The Iron Rod

"If there truly is a survivor hiding here, the most likely scenario is that they're in one of these households. I just need to create a little noise; they should react," Simon mused softly, now standing before the security door of the second household, raising his cleaver and rhythmically tapping against the security door.

As he lightly tapped, his gaze fixed on the security door, he concentrated, listening intently for any response from inside.

Unfortunately, there was no reaction from within.

Simon furrowed his brow slightly.

According to his speculation, there was a high probability of a survivor hiding here. If not in this household, then in another one of the three households on this floor. He had already checked the first household and found no one.

As long as someone was inside, the sound of him tapping the security door would surely alert them. They would probably observe the corridor outside through the peephole and see him.

"I don't resemble a revenant. Upon seeing me, they should recognize me as a survivor. Normally, they would open the door or make a sound in response... Why is there no reaction? Could they be overly cautious? Still observing in secret?" Simon furrowed his brow slightly, finally speaking aloud.

"Is anyone there?" Simon raised his voice in inquiry and knocked on the door again.

Having made noise himself, surely he wouldn't be mistaken for a revenant.

Simon called out twice in succession, yet the place remained eerily silent, devoid of any response.

"This is odd," Simon muttered, eyeing the corpse-beasts with smashed heads on the ground. Undoubtedly, another survivor was responsible for this. Could it be that this survivor, like himself, had also departed from here?

"Even these bodies on the ground have not been dealt with. It doesn't seem like they intend to stay here any longer," Simon reflected, feeling a tinge of disappointment. If it were him, he certainly wouldn't leave these corpses lying in the hallway like this; he would have at least gathered them together.

From these details, it appeared plausible that the perpetrator had indeed left hastily, possibly immediately after dispatching these corpse-beasts. Hence, there was no need to attend to the bodies again.

Simon sighed and proceeded towards the end of the corridor, towards the third household.

Though he knew the chances were slim, Simon still decided to knock on the security door of this household to see if there would be any response.

However, as Simon approached, he suddenly noticed a key inserted in the keyhole of the security door, stained with blood.

"Hmm? This is the key to the security door," Simon thought, realizing that if there were survivors living here, it was reasonable to leave the key inserted in the door to prevent it from closing due to wind or other reasons when leaving.

After all, with the city submerged in floods, there was no longer any need to fear burglars coming to the door, or even to welcome them if they still existed.

The corpse-beasts certainly wouldn't be using keys to open doors.

Looking at the key inserted in the security door, Simon didn't immediately open it but instead knocked on the door.

"Is anyone there?"

After asking twice in succession and pausing for a moment to ensure there was no response, Simon reached out and turned the key.

The key turned, confirming that it indeed belonged to the security door in front of him. He could feel clearly that the door was opening.

Taking a deep breath, Simon stepped back slightly, assuming a defensive stance. The security door opened inward, and Simon extended his leg to brace against it, pushing it inward. He peered inside through the widening gap, hands gripped tightly around the knife and hammer, ready to react swiftly if anything unexpected occurred.

The dense scent of blood wafted through the air as Simon's eyes fell upon the overturned shoe cabinet, scattered shoes on the floor, shattered glass, spatters of blood, and several human corpses.

Between his brows, a vertical line appeared, activating the "scrying glyph" as he gazed towards the nearest corpse by the entrance.

"Cadaver-beasts, the lowest-tiered spirit-infected beasts. Through mutual consumption, there's a certain probability of evolution into advanced cadaver-beasts. Other: None."

As he looked at the smashed head of the corpse, Simon could already guess without using the "scrying glyph" that this was a slain cadaver-beast.

The security door was completely open now, revealing a chaotic living room. It was spacious, with bloodstains all over the floor. Three corpses with crushed heads lay on the ground, and on the large leather sofa lay another corpse, similarly with a shattered skull.

Without scrutinizing each one individually, Simon knew that all four were slain cadaver-beasts.

Simon walked slowly into the room, with debris strewn across the floor and traces of a fierce struggle everywhere. It was evident that a violent battle had taken place here, with splattered blood stains visible on the pristine white walls.

Suddenly, Simon's gaze fixed on a particular spot on the wall, and a hint of perplexity flickered in his eyes.

The wall, besides the glaring bloodstains, bore deep furrows that resembled marks clawed out by sharp claws.

"How were these marks left? These low-tiered cadaver-beasts certainly don't have claws. Strange..."

Simon, observing the claw marks on the wall, immediately heightened his vigilance. However, the combat must have occurred at least a day ago, and now all was eerily silent. Even if there had been some creature with claws here before, it would likely have moved on by now.

Directly ahead from the living room was a bedroom. The bedroom door lay shattered and fallen, bloodstains extending into the room, indicating a fierce battle that had spilled from the living room into the inner sanctum.

Simon slowly approached the doorway of the bedroom, noting similar claw marks left on the door, which now lay collapsed to one side.

Glancing inside the bedroom, he saw a scene of utter chaos. A table lay in pieces, a shattered bedside lamp on the floor, and the potted plants on the windowsill had toppled over, their once vibrant flowers now withered.

In the disheveled bedroom lay another corpse.

The deceased was a middle-aged man of around forty, slumped in front of a set of white wardrobes, his head hung low, his entire body smeared with blood. A gaping wound cleaved his chest open, revealing glimpses of his viscera through the torn flesh.

Though lifeless, the corpse's right hand still tightly clutched a blood-stained iron rod.

At the sight of this iron rod, Simon's eyes gleamed with interest.

Termed an iron rod, more accurately described as a thick steel bar, approximately one meter in length and as thick as an egg. Such a steel bar possessed substantial weight; with enough strength behind it, it could inflict devastating damage.

Simon, whose arms wielded strength akin to seven hundred pounds, had always felt that his kitchen knife and hammer were too light to fully unleash his power. He had yet to find a suitable replacement weapon, but upon seeing this iron rod, joy surged within him.