Chapter 0005: The Path of the Hero

After crying for a while, he wiped his face, reached for a pack of cigarettes on the table, and with trembling hands, pulled one out. Absentmindedly, he fumbled around for a lighter, finally retrieving one. With a crisp snap, he ignited it, lighting the cigarette and taking a deep drag. Leaning back against the sofa, he gazed upward, lost in thought.

Taking several more rapid puffs, he consumed more than half the cigarette in just a few strong draws. Then, he forcefully extinguished it on the floor and suddenly stood up, as if making a resolute decision in that very moment.

Di Ping refused to sink into despair any longer. He had to return and rescue his parents—there was no room for self-indulgence. He owed them too much, and the longer he delayed, the slimmer his chances of saving them would become. Furthermore, he possessed a "golden finger," though he had yet to discover how to activate it. However, he firmly believed that its mere existence implied it could be unlocked; otherwise, it would serve no purpose.

Standing up swiftly, Di Ping went to the bathroom to wash his face and tidied up his short hair. Then, he grabbed two packs of bread from the food storage room and devoured them ravenously—he had not eaten since morning. Now that his mind was more at ease, hunger set in. Only after consuming two pieces of bread and two sausages did he feel somewhat better.

Next, he began formulating a plan. The first priority was acquiring a weapon—an absolute necessity, as he could not expect to fight mutant beasts barehanded. The second priority was training his body; he needed strength and agility to survive in this apocalyptic world.

"A weapon?" He pondered where to find one when, suddenly, a thought struck him. During his home renovations, a friend had gifted him a Han sword as a housewarming present, claiming it was a high-quality, handcrafted piece that had cost over 20,000 yuan and had already been sharpened. As a man with a penchant for blades, Di Ping had admired the sword at the time—it was sturdy, sharp, and well-crafted.

His gaze shifted toward the living room, where the Han sword still rested neatly on its display rack.

Taking quick strides, he retrieved the sword. It was sheathed in an ebony scabbard and measured 1.2 meters in total length, with a 30-centimeter hilt. Weighing just over ten pounds, it felt solid in his grasp. As he unsheathed the blade, its surface gleamed with a cold luster, featuring a double-edged design with a central blood groove. Never before had he appreciated this sword as much as he did now—holding it in his hands, he felt a surge of courage and determination.

With a weapon secured, Di Ping commenced his training regimen. Though he had previously enjoyed exercising, his focus had been more on aesthetics than strength. Now, however, he needed to train specifically for power and speed.

Still, he was cautious not to make excessive noise—he was uncertain about the situation outside, and loud sounds might attract mutant creatures. Thus, he started by practicing a few basic sword strikes. Fortunately, electricity and the internet were still available, allowing him to look up practical sword techniques online and follow along.

The sword was indeed heavy; after only twenty swings, he felt exhausted. He established a routine: twenty downward slashes, twenty diagonal cuts, twenty thrusts, and twenty upward strikes. By the time he completed a full set, he was utterly drained, collapsing onto the floor and gasping for breath. It was only now that he truly appreciated the skill and endurance of ancient swordsmen—wielding such a heavy weapon required immense strength.

After resting for half an hour, he resumed his practice, completing a total of ten sets that afternoon. The consequence, however, was complete physical exhaustion—by the end, he doubted he could even fend off a cockroach, let alone a rat. Suddenly, a crucial realization struck him: if he exhausted himself to this extent, he would be utterly defenseless in a real emergency.

He promptly revised his plan—limiting himself to five sets per day and gradually increasing the intensity as his strength improved. Following this adjustment, he took a long break, showered, and prepared a meal.

Speaking of food, Di Ping felt a surge of frustration with himself—he had focused so much on stockpiling rice and flour that he had neglected a critical detail: how could he risk cooking in this environment? The scent of food might attract mutant dogs. Fortunately, he had also grabbed some bread and sausages; otherwise, he would have been left with nothing to eat.

As night fell, Di Ping clutched his sword and lay in bed, locking his bedroom door and blocking it with a table for added security. He needed a full night's rest—without it, he would lack the energy to train the following day.

Outside, the nocturnal creatures began to stir. The sound of rats scurrying through the hallway, occasionally colliding with doors, filled the air. From time to time, the eerie echoes of rodents and mutant dogs engaged in violent clashes reached his ears. Amidst these unsettling noises, Di Ping gradually drifted into sleep.

Bang!

A sudden noise jolted him awake—it seemed to come from within the room. Sitting up abruptly, he strained his ears, listening intently.

"Could something have entered my room? Did a rat sneak in while I was asleep?"

Regret filled him—he had been too careless. He should have been more vigilant.

Carefully, he slipped out of bed, putting on his shoes. Fortunately, he had not removed his clothes. Drawing his Han sword soundlessly, he approached the bedroom door with utmost caution.

Clatter!

The sound of utensils crashing onto the floor echoed from the kitchen.

"The kitchen!" A shiver ran down his spine. Something had indeed entered his home—but how had it gotten in?

Squeak, squeak...

The sound grew closer, approaching his bedroom door.

Di Ping's heart pounded uncontrollably. He gripped the Han sword tightly, holding his breath.

Crunch, crunch...

A gnawing sound followed.

"Damn it, it's eating my food!"

Listening closely, Di Ping quickly realized what was happening. The rat had found his food supplies. Given the scarcity of resources, losing even a portion of his provisions could prove disastrous.

Crunch, crunch...

The gnawing continued unabated. Cold dread settled over him. Without food, he would have no choice but to venture outside, where he was no match for the mutant beasts.

"Screw it!" He could not afford to hesitate any longer. If he was too afraid to confront a single rat, how could he ever hope to rescue his parents?

He carefully moved the table aside, monitoring the noise outside, then slowly opened the door. Peering through the gap, he saw, under the faint glow of city lights, a rat roughly the size of a domestic cat. It was brazenly feasting on a box of instant noodles, having torn the packaging apart.

The rat's fur was dark gray, and its eyes glowed red. Clearly emboldened, it showed no fear as it devoured his food.

Steadying himself, Di Ping gripped his sword with both hands and took careful steps forward.

Squeak!

The rat's keen senses detected him instantly. It turned sharply, its blood-red eyes locking onto him.

Recognizing Di Ping as a human, the rat, having attacked many people in recent days, seemed unfazed. With a low screech, it lunged at him.

Startled but resolute, Di Ping swung his sword. The rat dodged swiftly, his blade striking the wooden floor with a jarring impact that sent tremors up his arms.

Squeak!

The mutant rat circled around and lunged at his feet. Instinctively, he kicked out—

Thud!

The rat was sent tumbling backward, slamming into the kitchen wall. But Di Ping's foot ached from the impact—its bones were unnaturally tough.

The creature, now wary, attempted to escape but miscalculated, wedging itself in a narrow gap between the fridge and the wall.

Seizing the opportunity, Di Ping stepped forward and drove his sword into the rat's torso.

Squish!

The blade pierced clean through. The rat thrashed violently, shrieking in agony.

Fearing it might attract others, Di Ping stomped on it and delivered several final thrusts until it fell silent.

Just as he was about to catch his breath, he saw a small green orb rise from the rat's body, hover for a moment, then shoot directly into his chest.

A mechanical voice echoed in his mind:

"Soul energy detected. System not yet activated. Energy will be consumed to enhance host's physique."

A wave of warmth surged through his body. As it spread, his fatigue faded, and strength flooded his limbs. His sword suddenly felt much lighter.

Di Ping clenched his fist—his power had undeniably increased.

A fierce determination ignited within him. If killing mutant creatures could strengthen him, then he no longer had anything to fear. He would fight his way back home.