The Girl

He did not immediately reach for the iron rod, instead silently observing the middle-aged man's corpse leaning against the wardrobe door.

Unlike the other corpses with smashed heads, this middle-aged man's head remained intact. Ordinary corpses turned undead would never wield weapons, being creatures of low intellect and mobility.

Simon activated the "glimpse rune" and indeed, the information revealed that this middle-aged man was not a source-infused beast, thus impeding his ability to perceive more details.

"If not a beast, then he must have been a survivor, a source-infused one like myself. Those outside, slain by him, were mere beasts," thought Simon.

"Yet it's a pity he met his end," Simon remarked, examining the gaping chest wound that had ended the man's life.

But who inflicted such a wound?

"Those lowly beasts could never have bested him," Simon pondered. Along his journey, he had encountered numerous beast corpses. If they were all slain by this survivor, he would have evolved into a first-tier source-infused, perhaps even second-tier. For a first or second-tier source-infused, these low-level beasts would have posed no threat.

Simon pondered the claw marks on the wall and recalled the Cyclopean Frog.

"It seems beyond these corpses, there appeared formidable source-infused creatures like the Cyclopean Frog, not mere low-level undead. This source-infused beast possessed razor-sharp claws, evident from the chest wound on this middle-aged man, which was torn open. Unfortunately..."

Simon analyzed the scene in his mind, filled with regret. If only he had arrived a day earlier, perhaps together with this middle-aged man, they could have both survived. It would have provided him with companionship, alleviating the solitude he currently endured.

The loneliness of being alone was overwhelming; he yearned for companionship more than ever.

Silently lamenting, Simon bent down and picked up the iron rod from the ground. He noticed the other end of the rod was tightly gripped in the hand of the middle-aged man's corpse. As he lifted the iron rod, he inadvertently raised the right arm of the corpse, causing it to topple from its seated position against the wardrobe.

The wardrobe had sliding doors, and as the corpse fell against them, it shifted slightly, revealing a small gap.

At that moment, a faint sound emanated from the wardrobe.

Though barely audible and almost imperceptible, to Simon, who remained ever vigilant and attuned to his surroundings, it reverberated like thunder and lightning.

Instantly, his hair stood on end. He swiftly yanked the iron rod from the grip of the middle-aged man's corpse, firmly grasping it in his own hands. Simultaneously, he retreated backward, every sinew in his body taut with tension.

The surroundings remained eerily silent, except for Simon's own breath. In his left hand gleamed a kitchen knife, while in his right hand he held the stout iron rod, a full meter in length, having discarded the hammer to the side.

The iron rod was substantial, several times heavier than the hammer Simon had previously wielded, perfectly suited to his current needs.

Staring fixedly at the wardrobe before him, his gaze locked on the faint gap in its door, revealing only hanging clothes inside. Apart from this, nothing else was visible. Yet, what could have caused that slight disturbance he had just heard?

"It couldn't have been a mishearing. There's definitely something hidden here. The disturbance was so subtle, unlike the movements of undead or other such supernatural creatures. If it were a supernatural creature, it would have lunged out by now; it couldn't possibly be hiding here. Could it be rodents or cockroaches?"

Simon took a deep breath. Instead of approaching, he slowly extended the iron rod in his right hand and inserted it into the gap of the sliding wardrobe door, forcefully pushing it aside.

The wardrobe's doors swung open fully. Despite his muscles and nerves being taut, Simon was slightly taken aback.

The wardrobe was filled with clothes, but beneath these garments huddled a slender figure.

She was a girl of twelve or thirteen, dressed in a white dress, curled up inside the wardrobe. Her arms were tightly wrapped around her bent legs. Her small face, pale to the point of lacking any trace of color, bore a pair of widened eyes that expressed neither fear nor joy, but a vacant stare.

Her entire demeanor and gaze were marked by a profound blankness and rigidity.

Simon stared at her, gripping tightly onto the iron rod and kitchen knife, muscles tensed. As he observed her, he noticed she made no movement upon his discovery, nor did she turn to look at him. She remained in her huddled posture, her vacant eyes fixed ahead.

A strange and eerie silence hung between them. Were it not for the faint signs of life he could discern—her slight breaths—Simon might have mistaken her for a lifeless corpse.

Observing the tear streaks on her face and looking at the corpse of the middle-aged man on the floor, Simon pondered on how he had clung to the wardrobe door in his final moments. Vaguely, Simon began to understand something.

He cleared his throat softly, intending to ease the tension.

"Do not be afraid, I will not harm you," Simon reassured gently, setting down both the raised iron rod and kitchen knife. He relaxed his tense muscles, softening his demeanor.

"Is he... your father?" Simon asked, noting the lack of response from the timid girl huddled in the wardrobe. He understood her current state as one of overwhelming fear, the events here having shattered her composure, leaving her in a state of stunned stillness.

Had the wardrobe door not moved just then, startling the girl instinctively hidden within, Simon might not have even discovered there was a living person behind the wardrobe door.

Observing the resemblance between the young girl and the middle-aged man, and considering how he had defiantly clung to the wardrobe door in his final moments, Simon deduced they were likely father and daughter.