The pitch-black night shuddered with a sudden, rolling thunder.Across the iron rail bridge spanning the river, a jet-black train roared forward.
On top of the speeding train stood Ash Leon, braced against the screaming wind.Five figures surrounded him in a tight ring, cutting off every escape route.
Ash flicked his knife, scattering thick, dark blood into the wind."So," he said coldly, "you're really committed to killing me."
"Maybe…" one of them let out a low, twisted chuckle."Hand over the X‑Serum, and we might only break your arms and legs."
Ash raised an eyebrow.In the apocalypse, losing your limbs wasn't survival—only a slower death.
He took a long breath."If it weren't for me, you'd all be corpses already.And now you betray me… over a single vial?"
Another man hissed,"Blame this damned world. If killing you buys us more time, then—"
The five lunged at once.
"—you die here!"
"Ah!"
Ash shot upright, gasping, sweat soaking through his shirt.His chest heaved as he dragged air into his lungs.
After several seconds, he looked around.Four white walls, stained and peeling with age.A bare room: a single bed, an old computer desk, and a battered wooden chair patched together with nails.
Every detail—every imperfection—was familiar.This was his room.His home.The place he had lived in for years.
"Was it… all just a dream?"
Ash climbed out of bed and yanked open the curtains.Outside, a street lay bustling—not crowded, but lively enough.Peaceful. Harmonious.Too harmonious.
"No… something's wrong."Ash whispered, almost trembling."This world should be gone. Everything should have been destroyed.Unless… this is part of the dream too?"
In Ash's memories, civilization had long since collapsed.Humanity had withered, dying off in waves—only to rise again as the walking dead.Monsters of every kind roamed unchecked, and even ancient, prehistoric horrors had clawed their way back into existence.
He remembered clearly—his final moments had been in a desert wasteland.Those bastards… the ones he once called companions.To steal the X‑Serum, they ambushed him without warning, then hunted him for three days and three nights until exhaustion finally claimed his life.
Ash's gaze drifted toward the desk calendar resting on top of the computer.
He froze.
The date displayed was—
December 25th, 2125.
To most people, that date meant nothing.But Ash knew exactly what it represented.
Six days left until January 1st, 2126.
Which meant—
Six days until the end of the world.
"I… actually came back?" Ash whispered."Back to three years ago? Back to before the apocalypse even began?How is that possible?"
A spark flashed through his mind—a memory resurfacing like a long-lost vision.
A barren wilderness.Dead grass swaying in the wind.Gray-skinned zombies staggering along a highway.Beside the road stood an old gas station, and next to its convenience store… a gacha capsule machine.
Ash had stood before that machine.He'd inserted a coin—and inside the capsule was no weapon, no tool.Only a strip of paper with the words:
Try again.
"Could that be the reason I was reborn?"Ash's brow lifted as he clenched his fist."Whatever the cause… if I've been given another chance at life, then no matter how many times the world ends—I'll survive it."
No one would kill him a second time.
He stepped toward the calendar and drew a firm circle around December 31st.At midnight—when the world crossed into January 1st—the apocalypse would begin.
That gave him six days.
Six days to prepare.
When one thinks of the apocalypse, the first instinct is food and water.After all, without supplies, no one survives.
But Ash knew better.No matter how much he hoarded, it would run out eventually.And he knew the truth others didn't:
The Death Train existed.And on that train, those strong enough could obtain anything—Food. Water.Even the right to keep living.
Which meant only one thing—
He needed weapons.
Firearms were the first choice.But firearms weren't something you could just get—especially with only six days left.Time was too short.
So Ash turned to what he could buy.
He started with a nail gun—with some modifications, it could pack a surprising punch.Next, a recurve bow, sporting equipment sold online.He'd have to sharpen the arrows himself if he wanted them to actually kill anything.
He added a stab-resistant vest, riot shield, tactical waist pouch, gloves, and every piece of protective gear he could justify.And a trip to a blades-and-crafts shop for knives—dull by law, but easily sharpened at home.
Three days passed gathering equipment.Three days passed training his body.
Even though all his survival knowledge remained, his body had reset.Every enhancement serum he had taken in the previous life was gone.Skills wiped. Items gone. Power erased.
On the Death Train, survivors were ranked by strength:
Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, Diamond, Monarch, Transcendent—each tier divided into five stars.
In his past life, Ash had reached Five-Star Monarch, just one step from Transcendent.Betrayal had ended it all.
Now, reborn, he wasn't even Bronze.He was just an ordinary college graduate again.
Three days of training wouldn't change much—but with the apocalypse looming, Ash refused to waste a second.
Once he boarded the Death Train again, he could earn potions, tools, and enhancements through missions.
"Of course…" Ash growled through clenched teeth as he did another set of push-ups."All of that depends on one thing—I have to make it onto the Death Train again."
It would be humanity's only hope after the world fell.
Or perhaps…
Its final dead end.