Bathed in moonlight, the trio made swift progress.
In just under an hour, they reached a secluded mountain valley.
Soon, Vincent Fox spotted signs of habitation near a riverbank: over a dozen wooden cabins clustered together, along with a horse stable. The entire encampment was surrounded by a rough wooden fence to keep out wild beasts at night.
It looked more like a small settlement than a hideout.
Clearly, this group of bandits had dug in and planned to settle here long-term, even raising families.
The flimsy wooden fence posed no obstacle to Vincent.
With one hand gripping the zombie and the other holding Autumn Summer, he leapt gracefully over the fence in a single bound.
A few gray horses in the stable snorted uneasily, their eyes wide with fear.
Animals, after all, possess instincts far more sensitive than humans. The deathly aura and yin energy radiating from Old Master Ren put the horses on edge.
But Vincent had no interest in the horses. He glanced at the surrounding fence and found it perfect.
Once chaos broke out, the bandits would have no escape. They had trapped themselves.
With that in mind, Vincent gave Old Master Ren a pat on the shoulder and said coolly, "Go feed. And if you try to run, I'll break your legs."
It wasn't an empty threat.
Zombies had tough bodies, sure, but Vincent's strength was tougher. If he wanted to, he could tear Old Master Ren's limbs clean off.
Though the zombie couldn't understand human language, it did vaguely grasp the meaning behind Vincent's push.
And right now, the scent of living humans was thick in the air, coming from the cabins nearby.
That primal hunger kicked in. Old Master Ren couldn't resist.
He bounced toward the first cabin.
Before entering, he hesitated and stole a glance at Vincent to make sure he wasn't angry.
Clearly, Vincent had left a deep psychological imprint on the creature. Even now, the zombie wouldn't dare act without his approval.
The door to the first cabin happened to be ajar.
Old Master Ren slipped inside and spotted a burly bald man snoring on a bed, shirtless.
Without hesitation, the zombie pounced and sank his teeth into the man's throat.
"Grrghh…"
The bandit woke in an instant, eyes wide with shock, choking and thrashing. Blood gurgled in his throat.
A bite to the throat wasn't instantly fatal. For several seconds, the bandit remained conscious helplessly watching as the zombie drained him dry.
Fitting, really.
This same man used to bleed his victims to death when raiding villages.
Now, he met the same fate.
Poetic justice.
…
After draining the blood, Old Master Ren let out a satisfied growl.
He could feel his power grow. His body surged with newfound strength.
Hungry for more, he dashed toward the next cabin.
This one had a wooden latch on the door, but that didn't stop him.
Crash!
The door burst apart, the noise echoing through the camp.
Finally, the commotion drew the attention of the other bandits.
"Enemy attack!"
A shout rang out from within as another bandit, startled by the crashing door, grabbed a rusty broadsword from a nearby shelf and slashed at the approaching shadow.
Clang!
The blade struck Old Master Ren's shoulder with a loud metallic clang. The sword chipped instantly.
It wasn't that the zombie was invulnerable.
It was that the sword was garbage.
The bandit stared in disbelief at the dented blade, but before he could react, Old Master Ren was on him.
The creature's savage, blood-smeared face came into view.
"G-ghost!!"
The bandit screamed in terror. He didn't even have time to fight back before the zombie bit into his neck.
Blood spurted. Arteries tore.
To Old Master Ren, the taste was divine.
Like drinking ambrosia. He guzzled down mouthfuls of fresh blood, draining the man within seconds.
Then he tossed the body aside and set off in search of his next target.
By now, the entire camp was in chaos.
Dozens of bandits had woken to the shouts of "enemy attack" and rushed out with weapons in hand.
"What's going on?"
"Where's the enemy?"
They burst out of their cabins just in time to see a monstrous figure leap from a nearby doorway.
In the moonlight, they could see it clearly: the grotesque face, bloodied fangs, and savage grin.
"Ghost!!"
One of them turned pale and screamed in horror.
But their leader was braver. "Don't panic! There's only one of it! We've got the numbers. Kill it!"
With that, the bandits rallied and charged after him.
Too bad they had no idea what they were up against.
Yes, Old Master Ren had been beaten to a pulp by Vincent earlier but that was because Vincent was absurdly strong.
These bandits? They were just regular humans.
Their numbers meant nothing. At best, they'd help Old Master Ren stretch his legs. At worst, they'd become his midnight buffet.
And after drinking two full bodies' worth of blood, the zombie was stronger than ever. His body had hardened. His muscles tightened.
The bandits' swords and spears were utterly useless.
They couldn't even scratch him.
And so, the massacre began. A one-sided slaughter with no hope of survival.
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The deeper he goes, the more the truth unravels. Don't wait read ahead and witness Vincent's rise before the world catches up!
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