Time elapsed: 8 hours.
Remaining: 2 hours until mission ends.
Bang!
A zombie on the street below snapped backward—clean headshot.
You killed a zombie. Current progress: 117,692 / 10.
Fenric lowered the sniper rifle, popped a white pill from a blood‑smudged bottle, and dry‑swallowed it.
Erythropoietin. Performance enhancer. Short‑term boost to endurance and oxygen transport. Massive side effects—irrelevant in a dungeon system reset.
His stamina was shot. This was his second dose.
He checked his kit. The roof was littered with shell casings and empty grenade crates. The 200+ high‑explosive grenades he'd prepped? Gone. Hundreds of thousands of rifle rounds? Burned through. Only the sniper rifle remained with usable ammo.
The results were obscene.
Fenric's confirmed kill count had passed one hundred thousand. He'd killed so much, his brain felt numb; his trigger finger moved out of habit more than intent.
He lined up another shot—
THUD.
Something heavy hit the roof behind him.
Fenric spun, rifle swinging.
A young man landed in a crouch, then straightened—riot shield in his left hand, black‑edged long blade in his right. Eyes on Fenric; shield angled against the rifle.
Fenric recognized him instantly.
The D‑class from earlier. Solis.
"I've been watching you," the youth said, tightening his grip on the shield. "You've killed a lot of zombies these past few hours."
Fenric said nothing, expression flat.
With the noise he'd made, it was only a matter of time before other Samsaras came calling. He wasn't surprised.
Seeing no immediate hostility, the youth smiled. "Relax. I'm not here to fight."
"I came to form an alliance."
He pressed on before Fenric could refuse. "Look, I get it—you've killed so many that splitting rewards sounds awful. But I won't short you. You know the Global Top‑100 rankings, right? #97, 'One Leaf Knows Autumn'? He's my uncle. Spoils me rotten. This sword—" he lifted the black blade "—he brought it out of the One Piece world. Took it off a top swordsman's dead body—I think his name is Zoro. And he gave it to me."
"My uncle's stockpiles are crazy. You ally with me, I'll make sure you get a powerful special item afterward. No loss to you."
Fenric let visible surprise show. A top‑100's nephew? If true, that explains the gear… And if that guy only ranked 97, the monsters above him must be terrifying.
Believable? Maybe. Trustworthy? Not a chance.
He finally spoke. "Where are the teammates from your last alliance?"
A flicker of annoyance crossed the young man's face. But he recovered with thin composure. "Zombies were too strong. We got surrounded. I was the only one who got out."
Fenric smiled. "Oh. And how do I know that after we ally, I won't die the same way? Or maybe not to zombies—but to you."
"..."
The youth's jaw twitched. His real plan was to use Fenric: ally, ride his kill score, engineer an 'accident,' claim the evaluation weight. In Samsara dungeon, indirect kills after alliance were very doable.
"You're overthinking it," he said, forcing sincerity. "Allies can't attack each other directly. And I've got a solid zombie count myself. Combined, we'd crush the evaluation. You win, I win. Plus—family connection." He tapped the blade. "My uncle remembers favors."
Fenric shook his head—then abruptly nodded. "All right. We can ally."
The youth exhaled in relief—
"First show good faith. Hand me your sword."
"..."
The smile froze.
And the mask began to crack.