Jon had sensed movement in the distance long before the strangers appeared, his heightened perception picking up the subtle vibrations of footsteps and the faint hum of voices.
He'd quietly alerted his team, preparing them for a potential confrontation, his voice low but steady as he instructed them to stay vigilant.
The sight of nearly a hundred survivors approaching, especially outside the cafeteria's fortified walls, was unexpected.
How had they survived the chaos that had consumed the campus? The question gnawed at Jon as he scanned the group, his sharp eyes noting their weapons, makeshift blades, scavenged pipes, and a few glowing system-granted artifacts.
From their vantage point, Jon's gaze settled on the towering administrative building in the distance. Unlike the rest of the campus, which lay in ruins, shattered concrete, twisted metal, and smoldering fires, this structure stood pristine, its glass facade gleaming under the ashen sky as if the apocalypse had spared it.
Spreading his senses, Jon confirmed its untouched state, a stark anomaly in the devastation. Then a faint tremor ran through him as his watch vibrated, its treasure indicator pulsing subtly toward the building.
'Something valuable is there,' he thought, his instincts tingling with certainty.
Beside him, Cynthia stiffened, her gaze drawn to the same structure. Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of recognition crossing her face as if she, too, sensed its significance.
Jon caught her reaction and shook his head slightly, pushing the thought aside for now. His storage space was already brimming with unprocessed treasure orbs, unsorted skills, and ancient books he'd uncovered in the chaos. If whatever lay in that building could make Cynthia stronger, he'd gladly let her claim it. For now, the approaching strangers demanded his attention.
The group drew closer, led by five figures whose auras stood out, their levels hovering around 17 or 18, formidable by most standards, but by Jon's group, it was becoming common.
Unexpectedly, Ronald stepped forward, his round frame trembling, but his voice resolute. "J-Jon… if you don't mind, can I represent us?"
Jon glanced at him, noting the determination in his brown eyes despite the nervous quiver in his stance. Ronald, usually timid, was finding his courage. After a moment's consideration, Jon nodded. "Go ahead."
"Th-thank you. I won't disappoint," Ronald said, bowing slightly before approaching the strangers.
"H-hello, we're—" Ronald began, his voice shaky but earnest.
A loud, condescending voice cut him off. "Why isn't he the one speaking?" The speaker, one of the five leaders, gestured toward Jon, his tone dripping with arrogance.
"HIEE!" Ronald jumped back, startled by the hostility.
The so-called "Lords" had been eyeing Jon since their approach, their gazes heavy with scrutiny.
To them, Jon's silence was an affront, as if he deemed them unworthy of his direct attention. Unbeknownst to them, Jon was already deep in thought, strategizing how to handle this new group.
The idea of hostility hadn't even crossed his mind, because why would they? Everyone was striving for survival in this shattered world.
Jon's team, however, picked up on the strangers' posturing immediately. Ten days into the apocalypse, and already these newcomers were playing at being rulers, lording over others with self-proclaimed titles. The fighters behind Jon exchanged knowing glances, their lips twitching with amusement at the absurdity.
"Y-you're in the presence of the Lords! Show your respect!" a voice shouted from the ranks behind the leaders, as if the title alone demanded fealty. The "Lords" straightened, basking in the declaration, their chests puffed with pride.
The air turned silent, the tension palpable. Jon's group stared, bewildered, processing the sheer audacity.
"Do you actually call yourselves… Lords?" Ronald blurted, his wide eyes fixed on them, his trembling finger pointing in disbelief.
Laura, standing near Jon, shook her head, glancing at him, Jenny, and Cynthia. Ten days into this broken world, and already, some were drunk on delusions of grandeur. The "Lords'" faces flushed, their pride wounded by the dismissive reactions.
The atmosphere crackled with tension as the Beast Lord stepped forward, his eyes blazing with fury.
"I will kill you all!" he roared, his voice shaking the ground. His body surged, muscles bulging as his Beast Transformation skill activated. His form morphed into a towering, lion-like creature, standing on two legs, his fur matted with sweat and his eyes glinting with a feral madness, a side effect of his second-realm skill. The transformation was terrifying, his claws gleaming like daggers, his presence radiating raw power.
"Guhh…"
"Ahh…"
The crowd behind the "Lords" backed away, fear flickering in their eyes. They knew the Beast Lord's transformation came with a loss of control, his instincts overriding reason. But Jon's group stood their ground, unfazed, their eyes fixed on Jon, awaiting his response.
BANG… BANG… BANG…
Each step the Beast Lord took shook the earth, his massive frame casting a shadow over Jon like a predator cornering its prey. He raised a claw, slashing down with lethal intent. The crowd held their breath, expecting a swift and bloody end.
But Jon's gaze turned steely, his eyes glowing a faint blue for a fleeting moment. The Beast Lord froze mid-strike, his body locked in an invisible vice. He struggled, his muscles straining, but no sound escaped his lips. His eyes widened in terror as Jon took a single, deliberate step forward.
"What were you trying to do?" Jon asked, his voice low and chilling, cutting through the silence like a blade. As he spoke, his aura flared, a suffocating force directed at the strangers. Red flickers, wild and uncontrollable, seeped from him, twisting into the air like tendrils of flame.
WIEEEE…
The pressure was overwhelming, an unseen weight that drove the strangers to their knees.
Those closest to Jon coughed up blood, their faces contorted in agony as if crushed by an invisible hand. Some collapsed outright, writhing on the ground, their bodies unable to withstand the force.
The "Lords" felt it worst of all, their earlier bravado shattered. The Blade Lord clutched his chest, blood trickling from his nose; the Beauty Lord gasped, her illusions useless against Jon's raw power; the Speed Lord staggered, his lightning fizzling out; and the Poison Lord choked, her toxic mists dissipating harmlessly. The Beast Lord, directly in Jon's path, crumpled entirely, his massive form reduced to a quivering heap, his animalistic instincts recognizing a true predator.
Jon's group watched with detached calm, their faces betraying no surprise.
They'd seen Jon unleash far worse. He had torn monsters apart, reduced entire hordes to ash. This display was merely a fraction of his power, a warning shot. "'Lords,' my ass," Laura muttered, her lips curling into a wry smile as she glanced at Jon. Her unspoken thoughts lingered in her eyes: They have no idea who they're dealing with.
The strangers' confidence dissolved, their self-proclaimed titles meaningless in the face of Jon's overwhelming presence.
The scouts' warnings echoed in their minds, now painfully real. Jon stood motionless, his gaze unwavering, as the air grew heavy with the promise of what might come next.