"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.
As Sarah and Clara left, the room felt just a little brighter, a little warmer, as though a flicker of hope had been reignited in the darkness. Ethan's gaze followed them until the stairwell swallowed their figures. His expression was unreadable, calm and controlled, but the faint warmth in his eyes lingered, softening his otherwise cold demeanor. What he had given them wasn't merely food—it was the kind of hope that kept people alive in a world that wanted them dead.
The girls in the room exchanged glances. Sarah's tears, her desperate plea, and the way she had clutched the food to her chest had shaken them. Under Ethan's protection, with Grace and Luke's strength as support, they had been well-fed these past dozen days. Yet seeing Sarah crying over nothing more than a few packets of instant noodles and some bread struck a deep chord. It reminded them that the line between survival and starvation was razor thin.
They had never thought hunger could make even the proudest of women crawl, beg, and weep. Now they understood.
And more than that—they had noticed something else. Ethan's smile. That rare, almost gentle smile he gave to Clara. In over half a month, they had hardly seen him show such warmth. It had not been for them, but for the fragile kid. That fact twisted something sharp inside their hearts. It made them reluctant, unwilling even, to let him drift toward another woman.
Luna, her glossy black hair flowing down her back like ink, stepped toward Ethan with the roll of bills in her hand. The soft fragrance of her body faintly lingered in the air despite the apocalypse. "What about the money?" she asked. Her tone was neutral, but her upbringing as the daughter of a wealthy family made her disdain clear. Ten thousand dollars meant little to her. In the old world, it had been a night's expense for her father's business dinners.
Ethan barely spared the money a glance. His lips curved faintly, his tone flat. "Whatever. Whoever wants it can have it."
To him, money had lost all meaning. In this new world, bullets, clean water, and food were the true currency. The bills Sarah had clung to so desperately were nothing more than rough scraps of paper. If he were forced to use it, it would serve better as kindling or even toilet paper—though he'd complain about how coarse it felt.
Before anyone else could speak, Olivia's sharp voice cut through the silence. "I want it! Give it to me!"
Her amber eyes gleamed as she stretched out her hand, her figure curvaceous even in the sweater she wore. Luna's lips curled slightly, and with a flick of her wrist she tossed the bundle of money into Olivia's hands.
Olivia clutched the bills tightly, her gaze sweeping across the others. On her delicate face, her smile was polite, but deep in her heart she sneered: 'Fools. You think this paper worthless, but the government has enclaves. The army is still out there. When we reach them, you'll know the sting of having nothing to trade.
Because money was more than paper. It was trust, power, a system of order. If the government survived, then money survived with it. The question was not whether it was worthless, but how much value it still carried.'
Grace, standing by Ethan's side, leaned close. Her honey-blonde hair framed her flushed cheeks as she whispered with worry in her voice, "Ethan, we don't have enough supplies left. When are we going out to search again?"
Ethan didn't hesitate. His dark eyes glinted with decisiveness. "Tomorrow."
---
The next morning, Ethan convened everyone in the apartment. The tension in the air was palpable, but no one questioned him. Orders given by Ethan were not debated—they were followed.
Nikki, Jessica, and Sydney remained behind to guard the rooms. Ethan led the others down the cracked stairwell, rifles slung across their shoulders, pistols secured at their hips, and knives strapped to their thighs. They reached the parking lot where two Volvo trucks sat like steel titans amidst the ruins of the city.
Sarah, up on the sixth floor, peeked through her window. Her blue eyes filled with envy as she saw Ethan climb into the lead Volvo. "They're leaving again," she murmured, clutching Clara's shoulders. The heavy rumble of engines echoed through the broken streets. She longed to join them, to scavenge, to be part of something powerful—but she had neither the weapons nor the courage to face what lurked beyond the building.
Ethan's group drove into the ruined city streets, the trucks plowing through scattered zombies. The girls in the back gripped their firearms nervously, but it was Ethan who shouldered the true weight of killing. With cold precision, he directed the vehicles to two convenience stores. His undead summon, Spawn, tore through the undead outside like a beast unleashed. The windows shattered as Ethan's team rushed inside, clearing the shelves of whatever could still be eaten or drunk.
Canned goods, instant noodles, bottled water, packets of jerky—every item was stuffed into bags and hauled out. They worked like a machine. By the time the trucks were loaded, the streets were eerily quiet, littered with the twitching remains of zombies.
When they returned, no one complained. There was no hesitation this time. Even the most pampered of the girls—those who once shopped at malls and posed for selfies in cafés—now carried crates and sacks of food with strained but determined arms. Compared to Sarah, who had begged for scraps, they knew they were very fortunate.
Ethan did not join in the carrying. His rifle rested across his chest, and his eyes never stopped scanning. He killed any stray zombies that lurched too close, but otherwise left the labor to the girls. Ammunition was scarce—he had no bullets to waste teaching them marksmanship. Their only role for now was transport.
After unloading, Ethan gathered Luna, Julia, William, Grace, and Luke, taking them back to the trucks. The second phase of his plan was more dangerous.
They headed to a nearby gas station. The glass doors had long since been smashed open. Ethan ordered them to fill both trucks and every container they had with gasoline and diesel. The smell of fuel choked the air as the pumps gurgled, filling tank after tank.
Inside the convenience store attached to the station, they scavenged everything useful—snacks, tools, even spare batteries. Ethan took anything that might extend their survival even a day longer.
Grace watched him with furrowed brows. Her voice trembled slightly as she asked, "Ethan, what are you planning?"
His eyes were sharp as steel, his tone deep and calm. "Today, I'll kill the two Hunters."
Grace's face paled. "Why? Our levels are still too low. Fighting Hunters is suicide!" Her fingers trembled on the hilt of her sword. She had risen to level 8 after the last battle, her body stronger, faster, but she knew all too well how terrifying Hunters were. Their speed, their claws—they were apex predators. Even her High Speed Movement skill couldn't keep up with them.
Ethan's reply was like ice: "Because the zombies are evolving too quickly. Jiang City will soon become a death trap. We need to leave as soon as possible. Even one minute earlier could save us."
He was right, and everyone knew it. The undead were changing. In less than a month, normal walkers had turned into P1 brutes, S1 speedsters, and even Hunters. He had seen it with his own eyes—the grotesque evolution of death in Perfection.
If even one zombie in the sea of a hundred thousand developed intelligence, the ability to command, or mastery over some twisted form of Spirit or Luck—then they would all be wiped out. Their stronger bodies would simply rise as new stronger abominations.
Ethan's mind worked faster than anyone else's. He saw the danger not in today, but in tomorrow, in the next week. And he wasn't going to wait for death to find them.
Besides, there was the mission—the "Searching for Novice Village." The rewards promised were too great, too tempting. If he could claim them before anyone else, it could change many things.
And so, his course was set.
He would kill the Hunters. Then he would leave Jiang City.