As the last traces of light faded from the sky, Ronan returned to his residence.

It was an unremarkable little building, easily overlooked. Apart from its sturdy iron door, it offered an escape route—one could leap from the rooftop to the adjacent building if necessary. There was also open space both in front and behind, providing some maneuverability. Situated in the suburbs, the area had far fewer survivors and zombies compared to the city, making it relatively safer.

Most importantly, the building had once been a warehouse for a small furniture factory. The lingering scent of cheap paint and wood was strong enough to completely mask Ronan’s presence.

The virus hadn’t dulled the monsters’ senses—it had sharpened them. Even in the dead of night, their vision remained keen, and their hearing and sense of smell had become far superior to those of ordinary humans.

Before settling in for the night, Ronan tossed a piece of rotten frozen meat to the corpse, leaving it outside the iron gate. He locked the gate securely before finally allowing himself to rest.

Even in sleep, he never severed his mental link with the zombie. Maintaining the connection was exhausting, but it served as both training and an added layer of security—like keeping watch over himself.

Balancing rest while staying attuned to the zombie had not been easy. Ronan had failed countless times before finally finding the right equilibrium. Now, he always remained in a light sleep, able to pick up even the faintest noises around him.

But tonight, sleep refused to come. A figure lingered in his mind…

After losing his parents, there was only one person left in the world he truly cared about—Eva. His childhood friend, his secret love, the girl next door.

When the outbreak began, the last call he received was from her.

"Ronan, run....!"

Just a few short words, followed by a dead line.

Deep down, he knew Eva had probably dead When the world fell apart, she had been on her way to his place, planning to cook him a proper meal—trying, as always, to make his life a little better.

That thought had never stopped haunting him. Whether she was alive or dead, he knew he had to find her.

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’ll go find her."

After all his preparation, Ronan finally felt ready. With his ability to control corpse puppets, he was confident he could make it through the city.

He had already mapped out in his mind where she might be. It wasn’t too far from here, but between them lay two residential complexes—one of the most dangerous areas.

To make it through safely, Ronan had prepared meticulously. Everything would have to wait until tomorrow...

At the break of dawn, Ronan opened his eyes and got up from his makeshift bed. Stretching briefly, he checked his backpack one last time, took a deep breath, and headed downstairs.

Outside, his corpse puppet stood guarding the door, its clothes damp with the night’s cold. Despite standing there for hours, it showed no signs of exhaustion.

For reasons still unclear, the sudden outbreak hadn’t just turned people into monsters—it had also made them stronger. Ronan had noticed, however, that their relentless hunger stemmed from an instinctive need to sustain their hyperactive bodies. And their primary source of sustenance? The uninfected.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Gripping his boning knife tightly, Ronan unlatched the iron door and sent the corpse puppet ahead, following the route he had carefully planned.

The moment they entered the residential district, the number of wandering zombies increased. In such a dense area, using noise to distract them was too risky—one wrong move could easily trap him.

The only option was to find a path with fewer zombies and slip through as quietly as possible.

For most people, navigating this environment would be nearly impossible. But Ronan had his corpse puppet.

With its help, he silently dispatched more than a dozen zombies before finally emerging from the residential area onto a once-busy street.

This was the transition point between the suburbs and the city. Based on his calculations, Eva should have been somewhere along this street when she made that call.

The road was cluttered with abandoned cars, and the storefronts lining the street stood eerily open, their dark interiors swallowing any light.

Aside from the bloodstains smeared everywhere, the only things left here were the undead.

Ronan had killed plenty of zombies before, but this was the first time he had seen so many gathered in one place. He counted at least dozens within his immediate view—who knew how many more lurked in the shadows?

He needed a vantage point. His plan was to find a high place to observe from. But just as he stepped toward a nearby apartment building, a scream cut through the silence.

"Help!"

Ronan hadn’t expected to find survivors here.

Without hesitation, he directed his corpse puppet forward, moving cautiously toward the source of the desperate cry.

Outside a residential building, more than a dozen zombies had gathered, hammering furiously at the security door of the apartment entrance.

Behind the door, two young men clung to the handle, their faces pale with terror as they screamed for help.

"Idiots..." Ronan muttered, his brows furrowing as he scanned the area.

Shouting like that would only draw more of the undead. He had initially considered helping them if possible, but now it was clear that intervening recklessly would put himself at risk.

Sure enough, more zombies were already closing in, drawn by the commotion. The pounding against the security door grew more violent, each impact sending loud bangs echoing through the air. The metal frame wobbled, its connection to the wall weakening.

The young men’s terror spiraled into full-blown hysteria. Their screams became shrill, desperate...

Then—

Bang!

With a thunderous crash, the security door finally gave way. The screams of the two young men were swiftly drowned out beneath the chaos.

But Ronan saw an opportunity.

With the horde now fixated on its new prey, he could slip past unnoticed.

Navigating carefully, he moved through the zombie-infested zone. But just as relief began to settle in, he reached an intersection—and his heart sank.

A bus and several crashed cars blocked the road ahead.

When the outbreak began, panic had caused countless traffic accidents. This bus, packed with passengers, had likely crashed in the chaos. Whether the people inside had mutated or died in terror, the result was the same—tragedy.

The vehicle’s entire frame was mangled from multiple collisions with desperate, fleeing cars.

What had happened to the passengers? Were they crushed inside, or had they turned into the undead?

Ronan had been about to find another route when something about the bus made his mind go blank.

A deep, buzzing shock pulsed through his skull.

Eva.

She always took the bus when she came to visit him.

The realization struck like a hammer, and his gaze locked onto the wreckage, his breath suddenly uneven.

His heartbeat pounded wildly, caught between anticipation and dread.

If she had been on that bus when the outbreak hit... if she hadn’t made it out in time...

She might still be there.

Despite all his mental preparation, standing before the truth filled Ronan with unease.

Would he find a lifeless corpse? Nothing at all? Or…

Taking a steadying breath, he directed his corpse puppet to climb onto the twisted remains of the bus’s front end.

Controlling the puppet always felt strange—like having an extra body. Through their mental link, he could not only command its movements but also perceive the world through its senses.

And yet, there remained a barrier. A subtle disconnect that kept him from achieving true, seamless control.

To Ronan, true mastery meant complete synchronization—becoming one with the puppet.

It was an unsettling thought.

But deep down, he looked forward to the day he could reach that level.