[[Critical Strike – Level 1]
Type: Active
Effect:
Empowers the user's next physical attack with devastating force, causing it to deal double its base damage. This amplification excludes weapon modifiers, elemental effects, or other enhancements—relying purely on raw physical execution. Perfectly timed, it can turn even a modest strike into a lethal finishing blow.
Activation Cost:
7 Stamina Points
Sustain Cost:
None
Duration:
Applies only to the next single physical attack. If no attack is made, the effect is wasted.
Cooldown:
None — can be repeatedly activated as long as stamina reserves remain.
Compatibility:
Usable with any melee or ranged physical weapon, making it versatile across multiple combat styles.
Description:
One of the most fundamental offensive techniques, Critical Strike channels a fighter's entire willpower and body strength into a single, decisive blow. Though simple in design, its true mastery lies in timing—striking at the moment an enemy's guard falters or when a fatal opening is exposed. Many seasoned warriors owe their survival to this skill, having felled stronger opponents with one perfectly placed attack.]
Ethan held the Critical Strike skill book in his hands, his brows knitting together. The skill was undeniably powerful, but compared to the second- and third-level abilities he had seen, it fell short. Its flaw was obvious: the consumption of seven stamina points per strike was excessive, and stamina was his most precious resource. He could not afford to squander it recklessly, not when survival was a constant war of attrition. Besides, with the Stinger Pistol at his side—a weapon that could reduce even evolved zombies to pulp—such a costly skill seemed redundant.
He placed the book down, his expression calm but inwardly dismissive. Useful for someone else perhaps, but not for me.
Just as he was lost in thought, the silence of the apartment was broken by the sound of frantic knocking. A desperate voice called out from the hallway, muffled but trembling with raw emotion.
"Is anybody here? I'm begging you, please open the door!"
The plea echoed through the hall, fragile yet piercing.
Luna, startled, glanced toward Ethan. Her large eyes—still filled with the innocence she could never fully abandon—searched for his judgment. After the recent ambush by the thugs and the brutal lesson that followed, she no longer acted without his word. She had learned the hard way that recklessness could mean death, not just for her, but for everyone.
Spawn stood motionless beside the door, a silent sentinel of bone and shadow, its monstrous form radiating menace. Ethan always had it stationed there when he wasn't asleep, the perfect deterrent for any fool who might try to force their way inside. Even in this desperate world, the undead knight was a comfort—cold, terrifying, but loyal.
Ethan gave a small nod.
Cautiously, Luna approached the peephole and pressed her eye against it. What she saw made her breath catch.
Outside stood a woman, perhaps in her late twenties, with long golden hair dulled by dirt and exhaustion. Despite the grime, her beauty was undeniable—her figure curvaceous, her posture still bearing hints of the confidence she once had before the world fell apart. Beside her clung a young girl, no older than twelve or thirteen, her cheeks hollow with hunger, her tiny hands clutching the woman's dress like a lifeline.
"A woman and a small child," Luna whispered, her voice soft but edged with caution.
Ethan's face was unreadable. He weighed the risks instantly. In this world, appearances meant little. A mother and child could be bait. They could be thieves, spies, or worse—beasts wearing the skin of the desperate. He had seen such things before.
Still, he said quietly, "Let them in."
The bolt slid free, and the heavy door creaked open.
The woman stumbled forward, eyes glistening with tears. She seized Luna's hand as though clinging to salvation. "Hello, miss. My name is Sarah… please, could you give us something to eat? We haven't eaten in two days!" Her voice cracked at the end, desperation bleeding through her composure.
From across the room, Olivia—her youthful beauty glowing even in these grim times—walked over with a cookie in her hand. Her hair framed her delicate face like a dark halo, and her lips curved in curiosity as she eyed the newcomers.
The little girl's eyes widened at the sight of the cookie, her hunger overwhelming her restraint. "Mom! I'm hungry! I want cookies! Please, Mom, I want cookies!" Her small voice broke into sobs, her frail fingers tugging at Sarah's dress.
Sarah's red-rimmed eyes overflowed. She pulled out a crumpled stack of bills, thrusting it toward Luna with trembling hands. "Please… take this! It's ten thousand dollars. I'm not asking for nothing. Just… give us food, or we will starve." Her voice cracked, her shoulders shaking as tears streamed down her face.
The sight of so much money—once the symbol of security and comfort—meant nothing now. Yet Olivia's eyes lit up with instinctive awe. Ten thousand in her old world could have bought her anything she desired. Here, it was just colored paper, as useless as the corpses littering the streets.
Luna's heart clenched. Even after the nightmare they had endured, her kind spirit refused to die. "Sister, you don't have to do this," she said softly, shaking her head. "Wait here, I'll get you something."
But as she turned, Olivia stepped in front of her, her delicate face suddenly hard, her tone sharp. "Wait a minute! Luna, think before you act! We don't have much food ourselves. How can you just give it away?"
Her words cut through the room, freezing the air.
And the woman, Sarah, with her hourglass figure trembling under the weight of desperation, and her daughter clutching her side like a lost lamb—were they victims… or the start of something dangerous?
Ethan watched in silence, his eyes flickering between the desperate mother, the trembling child, and the two girls of his group. He saw it clearly—the clash between lingering humanity and the cold logic of survival.
Money, once powerful enough to buy lives, was worthless now. Food was the new gold. Hunger stripped people down to their truest selves. Some became beggars, some became beasts, and some clung to kindness even as the world punished them for it.
In Luna's apartment, there were only three rooms, yet more than a dozen people were crammed inside. Two of the rooms were packed wall to wall, air heavy with sweat and the faint odor of instant noodles long gone cold. Food had become their lifeline, and the consumption rate was terrifying. A dozen mouths could eat through supplies faster than anyone cared to admit—especially when three of those mouths belonged to Ethan, Grace, and Luke. Their enhanced bodies burned through calories at a staggering pace. In just under two weeks, the stockpile from the two small supermarkets they raided had dwindled to the bottom of the bags.
