glimmer of hope. If these undead didn't attack the living, then perhaps Mrs. Doyle would also be unharmed.
Chris gulped, mustered his courage, and took a few steps closer.
One undead being, leaning lazily against the town gate, suddenly turned its head in Chris' direction.
The moment Chris' eyes met those dark sockets, it was as if he heard death beckoning.
He screamed at the top of his lungs and turned to run—this was his instinctive reaction under extreme stress. But in reality, he was so frightened that he couldn't make a peep and only managed a feeble gasp. His legs seemed to have lost all sensation, making even the slightest movement difficult.
Qin Guan wasn't interested in taking on cooking quests, so he had dragged Give Me Medicine along for a chat.
Their conversation mainly revolved around Qin Guan's current concern, which was the month-end settlement of territory prestige. It would be the 31st tomorrow, and the competition for the position of town mayor, which had been going on for half a month, would finally yield an outcome.
Qin Guan, who was more or less an Internet celebrity now, could only speak about anxiety-inducing topics to Blossoming Strokes and Give Me Medicine. Currently, the videos he uploaded to Bilibili were getting millions of views, and sponsorships were lining up for him. He not only earned enough capital to compete with Brother Lahong but also established a video production studio in real life. His previous character flaws and common quirks that he used to flaunt without restraint had to be reined in now.
"We've already put in a lot of effort whether you are successful or not. Now, it's all up to fate," Give Me Medicine said reassuringly. "Besides, Ji Tang suggested splitting the reward evenly among all participants this time, essentially eliminating him from contention. Now, it depends on the groundwork you and Brother Lahong did previously. But enough of that. Blossom says that after this quest is complete, we can try the Blood Alliance quest. Have you thought of a name for our Blood Alliance?"
"I've thought of a few. I'll make a voting video later to see which name gets the most likes," Qin Guan replied without much thought.
Since the launch of "OtherWorld," Qin Guan's videos had attracted a massive number of non-players. While these non-players couldn't enter the game to fight for Taranthan, they had at least boosted Vanilla Pudding's online popularity. Qin Guan had the habit of stirring up discussions about the Blood Alliance name on his videos as well, which successfully garnered attention for their clan.
Give Me Medicine said, "That works too. I prefer humorous names, not formal ones. Those funny netizens surely won't let me down—eh, someone's there?"
As he said that, Give Me Medicine used "Identify" expertly.
"Ah, a civilian." Give Me Medicine lost interest once he saw the information and continued chatting with Qin Guan.
Chris, who had spent several minutes squatting motionless in the tall grass, didn't experience the "beckoning of death" he feared.
The skeleton that made eye contact with him seemed entirely disinterested in him…
This country boy wiped the cold sweat dripping down his chin and cautiously emerged from the grass under the tree.
Several undead beings near the town gate briefly looked in his direction.
After a brief look, these undead withdrew their attention and continued with their own activities.
Chris stood alone on the main road for some time before moving toward the town gate.
As he timidly passed through the town gate, trembling and panicking, none of the undead paid him any notice.
Some undead that were obstructing his path made way for Chris while continuing their own chattering with their companions in a weird tongue.
Chris couldn't help doubting himself… Were there really so many undead beings standing at Weisshem's town gate? Or was it all his imagination?
However, upon seeing the scene of the main street, Chris immediately dispelled this strange notion.
On the wide street, men entirely different from rural folk like Chris were lined up on the street. These men with fairer skin were disheveled and seemingly in miserable straits, had their hands and feet bound by bizarre white strips, and were thrown on the main street.
Chris' jaw fell, and he momentarily forgot his fear.
"Hey, who are you? What are you doing here?" A human man standing by a tricycle saw Chris and immediately came over.
Chris snapped back to reality and anxiously bowed out of habit. "Sir, I'm a local dairy farmer here to deliver milk."
Rex sized up the young man.
Messy, short brown hair, tanned and rough skin, a smile ingrained through years of growing up pleasing others, stains on his clothes, traces of cow dung on his pants, nervous fidgeting when talking, eyes that dared not meet others'… This was indeed a rural lad.
"Where's the milk you're delivering?" Rex asked.
"I-it's outside. J-just one bucket of milk. You know, nowadays, people in town prefer milk powder," Chris replied nervously.
Rex nodded. "Go deliver your milk. Don't wander, and also, don't provoke the undead in town."
"Y-yes!" Chris responded immediately and instinctively looked toward the Doyle's house which was near the town gate.
Mr. and Mrs. Doyle stood at the second-floor window anxiously watching him.
Chris felt as if a huge weight was lifted from his heart and he shouted loudly, "Mrs. Doyle, I'll deliver the milk right away!"
His sudden shouting made Rex wince; it was clear that this young man was indeed from the countryside as rural folks rarely paid attention to their volume when speaking.
