The afternoon passed slowly.
Thuong Sinh did not return to his room immediately. He walked with Lam Thanh Moc, intentionally choosing the roads they had avoided that morning.
The northern warehouse.
A row of low factory buildings with iron doors slightly ajar. Carts moved in and out steadily; people of the Ding Stone Society stood scattered about, arms crossed over their chests, their eyes scanning passersby very thoroughly.
As Thuong Sinh stepped forward, one person's gaze flickered down to his wrist.
It paused for a moment and then moved away. No questions were asked, and no one called out to them.
Lam Thanh Moc noticed. She said nothing, only slowing her pace by one beat out of reflex.
The two began walking back to the inn. When they entered, the middle-aged woman who was the proprietor looked at them, flicked a glance at their wrists, and smiled without saying a word.
Lam Thanh Moc also looked back and nodded without speaking; thus, the two returned to their room. Once the door was closed, she finally breathed a sigh of relief.
"It really is different."
"Yeah," Thuong Sinh replied.
"How long do you plan to stay here?"
"I don't know yet."
Thuong Sinh pulled out a chair and sat down, leaning back.
"Until this place no longer fits," he said concisely.
Lam Thanh Moc was silent for a moment, then sat on the edge of the bed, looking out the window as the afternoon light faded.
"At least..." she spoke slowly, "here, people don't look at us as targets."
"Yeah."
He unstrapped his sword and set it aside, his movements natural.
"Just people who don't belong anywhere yet."
Footsteps echoed in the hallway and then faded away. No one stopped at their door.
Lam Thanh Moc looked at the black thread on her wrist once more, her eyes less tense than they had been that morning.
"So, what are we doing tonight?"
Thuong Sinh closed his eyes, his voice calm: "Sleep."
He and Lam Thanh Moc had brought quite a few items, enough for the two of them to pay for the room for perhaps a week. He needed a plan if they were to continue staying here.
"Tomorrow morning we will go to that Black faction to see if there are any missions."
"Mhm," she replied.
Thus another day passed.
The morning sunlight shone through the glass window, clearly highlighting the cracks in the concrete walls. On the street, a few people were already passing by. At this time, Thuong Sinh was in the room; before him were several containers of blood he had collected earlier. He had not yet exited the circulation of the "Vile Blood Heart-Corroding Art".
Vivid black patterns rose across his body in a tangled web, and within him, it felt as though two currents were colliding.
One current was blood.
Hot, thick, carrying a familiar visceral sensation as if every drop had its own weight. The "Vile Blood Heart-Corroding Art" did not circulate fast, but it was continuous, like a wound that was never left alone. Blood essence was pulled along the meridians, through the heart, and then forced back; every cycle carried a heavy, uncomfortable sensation.
The other current was his consciousness.
Cold, clear, not at all swept away. He did not let his mind drift. He was used to standing detached from his own sensations, observing every minute change. When the blood essence rose excessively, he forced it to slow down; when it tended to spread too far, he narrowed its scope.
The black patterns rose and then subsided beneath the skin, like traces of something living but caged. Each time this happened, his heart beat heavier than usual—not painful, just distinct.
He knew this feeling well; it was not a breakthrough, nor was it evolution, but accumulation.
Outside, the sound of footsteps on the street rose and then faded. On the ground floor of the inn, the proprietor was cooking food for them and her children.
Thuong Sinh took a very deep breath; the blood essence was pressed down, contracted, and gathered at a familiar point. A moment later, everything settled, and he opened his eyes.
Sunlight slanted through the window frame, falling on the cracked concrete floor. Lam Thanh Moc was still asleep, her breathing steady, undisturbed by the aura from just now. This meant he had controlled it very well.
Thuong Sinh stood up and put on his coat, his gaze pausing briefly where she lay. Perhaps because of the arduous journey and not having laid on a mattress for so long, she was able to sleep so deeply now that they had this bed.
He quickly took out a note, wrote on it, and left it on the table before quietly heading out. He went down the stairs to the ground floor and saw the proprietor busy feeding her two small children and working. When she saw him, she also smiled at him.
He nodded and went outside, passing through the streets and following the same route as yesterday back to the old water filtration plant. There were scattered people there now; they said nothing upon seeing him.
He walked to a dark corner on the right and stood still, observing the surroundings. At that moment, a few people pushed out a large board displaying the organization's missions; people began to approach and look.
Thuong Sinh stepped forward and neared the board. Papers were pinned messily, the handwriting crude, some even stained with dried blood that hadn't been wiped clean.
Escort, water exchange, part retrieval, corpse collection.
His gaze stopped on a paper slightly off to the edge of the board.
[Clearance of zombies at the western fence, approximately ten kilometers from the old water station] [Requirement: Self-equipped] [Reward: Food + Batteries]
Thuong Sinh looked at it for a few more seconds and then reached out to snatch the paper down. There were small noises around as two or three people glanced over. Not out of surprise, but not out of indifference either. Someone looked at his wrist a bit longer, saw the black thread, and looked away.
Another young man also holding a mission paper went to the outer corner and handed it to a man sitting against the wall with a cigarette in his mouth. That man said nothing, only received it, made a mark with a pencil, and jerked his chin as a signal to go.
The person left immediately.
Thuong Sinh held the mission in his hand and followed that path. When he presented the paper, the man looked up. His first look was at his face, the second at the black thread on his hand, and the third at the white-wrapped sword at his hip.
The man faltered for a moment and then took the paper.
"Going alone?" his voice was raspy, showing little concern.
"Yeah," Thuong Sinh replied as concisely as usual.
The man marked it, tore a small piece from the corner of the paper, and pushed it back.
"Return before dark."
Thuong Sinh nodded, turned, and left.
