North Nam An.
An old residential area, low-rise houses huddled together, narrow streets, and piles of accumulated waste. There were no skyscrapers, no commercial centers—only winding alleys.
Thuong Sinh went first.
Lam Thanh Moc followed.
Since leaving that house, he had not spoken a single word. His aura was so restrained that if one could not see his back, they would think she was alone.
But it was precisely this silence that made Lam Thanh Moc uneasy.
Not out of fear, but because she could no longer sense his emotions.
Snap!
A very small sound echoed from the mouth of an alley to the left.
Thuong Sinh stopped immediately, signaling with his hand.
The two pressed themselves against the wall.
It was not a low-tier zombie; the footsteps were too heavy, and then a pungent metallic stench surged forward.
It wasn't the usual smell of rot, but something else—a thick scent like fermented blood. A tall, dark shadow stumbled out.
Mutated zombie.
Nearly two meters tall.
One arm was grotesquely swollen, the skin cracked, revealing patches of deep crimson muscle that looked as if they had been soaked in acid. The left half of its face had collapsed, exposing the jawbone, and its only remaining eye was bloodshot.
It did not lunge at Thuong Sinh and Lam Thanh Moc immediately.
Instead, it sniffed.
Lam Thanh Moc clenched her hand slightly.
"This grade isn't like the ones from the other day."
"Yeah," Thuong Sinh replied calmly.
With just one word, he took a step forward.
"You stay back, I can—"
"No."
His voice was cold and decisive; ignoring Lam Thanh Moc, he stepped out.
The zombie saw him and roared.
The ground vibrated slightly as it charged, each footstep leaving small cracks on the cement floor.
Thuong Sinh did not dodge immediately; he drew his sword.
Zip—!
The blade left its scabbard, carrying no sound of wind, only a clean, straight line.
"Phantom Steps" activated, his figure splitting into three.
Three faint afterimages glided past the zombie's waist.
Thwack!
The sword struck, but not deeply; the mutated body's layer had hardened. The zombie roared, swinging its massive arm in a downward smash.
Boom—!
A section of the ground collapsed.
Thuong Sinh retreated—neither fast nor slow, exactly one beat.
He frowned.
"Body enhanced, but reactions are slower."
It wasn't enough; it wasn't enough to kill this one quickly. He changed his combat method.
"Sword Kinesis: Gale Transformation"
The sword left his hand. No flashy spinning, just a direct path forward, stabbing into the zombie's shoulder.
This time the blade pierced through, but before it could be withdrawn, the zombie grabbed the blade with its other hand and squeezed hard. The metal emitted a bone-chilling shriek.
Thuong Sinh did not pull back; he stepped forward, the distance closing at a dizzying speed.
This was when his state of mind hit rock bottom.
In that heartbeat, the image of the silent room flashed in his mind. He felt no pain, only a piercing coldness. The blood poison within him moved—not erupting, but rather like a lock opening.
His breathing changed, deep purple veins rose under his skin. No poisonous mist, only an invisible layer of corrosion spreading along the sword blade that was being held tight.
The zombie shrieked; its hand began to smoke. The flesh in contact with the sword began to corrode, as if being gnawed away from the inside.
Thuong Sinh looked straight into its single eye.
His voice was very low.
"You live for instinct."
"I do not."
He clenched his fist, and the blood poison invaded through the sword.
Hiss—
The zombie's shoulder caved in, the mutated muscle collapsing like wet mud.
It took a step back, just one step.
"Phantom Steps" launched once more; Thuong Sinh appeared behind it.
The sword reversed.
Stab!
He drove it straight into the back of its neck. There was no roar, only the massive body collapsing, slamming heavily onto the ground. Everything became quiet again.
Thuong Sinh stood still, blood dripping from his sword. He didn't tremble, but within his chest, something had locked shut.
He knew that from now on, every time he used this, he wasn't just trading blood for power. He was step by step severing himself from his old path.
In the distance, Lam Thanh Moc watched him turn his back, her eyes filled with sorrow, yet she said nothing.
Thuong Sinh wiped his sword—a movement born of habit. The black blood on the blade spread onto the cement, emitting a thin vapor before vanishing. He re-wrapped the sword in white bandages, standing still for a beat as if to ensure his body had stabilized.
Lam Thanh Moc approached, stopping two steps away. That distance was not due to fear, but because she didn't know whether to speak or remain silent.
She had seen everything—not just the techniques or the speed, but the moment his breathing rhythm shifted. The moment his bloodshot eyes darkened, as if he had been pulled into a place very deep and very dark, then pulled himself back out.
"Finished?" she asked gently.
"Yeah."
Just one word, no explanation. Thuong Sinh turned to keep moving.
Lam Thanh Moc followed. After a few steps, she suddenly said, "Just now... you weren't like you were before."
He didn't stop. "How was I different?"
She went silent for a moment, not because she didn't know the answer, but because she knew it too well.
"Before, you were like someone standing outside of everything."
"But just now... you looked like you were standing right in the middle of it."
Thuong Sinh's pace slowed slightly, but he didn't turn around.
