On the third day at the graveyard, even more people had arrived. It seemed this treasure trove of resources had finally been exposed, and it was only a matter of time before even more people came flooding in. Fortunately, although some members of powerful clans had shown up, no one had yet tried to monopolize the area. For now, everyone hunted on their own, peacefully coexisting—at least on the surface.
As usual, someone with more guts than brains tried to cause trouble. In the blink of an eye, Lu Yan took them down with overwhelming force. The rest of the group quickly backed off, no longer daring to provoke her. Unfortunately, they were just penniless grunts, and the loot amounted to less than 50 silver coins—barely worth the effort. Lu Yan was visibly disappointed. Turns out, even robbery required luck.
Whoosh!
A silver gleam streaked through the air, piercing cleanly into a zombie's forehead and embedding itself six inches deep, just shy of the back of the skull. Liu Wei'an frowned slightly. He had hoped the barbed arrow he bought for 210 copper coins would pack more of a punch. Turns out, his enchanted talisman arrows were still stronger. But then he smiled—this meant his talisman arrows were probably worth at least 300 copper coins apiece. If he ever hit rock bottom, he could always fall back on making arrows for a living.
Near noon, a new group burst into the graveyard. Judging by their disoriented glances, they were fresh arrivals. Their leader sized up the area, then pointed rudely at Liu Wei'an and barked, "Get lost."
Liu Wei'an didn't bother replying. He simply raised his bow and let his arrows fly.
Like a rainstorm of meteors, arrows poured down, followed by panicked screams. As the enemy reeled, Lu Yan charged in, her blade gleaming. Every strike targeted vital points. The newcomers clearly didn't expect just two people to launch an attack without even a warning. Before they could react, half their number had already fallen.
Still, they weren't entirely incompetent. Their archers turned on Liu Wei'an while their fighters tried to hold off Lu Yan. But when Liu Wei'an landed a chain of arrows that took out their commander, the rest lost their nerve. Before long, the battlefield was quiet again.
As Lu Yan looted the corpses, a man approached.
"Easy, I'm not an enemy," he said quickly, seeing Liu Wei'an's bow drawn. He was an ordinary-looking middle-aged man with a bald spot.
"What do you want?"
This man was the commander of the Beetle Mercenaries, a group of about fifty with average strength. Although a minor team, they were tight-knit and came from the same hometown. No one messed with them lightly. They had arrived on the first day, and though Liu Wei'an had never spoken to them, their faces had become familiar over the past few days.
"I just wanted to offer some friendly advice," the bald man said, glancing at Lu Yan's looting. "This kind of behavior—people don't like it."
"They attacked us first. That's fine?" Liu Wei'an raised an eyebrow.
"I didn't mean anything by it. Just a word of caution. In our line of work, most people frown on looting bodies," the commander said awkwardly. "Of course, take it or leave it. No offense. I'll be going now."
Liu Wei'an's expression darkened slightly. No wonder the nearby groups had been eyeing them strangely these past two days—so looting corpses was taboo. But he couldn't care less. Kill or be killed—if the roles were reversed, did anyone really think his enemies wouldn't loot his body?
This group had decent gear, with several pieces of black iron equipment. Selling them would probably net each of them 20 gold coins. Lu Yan cast the commander a cold glance as she finished looting. The look in her eyes sent a chill down his spine, and he immediately regretted sticking his nose where it didn't belong.
By late afternoon, Liu Wei'an had used up twenty of his fifty barbed arrows, leaving about thirty talisman arrows. He had just finished off another zombie when a piercing shriek suddenly echoed from deeper within the graveyard. The high-pitched wail rattled the entire area. Chaos erupted as the inner part of the graveyard descended into turmoil. Screams rang out, followed by the clash of metal and stone. Dust billowed skyward—something big had happened.
Liu Wei'an and the bald commander both looked up, just in time to see a towering white-haired zombie leap more than ten meters through the air and crash into the middle of a mercenary group. A blur of motion, then screams and flying limbs. In a matter of seconds, over a dozen people were torn into bloody chunks. The zombie didn't stop. It leapt into another group, causing even more carnage.
In the blink of an eye, several teams were wiped out.
