Endel was still asleep, but slowly began to wake up. His eyelids parted, and the dim light of the room reflected in his eyes. He hadn't yet fully come to his senses when he heard the voice of the man with the pistol.
"Boy, get up. We'll be moving soon. Eat first," said Margeres, lazily chewing on some canned food.
Every spoonful was followed by a blissful smile, as if he enjoyed not the taste itself, but the very act of consuming it. He gestured toward the table where another can of food lay, inviting Endel to take it.
"Hmm, not bad," he added, licking his lips when the can was empty.
The two other guards were also eating greedily, but Turgas—the pig—had already finished four cans and was tearing into a fifth. No spoon, no napkin—just dumping the food onto his filthy hands and shoving it straight into his mouth.
A heavy silence filled the room. Each man devoured his meal in his own way, as though they hadn't eaten properly in days.
Endel, watching the scene, frowned.
Disgust and irritation toward these people grew stronger with every second.
Now fully awake, his eyes narrowed to slits and his fists clenched involuntarily. He had to fight the urge to strike them—after all, he had found those supplies, and now they were devouring them without asking.
Noticing Endel's expression, Margeres scratched his stubbled cheek awkwardly, trying to ease the tension.
"Sorry, boy, we haven't eaten in days," he said, still keeping the gun trained on him.
Meanwhile, Turgas emptied the rest of his can into his mouth, savoring every last bite as though it were precious prey.
Then his eyes locked on the final can on the table. Greed flashed in them.
Endel reacted instantly—he grabbed the can and began to eat quietly, without a word.
Turgas scowled, disappointed that his appetite remained unsatisfied, but soon gave up. He slumped onto the couch, stroking Endel's sword with a sly grin as he watched him eat.
"What a bunch of moral degenerates…" hissed the third voice quietly, commenting on everything he'd heard yesterday and this morning.
Endel ignored them now, eating calmly, lost in thought as he listened to the third. He was carefully planning his next steps.
"You must have gotten those supplies from wrecked military vehicles?" Margeres asked with curiosity.
"Yes," Endel answered simply, without raising his head, and kept eating.
"I thought so. And how old are you?" Margeres asked again.
"Seventeen," Endel said just as calmly.
The two guards exchanged startled glances. Even Turgas frowned for a moment before smiling greedily again.
Of course, they could tell he was young—but not even an adult yet? That surprised them.
Still, it changed nothing for them.
It was different for Margeres.
"Hmph… younger than my daughter," he thought grimly, imagining what she would say if she saw how far he had fallen—threatening a child.
But he quickly smothered those emotions beneath a mask of calm.
"I see… What's your name?" he asked, steering the talk back to business.
"Endel," the young man replied, making it clear he wasn't interested in conversation.
The others noticed, but said nothing.
One thing was obvious: they intended to use him to reach their shelter.
No pity here—just the one rule of this world: survive.
"Interesting name," Margeres muttered, recalling that the first part of it meant "end," though the second part slipped his memory.
Shaking off irrelevant thoughts, he pulled out a city map and began explaining where they needed to go. After that, they'd be released.
Turgas only laughed quietly, a vile sound.
Margeres frowned, but continued pointing at the map.
"We just need to cover twenty kilometers from here," he said, indicating a subway station. "We must reach it today."
Endel frowned. Something didn't add up.
"Why not just use the nearest station and move underground? Or take one of the cars—there are plenty intact outside," he asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Why take the hardest way?" he added honestly.
He had only been here two days, and apart from zombies nothing seemed too dangerous. They weren't even that strong in numbers. He hadn't tried driving—didn't know how—so he looked for a bicycle instead.
"The second question's easier: everything near the stations is either destroyed or collapsed. And cars? If we use one, zombies will swarm to the noise. Drive straight to the shelter, and we'd bring an entire horde with us," Margeres explained. "As for the first…"
He glanced toward Turgas, who sat slouched in a chair, scratching his back with his sword's hilt, ignoring everyone. The two other guards stood behind him, just as indifferent.
Margeres shifted slightly, as if he'd dropped a can by accident, and managed to whisper to Endel:
"The first… zombies are drawn to his stench."
"Ha-ha, no surprise! That fat beast reeks like hell itself!" the third cackled.
Returning to his seat with a calm face, Margeres went on. But his expression grew darker.
"Maybe you don't know, but zombies aren't the worst things here. Every three days there's a 'Hunt Day'—creatures crawl out of their lairs, much bigger and stronger, tearing everything apart and killing anyone they find," he said.
