Roger didn't argue. He simply removed the pistol, pulled the magazine, and slid out a bullet.
Only then did Lin Xinghai realize the rounds were thicker than his thumb—yet the magazine held just three.
"These rounds are miniature bombs," Roger explained. "Powerful, but dangerous. Never fire at close range."
He rotated the bullet three times. It began to beep, the sound sharp and urgent, its surface glowing red.
"It can double as a grenade," Roger added casually. Without hesitation, he tossed it out the observation window.
Boom!
The armored vehicle—fifty tons of reinforced steel—shuddered under the blast. Through the glass, Lin saw a crater ten meters wide and three deep.
He swallowed hard. Two hundred years later, nothing looks like it used to. Even pistols have become cannons.
"Then what about speed-types? What weapons suit them best?" Lin asked, regaining his composure.
Roger froze. Speed type? He remembered the power Lin had displayed during testing—at least twenty points worth. If he were strength-based, that would mean 20% optimization. Shocking, but explainable. But if he was speed-based… then his genetic optimization was far beyond normal.
"You're a speed type?" Roger asked.
Lin nodded.
Roger inhaled slowly, hiding his surprise. "Speed genetic optimizers make the most of agility with light weapons—daggers, short spears, thin swords. To balance damage output, you can pair them with firearms like this." He pointed to a weapon on the rack. "The G-3 Ripper Rifle."
"For physique-types, who excel at defense, the choice is freer. But in the end, it's about what fits you best."
Lin thought it over, then followed Roger's advice, lifting the sleek rifle. "How powerful is it?"
"Standard rounds punch through ten centimeters of steel. Special rounds—harder to measure. They're graded, and the higher ones… well, you'll see."
Lin's grip tightened on the rifle, reluctant to set it down.
Roger chuckled. "Here's the manual. Read through it, but don't unlock the safety yet. When we reach Tianshan City, I'll train you myself. Now, pick a melee weapon."
Lin scanned the cold weapons and settled on a dagger. "What about this one?"
Roger flipped it in his hand and pressed a small stud on the hilt. The blade began to hum, vibrating at high frequency.
"This is a concussion dagger. Cuts through stone like tofu. But its battery only lasts three minutes per charge, so save it for critical moments."
Lin's eyes lit up. He couldn't help thinking how fortunate he was to have joined the Sky Splitting Mercenaries. Alone, he would never afford equipment like this.
Back in his seat, he skimmed the rifle manual, skipping disassembly to study shooting techniques and combat tips.
The convoy sped on, the road growing rougher. Even the heavy armor jolted on broken asphalt, making reading difficult.
Then an alarm blared.
Everyone's gaze snapped to the vehicle's main display. Multiple split-screens showed sensor data, but one flashed red—Zombie Detector.
Dots flickered at the edge, multiplying until the count froze at thirteen.
Fang Tianhe's voice came through comms: "Thirteen targets ahead. Two mid-level zombies. First team, engage."
"Yes!" Roger replied instantly.
His squad moved like clockwork. Their vehicle accelerated past the convoy, charging toward the enemy. Hatches slid open; mercenaries aimed rifles through firing slots and took positions on the roof.
Within half a minute, the first zombies came into view.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Burst fire cracked across the wasteland. To conserve ammo, they fired in controlled bursts, not full-auto. Five zombies staggered under the first volley—but none went down.
Lin's pulse quickened. Their heads… You have to hit the heads.
The monsters sprinted with terrifying speed—fifteen points at least, faster than Olympic sprinters of the old world.
Even for trained mercenaries, hitting moving skulls at that speed was no easy task.
As the undead closed the distance, pressure mounted. Lin's palms were dampened with sweat.