Chapter 80: The Small Figure

“What was that sound?”

Er Gouzi, deep in sleep, suddenly shuddered and sat upright on his bed. He pressed his ear to the window, listening intently.

This was the barracks for the peripheral members of the Corpse Catchers—a vast communal dormitory where more than thirty men slept in a single room. A cluster of filthy, rough men crowded together at night, turning sleep into a living hell. The symphony of snores, teeth grinding, and sleep-talking rose and fell in waves, reaching new heights each night. The thick stench of feet, body odor, and bad breath lingered in the air, a flavor all its own.

Er Gouzi wasn’t the only one awakened; several others stirred as well. Fly rubbed his sleepy eyes and glanced at Er Gouzi with suspicion.

“What’s going on?”

“Why aren’t you sleeping at this hour?”

After carefully discerning the sounds outside, Er Gouzi’s expression changed abruptly, his face tightening with anxiety.

“Don’t sleep, damn it…”

“Fly, listen closely—do you hear gunfire?”

Fly, impatient, replied, “What are you talking about?”

“Er Gouzi, did you get your head knocked loose a few days ago?”

“Are you hearing things?”

No sooner had his words faded than a tremendous explosion rocked the air.

Er Gouzi and Fly froze, their faces instantly pale as death.

“Damn it, it’s coming from the direction of the mess hall… Someone’s attacking!”

“Get up, everyone, get up…”

“Don’t sleep, damn it…”

“Get up, grab your weapons, wake all the brothers…”

“Hurry, move!”

Now, Er Gouzi and Fly were truly panicked.

Two days ago, after being beaten down at the armory entrance by Veronica’s combat squad, Er Gouzi and Fly had returned, fuming with anger. Unable to swallow their humiliation, they rallied the brothers and declared a strike. For several nights, they hadn’t sent anyone out for patrols.

Normally, this wouldn’t be anything special. It wasn’t the first time these peripheral members had acted out. Since Ye Hai had expanded the Corpse Catchers to their current size, they quickly established themselves in the black market, with no intention of further expansion. There were no nearby factions to threaten them.

As time passed, complacency spread through the entire organization. From Ye Hai down to the lowest ranks, no one felt any sense of crisis. Both Ye Hai and the other corpse officers neglected management. The officers were either out hunting for materials or buried in their laboratories, rarely leaving their quarters. Ye Hai himself had built a villa near the radiation zone, living there long-term for convenient hunting.

The peripheral members were used mainly for show when alien merchants visited the black market, to move goods and provide muscle. Ye Hai never expected much from them; they were sufficient to deal with other taboo figures or local powers.

This attitude had fermented over the years, resulting in a deeply lax lower echelon. The strike and refusal to patrol was less a protest than a self-soothing act of bravado. “I’ve been treated unfairly, so I won’t work. Three days pass and nothing happens…” These men could console themselves with pride: “See, I didn’t work for three days and nobody could do a thing about it. Still got food and drink.” The beating was forgotten.

This mindset was all there was. If these men dared to challenge Ye Hai directly, seeking fairness and justice, Ye Hai would show them exactly what fairness and justice meant on Zombie Planet.

With hundreds of odd-job men, Ye Hai only needed to send word down the mountain, and within days the road would widen with new recruits.

Apart from his teacher and a handful of disciples, Ye Hai never truly regarded the organization seriously. He gave them food, clothing, and a safe place to sleep. In the harsh environment of Zombie Planet, Ye Hai felt he was already more than generous.

As for the voices from the lowest ranks, Ye Hai neither heard nor cared to listen.

Under such loose management, nothing happened for a while, for a year… But finally, today, disaster struck.

Er Gouzi and Fly, now realizing the mess they were in, walked with trembling steps, but still gathered the men. They prepared to head to the scene and assess the situation.

As they drew closer, a growing sense of dread seized them. The intensity of gunfire signaled a massive enemy force.

Familiar with the terrain, the five hundred or so men quickly approached a spot near the mess hall. Under the moonlight, they saw clearly: the subordinates of three taboo figures were launching a fierce attack toward the mess hall. Behind the enemy lines were numerous high-powered artillery pieces.

The men of Teach and Nangong, seasoned warriors, faced enemies several times their number. After a brief panic, they quickly dispersed their positions to evade artillery fire and began a counterattack.

In contrast, the followers of Rakan and his two companions were newly recruited refugees, lacking any tactical discipline. With artillery suppressing the defenders, not one dared to lead a charge.

If the three taboo figures were present, they could have ordered a suicidal charge—sacrificing two thousand men to destroy four hundred defenders, and still retain a thousand. But as the three had already left, the coalition force was leaderless, relying only on superior numbers and equipment to intimidate.

No one dared risk their life to charge.

So the battle ground to a stalemate.

But if this dragged on, defeat was inevitable for the defenders. The disparity in numbers was simply too great, and they lacked artillery support. Even a three-to-five times casualty ratio couldn’t bridge the gap.

“What should we do?”

“They have high-powered rifles and artillery…”

“We can’t win. If we charge, we’ll all be dead before we even get close!”

“Fly, let’s slip away!”

“I don’t think the organization can survive this. We have more than five hundred brothers—if we leave the black market…”

“We can survive out there, maybe even live better!”

Fly looked at Er Gouzi, his eyes filled with inner conflict.

“No, Er Gouzi! You know you’re lying to yourself…”

“Our five hundred men—surviving away from the black market is impossible!”

“All the surrounding factions rely on black market trade to survive.”

“Without it, we’d starve to death!”

“The next black market is in the south, two thousand kilometers away. We’d never make it.”

Er Gouzi gritted his teeth. “Then let’s join some major faction…”

Fly grinned bitterly. “If we run and the Corpse Catchers are wiped out, fine… But if they aren’t…”

“We all know what the corpse officers are capable of.”

“I’d rather die than be sent to the forbidden zone!”

“And my brother is still here. If I run, he’ll suffer for it…”

Er Gouzi slammed his fist into the ground, unwilling. “Then what do you suggest, Fly?”

A fierce determination, unique to the natives of Zombie Planet, flashed across Fly’s face.

“None of the brothers who survived this long are cowards…”

“If we pull this off… we could finally make something of ourselves.”

“Er Gouzi, haven’t you always envied my brother for being a villa guard?”

“If we can wipe out this enemy today…”

“You’ll get your wish!”

Hearing this, Er Gouzi’s eyes brightened.

“Damn it! Let’s do it—fortune favors the bold. Fly, tell me what to do… This time, I’ll follow your lead.”

Fly crouched low and spoke, “Er Gouzi, take a hundred brothers, open the armory, see if there are cannons or grenades, anything—bring it all!”

Er Gouzi nodded, gathering his men and rushing toward the armory.

Watching Er Gouzi’s retreating figure, Fly felt a pang of guilt.

He knew that even if they destroyed the enemy today, others might have a way out, but for himself and Er Gouzi, who led the strike, only the harshest punishment awaited.

“I’m sorry, brother…”

“I can’t let my brother die…”