I am the Zombie King of the Apocalyptic World
Chapter 1611 - 1605: Surviving is More Important Than Everything Else

Chapter 1611: Chapter 1605: Surviving is More Important Than Everything Else

He had a dream, a dream where he was running through the fields of his hometown, the voices of his childhood companions echoing around him. He saw his own clothes, dirty and ragged, holding tight to a frog he had just caught, its mouth wide open, croaking "ribbit ribbit ribbit."

Looking up, he saw several friends not far away, digging through the muddy soil of the fields in search of eel. In the dream, he forgot where he had been before, nor did he realize he was dreaming. Even if he had known, he would have wanted nothing more than to immerse himself entirely in that false world, willing never to wake again.

But the dream did not last long. Soon, a wind blew in, carrying the scent of summer within the illusion yet brushing against his soul with an icy chill, stealing all warmth away.

Turned out, the breeze was coming from the north—a familiarity Ghost Head couldn’t ignore. The idyllic scene of his dream dissolved, carried away by the wind. He shuddered violently before his eyes drifted open in confusion, his vision blurry at first but gradually sharpening with every passing second, revealing the world he had known for far too long: the post-apocalyptic wasteland that had claimed his life for half his existence.

The fleeting joy of being back in his hometown vanished instantly upon waking, replaced by an unfathomable emptiness steeped in melancholy and regret. Could the memories from years gone by still ever come alive before his eyes again?

Staring at the desolate vista far, far away—the stark contrast to the images etched in his mind—his sense of sorrow swelled unbearably. Perhaps, there would never again be a chance to see those beautiful moments of the past resurfacing, not in this lifetime. And not just for him, but for everyone.

He recalled a flower that had valiantly grown in a crevice, a testament to life’s resilience. He had once thought that, if he managed to survive what lay ahead, he’d return to marvel at the little thing’s progress, to whisper reverence for its strength. But now... that hope felt unreachable.

Ghost Head gazed at the distant scene for a moment, lost in thought, before finally remembering he needed to rise. Looking down, he noticed half his body was buried in the dirt; twilight had already crept into the sky. He must not have been unconscious for too long. Using both hands, he pressed against the muddy ground and tried to stand, but the pain—bursting in where he’d felt none before—slammed him in his core, his face contorting sharply. Still, the pain was bearable. With another guttural roar for force, he succeeded in getting to his feet.

"This..."

Looking at the state he was in, Ghost Head couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. His clothing was reduced to tatters, mere strips of fabric clinging to his frame. Most of his external exoskeleton suit’s modules had been obliterated, leaving shards here and there, exposing the wreckage underneath—his skin was laid bare, hardened patches of dried blood crusting the visible wounds.

The exoskeleton suit was barely functional now, offering no real protection anymore. Sharp fragments from its damaged plates jabbed his flesh every time he moved, an annoyance that made him consider shedding it completely. However, its compression pack had taken far too much damage to function properly, no matter how much he tinkered with it. Frustrated, he began tearing away loose pieces of the suit manually, but a Level 2 New Human like him didn’t possess the strength to tamper with its high-grade materials.

After exhausting himself to no avail, Ghost Head begrudgingly removed his helmet instead. As for the nearly useless exoskeleton suit, it seemed he had no choice but to keep wearing it.

Ripping off the coagulated blood clinging to his face, he staggered—half-crawling, half-walking—towards Brother Shi. The guy’s exoskeleton suit also showed visible damage, but compared to Ghost Head’s, it was lucky to still be relatively intact save for the heavily worn-out knee section. Most other parts hadn’t yet exposed any flesh.

"Hey, Brother Shi... still alive over there?"

He reached out and patted Brother Shi, who showed no immediate response. Ghost Head frowned deeply, pulled off Brother Shi’s helmet, and found his face similarly encrusted in hardened blood.

Touching his nostrils, Ghost Head exhaled with relief—a stroke of fortune had spared not only himself but Brother Shi as well. The man was breathing. Alive.

"Brother Shi, wake up."

He slapped Brother Shi’s face lightly, but there was still no reaction. Grinding his teeth, Ghost Head suddenly squeezed one of the burns on Brother Shi’s face that had formed into an ugly blister, pressing it until it burst open. The next moment, Brother Shi’s anguished scream pierced the silence!

"AAAAHHH!"

His eyes shot wide open, instinctively clutching the spot where the blister had been popped.

"What the hell are you doing?! That hurt like hell!"

Brother Shi hadn’t yet fully regained his senses, but even so, he roared at Ghost Head, unleashing his fury the moment consciousness returned to him.

"Good. You’re not dead."

Brother Shi ran a rough hand over his face, feeling the uneven texture of his skin. Without thinking, he peeled off a piece of dried blood, only for the motion to tear away underlying flesh as well. The stinging pain made his face contort violently; he instantly withdrew his hand, not daring to touch his badly injured face again.

Briefly scanning his surroundings, he asked Ghost Head with evident confusion, "Where the hell are we?"

"Where else would we be?"

Ghost Head rolled his eyes at him. Brother Shi examined the terrain carefully as fragments of memory began flooding back—a rapid replay of events before he had lost consciousness. He suddenly tried to get up, but his movement barely lasted a moment before his face spasmed again.

"Goddammit. We’re screwed now." Brother Shi spat the words out, though even in his frustration, a flicker of gratitude showed on his face. All things considered, survival outweighed everything else. Despite the severity of his injuries, he felt fortunate his arms and legs were all intact. As a Level 2 New Human, it was only a matter of time before his regenerative ability restored him fully. At least he wouldn’t be left crippled.

The two now found themselves perched atop a dirt mound. Not far below lay the twisting lines of a deserted highway; it had likely been the path they traveled earlier. Above Brother Shi, close to their position, sat a vehicle—a car smashed beyond recognition. Its pristine form was long gone, but traces of red paint still clinging to its battered frame revealed it as their once-trusty monster truck.

Brother Shi tried standing but failed after several attempts. Turning to Ghost Head, he barked, "Are you just going to stand there? Help me up!"

With Ghost Head’s assistance, Brother Shi managed to stand with great effort. Testing his legs, he found walking achievable yet sluggish. Running, however, would take days—perhaps weeks—of healing first. He silently thanked the exoskeleton suit’s protection though by now, the suit itself was nearing its final stretch.

"Where’s that zombie?"

His gaze swept across the road, scanning for any trace of the Level 7 zombie earlier. All he spotted were fragments of scorched flesh, burned beyond recognition. Judging by the time—a minimum of four hours must have passed since the pair lost consciousness—the zombie was nowhere to be seen. Had its absence meant they were safe now?

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