After the male zombie fell, Alexander noticed a cyan-colored item lying beneath it—a bronze-grade object, it appeared. He didn't rush to inspect it, for behind him a naked female zombie was already charging his way. Holy crap—the speed was insane; those two zombified "big grey bunnies" were flailing wildly. Damn, I shouldn't have picked Technician No. 3's…
Though his attention was momentarily diverted, the speed of his dagger did not falter. With pinpoint accuracy, he struck the female zombie's neck. Typically, female zombies have a slight edge in agility over their male counterparts, though their constitution is considerably lower. As soon as his blade connected, the word "DEATH" flashed in black. And right beside her, another cyan item materialized.
"Damn, double the luck!" Alexander thought—this was just too awesome!
He recalled his previous life: in the early days, he had slain over a hundred zombies and only got half-bottles of water as drops. Now, out of four zombies, he was scoring three bronze-grade items. The difference was ludicrous! A 100% drop rate is pure bliss—if you have no choice, who wouldn't want to be insanely lucky?
Alexander picked up the two small cylindrical items and discovered they were identical—items he knew all too well.
[Reconnaissance Eye] – A one-use bronze-grade gadget that detects any movement within a 10-meter radius. When someone approaches, it alerts the user and lasts for 10 hours.
This device had been a treasure in his previous life. Whenever those sent by the Derek family or Carrie chased him into exhaustion, forcing him to rest, he'd always pull out a high-level Reconnaissance Eye to sleep soundly. Because it was so effective, very few ever sold theirs. Now, he already had two—albeit only bronze-grade. "No matter, tonight I'll splurge a little and put one to use," he resolved. Perhaps this was what they called revenge spending when you get rich!
"Dong, dong, dong…" The sound of footsteps on the stairs reached him, accompanied by curses:"Who's making that racket up there? Damn it, if you're gonna have fun, do it properly!"
It turned out the inn's owner had been jolted awake by the commotion and stumbled out. By sheer coincidence, having slept so deeply, he'd missed the earlier global announcement—and when a notification panel appeared before him, he dismissed it as a hallucination and promptly closed it.
Alexander stepped out of Room 206 and stood in the corridor. The newly awakened inn owner immediately spotted him. "Damn it, you little punk! You don't have a dime and you're causing such a ruckus—if you don't get down on your knees and call me 'grandpa' today, I won't let you leave!" he roared. "And hey, you look so clean; your mom must be pretty nice too—bring her over to work and maybe I'll let you off."
The hot-tempered owner charged at Alexander, aiming a punch at his head. Alexander sighed—he had been in a good mood and almost considered letting him off. But with one deep exhale, he advanced with his dagger. As Alexander approached, the owner slowly lowered his raised hand; an overwhelming murderous aura—honed over tens of thousands of kills—washed over him. Even though Alexander usually concealed his killing intent well, once he set his mind to it, that aura was unmistakable. The owner tried to retreat, but his legs wobbled uncontrollably; he couldn't move. He wanted to beg for mercy, yet not a sound escaped him. Alexander stared him down and, stepping right in front of him, delivered one swift slash. The owner's head fell to the ground.
In the ten years of the apocalypse, Alexander had never been one for reason. The apocalypse wasn't a place for mercy—whether it was callously taking lives or indiscriminately slaughtering innocents, nothing mattered. Remember: in the apocalypse, the fist is law. How many people had he killed in his previous life? He couldn't even recall—the rule was simple: kill whoever angers you. And after becoming a Warlord, wasn't he even hailed as the guardian of the Dragon Kingdom? Utterly ridiculous…
Alexander couldn't be bothered to even look at the inn owner's corpse. If it weren't for the inconvenience, he'd have let it turn into a zombie first—after all, zombies drop loot at 100% rate. But since a bitten player takes about an hour to fully transform, Alexander could clear countless zombies during that time. With that thought, he knocked on Room 205's door, saying, "Hello, I'm here to clear your drainage pipes." No one answered. The same went for Rooms 204 and 203.
Frustrated, Alexander finally knocked on Room 202's door—and this time, a zombie's roar answered. Finally, a zombie! It felt like reuniting with an old friend. He kicked the door open and, with one clean slash, dispatched the "old friend" zombie. In a friendly twist, the zombie even dropped a bottle of "Feitian Maotai." "Alright, my good buddy, consider our friendship sealed!" he joked, giving a thumbs-up to the dismembered remains. After clearing Room 201 (which turned out to be empty), Alexander stretched. The entire second floor of the inn had been "cleaned" out—and that's where he would spend the night. As for the piles of corpses and blood on the floor, he wouldn't spare them a glance. In his previous life, while on the run, he'd even used a pile of zombie corpses as a makeshift blanket to keep warm and avoid detection—it worked wonders.
There was another crucial reason for staying here: the cramped, poorly ventilated space would effectively prevent zombies from launching a mass assault. In such narrow corridors, even if many zombies were present, they could only engage him one-on-one. Unfortunately, there weren't enough zombies around—he had only racked up 4 XP, still 6 XP short of leveling up. The clock now read 7:40. Time was running out; in just 20 minutes (by 8:00), he needed to kill six more zombies to hit Level 3.
With that in mind, Alexander hurried downstairs to the inn's familiar bar counter. It suddenly occurred to him that this inn employed three technicians—presumably, three women. He'd already dispatched two; there should be one left. Grabbing his hammer, he tapped on the bar counter to create some noise and attract zombies. Sure enough, after a while, he heard movement behind the bar curtain. He stepped forward and pulled aside the curtain—but saw no zombie. Holding his breath, he listened intently until his eyes locked onto a wooden plank on the floor."Damn, hidden deep down…buried underground."