Chapter Seventy-Seven: Boarding the Car

No one could have imagined that the military would trample over Wu Liang with such disregard—not even Wu Liang himself. It was as if, before these military men, he was worth less than swine or dogs. Especially that one remark—“ordinary civilian”—sent a jolt of terror and panic racing through him in an instant.

The middle-aged man’s gaze, sharp as a blade, then landed on Yang Fan. He examined Yang Fan up and down, a flicker of surprise passing across his face as he spoke. “A level five professional? Not bad. You qualify to join our ranks. We don’t need you to do much, but at critical moments, you must protect everyone here. If you’re willing, you can board the vehicle now.”

His words were decisive, without a hint of hesitation. Judging by his demeanor, he likely possessed something akin to the Eye of the Undead himself, Yang Fan surmised. Then Yang Fan nodded toward the vehicle, exhaling a plume of white breath. “There are two big crates of gasoline in my car, and two women inside as well. Take them along. The other two brothers are also system inheritors; they’ll come too.”

Yang Fan addressed the middle-aged man, who was scrutinizing Fu Gaobin and Wang Cheng. Clearly, this man held substantial authority. After a moment’s thought in the icy wind, he agreed, “No problem. But do you know where we’re headed?”

They chatted in the winter cold, while others shivered, unable to conceal their discomfort.

“Where else could we be going but the southern military base?” Yang Fan replied. “Judging by your bearing, you’re probably an instructor, right? Times have changed; nothing is certain anymore. In any case, let’s hurry and reach the base, settle in, and prepare to defend against outside threats.”

Truthfully, Yang Fan had no need to be so courteous to this man; he could have dispatched all four of them in a matter of moments. But he didn’t want unnecessary trouble. Besides, the military buses were full of other system inheritors, so seizing what he wanted by force would hardly be the wisest option.

It was better, for now, to cooperate and use each other. He could bring his people to the military base, where throngs of refugees awaited. There, he could select women to enter the Ladies’ Portrait, then begin resisting the Zerg invasion. Once the first batch of ladies had been trained and tempered, he could establish his own base in the post-apocalyptic world without restraint.

In the biting wind, Yang Fan put on a faint smile. The middle-aged man pointed toward a passing bus. “This is a secret military armored vehicle. Unless we run into more than ten Berserk Demon Rats, there’s no need to worry. Each bus is heavily fortified and can carry five hundred people. There are eight in total—we started with ten, but for some reason, two went missing along the way. So, stay alert.”

As he spoke, he counted the buses passing in the snow. When he finished, and realized two were missing, Yang Fan’s expression darkened. But as the last bus rumbled past, he continued, “That happened two days ago. Now there are eight. Not one less. Have your friends board the last bus. The first and last buses are mostly our kind. The second and third carry supplies. The rest are for various leaders and their relatives among the refugees.”

As he explained, Yang Fan motioned for Wang Cheng and Fu Gaobin to take the two women over. He chuckled, “Well, I didn’t expect you all to be so concerned with so-called leaders and dignitaries. Hoping for a promotion and a fortune, are you?” His words were laced with irony.

The other man, a veteran of many years, recognized the sarcasm at once but showed no anger. He simply offered a rueful smile. “Just doing my duty. By the way, brother, my name is Li Qiang. I’m the current chief commander. And you?”

“My name’s Yang Fan,” he replied, matching Li Qiang’s humility as they stood together in the snow, braving the cold. On the surface, their conversation seemed casual, but in truth, it was a contest of wills. Neither made any effort to shield himself from the wind—instead, they faced it head-on, each testing the other’s resilience.

Yang Fan sensed Li Qiang’s strength, and Li Qiang, for his part, found Yang Fan formidable as well. Understanding flashed between them, and thus began their silent competition. Their contest left the three younger men pityingly cold; they rubbed their noses now and then but dared not utter a word of complaint. Even freezing, they maintained rigid composure.

Li Qiang knew his three loyal subordinates lacked his own physical prowess, so he ordered them into the vehicle. At first, they were reluctant—eager for warmth inside, but unwilling to lose face. In their eyes, Yang Fan was just a brash youth; if he could endure the cold, so could they—though they suspected he’d soon falter. They wanted to see him fail. But Li Qiang, seeing right through them, promptly barked at them to get moving. He knew well enough Yang Fan’s capabilities.

Those three were no match for Yang Fan; Li Qiang even doubted his own chances. Still, speculation had to be tested. For now, he chose not to board, but to walk alongside the bus at a steady, measured pace.

“How long is it to the southern military district?” Yang Fan asked, ambling along at Li Qiang’s side, his tone calm and unhurried.

Li Qiang’s eyes flashed with surprise. Shaking the snow from his dark coat, he answered, “At this rate, if the snow doesn’t let up, at least five or six days. If it does, maybe three or four.”

“Three or four days, five or six days…” Yang Fan echoed, mulling over something in his heart. Just then, his sharp senses caught a series of screams—

The cries came from the last bus. And it sounded like… Fu Gaobin.

Yang Fan’s expression darkened instantly.