The white-haired zombie let out a bone-chilling howl. Its fangs were razor-sharp, and its movements savage and brutal. But its ferocity didn't intimidate the players. On the contrary, nearby teams charged toward it with excited shouts. Even from five or six hundred meters away, Liu Wei'an could hear them.
Boss!
They were shouting the word like a rallying cry. In game terminology, a boss was a powerful leader-type monster—rare, incredibly strong, but always dropping valuable loot. Regular monsters' meat sacs could easily be empty, but boss meat sacs always contained something—and not just anything, but quality goods. Everyone wanted a piece.
So even knowing they were outmatched, players surged forward without hesitation.
And they were quickly cut down. Those who charged in alive were hurled away as broken corpses.
The white-haired zombie was an unstoppable force, weaving in and out of combat effortlessly. More and more players abandoned their fights elsewhere to join the fray.
Then, a booming voice echoed across the battlefield.
A master had entered the field—a leader of some guild, clad in a white robe, brandishing a gleaming silver spear. His presence stood out starkly among the chaotic crowd.
"Zhao Xiaolong!" someone gasped nearby. "Rumor says he's a descendant of Zhao Zilong from the Three Kingdoms. A bronze-tier expert!"
Zhao Xiaolong's figure was tall and striking, his sharp eyes brimming with determination. As he sprinted toward the zombie, his speed increased, building momentum like a bullet from a gun. At twenty meters, he launched into the air, his silver spear angled like a viper ready to strike.
With a flash of lightning and a screech of metal, the spear struck the zombie's throat dead-on.
Boom!
The collision sparked like fire hitting steel. A thunderous shockwave rolled out. Zhao Xiaolong let out a pained scream as he was flung backwards even faster than he had charged in. His silver spear was torn from his grip and spun into the sky. The zombie didn't even flinch—only a faint mark appeared on its throat.
The crowd was stunned.
Two players froze in shock—only to have their heads torn off as the zombie blitzed past. The others turned and fled, but they weren't fast enough. Within seconds, another five or six players were slaughtered.
"Back off, monster!"
A thunderous roar followed. A massive man—two meters tall, thick with muscle, dark eyes blazing—charged into the fray. He was a member of the famed Tiger Guild, and one of the most powerful players in the graveyard. His name was Tong Xiaoxiao.
He wielded a colossal six-petal iron warhammer, two and a half meters long, weighing nearly a hundred pounds. Only someone like him, with monstrous strength, could wield such a weapon effortlessly.
With a roar, he slammed the hammer into the zombie's chest. A deafening crack rang out as a shockwave blasted outward. Everyone within three meters—players and zombies alike—was knocked sprawling, ears ringing and heads spinning.
Tong Xiaoxiao screamed in agony, stumbling back three giant steps, blood pouring from his cracked hands. Still, he clung tightly to his hammer. But when he looked at the weapon, the crowd gasped—it was bent at a sixty-degree angle.
The zombie's shirt was shredded, and a faint dent appeared on its chest—but it was still very much alive and kicking. At least now, its attention had turned from the crowd to Tong Xiaoxiao.
He hadn't even caught his breath before the zombie lunged at him. His face went pale. Behind him, his supposed guildmates scattered like frightened rabbits.
Tong Xiaoxiao's eyes burned with fury. But that fury soon faded, replaced by bitter disappointment and sorrow. He closed his eyes, prepared to die.
Bang!
A sharp crack, not like before's dull boom but higher-pitched and explosive, echoed beside him.
Startled, Tong Xiaoxiao opened his eyes and saw a barbed arrow—elegantly crafted from fine steel—fly backward from the zombie's forehead, sparks still dancing in the air.
What caught his attention wasn't the impact, but the arrow itself—it had bent on impact.
His blood went cold. Just how strong was this thing?
The zombie now had a bleeding pit between its brows—not even a centimeter deep, but enough to send a wave of hope across the battlefield.
The white-haired zombie was wounded.
A creature that was once invincible—immune to blades and flames—was now vulnerable. That single wound turned a hopeless battle into one with a chance at victory.
As Tong Xiaoxiao turned, he caught a glimpse of Liu Wei'an loosing a second arrow—faster than lightning, streaking through the sky.