Chapter 37: The Toll of the 1 AM Bell
Derek's "brilliant idea" instantly set the living room abuzz."See? Young Master Derek really knows how to have fun—way more than we crude brutes! Who would've thought of such a genius plan?" Skinny Monkey remarked, his voice a mix of admiration and flattery.Mercenaries in the Hunter Mercenary Team chimed in, and even Ron, seated by the sofa, gave Derek a big thumbs-up.
Emboldened by the unanimous praise, Derek's face flushed with excitement—he'd never been complimented like this before. Meanwhile, Wang Dahou remained pinned by three mercenaries. The kind-hearted fellow had just witnessed a dozen women meet their grisly fate before his eyes—so much so that he was rendered speechless and utterly powerless. Tears of despair, streaked with blood, flowed from Wang Dahou's eyes as he struggled to hold on.
Black Ape and Crocodile then hoisted Wang Dahou up. Skinny Monkey cautiously approached the iron cage, where zombies continued to batter it without noticing him as he prepared to open the door. Ron stood guard to ensure no zombie escaped. With the iron door unlocked, Wang Dahou was ruthlessly thrown into the cage, and moments later, Skinny Monkey dashed to lock it again.
"Whew, that was intense," Skinny Monkey sighed in relief. The zombie inside, having feasted on over a dozen women, now radiated significantly increased power. Even standing behind Skinny Monkey, the zombie's oppressive presence was palpable. For Wang Dahou—now trapped inside—the fear was unimaginable.
The zombie sensed movement behind it. Turning, it saw a blood‑stained man (Wang Dahou) struggling to rise. "Is that more food?" it seemed to think. Wang Dahou scrambled desperately, his eyes widening as he beheld a zombie's gaping maw smeared with fresh blood and bits of flesh, along with the fragmented remains of the women inside the cage. Overwhelmed by terror—not at the hellish scene before him but at the prospect of not surviving—Wang Dahou's eyes filled with tears. "Mother… I can't come home alive to take care of you," he murmured.
Yet, spurred by the thought of his waiting mother, his gaze hardened with resolve. He had to live—he must live! With that, he charged forward, his courage shining in spite of the absurdity of the scene, which to onlookers outside the cage was utterly laughable.
But then the zombies lunged at him. In the ensuing brutal melee inside the cage, Wang Dahou, a newly recruited bodyguard with little training and relying solely on brute strength, chose to trade blows with the undead. He pummeled a zombie's head with his fist, deforming its face, only to have it claw deep into his abdomen. Blood poured onto the floor, intensifying the carnage's stench. One punch, two punches, three punches—Wang Dahou continued relentlessly, while the zombie retaliated with its razor-sharp claws, raking his body. His abdomen soon became a bloody, torn mess, with intestines and other organs protruding. He staggered, covered in blood, as if emerging from a pool of gore, clinging desperately to life.
In that savage brawl, even though Wang Dahou was once touted by Derek as having potential, his physical prowess was no match for a zombie—a creature that only knew killing. The vicious combat ended with the zombie's body collapsing among the remains of the dead women, while Wang Dahou, battered and bleeding, stood alone. Outside the cage, the onlookers cheered raucously. Did Wang Dahou win? No—his injuries were so severe that even a celestial being would sigh. In the end, he lost consciousness, mechanically murmuring, "I was wrong, I was wrong…"His kindness had become his undoing in this grim, dark apocalypse.
"Boom!"Wang Dahou finally collapsed, his eyes glazing over as he fell into the cage. The 1 AM bell rang out—almost as if bidding him farewell, or perhaps signaling the final countdown of death for Derek and his cohorts. No one noticed that Wang Dahou's skin was gradually turning ashen. He wasn't dead yet—he was about to become a zombie.
At 1 AM, the bell's toll echoed into the forest beyond the estate.After seven long hours of lying in wait, Alexander moved. Between 1 and 2 AM—the time when those who stayed up late felt the deepest drowsiness, as the pineal gland secreted melatonin in the near-total darkness—Alexander rose. Unlike ordinary mortals whose minds faltered at that hour, a competent assassin always remained alert.Alexander stood up, ensuring that the lights on his equipment were switched off and that all his gear had been dyed black to blend perfectly with the night. Thanks to the Apocalypse Game's auto-cleaning feature, his equipment was immaculate.
In the dark forest, Alexander was nothing more than a shadow.He rechecked the Li Estate's defensive layout—around the estate wall, every few meters a mercenary stood atop, scanning the surroundings with tactical flashlights. The beams of light swung methodically, ensuring that every nook outside the estate was watched.Yet Alexander advanced silently along the wall, his steps light and graceful as if strolling in his own backyard. Not a single beam of flashlight seemed to catch him—almost as if they were actively avoiding him.