A desolate land, where savage beasts roar beneath a blood-stained sky.
This was not a world known to modern civilization. Here, survival belonged to the strong. The law of the jungle reigned supreme—kill or be killed. This was the world of the Beasts.
The withered grass stood as tall as a man's waist, yellowed by the sun and wind. In a concave-shaped valley, Liu Weian was locked in a deadly confrontation with a rotting corpse. With a swift roll, he dodged the creature's razor-sharp claws, scrambling two meters away before swiftly retreating to gain distance. His fingers brushed behind his back—an arrow appeared in his hand in a flash. In one fluid motion, he drew his bow, taut as a full moon, and loosed the arrow like a shooting star.
Whoosh!
It struck true, burying itself two inches deep into the corpse's left eye. Dark, sticky blood sprayed outward as the ruined eyeball collapsed into pulp. Anyone witnessing this would've been stunned.
Rotting corpses were the result of mutated human remains—desiccated, hardened, grotesquely resilient. Ordinary wooden arrows were useless against them. But Liu Weian's arrow was no ordinary weapon: its shaft was wood, but its tip was sharpened beast bone, honed to a deadly edge. The fletching was made of wild pheasant feathers, improving both speed and balance.
Reaching for another arrow, Liu Weian's hand came up empty. His expression changed.
A sudden gust screamed past his ear—he instinctively raised his bow to block. A sickening crack echoed as the hardwood bow, made of iron-tough peachwood, snapped in two. The force ripped his grip apart, splitting the flesh at the base of his thumb. Twisting his body, Liu Weian curled into a ball and rolled under the corpse's armpit, tumbling several meters before springing back to his feet, gasping for breath as he eyed the foe.
There were two rotting corpses in total.
The first, about 1.7 meters tall, hunched forward with a curved spine, making it appear smaller. Its flesh was half-decayed, mottled in shades of gray and blood-dark red. Tattered, blood-soaked clothing clung to its frame like a shroud, the color stained into a bruised, violet-black hue. Dry hair clung to its skull, and beneath it, white maggots squirmed freely—one particularly plump worm crawled from one nostril to the other, glistening in the light before disappearing into decaying flesh. It left behind a glistening red trail of rot.
The second corpse was shorter by at least half a head and even more grotesquely decayed. Its chest cavity was exposed, revealing cracked bone, with swarms of worms burrowing back and forth through the putrid meat. Its eyes were long gone—two empty sockets remained. But its claws... those were whole.
This was the terrifying paradox: while the rest of the corpse rotted away, the fingers remained unnaturally intact. The nails had grown nearly three inches long, like daggers, glinting coldly in the dim light.
Liu Weian forced his breathing into a slower rhythm, calming his heartbeat. Though this valley was merely the outskirts of an ancient graveyard, centuries of death had saturated the air with corpse miasma. In under five minutes, his chest felt tight and limbs heavy. He should've turned back, but the prize was too tempting.
He had spent a week lurking near the outskirts, studying the patterns of these undead. Typically, they never acted alone—any disturbance would draw them out en masse. The only reason these two had strayed from their horde was due to the sacrifice of a previous team—twelve people who never returned. Liu Weian had planned to leave if no opportunity came today.
Now, he owed those unfortunate souls a silent debt.
Liu Weian had chosen the path of an archer—not out of ambition, but fear. Archers were long-range fighters; they had the luxury of escape when danger struck. That was his primary reason. The second? Weapons were too d*mn expensive. Swords, spears, axes—they all required metal, which he couldn't afford nor forge. Arrows, though? He could make those from the land itself.
Unexpectedly, he discovered he had a knack for archery. After a few days of practice with his makeshift bow, he was hitting targets with 90% accuracy within ten meters, and about 60% at fifteen. Beyond that, his arrows lost punch. Especially against creatures like these.
Getting close to a corpse with a bow was madness. But their hardened flesh rendered long-range attacks useless. Worse still, these corpses were lazy. If you kept far enough away, they simply turned around and went back to their slumber—none of this "sunbathing zombie" nonsense existed here.
