“Get out of my sight! Die!”

The roar blasted through Building Two of the Quanfu Residential Complex, shaking the whole place like a hammer hitting a drum.

A moment later, curious aunties leaned out from their balconies, craning their necks left and right. They were all hoping to catch a glimpse of some couple quarreling—something to gossip about over dinner. But after a few fruitless glances, they pulled back with disappointed sighs. What a pity. If only someone were throwing dishes—now *that* would’ve made a fine street rumor.

On the single bed in Room 401, Fourth Floor, Unit Two, a pair of bloodshot eyes snapped open. Sweat rolled down Zachary Everhart’s forehead, cold and heavy.

The instant that instinctive roar left his throat, Zachary already felt something was wrong. When the fog in his mind lifted, he finally understood what that wrongness was.

First—a deafening racket.

Outside, kids were shrieking, someone kept honking a horn, and even the shout of a peddler cut through the air: “Don’t miss it, don’t walk away! Everything two coins! All two coins!”

Insanity. Absolutely suicidal.

Did they not understand? That kind of noise would draw monsters from streets away. It was practically begging for death.

Hold on… No. Something didn’t add up.

The last thing he remembered was grabbing that silver‑rank Death Knight’s dropped ring with everything he had left. Then that scum—Ulric Wolfhart—stabbed him in the back and left him to die. So why… why was he here?

Where *was* this place? Ulric, that snake, would never put him somewhere clean and comfortable.

And this room—yes, it was spotless. The bed felt exactly like the one he used to sleep on a year before the world ended. The quilt underneath him was practically identical. After the apocalypse began, there was no such thing as a peaceful night’s sleep. And the air… no stench, not even a hint of rot.

Wait.

Zachary’s whole body jolted. His gaze swept the room—sheets, furniture, even the floral pattern on the curtains. All of it was painfully familiar. Too familiar.

The noisy clamor outside continued in the distance, faint but clear. To Zachary, it was like thunder splitting his skull.

Could it be… No. Could it really be…

His mind flashed with a possibility so wild it made him stumble. He pushed himself off the bed, nearly tripping, and lunged toward the computer desk. His trembling fingers slammed the power button.

The machine hummed to life. The operating system’s familiar screen lit up before him.

There was electricity. The computer worked.

Zachary Everhart’s mouth fell open as he sucked in a sharp breath, stunned. Impossible. Impossible. This was a year ago—clear as day. Had everything just been a dream?

No… he remembered the moment he was killed far too clearly.

“Status,” he murmured inwardly.

Nothing answered. Only a cool pulse spread from the ring on his right index finger.

He lifted his hand, and his eyes flew wide again. A silver‑white ring rested quietly on his finger.

The very ring that had dropped from that Silver‑rank Death Knight. How could it be here? And how was he back a full year in the past? He should’ve been dead—buried under Ulric Wolfhart’s betrayal.

While confusion stormed in his mind, the computer boot‑up chime sounded. A soft sky‑blue screen flickered on. Zachary glanced down at the corner—at the date.

It really was a year ago.

He had actually returned… to the moment just before the world fell apart.

For a heartbeat, Zachary felt lost. What kind of twist of fate was this?

He’d taken that silver‑white ring… and then somehow opened his eyes in the past. Could it be that even the heavens were disgusted by Ulric Wolfhart’s treachery, giving him a second chance?

But the apocalypse was only minutes away. What could he possibly do?

That thought lit a fire in him—he could do far too much.

Before rebirth, Zachary had survived a whole month in this cramped rental room, relying only on the scraps of food he’d hoarded. Only when rescuers arrived did he learn the truth—that killing monsters granted experience, levels, strength. And only then did he realize he, too, could grow stronger by killing them.

But it had all come too late.

The ones who saved him weren’t saints. No one helped him for free. All the easy‑to‑kill monsters had long been slaughtered by Warriors, Summoners, Mages, and Archers who got strong first. If Zachary wanted to level up, he had to risk his life. After grinding through countless dangers to climb from a Black‑Iron Warrior to a Bronze‑rank Warrior, he ended up trapped again—used by others.

Ulric Wolfhart, that treacherous bastard, was part of a hunting team Zachary was forced to join just to stay alive. Zachary couldn’t handle hordes of monsters alone. He had no choice but to cling to that team for experience.

On paper, they were using each other. In reality, the moment Zachary fought tooth and nail to bring down a monster and it dropped gear, Ulric Wolfhart ambushed him with his men.

And that betrayal brought Zachary to rebirth.

“Maybe I should thank you, Ulric,” Zachary muttered, clenching his fist until his knuckles whitened. “Without you, I wouldn’t have gotten another chance.”

He swept quickly through his room, checking the food he had. Then he glanced at the time.

Five minutes left before the apocalypse hit.

A sudden thought struck him. He shot upright, grabbed his phone, and dialed his father’s number.

“Dad?”

“Mm? What is it, Zhaozhao?”

That familiar voice drifted through, and Zachary Everhart felt his eyes sting. All the strength he’d been holding up seemed to drain out of him at once.

