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墨書 Inktalez
There were still nearly thirty Zombies left, which would be easily dealt with by the ten Butchers. As long as they advanced steadily, victory was assured.
However, the Left Guard completely overturned Zheng Yifan's thoughts on the matter.
As his companions charged forward, the Left Guard remained calm, trailing behind the Devil's Advocate. When the entire team plunged into the horde of Zombies, he sprang into action.
Like a flash of lightning, he darted into the mass of Zombies. His shield struck against the nearest Zombie, sending shockwaves that caused its body to lean back. In that instant, the Left Guard plunged his sword into its eye socket.
His speed was remarkable as he maneuvered among the Zombies. The shield in his left hand became a lethal weapon, while his low stance allowed him to move with agility and cunning. Yet, it was undeniable that a massacre was unfolding around him.
He fought alone, slaughtering with wild abandon. Each Zombie he killed earned him points—these points couldn't be used for purchases but could be exchanged for food and supplies.
He was different from others; he had a group of brothers to support. Only through killing—more killing—could he secure enough food.
His skills were cleverly applied: slitting throats, kicking groins, stabbing eyes, grappling... What he had learned in the military proved useless now; what he needed was to continuously absorb new experiences.
He didn’t need to charge recklessly like the Devil's Advocate or proceed cautiously like his other companions. He simply needed to harvest Zombie lives with agility and maximum efficiency.
He leaped like a nimble monkey and stood firm like a mountain. This spectacle filled Zheng Yifan with excitement.
“If such a formidable individual could be mine to command, I would surely provide him with the best equipment to reap even more Zombie lives.”
Indeed, his gear was inadequate; the Round Shield on his left arm was merely a repurposed iron pot, lacking the curve of a true shield and unable to deflect attacks effectively. Bandages wrapped around him, and Zheng Yifan’s keen eyesight could even see strands of straw poking out from beneath them.
Even the sword he wielded for slaughter was forged from ordinary steel; its blade wasn’t sharp enough and would break after repeated use.
These items were considered quite good at the Gathering Place but were still far from sufficient.
Without high-voltage electricity, many machines were rendered useless; even industrial machinery required an 80v supply that couldn’t be met.
Though some had attempted modifications, there simply weren’t enough skilled technicians available. Most who managed to escape were impoverished individuals living on the outskirts of cities; they were closest to the suburbs and thus easiest to flee.
Of course, wealthy individuals residing in suburban villas were another matter entirely. They possessed the most resources and luxury cars; although most high-powered vehicles were inoperable, there was always at least one functional car in their garages.
They were also among the first to leave the city and gain power; naturally, most had already become Big Shots in Howling Wind Gathering Place.
Outside the Howling Wind Gathering Place, they were uncertain if there were other Gathering Places, or if anyone had managed to escape this catastrophe. Even the radio signals had ceased to function, whether longwave or shortwave.
The computer could still boot up, but it had lost its ability to transmit data.
As a result, weapons available for combat were scarce. The blacksmith shop emerged, gradually replacing mechanical functions with handcrafted tools.
However, time was too short for the blacksmiths to adapt to these ancient forging methods. The Survivors lacked truly formidable weapons.
Just like the Left Guard now, they had no strong means of self-protection. They could only keep attacking while trying their best to evade the Zombies' assaults.
The Zombies surged like a tide, yet they could not stop these heroic warriors. In just a minute, they had cleared the area.
In front of them, the limited number of Zombies found it hard to overcome their defenses.
"Eleven Zombies; finally, a week's worth of food for eleven people is at hand," the Left Guard said with a smile as he organized his gear, carefully wiping off the Zombie blood from his body with a white towel he pulled from his pocket.
The blood splattered onto his bandages, corroding them, but it was blocked by straw—his secret weapon against the enemy.
Each of the others had their own methods to avoid infection; each was different. Like Blue Lightning, after every attack, he would make a noticeable dodge, his cloak draped behind him ready to shield against any blood sprayed by the Zombies.
With the battle concluded, every face bore the smile of a victor. This was their achievement, but more so a warm-up match.
"Hey! Big guy, this might be our last battle together. I’ll do my best to take down the Zombies and leave a rich legacy for my Brothers," the Left Guard said calmly. It seemed that death was just an everyday occurrence for him.
"My sister will also inherit a substantial legacy. I will do everything in my power to ensure she has enough supplies," Devil's Advocate replied with a faint smile.
The fight was over. Forty or fifty individuals dressed in layers resembling protective suits slowly gathered the Zombie corpses and collected their remains.
With each Zombie collected, they recorded in their notebooks which weapon had dealt the fatal blow.
This was the primary way Gladiators achieved their battle records.
Suddenly, a loud noise erupted, followed by a crackling sound of electricity.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Survivors, welcome to the Slaughterer Tournament! This month's grand event promises to be exceptionally thrilling, bringing you a unique thrill of carnage. Your War God will become your glory.”
After a wave of emotional rhetoric, the rules of the competition were introduced. Clearly, the scientists at the Gathering Place had once again put the loudspeakers to good use, with circuits more suited to the apocalyptic environment.
The long-standing competitions had left the audience somewhat bored, as the format had become monotonous.
However, this time, the Organizing Committee had altered some rules, with the most significant change being in the armed forces.
All participants, in addition to their basic equipment, could now receive sponsorship from the audience.
The competition time was extended to 45 minutes, with an increase in combat intensity. The fences of the Underground Passage would be completely opened, and there would be changes in terrain during the battle, providing the Gladiators with more advantageous positions.
Of course, these changes in terrain would also significantly reduce the Gladiators' survival space.
As the introduction concluded, clusters of red flames gradually spread across the ground, transforming the entire Gladiatorial Arena into a labyrinth of fire.
“It’s over.” Han Rui's eyes were filled with tears, her lips nearly bitten through.
“It’s all over. Did you see how the terrain has changed? It has completely turned into a fiery maze. The Left Guard fears flames, but Zombies do not; they can endure being scorched for a full half hour.” Han Rui's lips were already bleeding, a drop of blood falling onto her collar. “The Organizing Committee is increasing the difficulty of the Slaughterer Tournament; it seems unlikely that the Left Guard will be able to hold on.”
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