By dawn, the building was silent.
Zhao Ren had absorbed 11 corpses.
His stats were rising quickly.
But monsters weren't the only threat.
Three survivors cornered him near the rooftop exit.
They were armed.
One had a kitchen knife.
One held a hammer.
One had a gun.
"You're alone," the man with the gun said.
"Drop the weapon."
Zhao Ren scanned them.
Weak.
Afraid.
Desperate.
In his last life, humans killed more humans than monsters did.
He didn't argue.
The man with the hammer rushed him first.
Zhao Ren sidestepped and crushed his throat.
The knife user lunged.
He broke his wrist.
Snapped his neck.
The man with the gun froze.
Terror filled his eyes.
Too slow.
Zhao Ren closed the distance before he could fire.
The gun fell.
Silence.
He touched the first corpse.
He touched the second.
More gains.
Then the third.
The system chimed differently.
His eyes sharpened.
Humans gave more diverse rewards.
He picked up the gun.
Monsters howled in the distance.
This world would not be saved.
It would be conquered.