He forced down the surge of emotion and blurted, “Dad, where are you? Where’s Mom?”

“Me? I’m watching the match. Your mother’s cooking. Sweet-and-sour ribs today. Shame you’re not home, or—”

Before his father could finish, Zachary cut him off, voice sharp with urgency. “Good. Don’t go out. Either of you. Be careful. A huge disaster is coming. Like a plague… like a living-dead outbreak…”

“Huh? What are you talking about? What disaster?”

Mr. Everhart’s confusion seeped through the line.

“People will turn into walking corpses. Animals too—mutating into something terrifying. And there’ll be… upgrades.”

Zachary spent two, three minutes forcing out the warning, every word like a stone rolling in his throat.

But on the other end, his father still sounded bewildered. “Zhaozhao, what kind of books have you been reading? Or are you messing with me?”

Zachary shut his eyes, helpless, and repeated again and again, “Dad, just trust me this once. Please. Be careful.”

Beep—

The call cut off suddenly.

Zachary stared wide‑eyed at the phone, then instinctively looked at the time.

It had begun.

The first thing the calamity devoured was the world’s signals and magnetic fields.

And right after that… the real disaster would surge in.

Boom!

A violent crash echoed up from the street—cars smashing into each other.

Zachary let the phone fall from his hand. His mind was unnervingly calm.

Before his rebirth, nothing frightened him more than losing his parents. Now that he’d managed to get even a fragment of warning through… that was a fortune granted by heaven. Saving more people? That chance was already fading.

He switched off the phone, silencing it completely, and strode to the window to draw the curtains tight.

Outside, chaos screamed through the streets—roars, shouts, metal tearing. The first wave of the apocalypse brought panic, mutation, and killing all at once.

And right now—right in this moment—was when he had the best chance to seize an opportunity.

He clenched his fists. Compared to the steel-hard body of a bronze‑rank warrior he once possessed, this current flesh felt weak, pitiable, fragile.

But all those nights drenched in blood, all those kills carved straight into the soul, had followed Zachary Everhart back into this body, lodged deep in his mind.

Others would freeze before a monster, panic and die screaming. But to Zachary, these newly mutated creatures—no matter how fierce they looked—were nothing more than scattered scraps of experience points waiting to be harvested.

What others saw as a life‑or‑death calamity, Zachary—reborn and clear‑eyed—saw as an opportunity.

After ten minutes or so, the pounding outside finally stopped, leaving only scattered screams echoing through the building.

Zachary stayed still in his room for another ten minutes. Those screams gradually twisted into raw, dying wails.

Then he rose in one clean motion. Grabbing the kitchen cleaver, he strode toward the door. The mutation had begun. From this moment on, killing monsters would give him levels again.

A guttural roar burst out just as he reached the door.

Looking through the peephole, Zachary saw a figure with blood‑shot eyes and ragged clothes. Its pale arm was raised, trembling, as it growled at his door.

“Rrr—!”

It roared again, shoving its hand closer. Zachary could clearly see the cracked, dried skin peeling on its knuckles.

Black‑Iron Rank One monster: Walker. Devours its own kind to evolve. At the start, its strength and speed match an ordinary human. Almost no intelligence. But once it evolves, it becomes troublesome.

Battle instincts from his previous life flickered through his mind like water running downhill—effortless, familiar. Without hesitation, Zachary unlocked the door and pulled it open.

The Walker lunged at once, snapping its filthy, reeking jaws toward him.

Zachary didn’t panic. His body wasn’t stronger than the creature’s, but his movements were exact. He stepped back just far enough, letting the Walker’s charge slip past.

One advance, one retreat—man and monster moved as if they were performing a drill they had practiced a hundred times.

But this was no drill. This was the killing instinct Zachary had honed after slaughtering countless Walkers.

Even as he stepped back, the cleaver in his hand was already swinging down toward the creature’s skull. A stray thought drifted through his mind: Fast mutation… the Walker from next door barely turned and it already reeks like this. I always thought the stench came from rotting over time.

Thud.

A blunt crack rang out as the cleaver sank into the Walker’s skull. The creature froze, then fell still.

Black‑Iron tier one shamblers were easy prey for one simple reason: after mutation, their bones turned brittle as dry twigs. A sharp blade could crack them open without much effort.

Zachary Everhart wiped the cleaver clean and put it away, then stood still, waiting for the system’s response.

“Congratulations. You have leveled up.”

“Black‑Iron tier one. Strength: 2. Intelligence: 4. Agility: 3. Skills: none. Experience: 0. Coins: 1. Allocatable attribute points: 3.”

“Current class: Summoner.”

“Basic skill: Primary Summoning. Summoned creature will be Black‑Iron tier one, guaranteed to possess at least offensive capability.”

“You currently possess one summon slot.”

Zachary froze, breath catching in his throat. Summoner? How? Before his death and rebirth, he had never walked the path of a summoner. So why, after coming back, had his class changed entirely?