"Even a tank shell can't stop them. Our guns? Forget it." He waved his pistol with a crooked smile, though fear flickered in his eyes.
Now Endel understood why he hadn't met other people: everyone was hiding like rats, too scared to face these monsters.
"Imagine if we'd stayed longer and gone out on Hunt Day…" the third muttered, trailing off.
"So… tomorrow's Hunt Day?" Endel concluded—it would be his third day here.
"Correct, Endel. Sharp one," Margeres praised.
"Then why did they wait two days?" Endel wondered.
"Maybe they wanted to test your strength first?" the third suggested.
"Maybe." Endel admitted. He wasn't strong yet—still at rank F—but his new armor gave him a significant boost.
He glanced at its description.
[Knight's Armor – Rank C]
Description: Durable armor capable of withstanding blows from C-rank creatures. Increases the wearer's physical strength by one rank without hindering movement. Perfect for beginners on the path of knighthood. Lightweight, allowing speed and maneuverability to be preserved.
"A bit like Carlos's Arcana effect," the third remarked.
Endel nodded, then looked over his stats.
User Rank: F- (E)
Strength: F- (E-)
Agility: F+ (E+)
Speed: F (E)
Endurance: F (E)
Magic: E
Aura: None
Spirit Power: E+
Mental Power: F+
"Good… but we need to figure out how to raise stats like Mental Power. It jumped from F- to F+ somehow."
"You're right," Endel agreed, still studying his status.
"Endel, do you understand the plan?" Margeres asked, frowning at his distraction.
"Yes. I just need to kill anything that gets too close—without straying more than five meters from you. Otherwise, you'll riddle me with bullets," Endel replied calmly, without emotion.
Honestly, their plan was so terrible he had no words. Margeres knew it too, but they had nothing better.
"Then let's move. Enough talking!" barked Turgas, eager to reach the shelter.
He rose from his stinking throne and lumbered toward Endel and Margeres. Instinctively, Margeres flinched at the acrid smell.
Turgas stared at them for a while, especially at Endel's face—almost artistic in its beauty—but said nothing. He simply handed him the sword and said quietly:
"Lead."
Finally, with his weapon back, Endel felt both disgust and rage—wondering what that filthy beast had done with it. But he held back.
What the third had told him made one thing clear: this was his chance to reach the shelter and, more importantly, gather information. And after learning about Hunt Day, it made sense to wait it out if things went wrong.
He looked at the group calmly.
"Let's go."
Margeres tensed. He had expected Endel to attack once he had the sword. Thankfully, nothing happened.
He exhaled, as did the two guards.
Turgas was already stepping out the door when Endel said casually:
"Maybe we should at least do something about the smell?"
Margeres froze. He knew well—remind Turgas of his stench, and the man would explode.
Turgas's cheek twitched as he began to turn, fury rising. But Endel was faster:
"[Cleanse]."
A wave of light swept over Turgas, washing across his skin and clothes. In an instant, the filth was gone. The stench lingered, but faint—bearable.
Turgas froze, dumbfounded.
Margeres and the guards looked no less stunned.
"This… what? A skill? Magic?" Turgas stammered, without his usual swagger. He had once seen another man wield "the system's power," and couldn't help but connect the dots.
Margeres, on the other hand, leaned forward sharply, eyes burning with interest.
"You got a skill too? Completed a quest?"
Endel said nothing, only watching their reactions.
He noticed the flash of envy and fear in the guards' eyes. They all knew about the system—heard its voice, received quests, even earned points for killing monsters. But no one knew how to use those points. They'd left it alone.
And as for skills… none of them had one.
Skills were rare.
In the shelter, only a handful possessed them—each one earned with blood and risk, completing deadly quests.
Such people were respected. Even feared. Even Turgas wouldn't dare command them.
Now Turgas was looking at Endel differently—not as bait to take the blows, but as something far more valuable… and dangerous.
He didn't like that. His expression said it all.
Endel, meanwhile, felt only more certain that going with them was the right choice.
The brief exchange had given him more valuable information.
Even if he despised these people—especially Turgas—he now knew he wouldn't be just a disposable pawn in the shelter.
"Don't forget, he said he might not let us go," the third reminded him.
"I know. But after seeing their reaction to my skill—and Turgas's face—I'm sure they see me as more valuable now," Endel reasoned.
Besides, the safe zone lay in the same direction.
He decided to take the risk. There was no escape anyway—bullets flew faster than he could run, and his armor…
"Can't argue with that," the third sighed.