A base vehicle.
Not just transport—but a mobile fortress that could absorb psychic energy.
For the first time in years, Lin An's pulse quickened.
In the light curtain, a pitch-black heavy truck spun slowly. Its design was sleek, oppressive, with multiple weapon hardpoints—empty for now, but brimming with potential. Below it, a 3D projection of a sealed alloy structure shimmered: modular walls of steel interlocked like a bunker.
His chest throbbed with suppressed excitement.
Since his rebirth, few things stirred him anymore. But this… this was beyond anything he had dared hope for.
A year into the previous apocalypse, the world had fractured into four regions and thirty-six war zones. Players clung to survival in so-called safe zones—scattered strongholds under rival factions.
Safe zones weren't just shelters. They were the core of power.
Lin An's past ambition had only been to secure a place to live, a foothold. But this? A mobile safe zone that absorbed psychic energy… it was leagues beyond the ordinary security tokens that entire armies bled for.
Those tokens—precious relics of the system—were almost impossible to obtain without ten thousand survivors or hundreds of Awakeners united in effort. That was why most "safe zones" back then were nothing more than outposts clinging to the borders of greater powers.
He thought of Tang Wan—her betrayal, her desperation to cling to a petty safe zone leader. Compared to this? Laughable.
Lin An's stride grew lighter, faster. Joy surged so sharply it almost hurt.
Behind him, Wen Ya stumbled, nearly swept away by the freezing wind.
"W-Wait…! Please slow down!"
He turned at her cry and saw she had fallen nearly a hundred meters behind, pale and trembling.
Lin An halted, suppressing his exhilaration, forcing his mind back to clarity. The reward could wait. His priority now was strength—killing the Stitcher, saving An Jingtian, and An Xia. They were the only people he trusted, the only ones worth protecting.
An Jingtian, especially, is already sharper and stronger than ordinary men. If awakened, he would be invaluable.
The team's mission demanded five members, but Lin An wouldn't waste the slots on the weak. Numbers could be increased later, but once someone joined, they could never be replaced. Every choice mattered.
Wen Ya. An Jingtian. An Xia. That was three. Two more to find.
His mind flicked back to his memories—the Four Emperors and Six Kings. Ten titans who had once ruled the Chinese war zone. If he could recruit one before they rose to power…
Wen Ya finally caught up, panting hard.
"Um… what should I call you?" she asked cautiously.
"Lin An." His tone was flat. "Call me whatever you like."
"Then… Lin An. Or Captain." She offered a faint smile. "You look about my age? I'm twenty-four, just graduated from college."
He glanced at her. "Same age."
Encouraged, she ventured further. "You still haven't told me—why me? And… you seem different. Not like other players."
Lin An thought briefly, then decided not to hide it.
"First, because you're a mutant. Mutants provide me with psychic strength. People like you are rare—and dangerous. If others discover what you are, they'll fight for you. Or kill you." His gaze hardened. "Don't expose yourself."
She swallowed, nodding.
"Second, I'm an Awakener. Different from players. I carry a separate template. My strength is roughly…" He paused, calculating. "Five times yours."
"Five—?!" Her eyes widened.
"Third, my strength stat is twelve. With the team buff, fourteen point four."
"Fourteen!?" Her gasp was almost a squeak. She'd seen him crush skulls with his bare hands, but the number gave it terrifying clarity.
Lin An ignored her awe. She didn't yet understand—beyond the human limit of ten, each point wasn't linear, but exponential.
"Your stats have increased, too. A benefit of joining my team. Check for yourself."
She quickly opened her panel. Her breath caught when she saw the line:
[Member of the Savior Team]
Savior? The name struck her as strange, ominous. She dared not ask.
Lin An mounted his motorcycle. "Get on."
Startled, Wen Ya climbed on behind him. The engine roared, and as the machine shot forward, she clutched his waist instinctively. The warmth of his body, the steadiness of his presence—it calmed her.
Exhaustion hit her like a wave. For the first time in days, she drifted into sleep.
Lin An noticed, slowed his pace slightly, and let her rest.
Far ahead—on the road into Linjiang City.
Tens of thousands of zombies milled in a sea of corpses and shattered vehicles.
Atop the heap squatted a boy, no older than twelve, fiddling with a severed arm as if searching for something. Each time he found nothing, he tossed it aside and kept digging.
"No.""Yes.""This.""Individual…"
His childish voice stumbled strangely, the words broken, alien.
The horde circled him but dared not approach. Even the mindless undead recoiled from the boy as if he exuded a primal terror.
One zombie stumbled forward, tripping into the empty space.
Clang.
The boy's head snapped up. Bloodshot eyes blazed.
"Roar!"
A soundless wave blasted from his mouth, reducing the creature to pulp. Panic rippled through the horde. Fear. A human emotion—forced into the minds of the dead.
If Lin An were here, he would recognize it instantly.
The instinctive dominance of a third-level mutant.
The boy's rage spilled outward. Corpses, wreckage, even steel turned to dust under the shockwave.
Slowly, he rose. A jagged black shard jutted from his chest, pulsing. His body floated upward as if suspended by invisible strings, a puppet dancing to some unseen will.
His head turned stiffly. The corpse-mountain beneath him shifted, dragged to heel by his command.
Then, like an army obeying its master, the horde moved.
Their destination: Linjiang City Center.