Chris dashed out the gates and returned shortly after with the milk. This time, he was no longer as afraid of the undead at the town gate and even respectfully bowed as he passed through. These undead hadn't harmed Mr. and Mrs. Doyle, so they didn't seem too terrifying to Chris.
"Chris, you scared me to death! How could you come in alone?" Inside the family inn, Mrs. Doyle nervously clasped Chris' face. "You were too reckless, my child. Listen to me, next time you encounter something like this, you must run away immediately. Your mother can't bear to lose you, and neither can my precious daughter."
Chris hugged Mrs. Doyle and then embraced the taciturn Mr. Doyle, exclaiming, "I'm so glad you're both okay."
"We're fine, of course. Those… those undead didn't do anything to us," Mrs. Doyle said, still trembling. "As you saw, they seem to have a problem with the… shops on this street."
"Ah, a-are those people on the street customers visiting Weisshem?" Chris couldn't help asking.
"Yes, and some from the local shops," Mrs. Doyle said, pulling Chris to the window and pointing at a portly old man with graying hair on the street. "Look, that's Thompson, the owner of Jenny's Tavern."
Mrs. Doyle had a reason for singling out that person.
Chris pressed against the window, peering through the glass at the old man among the crowd on the street. Deep down, he felt a sense of resentment and… satisfaction.
"That old bastard got his just deserts!" Chris muttered through gritted teeth.
For ordinary people making a living in Weisshem and the surrounding countryside, upscale entertainment establishments like "Lover," "Elegant Dream," of the former "Golden Coast'' weren't for them. Even with such a close proximity, there was no intersection between people like them and such places.
Instead, places like taverns and strip clubs would be what folks like them could experience.
Many years ago, when Chris was still a child, his uncle's son, around the same age as Chris, curious about the extravagance of Weisshem, came to the town with nearly half a year's worth of savings with the intention of "broadening his horizons."
However, this cousin of Chris' didn't know that even the lowest of taverns in Weisshem wasn't a place a lowly country folk who scraped a living from the land could afford to experience. The amount he brought, which he thought would be enough for him to "broaden his horizons," turned out to be just enough to order the cheapest bottle of corn rum at Jenny's Tavern, along with a tip for the hostess who provided him with some company.
After a night of revelry at Jenny's Tavern, Chris' cousin was dumbfounded when he saw the bill.
The owner of Jenny's Tavern broke one of his arms and had his henchmen escort him home to demand payment for his stay. This incident not only turned Chris' family and his uncle's family into the laughingstock of the countryside but also forced them to sell several cattle to cover the exorbitant overnight fees and treatment of Chris' cousin's injured arm.
Everyone knew that the owner of Jenny's Tavern had taken advantage of their, country folks', lack of sophistication and naivety, but the money owed had to be paid. Otherwise, Chris' cousin would be sent to a prison in Indahl.
Neither the Weisshem's sheriff nor militia would speak up for them, let alone those from Indahl.
"I wish my uncle's family could see this scene," Chris muttered as he stared at the wretched old man he had resented for years. He turned to Mrs. Doyle and asked, "Ma'am, what are these undead going to do to these people?"
"If only we knew." Mrs. Doyle shook her head and sighed. "I often think to myself how great it would be if Weisshem could return back to about 40 years ago, to the time when I was still a little girl. Back then, life wasn't easy, but it certainly wasn't like this…"
She paused, and pained bitterness showed on her face as she looked at the six men and women sitting on the couch and the edge of the bed, afraid to leave the room. "But now… it's all like this. Weisshem can't do business anymore, then… sigh!"
A thin woman with lesions on her face lowered her head.
The other five similarly miserable souls remained silent as well.
Being able to survive and leave the place they came to work didn't mean that these people had other options left in their lives. They had all been on fattening drugs for years and couldn't perform the kind of work regular people did.
Even a simple task like laundry that even a little girl could handle wasn't something they could do. Their frail bodies couldn't endure prolonged exposure to cold water.
And that's not mentioning the visible scars left on their bodies by latent diseases. No matter where they went, these people would inevitably be met with strange looks.
In short, "freedom" for them meant merely finding another place to eke out an existence. If the Doyles' family inn hadn't taken them in and allowed them to bring in hard-earned customers, these people would have ended up rotting away on some street corner.
Chris had known the sort of life these people who were part of the underbelly of Weisshem had, and hearing all this, he sighed.
Indeed, even if folks like Jenny's Tavern's owner, Thompson, were taken away by these strange undead, Weisshem could never become an ordinary town again. Indeed, some people here could only survive via these sordid professions.
The atmosphere in the room immediately turned oppressive.
All of them knew that the flesh trade wasn't a noble profession, and deep down, they hoped it would disappear. But they also understood that without this trade, only a dead end remained for those who had lost their ability to survive.
At this moment, a strange, unprecedented, and intense aroma suddenly wafted in through the window's cracks.
