At this moment, over twenty zombies were tearing through the scattered police officers. Once their bullets ran out, they were no different from any ordinary civilian—sprinting away like rabbits in panic. In contrast, Miles stood alone, unmoved. That made him the perfect target.

  The zombies instantly locked on to this lone figure who didn’t even try to run.

  But Miles didn’t flinch. Instead, his eyes gleamed with bloodlust.

  After four long years inside the game world, he had earned the title "God-Eater"—a ruthless hunter who’d slain more monsters than he could count. These low-tier undead barely registered as a threat. Of course, his real-world body was nowhere near as powerful as it had been in the game—but the muscle memory, the instincts, the combat experience? That was real. And that was more than enough.

  Here, just outside the pharmaceutical plant’s wide-open gate, the battlefield was practically made for him.

  Three zombies stumbled toward him first.

  As one lunged, arms outstretched, Miles ducked low and slipped under its armpit. In the same motion, he drove his dagger—Greedfang—into the base of its skull. The zombie stiffened, then dropped to the ground as a shriveled husk.

  Another zombie came howling toward him, jaws open wide for a bite. Miles ripped Greedfang free and slashed sideways—clean across its neck. Black veins surged toward the wound before its entire body shriveled and collapsed.

  The third was practically on top of him, claws out. It reached for his shoulders—but Miles was faster. Smirking, he thrust Greedfang forward. The zombie impaled itself on the blade, its momentum sealing its fate. Its limbs went limp before it crumpled, drained of all essence.

  Miles ran his fingers across Greedfang’s hilt with a satisfied grin.

  "Man… this feels even more intense than the game. Maybe it was realistic, but knowing you’ve only got one life? That’s a whole different thrill."

  More zombies shambled toward him. He licked his lips.

  He dashed toward a few stragglers and cut them down with ruthless efficiency. Then he circled the gate, taking down the rest one by one. It was practically a dance. And after dispatching his tenth zombie, he felt it—a surge of strength coursing through him. He didn’t pause to check his status. Instinct told him what it meant.

  There was no need for fancy tactics now. With his momentum building, he charged directly at the last few, cutting them down before they even knew what hit them.

  In less than five minutes, the area was silent. Not a single cop remained. No idea where they’d gone, but several 9mm pistols had been left behind.

  He grabbed one, checked it quickly, and collected magazines from the fallen. With that done, he sprinted into the pharmaceutical plant.

  He had to move fast. If backup arrived and locked down the area, he wouldn’t get another chance.

  Inside the building, the lights were still on—but the silence was deafening. The cold, sterile lighting and the eerie green glow of exit signs gave everything a horror-movie vibe. At last, he had a moment to check his status.

  Miles

  Novice Demon Hunter – Level 2

  EXP: 17%

  Strength: 0.9

  Agility: 1.1

  Constitution: 0.8

  Spirit: 1.4

  Unassigned Stat Points: 1

  He finally understood—killing monsters gave him experience. Each level raised every stat by 0.2. Without hesitation, he dropped his extra point into Constitution.

  He’d been winded during that last fight. No matter how good his skills were, if his body gave out, it was game over. Greedfang boosted his offensive power, so Strength could wait.

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  He inspected the pistol.

  "Only 15 attack? Damn. Greedfang really is in a league of its own… if you’re willing to get up close."

  The moment the point sank into Constitution, he felt warmth spread through his body. The fatigue vanished. His limbs felt light—like he could crush a mile-long run and still finish in first place. Way better than his old, sluggish self.

  Satisfied, he moved deeper into the facility. Knocked-over decor, shredded clothes, shattered glass—the place looked like it had been hit by a storm. As he climbed to the second floor, distant snarls echoed from above.

  He knew that sound all too well.

  These weren’t just shambling corpses. These were infected.

  The real deal—virus-enhanced zombies. They could run, claw, bite. Their nails had mutated into talons, their teeth into beast-like fangs.

  They couldn’t see well—maybe comparable to someone severely nearsighted—but their hearing and sense of smell were deadly sharp.

