My Job? Weaving Armour For Undead In Apocalypse
Chapter 39: Ten Miles East

Chapter 39: Ten Miles East

Step. Step.

With slow, measured strides, Merek walked along the cracked pavement, the cold night air brushing against his face. His hands rested in the pockets of his long, dark coat, the fabric swaying lightly with his movement.

Above him, the sky stretched wide, an endless canvas of black ink, unbroken save for the faint shimmer of distant stars. The oppressive darkness cloaked everything, as if the world itself held its breath.

Ahead, the wet, sickening sound of steel cleaving through rotting flesh echoed in the gloom. His wraiths were at work silent, relentless, methodical in their slaughter. The night belonged to them.

At the forefront, Yuki moved like a phantom. The blade in her hand rose and fell with graceful precision, each swing cutting down a zombie in a single stroke.

Beside her, flanking wide, the Vulture undead moved in eerie unison, their rusted chains clinking softly as they dispatched any stragglers that came too close.

Merek’s eyes lingered on Yuki, watching as her blade glinted in the moon’s faint light. His thoughts churned. ’Her limits... at level 20, they remained untested. I’ve seen what I need to." He recalled the experiment vividly, a full blow from a man ten times stronger than average could damage her shell.

But Yuki wasn’t designed to withstand brute strength. She was a swordmaster, crafted for speed, precision, and deadly finesse.

He considered her form, the intricate work that had gone into every joint, every plate. The effort poured into her steel shell far surpassed that of the Vultures.

And yet, something gnawed at him. It wasn’t enough. This body, this vessel she wore—it bound her. Like an adult forced into a child’s frame, it shackled the true extent of her might.

’Veyra called her a General Grade Soul.’ The title echoed in his mind. That meant more than raw power. She carried memories, experience, the potential to birth an elite force under her command, a cadre of swordmasters who could reshape the battlefield.

Beyond that... she possessed skills and wisdom that would have placed her among the high ranks of the undead world.

Among the countless races of other worlds, the undead were dominant. But they were fractured, splintered. There was no king to unite them, not since the fall of the last sovereign. And so they remained, a scattered, sleeping force without purpose.

His mind raced, sketching designs for a new shell, one worthy of Yuki’s soul, one that would free her from this constraint and let her true strength shine.

Lost in thought, Merek’s steps finally brought him before the generator house. The deep, rumbling hum of the machine inside reverberated through the ground, a steady pulse that had drawn the dead like moths to flame. All around, the moans of the gathered zombies filled the air. Dozens of them, drawn by the sound but none was a mutant.

’Good,’ Merek thought, his eyes narrowing. ’This, I can handle. I’ll use them to repay my debt.’

After switching off the generator, the low hum that had filled the night faded into silence, leaving only the distant moans of wandering zombies and the occasional clink of chains from his wraiths hunting them down.

Merek cast one last look at the darkened surroundings, ensuring no threat lingered nearby, before turning back toward the gym.

His steps were steady but heavy, fatigue creeping into his limbs after the endless tension of the night. When he finally rejoined the group, the air inside the gym felt thick with unspoken thoughts—whispers, stolen glances, the weight of the situation of their families weighing on the hearts of those awake.

Without a word, Merek made his way to the storage room, a space that offered a semblance of solitude amidst the crowded shelter.

There, he lay down. His eyes closed, the exhaustion washing over him like a tide, dragging him into a deep, dreamless sleep. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the ever-present weight of responsibility eased, if only for a few hours.

Outside, the world remained still, the night slowly giving way to dawn. And when the first pale rays of morning pierced through the grime-streaked window of the storage room, they fell upon Merek’s face, casting a soft glow over his closed eyes. The light marked the beginning of another day in this apocalyptic world, the twelfth day!

If what Veyra said was true and Merek had no reason to doubt it then the world had but a single year left before it would be swallowed by ice, frozen in a relentless winter.

A whole year... yet twelve precious days had already slipped away, lost to chaos, fear, and survival.

After Carla and the volunteers under her charge hastily prepared what could only be called a meal, simple snacks and dry rations, for there was no place to cook a proper dish, Lucinda took over the distribution.

Her once-glamorous poise was replaced by stern practicality as she kept sharp eyes on the students, ensuring no one sneaked an extra portion. Professor David stood nearby, watching over the process, lending both his presence and authority to deter any trouble.

When at last they were ready, everyone climbed aboard the three modified buses, clutching their meager food supplies as if they were gold. The buses themselves were monstrous things, patched together with steel plates, and iron bars, crude but effective fortresses on wheels.

With a dull metallic groan, the front door of the lead bus swung open, and Merek climbed in, settling into a seat with the ease of a man ready for what lay ahead.

Above him, Yuki leaped gracefully onto the roof, followed by the level-15 armored wraiths. They crouched low atop the bus, as the engine roared to life and the convoy rumbled forward.

The driver of the first bus cast a glance at Merek seated beside him. Seeing the young man there, calm, composed, radiating a quiet, lethal resolve, filled him with unexpected relief. Somehow, with Merek near, the terror that gripped his heart loosened its hold.

The convoy surged out of Emerald High School, engines growling as they hit the open highway. The buses picked up speed, tires grinding against the littered asphalt, their destination clear: eastward, toward the hospital ten miles away.

In an ideal world, it would have been a simple twelve-minute drive, but that was wishful thinking.

Barely minutes into the journey, the front bus met its first obstacles—abandoned cars, smashed and left in chaos, littering the road. The battering ram welded to the front crashed into them with brutal efficiency, shoving smaller vehicles aside with jarring bangs and scrapes, but slowing their advance. Each impact sent tremors through the bus, but the machine pressed on, relentless.

Here and there, the dead stirred. A lone zombie would stagger from the roadside, arms raised, drawn by the noise.

But before it could get close, it was crushed under the weight of the bus or slammed away by Merek’s telekinesis. Others were flattened, bodies crumpling against the asphalt like broken dolls.

And in the driver’s seat of the lead bus, the man grinned for the first time since the world had fallen apart. With each wrecked car sent screeching away, with every undead body reduced to ruin, he felt it—the rush, the power. For a brief moment, in the shadow of doom, he felt alive. Invincible.

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