At best, they had food for five or six more days. At worst, less.
When news of this spread, everyone gathered in the main room, the air filled with unease.
Luna's normally gentle eyes were red with fury as she turned on Olivia. Her chest rose and fell, her silky black hair clinging to the sides of her face from the heat of the argument. "Olivia! How can you say that? They are a mother and daughter who haven't eaten for days! Look at that girl—her little face is pale, she's skin and bones! Don't tell me you'd rather watch them die than share even a scrap of bread!"
Olivia, radiant despite the grime of their survival, stood her ground. Her glossy lips parted, her words like knives. "It's just their story. You don't know if it's true. And even if it is, what then? Luna, these supplies weren't given to us—they were bled for, scraped together under fire and fear. Every tin, every crumb was earned. And you just want to hand it away? Did you even ask the others?" She swept her gaze across the room, her long lashes narrowing around eyes that gleamed like sharpened glass. "We have five days' worth of food, five. If you feed them, what happens when we run out? Do you plan to let us starve so you can play saint?"
The words hit the others like a slap.
The girls who had been ready to help moments before faltered. Their mouths opened, then closed again in silence. Their consciences screamed to give the mother and daughter something, but the gnawing fear of hunger—of the empty, hollow pit in the belly—was louder.
They weren't ready to be beasts. Not yet. But nor could they pretend to be saints.
Silence pressed down like a heavy blanket.
Sarah, the blonde woman clutching her frail daughter to her chest, felt her breath quicken. Her face was flushed with desperation, strands of golden hair sticking to her tear-streaked cheeks. She knew what hunger did to people. She knew that if she waited too long, the starving eyes in this apartment could turn on her and her child. Humans could be worse than zombies when stripped of food—beasts wearing human skin.
Clara, her daughter, swayed on her feet, her small hand tugging weakly at Sarah's blouse. "Mom… hungry…" Her voice was so thin it felt like a needle in everyone's chest.
Then Ethan moved.
The room parted like water as he walked forward, his steps steady, deliberate, a quiet authority radiating from him. In his arms were two bags of instant noodles and several small bread buns. The sight of food in his hands made throats tighten and eyes widen.
He crouched in front of Sarah and Clara, his expression calm yet unyielding, a faint smile touching his lips. "Here," he said softly, extending the bags. "Take these. Make sure the little one eats first. If she gets sick, there's no hospital, no doctor, no medicine waiting for her. She has to stay strong. Do you understand?"
The harsh tension in the room seemed to ease at his words, as if his calmness was contagious. Ethan's smile wasn't forced; it was warm, almost humanizing him in a world that had stripped most people of their humanity.
He placed his large hand gently on Clara's head, ruffling her golden hair with surprising tenderness. The little girl blinked up at him, her big eyes glassy yet brimming with awe.
Olivia clenched her jaw, but said nothing. She knew better than to clash with Ethan. His decisions carried weight like steel, and his presence was more commanding than a rifle in hand. He wasn't just strong—he was the axis around which their fragile survival turned.
Sarah's hands quivered as she accepted the food, clutching it as though she held a bar of gold or a relic of the gods. Her lips trembled, voice breaking under the weight of gratitude.
"Th-thank you… thank you so much! You're… you're a good person!" Tears welled in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks unchecked. She nudged her daughter forward, her pride swallowed by desperation. "Clara, sweetheart, thank your big brother."
The little girl's face, pale from hunger, brightened just enough to show a fragile spark of life. She held the bread like a holy treasure and managed the faintest smile. "Thank you, brother!" she chirped, her voice small but clear.
Ethan couldn't help but chuckle. The words good person—how many times had he seen that line in manga panels, in manhwa speech bubbles, in the pages of Chinese webnovels? How many starving heroines, ragged mothers, or orphaned children had handed out that same "good person card" to countless protagonists?
And here he was, standing in the middle of an apocalypse, actually receiving one himself. The absurdity of it tugged at his lips, laughter escaping before he could stop it. 'I really got the good person card, huh?' he thought. 'The classic reward of a protagonist—minus the chibi sparkles and floating text box.'
His gaze softened on the girl even as his mind ticked with calculation. There was warmth in his eyes, but also the sharp glint of someone who knew too well what stories never told you—that the world doesn't stay grateful for long. Still, he lowered himself a little, meeting the child's eyes.
"And what's your name, little princess?" he asked, his tone a blend of gentle teasing and quiet curiosity.
"Clara," she replied, her voice carrying a spark of joy, a sound so rare it felt like bells in the dead of night.
"What a beautiful name," Ethan said, brushing his hand lightly across her cheek. "If you ever feel hungry again, don't be afraid to come and ask me. A princess should never starve."
Clara giggled faintly, cheeks pink, her eyes shining with something Ethan had not seen in a long time—pure admiration.
For a brief moment, everyone else in the room felt it too. That maybe there was still something worth protecting in this broken world.
Sarah quickly bowed her head again and, almost desperately, stuffed a bundle of cash into Luna's hands. A thick roll—$10,000. Once upon a time, it would've been enough to buy comfort, security, a better day. Now, it was just paper. Worthless against hunger. Still, Sarah's instinct clung to old habits.
"Thank you," she whispered again, clutching Clara close before leading her toward the stairs with hurried steps, afraid that if she lingered, someone might change their mind.
The money sat in Luna's palm like an accusation, the girls around her staring at it with wide eyes.
In this world, paper meant nothing. Food was wealth. Guns were power. And Ethan—Ethan was both.