Behind him, a few gazes still followed him—not because of the mission, but because a newcomer wearing the black mark had chosen a zombie clearance for his first task.
He stepped out of the factory area.
He continued on, leaving the water filtration plant and following the concrete road toward the west.
The further he moved from the center of Luc Thuy, the scarcer the traces of human activity became, especially after he passed the gated perimeter. The stalls for bartering disappeared, replaced by houses with collapsed roofs and windows boarded up with tin and wood. Tire tracks were imprinted on the road surface.
Thuong Sinh walked neither fast nor slow.
He did not need to hurry.
Every step landed exactly on rhythm; blood essence circulated slowly beneath the skin, not revealed outwardly. The "Vile Blood Heart-Corroding Art" was currently like a murky stream of water quietly flowing backward in his meridians—not violent, just heavy and persistent.
He felt it very clearly.
The wind carried a slight metallic stench—not exactly the smell of fresh blood, but that familiar scent of long-decayed flesh. In the distance, there was the sound of metal clashing, as if something were being pushed by the wind, striking an iron door frame.
He stopped.
Ahead was a small residential area of about a dozen houses built close together. The exterior walls were peeling, with many spots bearing black scorch marks. The main road was blocked by an overturned bus, its glass all shattered, the interior empty.
Thuong Sinh scanned the area; he saw no people. But that didn't mean there was nothing. He walked around the body of the bus, stepping on glass shards without making a sound. Blood essence was pressed into the soles of his feet, making his body feel slightly lighter than normal.
Then he heard it: the sound of dragging feet, very slow.
From a narrow alley on the left, a figure stumbled out. Its skin was pale gray, its neck tilted completely to one side, and half of its shoulder had been gnawed away, exposing white bone. Two clouded eyes locked onto him nonetheless.
Thuong Sinh did not draw his weapon; he stood still, observing. The zombie let out a low roar and lunged—its speed was not great, but it was direct. Only when the distance was down to three steps did Thuong Sinh move.
Taking a step forward, he grabbed the opponent's neck with one hand. True Essence carrying blood essence erupted in an instant—not spreading out, but concentrating at his palm. The blood poison corroded at a dizzying speed; in just two seconds, the neck he touched was rapidly eaten away.
The head separated from the body, and the frame collapsed into motionless heap. Thuong Sinh exhaled, released his hand, and didn't look at the corpse for long. His gaze shifted toward another part of the residential area.
There was a noise—this time not just one. From a first-floor window of the opposite house, a dark shadow climbed out; its body was thin but significantly faster than the previous one. Simultaneously, from behind the bus, another stumbled into view, its hand still wearing half a length of iron chain.
Three of them.
Thuong Sinh let out a breath.
That's enough.
He advanced, his steps faster. In his veins, True Essence carrying lethal toxin began to reverse, mixing into the boiling blood essence. It felt as though thousands of red-hot needles were running along his meridians; his heart tightened with a pang of pain from the back-corrosion of the cultivation method.
A trade-off. He exchanged pain for destructive power in the blink of an eye.
The first one to lunge had its knee shattered by him; its body collapsed, and before it could hit the ground, Thuong Sinh's hand pressed down onto the crown of its head.
He intentionally avoided using his sword from the start.
His fingers touched the ice-cold scalp, and blood essence immediately flooded in—not released outward but infiltrating. The "Vile Blood Heart-Corroding Art" circulated to its limit in that moment; the blood poison was like ink poured into water, spreading back into the zombie's brain.
There was no explosion.
Only a very faint sizzling sound, like water dripping onto red-hot iron.
The zombie's head visibly softened, the skull corroded from within; the entire body gave a single shudder and then went out completely. Thuong Sinh retracted his hand, and the blood essence was immediately pressed down, but the backlash pain in his heart remained—smoldering, reminding him that this power was not free.
The second one had already lunged.
Its body was thin and its speed much faster; its nails swept through the air with a sharp whistle. He did not retreat, taking a step forward and driving his elbow straight into the opponent's chest—not a hard strike, but a point of contact.
Blood poison was transmitted through his elbow, spreading along the zombie's chest, corroding internal organs so fast that its body froze in mid-air. Its clouded eyes bulged and its mouth opened, but before it could roar, the chest cavity collapsed, and the whole body fell to the ground like a torn bag.
The third one had reached him.
The iron chain on its hand lashed out, not at all clumsily this time. Thuong Sinh did not dodge.
He reached out and grabbed the chain.
The metal was ice-cold and vibrated violently. Blood essence flooded his arm; his flesh went numb from the counter-force, but he gripped tighter. Blood poison followed the chain straight up to the zombie's arm, corroding it bit by bit.
The zombie screamed.
Thuong Sinh pulled hard, closing the distance in one step until their foreheads almost touched.
"Too slow."
His voice was low and short.
A single punch straight to the throat.
Nothing more was needed.
The zombie's neck caved in; its trachea and spine were corroded simultaneously. The iron chain fell to the ground with a clang, and its body collapsed, convulsing a few times before going still.
The residential area sank back into silence.
Thuong Sinh stood still for a few seconds.
He closed his eyes, forcing the cultivation method to slow down; cycles of blood essence were retracted, extinguishing the boiling in his meridians. The pain in his heart gradually receded, leaving behind that familiar heavy sensation.
He opened his eyes and glanced at the three corpses at his feet; his gaze held no ripples.
The test was over—no sword used, no full eruption of power. Relying entirely on the "Vile Blood Heart-Corroding Art", the conclusion was very clear.
If it were just low-tier zombies…
They were not qualified to force him to be serious.
Thuong Sinh turned and continued deeper toward the west, where the metallic stench had not yet dissipated.