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Break of Dawn.

The air-raid shelter buzzed with a tense, quiet energy. Food was carefully stacked, garbage was methodically piled—no longer discarded carelessly. In this unforgiving world, sickness meant death; there were no hospitals, no clinics. The weak had only their bodies to rely on, and even that was often not enough. Over the next three years, the death rate among the elderly and frail would soar to 80%.

The weather mirrored the harshness of life—clear one moment, torrential downpours the next. Nature seemed intent on weeding out the weak. In this hostile environment, even a simple flu could turn into a deadly plague. Every action was taken with caution, for one misstep could mean the end.

By the time Chen Feng was ready to move out, it was already nearing ten o'clock. The five groups of ten stood before him, backs straight, eyes forward, waiting for his command.

They had adapted quickly to their new roles. Each held a weapon—knives, sticks, hammers, and wrenches scavenged from their journey. These makeshift tools might have sufficed against ordinary threats, but against monsters or professionals, they were woefully inadequate.

"Perhaps when we meet Feng Zhiyong, I can request some firearms," Chen Feng thought.

Ordinary guns might be ineffective against high-level professionals, but they still had the power to cut down common monsters and Bronze-tier foes. In a defensive position, firearms could mow down waves of cannon fodder before they reached the shelter.

Guns wouldn't vanish from the world.

In this new era, scientists had learned to grind the bones of high-level monsters, using them to create gunpowder and forge bullets with increased destructive power.

Surrounded by monsters, humanity had not only survived but had grown stronger, establishing one survivor base after another. Intelligence and innovation had become humanity's greatest weapons.

---

Noon.

The group finally neared the factory building, its foreboding silhouette casting long shadows across the desolate landscape. The remnants of a recent skirmish were evident—blood still fresh on the ground. Chen Feng held the group back, opting to survey the area from a distance rather than rush in blindly.

The factory, likely an old cement plant, was eerily silent. The once-mighty machinery, worth millions, now sat idle, their purpose long forgotten. There were no visible signs of life, but Chen Feng could sense the eyes watching them from the shadows.

Hidden sentries.

In the aftermath of the apocalypse, only the major factions had the resources to build watchtowers or bunkers. Smaller groups, like the one likely occupying this factory, relied on hidden sentries—dark, vigilant, and ever-watchful.

Small holes had been chiseled into the walls, providing these sentries with a full view of the surrounding area. Any movement would trigger an alarm, putting the entire camp on high alert.

Since his promotion to Silver, Chen Feng's senses had sharpened significantly. He scanned the area and quickly identified at least eight of these sentries. Positioned strategically, they monitored every angle—from the ground to the roof, from left to right—nothing escaped their gaze.

With a subtle hand gesture, Chen Feng signaled the Dark Elf. She stepped out from a rift, her presence as striking as ever.

"Oh my god... This ability..."

"Who is she? She's stunning..."

"Look at her ears, they're pointed. Could she be a legendary elf?"

Whispers spread through the group. Even though they had seen Chen Feng summon creatures before, the Dark Elf's sudden appearance still left them in awe.

During their first encounter with her, fear of the ghouls had overshadowed everything else. But now, with battle behind them, the group could fully appreciate her ethereal beauty.

The Dark Elf was the embodiment of cold allure: dressed in a short leather skirt, her slim waist accentuated her graceful movements, while her enchanting eyes and flawless, silky skin mesmerized everyone. Her icy demeanor only heightened her allure—a goddess of both grace and detachment. The younger men, especially, were visibly affected, their faces flushed, struggling to control their lust.

Compared to the so-called beauties of the past, the Dark Elf was in a league of her own. They were mere shadows in comparison.

The Dark Elf had shed her former sultry, seductive aura, now exuding an icy elegance that was both captivating and unnerving. Every movement—whether bending over, glancing up, or brushing her hair—was a masterclass in enchantment, drawing all eyes to her.

Enchanting.

This was perilous ground. For a skilled archer like the Dark Elf, a single moment of distraction could spell death.

Yet, the Dark Elf paid no heed to the awestruck stares around her. She carried the pride of a true warrior, her disdain for those around her palpable. To her, these humans—except for Chen Feng—were no stronger than insects, insignificant and barely worth acknowledging.

Disregard.

They didn't even merit her attention.

In the Abyss, if a worm dared to cross her path, she would have crushed it into a bloody smear without a second thought. Even after ascending to the Silver Realm, her cold, lethal temperament remained unaltered.

Abyssal creatures required no justification to kill.

The Dark Elf raised her longbow, her focus unbroken by the distractions around her. Her vision, sharper than Chen Feng's, could pick out the smallest details—even the tiny hairs on her distant target's face.

Pupils narrowed.

The Dark Elf had carved her existence in the Abyss with her arrows, her vision growing keener with every promotion.

She took aim at one of the hidden sentries—a fierce-looking man gnawing on a piece of bread.

Swish!

The man didn't even have time to register his death. A flash of crimson marked the moment as the arrow buried itself in his skull.

Without hesitation, the Dark Elf nocked another arrow, her eyes locking onto a second sentry. In less than three seconds, two lives had been snuffed out, yet the factory remained eerily silent, oblivious to the deaths within its walls.

The remaining sentries were still unaware that death had already claimed their comrades.

Thud!

Another bowstring twanged, another life extinguished, the sentry's blood spraying onto the cold ground.

Two bodies lay still.

Suddenly, a cry of alarm pierced the stillness within the factory. The swift, silent deaths of the sentries had sparked panic, only to be swiftly stifled by a sharp, commanding scream.

Suppression.

Violence met with violence, blood met with blood.

Chen Feng stepped forward, his expression unreadable. The two bodies were merely a welcome gift.

The true battle was just beginning.