The first to catch a whiff was Chris, who had been working tirelessly on an empty stomach since early morning. He couldn't help sniffing the air.
Mr. and Mrs. Doyle also smelled this fragrance and appeared confused. They had lived here for so many years and had never smelled anything like it.
The six skinny and sallow men and women also caught the scent and involuntarily swallowed.
Stomach growling, Chris, whose nose was more sensitive than the others, quickly deduced the fragrance was coming from outside and subconsciously inched closer to the window.
Chris had to press against the window and tiptoe to get an angle where he could see what was going on. Behind the steel frame tricycles he envied, a space had been cleared, and two large iron pots had been set up, which were each big enough to hold a person.
The pots were over a blazing fire, with water inside boiling. A group of undead seemed to be bustling around the two large pots, and from Chris' perspective, he could see an undead holding a bag about the size of a book, pouring a powdery substance into the pot, while another undead stirred the contents with an iron ladle.
As the boiling soup in the pots turned an enticing shade of golden, the aroma that reached Chris became even more tantalizing.
"This is the first time I've seen such a big packet of mushroom chicken noodle seasoning," the player that had poured in the seasoning made a comment. "Looks like the devs are slacking off again and aren't even bothered with small portions anymore."
"Maybe it's for the convenience of players doing the cooking quests. Who would have the patience to open packet after packet?" the player stirring the pot nonchalantly replied.
"Potato slices are ready! Make way!" A player emerged from a temporarily requisitioned tavern, carrying a winnowing basket filled with potato slices.
"Whoa, your knife skills are pretty sick. These slicers are even thicker than my fingers."
"Damn you, it's good enough as long as it's passable. We aren't even real chefs!"
"Xiao Liu, there are two baskets of leafy vegetables in the kitchen of this tavern. Should I bring them out?"
"Bring them! Bring them all out!" Liu Meng, who had inadvertently become the head chef among the casual players (Rex loved taking shortcuts and always assigned her cooking quests), responded promptly. "And check the other building nearby. Bring over any usable ingredients!"
"Alright!"
Seeing a player moving supplies from the tricycles, someone asked, "Are we adding these noodles as well?"
"Of course, our rewards are based per pot. Why wouldn't we add them?" Liu Meng waved her bone claws. "And, you there, go wash that sack of potatoes!"
"Which cart is the condensed broth powder on? Find it quickly!"
Instant mushroom chicken seasoning, which didn't sell very well because people of the southwestern region of China found it unsuitable, had been repackaged by the factory, ditching the original packaging for bulk packaging, and sold together with bulk instant noodles to a buyer dispatched by the expert task force before being transported to this world. Finally, it was getting the recognition it deserved.
The scent of the mishmash stew, infused with mushroom chicken seasoning and condensed broth, wafted further, and many people who had been secretly peering out opened their windows.
Twenty minutes later, as the mishmash stew simmered to perfection, Rex brought out two tricycles and placed the pots in their carts. He then called on Ossirian, Lyka, and young Brook and randomly selected a few players to distribute the food along the street.
The first to benefit were the twelve hostesses of Jenny's Tavern.
Next up was the family inn closest to the town gate.
Rex walked up and knocked on the door twice. The milkman from before opened it and bowed to Rex before asking, "Is there anything you need, sir?"
Rex reached out and grabbed the young man's shoulder to stop him from bowing. "How many people are in this building?"
"Uh…" Chris glanced at the poor souls still hanging out on the street without a shred of dignity left and didn't dare lie. "Including me, there are nine."
"Bring out nine bowls to collect your food. Hurry up," Rex said, pointing to the tricycle carrying a large iron pot behind him.
Chris was stunned.
"I said, hurry up," Rex frowned slightly, and his tone became stricter as if he were issuing a command.
"Y-yes!" Chris immediately got up as soon as he was given an order, turned around, and ran inside.
In no time, he returned carrying nine big bowls.
Rex stepped aside and said to Ossirian, "You do it, give them nine portions that won't upset their stomachs."
Ossirian now understood why Rex had called upon him…
Others might not know how much these poor people, who had been starved for so long, could eat without getting sick, but he certainly did. He had just eaten three full meals provided by the undead yesterday, and he knew better than anyone how uncomfortable he had felt after each meal.
Ossirian nodded silently and began scooping stew into the bowls that the helpful undead were passing over.
Chris tried his best to suppress his fear and receive the bowls courteously from the helpful undead and placed them steadily on the shoe rack by the door. He waited until both tricycles had left before shutting the door with a trembling hand.
Mr. and Mrs. Doyle, along with the six tenants hiding on the second floor, finally dared to peek out from the top of the staircase.
"T-they… gave everyone food," Chris, who felt exhausted despite not doing much, turned around and said dreamily to everyone.
The Doyles, and their six tenants, stood on the spot, dumbfounded.