  He had no idea if they were exactly the same as in the game… but judging by the rotters downstairs, it was pretty damn close.

  Just as he was about to head to the third floor, a window beside the hallway exploded. A screeching infected launched through it.

  Miles’ instincts took over. He bent backward, hands hitting the floor as the infected sailed over him, smashing into the opposite wall hard enough to crack the cement.

  It didn’t even hesitate. Blood streaming from its forehead, it charged again.

  Miles flipped backward, both feet slamming into its chin and knocking it back into the wall. He sprang to his feet—but the infected was already lunging, claws flashing toward his shoulders.

  He crouched low.

  Like a predator.

  He exploded forward.

  Greedfang slashed upward under the infected’s armpit, carving deep into flesh and bone. The infected staggered, black veins spreading from the wound. Its left arm began to stiffen.

  Miles smirked, spun, and kicked off the wall. He vaulted over its head, bringing Greedfang down in a precise arc.

  Straight into its skull.

  The infected froze. Veins spread across its face as it let out one last guttural scream, then collapsed into a withered husk.

  Miles let out a shaky breath.

  "Just one of those things is a pain in the ass. If I run into a group… I’m out. Still, ten percent experience in one go? Not bad. And Greedfang’s at 37% now too. Can’t wait to see what it evolves into."

  The Xi Kang Pharmaceutical Building had 11 floors.

  As Miles reached the stairs to the third floor, gunfire erupted above—rapid, chaotic.

  He took off at a sprint. Sounded like it was coming from the sixth or seventh floor. With his boosted stats, climbing stairs was a breeze. In seconds, he reached the seventh floor—only to find thirty rotters crowding a hallway.

  He pressed his back to the wall and peeked around the corner.

  They were swarming a heavy office door, pounding on it with relentless force. Thankfully, the door was solid, holding up for now.

  But in that tight hallway, even Miles couldn’t take on thirty zombies at once—not without getting swarmed.

  And worse… among them was another infected.

  One mistake and he was dead.

  He checked the infected’s stats:

  Infected Zombie

  Strength: 2

  Agility: 1

  Constitution: 10

  Spirit: 0.2

  The numbers were brutal.

  Looking up the stairs, he saw the path was clear. He took a deep breath, burst from cover, and opened fire down the hallway.

  Eight bullets. Eight rotters. Eight headshots.

  By the time the others realized what was happening, he’d swapped magazines and emptied another clip. Then he was already running, reloading on the move.

  The rotters were too slow to catch him—but the infected wasn’t.

  It chased him up to the top floor. Miles stopped on the eleventh, spun, and kicked it square in the face.

  The thing lost balance and stumbled.

  That was the opening.

  Miles leapt down after it. Mid-air, he drove Greedfang into the infected’s brow. They both crashed onto the landing.

  Only one of them got up.

  With the infected dead, the rotters below were easy pickings.

  Miles ran back down, taking position at the stairwell. One by one, he dropped them with precise headshots.

  Four years of surviving in the game had given him more than just skills—it had given him muscle memory. These weapons felt natural in his hands.

  He couldn’t help but wonder—who the hell made that game? It felt too real, like it had wired directly into his nervous system.

  Down on the seventh floor, someone finally opened the office door. Thinking help had arrived, they rushed out and opened fire, catching the remaining zombies in a deadly crossfire.

  It was over in seconds.

  Then a voice called up:

  "Hey! Who’s up there? State your unit! We’re Special Forces from Chicago !"

  Miles didn’t answer.

  No way he’d explain why a civilian was here, alone, slaughtering infected like a pro.

  They’d label him as the cause of the outbreak before he could even say "hello."

  He turned and bolted upward again. With over twenty rotters and another infected down, his experience bar was climbing fast.

  Back below, the Special Forces team watched him go.

  A tan-skinned man with a buzz cut frowned.

  "That guy… didn’t look like one of ours. Akai, Lina—you're with me. The rest of you, call it in. I want full reports to HQ. That guy might be connected to the outbreak."