Now, the two corpses approached with a slow, staggering gait. Many would've mistaken them as sluggish. Fatal mistake.
Liu Weian had seen it before: a team caught off guard, half their number dead before they even reacted.
At five meters away, the corpses exploded into motion—blurs of black shadow, razor claws cutting through the air with a shriek. Liu Weian had been ready. He bent backward in a tight arch, nearly horizontal, like a man performing a steel-plate bridge.
Four claws passed just above him, so close they scraped his clothing. The chill of death prickled his skin.
Summoning every ounce of strength, Liu Weian grabbed a rock the size of a human head and hurled it upward in a desperate arc.
Thud!
The stone slammed into the arrow embedded in the tall corpse's eye, forcing it deeper until it pierced through the skull. White bone glinted at the surface. The rock, still carrying force, shattered against the corpse's cranium, crushing its nose and squashing several wriggling maggots.
The corpse shuddered, collapsing to the ground, twitching but unable to rise.
Liu Weian hit the dirt and rolled. He had learned that these creatures, with their stiff limbs, had trouble bending—especially at the waist. It was a fatal blind spot.
Seizing two broken halves of his bow, he looped the string around the shorter corpse's ankle and yanked. The creature fell flat on its face with a splat. Liu Weian leapt forward, lifting another heavy rock and bringing it down on the back of its skull.
Crack!
The stone shattered. The corpse didn't.
Only a few dry strands of hair fluttered loose. With mechanical rigidity, the undead began to rise again.
Liu Weian had no time to grab another stone. In desperation, he leapt, stomping down on its back.
As soon as his foot touched its skin, a terrifying force erupted. He was hurled backward like a rag doll.
Boom!
He landed five or six meters away, back-first onto a jagged stone the size of a human head. Pain exploded in his spine. Blood surged up his throat and sprayed out. He felt like every bone in his body had been disassembled.
And the corpse?
It smelled blood—and went berserk.
Faster than before, it lunged with terrifying speed. Even dazed, Liu Weian sensed death looming. He rolled blindly, just as metal-slicing claws raked through the air. He heard stone being split clean through—sharp, smooth, surgical.
He bit his tongue hard, the pain clearing his mind. By sheer chance, he found himself under the corpse, just as it stomped downward.
His heart nearly stopped.
Despite its rotten body, the thing was unimaginably strong. That stomp would've shattered his insides. He rolled again. Its foot hit earth instead, throwing up dust.
Out of options, he noticed the broken bowstring still wrapped around its ankles. He leapt, grabbed one piece, and twisted. As the second foot lifted, it tangled. The corpse stumbled, crashing face-first.
Liu Weian scrambled away. He'd rather die than let that festering mass touch him.
He dashed toward the other corpse, still twitching on the ground. Drawing out the bone arrow, he yanked too hard—rotted liquid splashed his leg.
Hiss—
Steam rose as his pants corroded. A hole opened, then his skin. The burning pain surged like wildfire. His expression twisted.
The fluid was like acid—lethal. He remembered the two who had been splashed last time. In ten minutes, they were nothing but bones.
A thumb-sized hole already yawned in his thigh.
Without hesitation, he drew a gleaming six-inch knife. Gritting his teeth, he sliced away a chunk of flesh the size of an egg. Blood flowed freely, but there was no time to bind the wound.
He charged the second corpse, stabbing into its eye socket just as it began to rise. The force of both their movements drove the arrow deep—but not through.
The scent of blood enraged the creature. It jumped high, nearly a meter into the air.
Liu Weian grinned despite the pain. Dropping low, he flicked the tangled bowstring again. As the corpse landed, its legs caught, and it fell forward—its skull driving the arrow all the way through. Bone cracked. The arrow snapped.
Both corpses lay twitching, defeated but not at peace.
Liu Weian gritted his teeth, picked up a large machete from a fallen corpse nearby. Around him lay bodies—scattered like broken dolls—remnants of the previous team. Blood had already begun to eat away at the blade. Even steel could not resist the corrosive rot.
It took over half an hour to hack through both necks. By the end, Liu Weian lay sprawled on the ground, breathing hard, not willing to move a single inch.