Chapter One: The Doctor

“Hah... hah... hah...”

Leaning against the sturdy iron door, clutching the assault rifle in his arms, the young man's face was deathly pale. Yet even so, he forced himself to calm down, pressing his ear to listen intently for any sounds coming from within the tunnel. Around him, several other fully armed companions wore equally grave expressions, weapons at the ready as they watched their surroundings with vigilance.

“Beth, how’s the captain doing?”

The young man spoke in a low voice as he peered cautiously through the peephole in the iron door. Not far behind him, a young girl was tending to the wounds of a man covered in blood. But her method was unlike anything ordinary. She extended her hand, placing it over the man’s gushing wounds. A faint green glow began to shimmer, and the bleeding gash, under this gentle light, gradually closed and healed. This magical scene went unnoticed by the others, but as the girl withdrew her hand, her own face grew even paler.

“The captain’s bleeding has stopped, but there’s nothing more I can do. If we want to save him, we have to get him back to the town... Only there can he get proper treatment. This is all I’m able to do...”

Beth's face was drawn with worry as she looked at the man before her.

“I’m sorry, Captain, it's all my fault. If it weren’t for saving me, you wouldn’t have—”

“Heh, don’t cry, silly girl...”

Hearing the girl’s sobs, the man opened his eyes, managing a weak smile. He lifted his right hand and gently patted her head.

“You’re the only one in town who’s awakened the healing domain. As long as you’re alive, our chances of survival are so much higher. But if you die here, then it’s only a matter of time before we all become rotting corpses... At least for now, I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

“But... my authority is only level one...”

Beth bit her lip in frustration. She had only the lowest level of network authority, and her healing abilities were correspondingly weak. For now, simply stopping the bleeding was the very limit of what she could manage.

After the “Great Cataclysm,” every surviving human gained a kind of ability much like those described in “system novels.” They discovered a new “network system” embedded in their minds, allowing them to communicate and trade information just like they would online. In this new world, telephones and messaging devices had lost all meaning, for anyone could appear before another with a mere thought and add them as a friend. Even separated by vast distances, they could keep in touch, as if the world itself were a virtual network rather than reality.

Some people, in addition, awakened system authorities, gaining powers akin to magic or superhuman abilities from stories. The girl before them was clearly one of these lucky few.

“Your authority will increase, don’t worry. You’re still young, take it slow. I didn’t get my first-level authority until I was thirty, and only now I’ve reached level three. You’re not even twenty—if you make it back alive, you’ll outpace me in no time. So don’t cry... If others see, it’ll be bad for morale...”

Though the man’s attempt at humor was clumsy, the girl nodded and wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes.

Just then, the young man peering through the door suddenly spoke in a hushed, urgent tone.

“Careful! Something’s wrong!”

At his warning, everyone tensed, their weapons raised, eyes darting warily. Even the girl who had been sobbing moments before now snatched up a pistol and took up a well-practiced shooting stance. Such was the mark of their age—here, survival was no mere philosophical question; battle was a part of daily life.

Boom!

Before any of them could properly prepare, a deafening crash rang out. The heavy iron door buckled inward and fell with a thunderous roar. The young man crouched behind it had no time to react—he let out a shriek as the door slammed down, crushing him beneath its weight. Blood and flesh burst and spattered across the floor in a ghastly, crimson smear.

“No—!”

The others, eyes reddened by rage and horror, raised their weapons and opened fire. A hail of bullets thundered toward the entrance, a barrage fierce enough to wipe out most intruders.

But not all.

A guttural roar rumbled through the clearing smoke—a massive, pitch-black figure appeared before them. Its whole body was shrouded in darkness, with arms almost as long as its body gripping the doorframe. A narrow, jackal-like head thrust forward, blood-red eyes gleaming with a sinister light as it fixated on its prey. Viscous drool dripped from its jagged, powerful jaws, filling the air with a nauseating stench. The barrage that had just rained down on it had left not a mark upon its rubbery, impenetrable hide.