"Nothing is different."
"There is, you just don't want to say it," she said, very softly.
Silence followed as the wind blew through the alley, carrying away the fading scent of blood.
A moment later, Thuong Sinh spoke: "Do you fear me?"
Lam Thanh Moc did not answer. She looked at his back, then back at her own hands.
"No."
"Then don't look at me like that."
"...I wasn't looking."
"You were."
Lam Thanh Moc hesitated, then she laughed softly. "Do you care about that?"
"No."
Thuong Sinh said no more, and the two continued on. After passing two more alleys, he stopped before a building with an intact fire escape.
"Let's rest here for a bit."
He sat down on the steps, leaning his back against the wall.
Lam Thanh Moc sat down as well, neither too close nor too far. After a while, she took a water bottle out of her backpack and set it down beside him.
"Drink."
"You aren't drinking?"
"I have more."
He took it and took a small sip. Lam Thanh Moc looked at his profile; the deep purple veins had receded, but she knew they were still there.
"Thuong Sinh."
"Yeah?"
"If one day, you feel like you can't stop yourself anymore."
He looked straight into her eyes, without avoiding them.
"Then tell me."
Not so I can stop you, and certainly not so I can save you. Just tell me. Thuong Sinh looked at her for a long time—so long that she thought she had said too much.
Then he nodded.
"Alright."
Lam Thanh Moc said nothing more. She stood up first, patting the dust off her trousers.
"Let's move. The north is still far."
Thuong Sinh stood up as well.
Before leaving, he spoke very softly, almost vanishing into the wind: "You don't need to stand by me."
Lam Thanh Moc slowed her pace and turned her head to look at him, her gaze calm. "I'm not standing by you."
"I'm walking with you."
Thuong Sinh looked straight into her eyes. A pang of pain shot through his heart—just a tiny bit, but he felt it very clearly.
The alley in north Nam An was narrow and long, flanked by rows of old houses whose upper floors were connected by rusted iron balconies. Light could not reach down; only fragments of debris lay on the cement floor.
Thuong Sinh suddenly raised his hand.
Lam Thanh Moc stopped immediately without asking. It wasn't the smell of the living dead, but the smell of gunpowder mixed with human sweat.
Thuong Sinh knelt down and picked up a distorted shell casing lying near the base of the wall. The bullet had been fired, and the metal edge was scorched.
"A gun."
Lam Thanh Moc narrowed her eyes slightly. "If so, it's not regular military."
"Yeah."
If it were the military, the casings would be collected. If it were a safe zone team, this area would have been cleared. Only one possibility remained: the living who belonged to no order at all.
Footsteps rang out—not hidden, but not hurried either. Three shadows appeared at the end of the alley. They wore thick coats and carried home-made blades welded from crude metal plates. In their hands were not ordinary items, but machetes.
The man in the middle held a handgun. They didn't look at faces; they only looked at the backpacks.
"Halt," the gunman said.
His voice was hoarse and not loud, but he seemed very accustomed to giving orders. For a man with a gun, that wasn't strange. Thuong Sinh did not stop; he took another step.
"Didn't you hear me?" the man frowned, his finger ready on the trigger.
Thuong Sinh did not answer him, only stopping once he was at a sufficient distance.
The man on the left saw this and laughed. "Two people, a man and a woman."
"Take everything they have."
Lam Thanh Moc had already retreated half a step, her hand touching her dagger.
Thuong Sinh placed his hand on his sword hilt—just placing it there, not yet drawing it.
The gunman looked at him as if he were a fool.
"What are you going to take it with—"
BANG!
The gunshot rang out piercingly in the narrow alley. The bullet grazed Thuong Sinh's shoulder—not by luck, but because he had tilted his body before the trigger was pulled.
The sword was drawn; there was no sound of wind, only a straight line. Before the man on the left could react, his throat had been pierced. Blood sprayed, and he collapsed without being able to make a sound.
"What—!"
The man on the right lunged, swinging his machete horizontally.
Thuong Sinh stepped into the attack's path, the sword tip thrusting straight into the chest. The force of the stab pierced through the home-made armor, pinning him to the wall.
Only the gunman remained. He retreated by instinct, raising the gun again. But Lam Thanh Moc acted; she threw the knife in her hand forcefully toward him. The dagger spun once, sticking straight into the wrist holding the gun.
The sound of breaking bone rang out, and the gun fell to the ground. The man shrieked like a slaughtered pig. Before he could finish his scream, Thuong Sinh was standing in front of him.
The sword was held across his neck.
"North Nam An. Who is in control?"
The man trembled.
"We... we're just on the fringe..."
"I asked who."
"...Hắc Tước (The Black Sparrow)."
As those two words were uttered, his pupils contracted.
Thuong Sinh asked no more. The sword turned, blood spilled onto the floor, and the alley became quiet once again.
Lam Thanh Moc stood watching, saying nothing, only looking at Thuong Sinh's back as he wiped his sword on the enemy's coat.
In the distance, other gunshots echoed—it wasn't just one group.
North Nam An had a master.