In the convoy’s hierarchy of power, Chen Ye was a ghost.

Compared to the dazzling spectacle of the other Sequence Beyonders, he was invisible. Nana, the Sword Immortal Sequence, carried a blade that hummed with lethal energy. Moments ago, she had sliced a two-story house in half like a loaf of bread. To the survivors, she was a superhero made flesh.

Then there was Iron Lion. Standing over two meters tall even in his base form, his sheer physical presence radiated oppression. Even the mysterious Captain Chu Che commanded respect with his aura of quiet competence.

And Chen Ye? He was just… a guy with a crossbow.

He looked no different from the terrified refugees huddling in the mud. If there were a device to measure “Beyonder Energy,” it would confirm what Chen Ye already knew: his Mechanic Sequence was a fake. He had no aura, no glowing eyes, no superpowers.

Yet, in a twist of cruel irony, this invisible “Support Class” had become their only lifeline.

For an ordinary human, fighting a Corpse Thrall was like a toddler trying to wrestle a professional weightlifter. It was a physical impossibility. The survivors swung their scavenged steel pipes and baseball bats with desperate strength, but the blows bounced off the Thralls’ dead, rubbery flesh without leaving a dent.

Guns were a fantasy. In this strict nation, firearms had been rare before the apocalypse; now, they were unicorns. And even if they had them, bullets did little against enemies that didn’t bleed or breathe.

Only Chen Ye’s bolts, soaked in the crimson stink of Black Dog Blood, could burn them.

He was their only hope, but he was a terrifying one. The survivors hadn’t forgotten how he had used Granny Zhao as a human shield just minutes ago. He was a savior, but he was also a monster.

“Xiaoxiao!”

A shrill scream cut through the chaos.

Zhou Lan, the elegant superstar, had fallen. A Corpse Thrall straddled her, its rotting hands pinning her shoulders to the dirt. Its face—a mask of grey skin and exposed teeth—hovered inches from hers.

Zhou Lan could smell the grave on its breath. The hair on her arms stood up as she jammed her wooden staff against its throat, her strength failing rapidly.

“Chen Ye! Save my sister!” Zhou Xiaoxiao screamed, her voice cracking with panic.

Thwip.

Chen Ye didn’t hesitate. He raised his arm and fired.

The bolt slammed into the Thrall’s forehead. Hiss. White smoke erupted from the wound as the Black Dog Blood seared the undead brain matter. The creature howled, releasing its grip and stumbling back.

Chen Ye didn’t wait for a thank you. He didn’t even look at them. His expression remained as cold as a frozen lake. He reached into his quiver, drew another bolt, locked it into the groove, and fired at a second Thrall approaching his left flank.

Reload. Aim. Fire. It was a rhythm. He was managing the horde, not performing a rescue.

Zhou Xiaoxiao watched him, her heart sinking. She saw the indifference in his eyes. He isn’t going to save us. He’s just shooting whatever is closest.

A flash of sorrow and resentment spiked in her chest. Fine. If he won’t do it, I will.

She gripped her sharpened steel pipe and charged.

The Corpse Thralls weren’t physically godlike—their strength and speed were roughly that of a fit adult male. But they had two advantages: they felt no pain, and the Great Willow gave them wings. The vines attached to their backs yanked them into the air, allowing them to dive-bomb survivors like twisted marionettes.

And there were hundreds of them.

As soon as Xiaoxiao pulled her sister from the dirt, reality crashed down. Four more Thralls dropped from the canopy, encircling them.

Their eyes were cloudy cataracts of hunger. Some of the faces were familiar—neighbors, convoy members, people they had spoken to this morning. Now, they were just meat puppets.

The sisters stood back-to-back, shivering.

“Sister…” Zhou Lan gasped, her legs trembling so hard she could barely stand. “In a second, I’ll distract them. You run. Run to Chen Ye. Even if he doesn’t want to save you, his perimeter is safer.”

“Shut up!” Xiaoxiao spat, wiping blood from her lip. Her hair was matted with sweat, her idol image completely shattered. “I’d rather die than beg him again!”

She said it with venom, but her voice wavered.

“AHHHH!”

A scream erupted five meters away.

A male survivor had tried to break for the exit. A Thrall dropped onto his back, jaws clamping onto his neck with a wet crunch. A spray of arterial crimson painted the ground.

The willow vine retracted, yanking the man and the Thrall into the dark canopy of the tree. His screams faded into a gurgling choke.

Zhou Xiaoxiao froze. She knew that man. He was a senior executive at a tech firm. He had tried to flirt with Zhou Lan just yesterday, boasting about his stock options.

Now he was dog food.

Xiaoxiao’s pupils dilated, trembling violently. Tears—hot, terrified tears—spilled from her large, beautiful eyes.

This wasn’t a movie. The director wouldn’t yell cut. They were going to be eaten alive.

She looked at Chen Ye.

He was fighting his own battle, a solitary island in a sea of monsters. He was tired, his movements slowing slightly, but he was still standing. He was the only thing in this hellscape that offered a chance of life.

Her pride crumbled.

“Chen Ye…”

She screamed his name, her voice raw.

“CHEN YE!”

For the first time since the world ended, the stubborn, proud Zhou Xiaoxiao begged.

Chen Ye paused for a fraction of a second. He was counting his bolts, calculating the time until Iron Lion and Nana killed the main body. He was running low on ammo. Every shot had to count.

He heard his name. He turned his head slightly.

He saw the sisters surrounded. Their steel pipes were shaking. The Thralls were closing in, jaws snapping.

The sisters looked at him. Their eyes were wide, wet, and filled with absolute, pathetic desperation.

They looked like puppies shivering in a freezing wind, staring at a master who held the only warm blanket.

Zhou Xiaoxiao locked eyes with him. The regret, the fear, the hope—it all poured out in a single, broken plea.

“I beg you! Chen Ye! Save us!”

One second ago, she would have chosen death over humiliation. But when death actually knocked on the door, she realized that pride was a luxury for the living.