“Damn it...”

The group stared at the creature in terror, at a loss for what to do. For before them stood the most fearsome monster of this world—their greatest enemy.

And now, they were helpless.

The beast growled low, eyes darting, searching for its next victim. Just as it gathered itself to strike, it suddenly paused, as if sensing something, and whipped its head around to stare behind it.

At the same moment, Beth and the others widened their eyes in astonishment. For they all heard a sound that had no place in this hellish tunnel.

Footsteps.

Measured and steady, the footsteps echoed down the tunnel. They were neither hurried nor stealthy, more like a stroll through a garden. Yet this only heightened the group’s wariness—such footsteps should not exist here. This was a battlefield, and outside, energy leeches roamed freely—monsters that were the bane of all living things. Leech beasts never made such regular, human-like sounds; though both they and zombies were once human, the resemblance ended there. If zombies were merely walking corpses, leech beasts were monsters cloaked in human skin.

So what was the source of these footsteps?

The unknown breeds terror. As the steps drew nearer, the group’s breathing grew faster, hands tightening around their weapons, ears straining for any clue. A sense of suffocating dread pressed in on all of them, a premonition of disaster. They couldn’t say why, but instinct told them the owner of these footsteps was even deadlier than the monster before them.

Tap...

Suddenly, the footsteps ceased, and in the next instant, a calm, gentle voice sounded in their ears, utterly without warning.

“So this is where you’re hiding...”

Roar!

At the same moment, the beast, already coiled to strike, let out a furious roar. It spun around and hurled itself at its unseen adversary.

But it was too late.

The monster was still mid-leap when its head and neck parted company. A silver-white blade swept through the air, slicing effortlessly through hide that bullets could not breach, cutting skin, windpipe, and spine with mechanical precision. But it wasn’t over. As the blade left the monster’s body, it seemed to become a silver serpent, spiraling in a blur around the creature’s immense form.

When the beast’s body finally crashed to the ground, it was in pieces. Like cattle or sheep at slaughter, every limb, every part had been sliced apart, blood pooling in a sickening tide.

“So impatient. Attacking without a word—hardly the manners of a civilized being.”

With these words, a figure appeared before them.

It was a young man, no more than twenty, wearing a wide-brimmed black hat that shadowed most of his face. Unlike the battered survivors of this era, his attire was immaculate: not the usual patched leather or armored plating, but a black suit with a crimson tie and a matching overcoat. In his left hand, he carried a pitch-black briefcase. Thick black hair framed a strikingly handsome face, and his features marked him as distinctly East Asian.

What had just happened? Who was he?

The survivors, having barely escaped death, stared in stunned silence. Yet even now, they did not lower their weapons, aiming them squarely at the stranger. Their faces were tight with fear and suspicion—no one could guess the intentions of this man who had appeared so inexplicably.

But Ferrin paid no heed to their feelings. He simply lowered his hat brim and swept his gaze over the group. Their gear and bearing marked them as seasoned fighters. Even the young man who had collapsed with terror still clutched his weapon tightly. Their disciplined formation showed that, despite the chaos, they maintained solid military training.

No wonder the old man was so desperate to recover them—people of this caliber could defend a level-two town from most threats.

“You’re the Scavenger Squad?”

Though the information pane in front of him had already confirmed their identities, Ferrin still asked aloud. His question only made them more tense—the three men aiming their rifles at him were one twitch away from pulling the trigger. But then, from the back, a quiet, composed young woman stepped forward, raising a hand to halt any further aggression. She wasn’t especially beautiful, but there was a unique air about her; women of such bearing were rarely seen outside the settlements, unless they were captives, slaves, or possessed special abilities. Judging by her clean, well-kept uniform, she was clearly one of the latter.

She spoke up.

“We are members of the Scavenger Squad. May I ask who you are...?”

At her question, Ferrin smiled faintly before replying.

“You may call me... the Doctor.”