Lords I

Let's continue."

Jon's sudden statement left the group staring in surprise. Jenny wanted to ask him about the recent tragedy, but Cynthia gently shook her head, signaling her to let it go. It was just like before with Alexa—Jon would have to come out of it on his own. Still, he seemed to be handling it better this time, if they ignored the massacre that followed his grief.

The air around them was thick with tension as everyone silently processed the changes in Jon. He wasn't the same as before. He looked different—sharper, more mature, and undeniably stronger. His aura had shifted, and the group could feel it.

Once Jon gave his opinion, the survivors who had fainted earlier started gathering. Most had awakened, but their eyes were still filled with fear and reluctance when Jon looked at them, then he sighed.

"You can leave if you don't want to continue," he said softly. But his words were directed at everyone, not just those who had passed out.

To the group's surprise, one young man stood up. He was round, with black hair, brown eyes, and a light complexion. And if there was one thing about him that was so noticeable, it was his visible trembling body as he stood up.

"M-my name is R-Ronald," he stammered, bowing his head as if he was confessing something shameful-still shaking.

Everyone watched him, baffled. If he wanted to leave, he could've just said so. But Ronald continued.

"I-I am scared, but I want to continue!" His voice grew louder with each word, catching everyone off guard.

"Why?" Cynthia asked, her tone puzzled. "You're terrified. You could die. Why push yourself like this?"

"I-I know it's dangerous," Ronald said, his voice quivering but steady. "But I have to become strong. I have to survive."

His declaration hung in the air, surprising everyone. Cynthia, after a brief pause, smiled and nodded. Jon too acknowledged him with a nod, impressed by the young man's bravery despite his fear.

As if Ronald's words broke a dam, the atmosphere changed. Some were moved by his courage, while others frowned unimpressed about his speech.

Their chance to leave this dangerous place was going about to be cut off by the speech of someone who was even scared.

In this situation, who would even want to be the first to request to return but as always a brave soul broke the silence, "I will go back."

Jon simply nodded, understanding their fear. He didn't judge them for wanting to leave.

Losing someone close was devastating, and he wouldn't begrudge anyone the chance to avoid that pain. And coming from him that had just lost another friend he wouldn't force anyone to risk their lives.

Though Jon could have used his abilities to discern who wanted to go, he chose not to. He didn't want to rely solely on his skills. He wanted to learn more about people, about trust and caution.

As more of the hesitant group followed suit and decided to return, the people staying behind were giving the people who wanted a strange look, a look as if looking down on them for their weak resolves.

Weren't they also risking their lives to make their stay safer and now they were scared but Jon couldn't quite understand it, but he brushed it off, assuming they were solemn about the loss of comrades.

When the group of defectors departed, only thirty people remained—students and a few staff members. The staff, who had once been in charge, had gradually faded into the background. They lacked the resolve to confront the dangers outside directly but had still tried to maintain control on them? It was totally unacceptable and it was also among the things Tunde was trying to tell him about that he wasn't listening to.

Now, only those truly committed to the mission remained. Seven from the new group that joined for this mission and two from the fainted people group, including the scared yet brave Ronald. With their numbers settled, Jon and the others resumed their journey.

...

"Hah… Hah…"

"Jump… jump… run!" Two young men sprinted through a maze of shattered obstacles, breathing heavily as they fled.

"What the hell was that!?" one of them shouted, his voice cracking with fear.

"Just keep running! We need to report this to him," the other responded through gritted teeth, his eyes wide with terror.

After two minutes of frantic dodging, they finally reached a towering building—the Administrative Building of the university.

Standing ten stories tall and fifty meters wide, it was the largest structure on campus. Despite the destruction that had ravaged the school, the building appeared untouched, almost pristine. It was still as perfect as how Jon's dormitory was.

They didn't waste any time in the lobby and sprinted up the stairs at the far end of the ground floor. Up and up they ran, not stopping until they reached the top floor. There, a long corridor stretched out before them, leading to a single door.

The scouts exchanged nervous glances, gathering their courage before approaching. But before they could reach the door, two young men stepped in their path.

"What do you want here?" one guard asked, his eyes cold.

"You're not supposed to be here. Go back," the other said, raising his hand, which then turned into a sharp blade.

"W-wait!" one of the scouts shouted, his voice trembling. "We need to see the 'Lords.' We have to tell them what we saw!"

The guards exchanged skeptical looks, as if mocking the idea that these terrified scouts had encountered something worth reporting.

"What made you so scared this much, a zombie?" one guard teased, laughing with the other.

"N-no! It wasn't a zombie!" the scout cried, his voice rising in panic.

"Shut up," the second guard warned. "You don't want to disturb the Lords."

But it was too late.

"YOU OUTSIDE! COME IN HERE OR I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF!" a booming voice thundered from within the room, freezing the guards and scouts alike.

The door swung open, and they stepped inside, their fear of what they had witnessed outside eclipsing even their terror of the 'Lords.'

The room they entered was spacious and luxurious, almost like a private apartment. It was filled with all the comforts one could imagine—plush chairs, beds, and anything else to make life comfortable in the apocalypse. But the grandeur of the room went unnoticed as a hulking figure approached them.

Standing at 6'8", the shirtless man exuded raw power, his body covered in thick hair. He looked between the age of 23-25 but his size made him more like a bease. His skill, Beast Transformation, had earned him the nickname "Beast Lord." His eyes burned with anger as he stalked toward the group.

One scout, the more composed of the two, dropped to his knees. "Beast Lord, please forgive us for disturbing you, but we've seen something important."

But the Beast Lord didn't care for their excuses. "I DON'T GIVE A DAMN. YOU DIE NOW!" he roared, raising his fist to strike.

"STOP!"

Another voice, commanding and calm, cut through the tension.