“Why hasn’t anyone come out yet?”

“It’s already past 3:00 PM. We have less than an hour before the deadline!”

“What the hell is happening inside that village?”

“Are they… are they all dead?”

“Impossible. There are three Sequence Beyonders in there. They can’t just die like that!”

Panic was spreading like a contagion through the survivors waiting on the outskirts of Longevity Village. Since Chen Ye’s group had breached the perimeter to scavenge, the village had swallowed them whole. Not a single soul had returned.

This was wrong.

Back in Apricot Blossom Town, it had been a revolving door. Survivors would dash in, grab supplies, and sprint out. Some returned early with full packs; others lingered for better loot. But there was always movement.

Here, there was only silence.

A heavy, suffocating dread settled over the convoy. Even Captain Chu Che, usually the picture of stoic command, shifted his weight uneasily.

He stared at the village. When they had arrived at 11:00 AM, the grey mist had been thin enough to see silhouettes of buildings. Now, the fog had thickened into a wall of obsidian smog, blotting out the sun and swallowing all sound. It was like looking into the throat of a beast.

The fear among the non-combatants was turning volatile. These were the ones who lacked the courage or strength to scavenge, relying on trading—or begging—for scraps from the brave. But if the brave didn’t come back, the parasites would starve.

In the crowd, a woman’s eyes darted around, calculating.

Xu Jiaojiao.

Since Chu Che had humbled her, she had kept a low profile, playing the part of the obedient refugee. But silence wasn’t inaction. She had spent days whispering in ears, building a clique of terrified “sisters.”

She watched the impenetrable fog and sneered internally. Chu Che is a Sequence Beyonder, sure, but he’s soft. He has no killer instinct.

She checked the time. If no one comes out by 4:00 PM, I’m not sitting here waiting to die. She tightened her grip on her bag. Plan B was already in motion.

Inside the village, the situation had graduated from dangerous to catastrophic.

The Great Willow wasn’t just a tree; it was a puppeteer, and it was angry.

Around the square, the hanging corpses convulsed. Their eyes snapped open—cloudy, yellowed, and filled with a hunger that transcended death. They looked at the survivors not as humans, but as livestock.

It was a scene ripped straight from a high-budget zombie flick, but the smell—the cloying stench of rot and copper—was violently real.

A corpse, its neck wrapped in a glowing green willow branch, jerked upright. It didn’t shamble; it hovered, pulled by the vine like a marionette, and dove straight at Iron Lion.

“Get lost!”

Iron Lion roared, his voice booming like thunder. His plan was simple: smash the tree, break the curse, leave.

But the dead were in the way.

He threw a punch that could shatter concrete. His fist connected with the chest of a diving corpse. THUD.

The body went flying backward, ribs caving in with a sickening crunch. But before it even hit the ground, the willow branch yanked it back upright. It dove again, completely unfazed by the damage.

Iron Lion froze for a split second. My punch didn’t kill it?

Physical trauma meant nothing to meat that was already dead.

Chen Ye watched from the periphery, his mind racing. Physical immunity? No, high resistance. The sinking feeling in his gut grew heavier. These things weren’t as elite as the Hunchback Thrall or the White-Dress Scissor Lady, but they were a horde. And an unkillable horde was a death sentence.

A shadow fell over Iron Lion. A corpse had clamped onto his massive back, jaws snapping at his exposed neck.

Thwip.

A crossbow bolt slammed into the creature’s spine.

“Sizzle!”

The effect was instantaneous. White smoke erupted from the wound as if acid had hit the flesh. The corpse shrieked—a sound like tearing metal—and released its grip, convulsing on the ground.

[System Message: You have inflicted damage on a Corpse Thrall. Slaughter Points +100.]

Chen Ye’s eyes lit up. Black Dog Blood.

“They’re called Corpse Thralls,” Chen Ye muttered, reloading his Hand Crossbow with practiced efficiency. “And they’re allergic to the blood.”

But the victory was short-lived. The smoking Corpse Thrall twitched, the willow branch snapping it back into a standing position. It turned its milky gaze toward Chen Ye, hatred radiating from it.

Before it could lunge, a blur of motion cut through the air.

Xu Lina, the long-legged girl, slid two fingers along the flat of her blade. Her voice rang out, clear and sharp amidst the chaos.

“Brilliant light tempers the blade, illuminating the dark underworld! OPEN!”

Her sword hummed, coated in a layer of fluorescent white light. She slashed.

Schlick.

The Corpse Thrall was bisected cleanly at the waist. The top half hit the dirt… and immediately began clawing its way toward Chen Ye, dragging its entrails behind it.

“Are you kidding me?” Chen Ye cursed, stepping back. Even cut in half, they didn’t stop?

“Ahhh!”

A scream pierced the air. A survivor near the edge of the formation was snatched up by three diving Thralls. They hauled him into the sky, tearing at him before he even left the ground. A rain of warm blood showered the pavement.

Unlike standard zombies, these things had air support. The willow branches allowed them to fly.

“Little Fu! Little Fu, help me!”

Nearby, the Entitled Grandmother was shrieking. She was weighed down by a comically large bag of looted supplies, making her an easy target. A Thrall swooped down, claws extended for her face.

Without hesitation, the old woman grabbed a young man standing next to her and shoved him forward.

“No—!”

The man stumbled directly into the Thrall’s embrace. His scream was cut short as teeth met throat.

The grandmother used the distraction to scramble away, clutching her bag of rice like it was her own child. The surrounding survivors watched in horror, their disgust for the old woman spiking, but chaos gave them no time to react.

Little Fu, the naive college student, didn’t see the betrayal. He was too busy swinging a steel pipe wildly, trying to keep a Thrall from eating his face. He was seconds away from being overwhelmed.

In the center of the mayhem, the celebrity sisters, Zhou Lan and Zhou Xiaoxiao, were losing their minds.

“Left! Dodge left!”

Zhou Xiaoxiao screamed, hurling her backpack at a diving Thrall. It struck the creature in the face, buying her sister a fraction of a second to scramble aside.

Zhou Lan, the famous star, was pale and trembling. Her fame meant nothing here. The paparazzi were gone; only the dead remained.

They had banked their survival on staying close to the powerhouses. But Iron Lion had charged the tree, leaving them exposed, and Xu Lina was frantically trying to cover both the tank and Chen Ye.

No one was looking out for the extras.

Another Thrall descended from the canopy, banking hard toward Zhou Lan.

“Xiaoxiao!” Zhou Lan cried, freezing in terror.

Zhou Xiaoxiao’s eyes darted frantically. She saw Chen Ye raise his crossbow. Thwip. Another bolt, another plume of white smoke, another 100 Slaughter Points. He was the only one dealing consistent, effective damage.

She grabbed her sister’s arm.

“Sis! Run to Chen Ye!”

Zhou Lan hesitated. “Him? He’s…”

“I don’t care!” Zhou Xiaoxiao gritted her teeth, dragging her sister toward the cold-faced mechanic. “I don’t believe he’ll just watch us die!”