I Acted in Self-Defense, It's Got Nothing to Do With Me

Inside the vehicle.

The driver glanced over—he looked a bit dull, slow-witted even, dressed in a security guard uniform. Lam Pham looked downright ridiculous. Carrying a Frostmourne on his back, did he really think he was some kind of dark sorcerer king?

What the hell was he thinking?

If he wanted to survive, now was the best time to run. Once they found what they were looking for and saw him here, he'd be as good as dead.

Of course…

He didn't warn the guy.

What did it have to do with him anyway? Besides, he was curious to see the guy's face when he realized he was in danger—the look of despair was always entertaining.

For normal people, the apocalypse was literal hell.

But for people like them—the wicked ones—so long as they could find their footing and secure a base, the apocalypse was a real paradise.

They were holed up in a luxurious villa in the middle of a scenic estate. It belonged to their big boss, a well-known figure in Hoang City. All of them were his loyal underlings, living inside the villa from the start.

When the apocalypse first hit, even the toughest people were briefly overwhelmed by the chaos. But their boss reacted fast and immediately rallied the crew.

Some of the men had started turning into zombies, convulsing like something straight out of a horror film—green veins bulging, mouths dripping with slime. It was terrifying to witness.

But their boss? That guy was a real beast. He'd trained in martial arts for ten years at a dojo, and after injuring several students in a violent brawl with a mountain-splitting blade, he got locked up. After getting out, he started building his own gang in Hoang City, rising fast, gaining power, and finally establishing a firm grip over the city's underground.

So when things went to hell, he didn't hesitate. He took out the underlings who had begun turning, even if they hadn't fully transformed into zombies yet.

In hindsight, he was prepared.

Outside, the world burned.

Even inside the villa, they could hear the screams of the dying.

They turned on the TV and saw live broadcasts of the chaos—one handsome host even got tackled on air and torn apart by zombies. His screams still echoed in the driver's mind.

At that moment, he'd looked at the boss, wondering what the next move was.

And he still remembered what the boss had said, his eyes shifting from stunned to wild:

"The apocalypse has come—this is our time to rise and go wild."

He'd looked truly mad—repressed urges finally breaking free. No more police. No more laws.

Their villa was surrounded by high walls, with only one iron gate. Zombies couldn't get in.

The first person the boss killed wasn't some corrupt official. It was the washed-up B-list actress who lived next door. The boss had once tried to get her number, but she was too stuck up to even acknowledge him.

She'd been sleeping with some old sugar daddy.

Somehow, she'd survived the outbreak.

The boss had her dragged in, humiliated her in front of everyone, and passed her around. It was a messy scene.

She was definitely beautiful—but also a bit used up. By the time it was the driver's turn, ten guys had gone before him. It wasn't even worth it.

They threw her outside.

He watched as the zombies tore her to pieces.

Right now.

Footsteps echoed.

Lam Pham looked at the four men walking toward him. These guys were clearly up to something, but without hard proof, all he could do was observe.

The guy leading them glanced around. No zombies in sight, probably because their noise level was low.

They had a good haul—found two NP-22 pistols and over thirty bullets at the police station.

If they'd had more time and wanted to take more risks, they might've gotten even better gear.

"Found anything?" the driver asked, lowering the window.

"Yeah, we got it."

"That's good. With those toys, we can finally relax a bit."

The driver smiled, giving the others a knowing look—this guy here was clearly an idiot, still waiting around for them like a fool.

The four new arrivals were surprised to see that the weird guy was still here.

Naturally, they didn't take Lam Pham seriously.

Young, skinny, and with a realistic cosplay sword on his back—he looked like a lunatic frightened out of his mind by the apocalypse.

"Kid, you've got guts," the buzz-cut man in the lead sneered. "Running around alone in the streets like that. You do know what happens if zombies find you, right?"

"I know. I usually talk things out with them first. If they don't listen, I defend myself. I kill them with one swing," Lam Pham replied calmly.

He was just trying to figure out what they were doing here. This was a police facility—no one should just waltz in. When he found the money here earlier, not a single cop was around.

So if someone tried to steal something now, it would be a big deal.

Everyone stared at him, dumbfounded.

What the hell was he saying?

Suddenly.

The buzz-cut man pointed his gun at Lam Pham's head. "You know what this is?"

"A gun," Lam Pham frowned. He seemed to be realizing something. "You guys… broke in here to steal guns?"

He'd thought of many possibilities.

Maybe they were stealing money.

Maybe they were reporting something.

But stealing guns? That hadn't crossed his mind.

"Are you brain-dead? Steal? In times like this, who needs to steal?" the buzz-cut guy snapped. "Dammit, why do I keep running into people like you? The world's already gone to hell and you're still stuck on old values!"

Every person they'd killed had begged before dying, ranting about laws and justice.

He was sick of hearing it.

Law? That's gone. Who cares?

Of course, shooting the guy now wasn't ideal—it would draw too many zombies. Not worth the hassle.

"You guys should really reconsider," Lam Pham advised sincerely. "According to Criminal Law Article 127, stealing or robbing military or police firearms endangers public safety and carries a sentence of ten years to life—or even the death penalty."

He hoped they'd turn back.

He really did.

He felt these guys were bad news. If they got their hands on real firepower, a lot of innocent people would die. He had to stop them.

"Shut up already. Kill him," the buzz-cut guy ordered coldly.

The man behind him raised a cleaver and swung it straight for Lam Pham's head.

No hesitation.

"He's trying to kill me…"

That was the thought that flashed through Lam Pham's mind. And with it came a single instinct: self-defense.

In a flash.

A gleam of steel.

The buzz-cut guy stood frozen, reaching for his face. It was wet. Sticky. Blood?

He looked down—his eyes widened.

The man who had swung the blade…

Was now sliced clean in two.

"Ah, sorry, I've gotten used to chopping zombies in self-defense. It's muscle memory now…" Lam Pham said, sucking in a cold breath. He really didn't mean to kill a human—it just happened.

"Fuu—"

The buzz-cut guy screamed in rage and pulled the trigger—nothing. Silence.

He tried again—still nothing.

Then he noticed…

His gun-hand was gone. Fallen on the ground.

"Aaaargh—!"

His scream echoed loudly.

And from all directions, faint groans of zombies answered back.

"It's got nothing to do with me, I acted in self-defense…" Lam Pham muttered, frowning. Why were people so quick to kill each other in the apocalypse? This wasn't what he expected at all...