Out on the open field, a dense horde of zombies howled and shrieked like a storm of madness.

If you looked closely, you'd see seven figures at the heart of the chaos—Ethan, Chris, Henry, Garrick, Sean, Big Mike, and Skinny Pete—swinging barbell bars with wild, relentless force, smashing down the undead swarming around them.

The ground beneath their feet was already carpeted with corpses.

They stood atop a thick layer of dead zombies, and though the terrain had offered no natural advantage, they'd made one for themselves—elevated by sheer body count.

More and more zombies fell, but their arms were going numb from the effort.

There were just too many this time.

Thankfully, there were seven of them now. When someone hit their limit, they could retreat to the center of the circle for a breather.

Henry had to duck back every so often to heal the group. With this kind of fight, injuries were inevitable.

But having Henry made all the difference. Without him, there was no way they could've handled a swarm this size—easily over ten thousand.

Among the horde, about 10% were Tier 2 zombies, 70% were Tier 3, and 20% were Tier 4. And hidden among them were a dozen or so Tier 5s—sneaky bastards that liked to ambush.

Zombies below Tier 3 weren't much of a threat anymore. But Tier 4s? Those could do real damage, especially in numbers.

As for the Tier 5s—the most dangerous on paper—they were actually the least of their worries.

Because the moment one got close, Ethan would take it out instantly.

His [Telekinesis] ability let him pick off Tier 5s in the middle of the swarm like swatting flies.

So the others didn't even have to think about them.

"Phew… I'm tapped out. Big Mike, take my spot—I need a break," Chris said, finally giving in. He'd lasted the longest, but even he had to fall back to the center.

"Got it!" Big Mike didn't hesitate, stepping in to cover Chris's flank.

"I mean, Ethan, couldn't we have pulled them in waves or something? You dragged the whole damn horde at once—who the hell can keep up with that?" Chris grumbled as he caught his breath.

"You think we're still on that rooftop with nothing but low-tier zombies?" Ethan shot back. "These are Tier 3s and 4s. The second one spots you and lets out a scream, the rest come running. There's no such thing as pulling them 'a little at a time' anymore."

"Ugh… fair enough. Still, with this many, who knows how long we'll be killing?" Chris said, exasperated.

They'd been fighting for what felt like forever, and still, the sea of zombies stretched out to the horizon. The sheer scale of it was crushing—ten thousand wasn't just a number.

"We'll take turns. As long as Henry's here and no one dies, we'll get through it eventually," Ethan said.

"Hey, Ethan, you haven't taken a break at all. You sure you're good?" Henry asked.

"I'm fine. These things are nothing for me—just a flick of the wrist. Doesn't cost me much," Ethan replied.

"Stage D, man. Just built different," Chris muttered.

"…"

"Let's keep pushing. We need to finish before dark. Once the sun's down, it gets a whole lot riskier," Ethan said.

"Got it!" The group rallied, shaking off the fatigue and diving back into the fight.

Ethan, meanwhile, activated [True Sight] again, scanning for any sign of a Stage D zombie.

Still nothing.

But just as he turned his gaze toward the mountain peak, he spotted a lone figure standing silently at the top—watching them.

"So you finally showed up," Ethan murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Then he turned to the others. "I'm leaving this to you guys. I'm going to take out the real target."

"You found the Stage D?" The others lit up.

"Yeah."

"Then go! We've got this," Chris said.

Ethan nodded, then vanished in a blink with [Teleportation], reappearing at the base of the mountain.

He couldn't teleport all the way to the top—his current range wasn't that far—so he'd have to climb the rest.

Luckily, the zombies on the mountain had already charged down to the field, leaving the path clear.

Ethan sprinted upward, unchallenged, and quickly reached the summit.

At the top of the hill, the Stage D zombie hadn't moved. It was just standing there, like it had been waiting for Ethan all along.

When Ethan reached the summit, the zombie actually smirked—an unmistakable look of contempt, like it was mocking him for overestimating himself.

"Oh, hell no. Did a zombie just sneer at me?" Ethan muttered, instantly annoyed.

This one looked almost human. No rotting flesh, no exposed bone—just pale skin, drained of all color. The only giveaway was its eyes: blood-red irises, the one trait they couldn't hide.

If you wanted to tell a zombie from a human, the eyes were the key.

The Stage D zombie licked its lips, then lunged at Ethan in a blur.

"Cocky little shit…"

Ethan snorted and swung his barbell bar straight at it.

THUD.

The bar slammed into the zombie's arm with a heavy, dull crack, knocking it back several steps.

But Ethan's expression shifted. He glanced at the barbell bar—and saw it had bent.

Great. His strength had outgrown it.

"Damn. Guess it's time for a new weapon," he sighed.

He'd already noticed during the fight with that female Stage D zombie that the barbell bar wasn't cutting it anymore. But it was familiar, easy to handle, and he hadn't found a better replacement yet.

Problem was, at his level, finding a weapon that could keep up wasn't exactly easy.

With a resigned shake of his head, Ethan tossed the bar aside. As the zombie lunged again, he met it with a brutal kick that sent it flying.

He charged after it, closing the gap in a flash, and drove a fist straight at its skull.

His strength was pushing 12,000 pounds now—well above the average Stage D.

This zombie wasn't fresh to Stage D, but it was only packing around 10,600 pounds of force. Still strong, but not enough.

It raised its arms to block.

THUMP.

The punch landed with a heavy thud, forcing the zombie back again.

Ethan didn't let up. He followed with a whipping roundhouse kick aimed right at its head.

The zombie blocked again, but Ethan's attacks came like a storm—relentless, focused, and all aimed at the skull.

No weapon? Then his whole body was the weapon.

Fists, feet, elbows, knees—he threw everything at it in a nonstop barrage.

He'd never formally trained in martial arts, but he'd watched plenty of TV and short-form fight tutorials. And with his current physical stats, those flashy moves from the screen were child's play.

He didn't bother with the fancy stuff, though. His style was simple: find the head, and hammer it.

Under the weight of his assault, the Stage D zombie couldn't even get a counter in.

"RRAAAGH!"

It roared in frustration. It knew it had to break the rhythm. So when Ethan came in with another roundhouse, it tanked the hit, grabbed his leg, and sank its teeth in.

Ethan jolted in surprise. He yanked his other leg up and slammed it into the zombie's head, breaking free in a rush.

"Well damn, you've still got some fight in you," he growled, shaking off the sting. Then he drove another punch toward its face.

At the same time, the discarded barbell bar suddenly lifted off the ground and shot forward—aimed right at the back of the zombie's skull.

THUD.

CRACK.

Two heavy impacts landed almost simultaneously. The zombie managed to block Ethan's punch—but took the full brunt of the flying bar to the back of the head.

It staggered, dazed, and turned around in confusion—only to see the barbell bar lying innocently on the ground a few feet away.

No one else in sight.

"???"

Its face twisted in bafflement.

Right now, its brain was just a big pile of question marks.

...

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.