With the white lieutenant—their commander—dead, the situation of this small squad visibly descended into chaos.
At the same time, the loss of four more soldiers meant their firepower was no longer sufficient to cover all the zombies. Blind spots appeared in the firing net, allowing zombies to slip through and sneak inside.
Seeing the zombies about to break through the defensive line, the remaining American soldiers' will to fight instantly collapsed. Although the base was surrounded by zombies, they still had helicopters—escaping now meant there was still a slim chance of survival. No one wanted to be buried along with the base.
A rout was like falling dominoes. Once the first person ran, there would be a second. Afraid of being left behind, the others followed suit. They simply didn't have that strong a sense of responsibility.
The roar of gunfire gradually subsided as everyone focused solely on fleeing for their lives, unaware that scattering like this was precisely what sealed their fate.
Roy's revenge was not directed only at that blond, blue-eyed youth—it was aimed at everyone in this base!
When the footsteps of two soldiers approached, Roy burst out from the corner where he had been hiding. He thrust the Muramasa sword forward, piercing straight through one soldier's neck.
The other soldier's face went pale with shock. He hurriedly retreated, raising the fully automatic rifle in his hands, about to spray bullets.
"Too slow!"
Roy pulled out the Muramasa sword and spun. The blade flashed viciously, slicing clean through and severing the soldier's head. Head and body separated as blood gushed like a fountain.
Beyond seven steps, the gun is fast. Within seven steps, the gun is fast and accurate—but that assumes the enemy is human.
Even a mere Level 1 adventurer far surpassed ordinary people in physical ability. And Roy, whose attributes had broken through their limits, could practically be considered half a Level 2.
Roy didn't pause. He maneuvered rapidly, unleashing a bloody massacre throughout the base.
In less than ten minutes, the seven or eight soldiers who had lost their will to fight and fled in defeat were all slaughtered by Roy. Only Waylin in the tower and his assistant remained.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
From atop the tower, Waylin watched Roy slaughtering everyone in the base like a demon. On the verge of a mental breakdown, he roared curses nonstop.
Waylin stopped shooting the zombies and instead trained the heavy machine gun on Roy, pulling the trigger. Bullets burst from the barrel.
A storm of bullets poured down. Roy moved swiftly, using walls as cover. The man above couldn't come down, while Roy—far more mobile—held the advantage.
The tower was easy to defend and hard to attack. Roy had no need to force it. From the corpses of the American soldiers, he picked up several MK3A2 offensive grenades.
Roy kicked a corpse outward. As expected, bullets rained down immediately, riddling it full of holes.
In that very instant, Roy dashed out in the opposite direction. He pulled the pin from a grenade and, from two hundred meters away, made a precise throw onto the tower.
Boom!
The grenade exploded atop the tower.
Fearing it wasn't enough, Roy hurled two more grenades up there. After two consecutive explosions, everything went completely quiet—aside from the roars of the zombies.
Using the remaining grenades to blast open a path, Roy rushed through and climbed the tower.
Waylin's assistant was killed on the spot. Waylin himself still had one last breath. Having tanked three grenades, he could truly be called a legendary blast-resistance king—but Roy would soon make him understand just how unfortunate it was that he hadn't died earlier.
Roy took out a bottle of low-grade life potion and stuffed it—glass bottle and all—into the youth's mouth, pressing one hand on his crown and the other on his jaw, forcing it shut.
Crack!
The glass bottle shattered between his teeth. The garnet-red potion, mixed with shards of glass, slid down his throat. A few seconds later, the blond youth's condition improved slightly, but his mouth was torn to shreds by the glass, filled with blood.
Seeing Roy, the blond youth—covered head to toe in blood—flashed a hint of fear in his eyes. He roared to steel himself, "You're a demon sent by Satan—a demon!"
His throat had been cut by glass, making his voice shrill and hoarse, like tires grinding against asphalt.
"If it's to kill people like you, I'm willing to be a demon for the rest of my life," Roy said coldly. He tied the safety rope around the blond, blue-eyed youth's ankle and slowly lowered him down.
"No, no, no—kill me! Just kill me!" Seeing the zombies gathered below the tower, Waylin, who had only a breath left, suddenly widened his eyes in terror.
Roy said nothing and continued letting the rope out.
"AAAAAAHHHHHH—!"
Falling into the zombie horde, the blond youth was, unsurprisingly, devoured alive. His horrific screams echoed through the night sky. Before dying, he regretted it so deeply his guts practically turned green—why had he ever provoked this demon?
"Hah…"
Roy exhaled a long breath of turbid air. His entire body felt relaxed, his mind clear and refreshed. Perhaps this was what people meant by clearing one's mental knots. Otherwise, this incident would have stayed buried in his mind forever, like a heart demon.
Normally insignificant, but at critical moments it would jump out—and cause enormous trouble.
Roy made his way to the base's armory.
What greeted his eyes was an overwhelming array of weapons. There was no way he could take them with him—and he didn't want to know what would happen if modern firearms appeared in the world of DanMachi.
He found a dozen or so time bombs—simple enough for even idiots to use—set them to detonate in ten minutes, and tossed them into different locations.
Then he set up a loudspeaker, blasting an ear-splitting noise.
The zombies that had invaded the base were drawn by the sound and swarmed toward the armory. Roy went the opposite way, moving silently, weaving through the zombie horde.
Boom!!
When Roy reached the base gate, earth-shaking explosions erupted behind him. With thunderous detonations, the armory—and a massive number of zombies—were blown straight into the sky.
Blazing flames dyed the heavens red. Even the ground several kilometers away trembled from the shock.
[Congratulations on completing the main mission. Please return within twenty-four hours. Countdown…]
[Total zombie kills: 2,820. Gained 282 attribute points. Special reward triggered: Potion Treasure Chest (contains at least one high-grade potion).]
Roy clicked "Open Potion Treasure Chest."
[Potion Treasure Chest opened. Congratulations on obtaining: Low-Grade Life Potion (10 bottles), Low-Grade Stamina Potion (10 bottles), Low-Grade Mental Potion (10 bottles), Panacea (High-Grade), Zombie Virulent Poison (High-Grade).]
There was no need to explain the low-grade life potions. The other two low-grade potions had similar effects.
They restored 20% stamina or mental power within ten seconds. Drinking multiple bottles could extend the duration, but the effects could not stack.
The "Magic Power" in the status panel was essentially mental power—just a different name. Recklessly casting spells until magic power was depleted would even cause fainting.
Name: Zombie Virulent Poison (Potion)
Grade: High
Effect: The released toxic gas drives people into a frenzied state. Infection can be spread through bites. Against adventurers with "Abnormal Resistance," the effect is greatly reduced.
…
Name: Panacea
Grade: High
Effect: A special potion effective against injuries, poisoning, disease, mental exhaustion, and similar conditions.
…
Agility: 1008 → 1290 (SSS)
Roy casually added all the newly acquired attribute points into Agility. It was worth noting that breaking past 999 placed one at SS rank, while only values above 1200 qualified as SSS.
As for what lay beyond SSS—that was an uncharted realm. To this day, no one seemed to have ever reached it.
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