Ten… twenty… thirty…
With each casual, grass-cutting sweep of Orsaga's blade, another zombie collapsed onto the cold, blood-slicked floor.
The expired, red-and-white tofu sludge inside their skulls was soon splattered everywhere.
The stench was thick, coppery, and vile—enough to make Orsaga frown in distaste.
His human olfactory system made the smell particularly unpleasant.
Still, it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience—not nearly enough to ruin his plans to enjoy a nice barbecue later.
'I should check out that supermarket on the way back… maybe they've got some wild game left over…'
Mulling over this thought, he glanced at a hospital directory posted on the wall and quickly gauged his distance to the target location.
"Still five floors to go~"
With that, he took a few steps back.
There was an elevator behind him.
He pressed the button and waited patiently outside, watching the display count slowly tick upward.
As his eyes drifted around aimlessly—
Ding~
The elevator arrived.
As the metal doors slowly parted, several rotted, mangled faces—gnawed down to scraps of skin—immediately tried to push their way out.
A flash of steel, and their skulls were reduced to pulp. Their corpses dropped like sacks of meat.
Orsaga stepped inside, standing atop the fallen bodies. He tapped the floor panel with the tip of his longsword.
The soft hum of the elevator as it rose was almost relaxing.
Ding~
Ten seconds later, the doors slid open again.
A pack of zombies, previously shuffling aimlessly nearby, heard the noise and began to converge.
Of course, their version of "rushing over" was laughable—slower than your average mall-walker and twice as wobbly.
After dispatching them one by one with the ease of slicing fruit, Orsaga clicked his tongue in disdain. "Absolute trash."
He hadn't walked far before he arrived at his destination.
[Glendale Medical Academy - Lab One — Sponsored by the Umbrella Corporation!]
Glancing at the shiny plaque, Orsaga casually swatted down two leaping Lickers with precise slashes.
'Sponsored, huh?. So what, the piles of corpses are complimentary add-ons?'
Even without going out of his way to farm mobs, Orsaga had already completed two side missions:
[Eliminate 100 standard zombies — Reward: 1,000 points]
[Eliminate 5 Lickers — Reward: 1,000 points]
He didn't know exactly how far those points would go, but he doubted they were worth much.
After all, the enemies he'd faced so far had been laughably weak. No way those kinds of mobs had much value.
Shrugging, he pulled out his trusty wire tool from his pocket and jammed it into the lab's electronic lock.
Compared to the cheap locks earlier, this one was clearly higher-grade.
But only just.
Click.
After about ten seconds of fiddling, the door popped open.
As he stepped into the lab, a voice full of desperation and hope called out:
"Are you here to save me?!"
Orsaga followed the voice and spotted a middle-aged, overweight man.
Balding, beer belly, squinty eyes, whitehead-ridden face—and most importantly—ugly.
Orsaga raised an eyebrow and replied, "Who the hell are you?"
The man immediately realized this was not a rescue.
Though disappointed, he quickly tried to recover:
"I'm Delger Aduris!, Winner of the last Nobel Prize in Biology!
I have lots of money, and connections in all kinds of places.
If you get me out of this hellhole, I'll pay you two million U.S. dollars!"
In 1999, that was a pretty substantial amount.
He didn't know Orsaga's exact background, but just seeing someone walk in spotless—no blood on him anywhere but his shoes—was enough to fill him with hope.
At that moment, a notification from the Matrix Purgatory System chimed in:
[Hidden Mission Discovered: Escort top biologist Delger Aduris out of Raccoon City — Reward: 2,500 points]
No extra explanation needed. The reward value alone made it clear—this was no simple task.
According to the system's assessment, escorting this guy out was harder than killing 100 zombies and 5 Lickers.
Definitely enough to wipe out a group of low-level newbie Purgators.
But that didn't interest Orsaga at all.
As a proud, lifelong member of the Appearance-Is-Everything Association, his priorities were clear:
'You think I'd waste my time rescuing a fat slob for just two million? I'm a demon, not a charity. Where's the dignity?'
If it had been a gorgeous woman, maybe.
Anyone else? They'd have to seriously up the ante.
So, with a flick of his wrist, the blade flashed—and the chubby biologist met his maker.
Saving people just wasn't part of his job description.
Next, he began rummaging through the lab for materials, quickly familiarizing himself with the equipment.
What he planned to build this time was a little more complicated than the stuff he'd slapped together back in that supermarket.
Not because it was harder or more time-consuming—but because unlike mechanical parts that you could analyze with the naked eye…
Genetic agents, viral compounds—those required tools to observe.
Orsaga's current eyesight couldn't resolve anything at the microscopic level. Without lab equipment, enhancing the T-Virus would've been impossible.
Fortunately, he had what he needed now.
After a bit of experimenting, he stared down at a collection of lab chemicals and scratched his head in mild frustration.
All of it had been scavenged from the lab.
The place had nearly every element on the periodic table… except for a few he actually needed.
That meant he could still craft the desired compound—but it would only be a bootlegged, watered-down version.
Weaker than intended. And that wouldn't do.
Rubbing his chin, Orsaga fell into deep thought.
A few seconds later, his eyes lit up. Inspiration had struck.
With a satisfied snap of his fingers, he turned around and headed back up to the rooftop via the elevator.
There, on his makeshift aircraft, he detached a plastic water bottle.
He'd originally attached it as a cooling mechanism—meant to douse the engine when it overheated.
He gave the bottle a swirl, eyeing the murky liquid inside with uncertainty.
"Ganges holy water… let's hope this stuff works."
Back at the lab, he poured the liquid into a scanner.
A few minutes later, the analysis results popped up—and Orsaga nodded in satisfaction.
Say what you will, but this stuff slapped.
The periodic table was practically complete in this bottle.
Even better, it contained a few unknown substances with interesting properties.
Using those, Orsaga immediately adjusted his original compound blueprint, enhancing and refining it into something far superior.
"Now we're talking!"
Grinning to himself, he got to work transforming the collected lab materials into tools and components that suited his design.
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T/N:
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