More Jumpers closed in, their clawed limbs scraping against the ground as they lunged through the air.
Luck controlled his breathing.
Their speed made them hard to track, but predictable once they were midair.
Raising his blade, instinct took over as his body moved on its own.
Slash. Slash. Parry. Counter. Evade. Slash.
Three fell instantly, bodies split clean through.
Shots rang out —sharp, and powerful. Kana. Each arrow she fired hit its mark, keeping the ones on his blind side off him.
One jumper came from the right, mouth wide, teeth stained dark.
Luck spun, cutting it clean in half before it touched him. Blood sprayed across his coat, but it did not stop his momentum.
Another arrow whizzed past his shoulder and hit a second one mid-leap.
"Nice shot!" he yelled over his shoulder.
Kana didn’t answer—too focused.
But he noticed the line forming behind the other side.
More infected were crawling over the rooftops, surrounding the base.
"Tch—Kana! Go to the other side!"
"I got this!" Luck shouted again, slamming his blade through a jumper’s chest. "Just move!"
A second of hesitation. Then she turned and ran, jumping over the motel’s roof as she relocated.
Luck refocused. He let out a breath, adjusting his grip.
"Let’s see how fast you bastards really are."
The first one dove at him. Luck sidestepped, grabbing it midair by the throat and slamming it into the ground. His sword came down like a guillotine.
Two more came. He ducked under one, flipped over the other, and struck both before his boots hit the ground.
To conserve his ki, he avoided flashy techniques and relied on pure martial arts instead.
Another wave came—four, maybe six this time.
He didn’t wait. Charged straight into them, blade raised high. Steel met flesh.
With every jumper that dropped, it became clearer—
He wasn’t the one being hunted anymore. He was the monster in this fight.
When the normal ones reached him, he swung his sword hard, cutting through them like they were tofu.
The sheer force of it—how easily he tore through the horde—lit a fire in the other survivors.
They saw him standing tall, blood on his coat, blade dripping, and they felt it. With him on their side, the zombies didn’t stand a chance.
A loud roar rose from behind the walls.
Luck heard it and grinned. He gripped his sword tighter.
"Demonic Giant Body Technique—Raging Whirlwind."
His body spun like a machine. The blade tore through everything around him.
Not just the ones close—but five rows deep in every direction. A ring of bodies dropped, forming a perfect circle of silence.
Raising his sword high, chest rising with each breath, he shouted.
"In front of me... all of you undead are ants!"
The survivors roared louder than ever, fueled by his words. Shouting, laughing, throwing everything they had.
Molotovs flew through the air, bursting into flames as they crashed into the swarm that managed to slipped through.
Just like that, the momentum shifted.
Luck stood like a pillar of hope.
Dressed in all black, yet somehow he looked like an angelic savior.
Each slash cut through the horde like they were made of paper.
If that zombie woman were still alive, she would probably feel like a fool for ever calling herself the perfect specimen.
Five hundred meters away, Number Three crouched inside a dark, half-collapsed building, hidden behind broken walls and shattered glass.
Using her technique, she watched everything unfold without being detected.
If anyone were close right now, they wouldn’t sense her—even if they were standing side by side.
This was her specialty. The reason she earned her rank... and the title Silent Killer.
In the assassin world, there was a saying:
Once she marks you as a target, you won’t see her coming—and you won’t even know how you died.
But right now, the so-called legendary figure was struggling to keep her composure.
Even her breathing was uneven, shallow—something she hadn’t experienced in years.
A bead of sweat slid down her forehead and dropped to the floor below.
The faint sound nearly alerted a group of nearby zombies.
Their heads twitched, noses sniffing the air—but before they could react, she masked her presence again, vanishing into the shadows just in time.
There was no other way to describe Luck.
The only one who could stand against that kind of power was Number One.
’Good thing we didn’t go after him. He’s not someone we want as an enemy.’
’I need to report—’ she paused.
She hadn’t come just for recon. The truth was, she couldn’t get him out of her mind.
That strange feeling ever since she saw him lazily bait them to shoot kept replaying.
So she got closer to the base, using the chaos of the death parade as cover.
But this... this was more than she expected.
’If he’s really as strong as Number One... then maybe he could do what I couldn’t.’
Number Three carried a secret. She wanted Number One dead.
Not because of orders. Not because of rivalry. But because he killed her twin brother during training.
As assassins, they were taught to be heartless.
Tools, not people. But a woman’s heart didn’t always follow rules.
So she trained. Pushed herself past her limits. Every mission, every battle—done with one goal in mind.
To one day defeat and kill him.
But no matter how hard she tried, his talent was unreal.
She faced him again and again... and every time, she lost.
And even to this day, she had never seen him go all out.
That meant her data on him was incomplete. And that scared her more than she would like to admit.
She turned her gaze back to Luck, looking through the binoculars.
He wasn’t going all out either.
Even surrounded by the undead, even with all odds stacked against him—he was smiling.
Calm. Controlled. Unshaken.
’I’ll keep watching him for now... and decide later.’