How to Be Mistaken for a Villain in a Zombie Apocalypse – Chapter 4

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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The first starting village was called Mini Bell.

As its name suggested, it was truly a mini village.

There wasn’t even a grocery store, let alone a supermarket.

Just ten wooden houses.

Three houses across the road, the ones still burning, didn’t offer much in terms of loot.

Even if they did, I wouldn’t be able to get inside.

The only upside was that there were probably no more zombies left in the village.

Even the most brutal games didn’t try to kill you off right from the start.

They knew that giving you a glimmer of hope before crushing it was a much more effective way to induce despair.

Just like what had happened to me.

I sat there for about thirty minutes, watching the houses burn.

I had to see where the fire would spread, check for any stray zombies, and make sure there weren’t any hiding in the seven remaining houses.

The smell of blood had faded, replaced by the acrid stench of burning wood and hair.

It made me nauseous, but to a hungry dog or a zombie, it would smell like a barbecue.

But there was no movement from the other houses.

Even with all the changes, it seemed the number of tutorial zombies hadn’t been altered.

It made sense. The tutorial logic was mostly hard-coded, making it difficult to modify.

But I was past the first stage now.

This was the real deal.

The scripted events were over. From now on, it was all improvisation.

On the plus side, there were no more zombies here.

But it wasn’t a place to linger.

It was an isolated village with limited resources.

Maybe I could come back later, with a big truck and a plan, but that was a problem for future me, after I’d survived all the other challenges.

“Okay.”

It was time to check out the seven remaining houses.

I didn’t expect much.

A bottle of water, a can opener… that would be enough.

I started with the house on the far left.

The door was wide open, and the curtains were undrawn, giving me a clear view of the empty interior.

“Excuse me, I’m here to rob you.”

I knocked politely on the door, then stopped.

Even though I’d never seen the language before, I could read it as easily as Korean.

I figured it was some kind of localization feature and continued reading.

“Human Non-Protection Zone?”

I’d never heard of such a thing.

I ignored the notice and stepped inside.

The house was a mess, as if the occupants had evacuated in a hurry.

Drawers had been pulled out and dumped on the floor, and large packing bags lay open, their contents spilling out.

The bags had labels that read “Luggage (Large).”

It seemed the residents had been given very little time to pack their belongings.

Clothes were scattered across the floor in the bedroom and hallway, a testament to the chaos of their departure.

“Then what about those zombies?”

I thought about the zombies I’d burned.

They’d had harsh, weathered faces, with deep wrinkles.

They’d been elderly.

I entered the back bedroom.

There was a bed, still relatively new but stained and dirty, a pile of small animal bones scattered on the floor, a heap of dried excrement, and a stack of open cans.

The excrement was dry, so the smell wasn’t too bad, but I still covered my nose and mouth with my arm.

There was nothing of value in the dresser drawers.

Just a family photo and a neatly folded newspaper.

A kind-looking elderly woman, a young couple, and a chubby baby.

The woman looked familiar.

She resembled the smaller zombie, the one that had been pushed aside by the others.

“Damn it.”

I couldn’t help but sigh.

I left the photo behind and took the newspaper.

The other houses were the same.

They all had the same notice on the door, and I ignored them all.

The residents had left behind the larger items, like carpets, but they’d taken everything else.

But they’d all left their family photos behind.

The people in the photos were all smiling.

Awkwardly, brightly, happily. But they were gone now.

Click.

There was another can on the floor, along with a plastic spoon.

The other cans were similar.

Tuna, sardines, fruit. Different brands, but all the meat products were from Kibele.

“Seriously?”

I found something else that made me laugh. A ready-to-eat meal kit, like a military MRE, with a heating pack.

It contained pound cake, meatloaf, and other items, but it was completely empty.

I had no idea what Kibele Foods was, but it sounded like a military contractor.

“Introducing!” “New!” “!” As if those were some kind of secret ingredients.

And that annoyingly cheerful tone, ending every sentence with an exclamation mark.

But the design was outdated, the layout uninspired.

And all the cans smelled like seafood bibimbap sauce.

They’d obviously used the same sauce for everything.

“You know, people say seafood bibimbap sauce is disgusting, but that’s because they’re eating it wrong.

You have to heat it up.

That’s when the fishy smell really hits you.

There’s a trick to making it taste good.”

“Really?”

“Mix the cold sauce with hot, pre-soaked rice noodles. It’s surprisingly good. Tastes like spicy whelk noodles. Try it when you have time.”

I’d tried it, during a late-night shift.

It was truly a memorable experience.

The sunlight had been so bright that day, as I was being loaded into an ambulance, on my way to the infirmary.

I was so grateful to my squadmates, standing in formation on the parade ground, their faces filled with concern.

I’d realized that my military service hadn’t been a complete waste of time.

“Hang in there… you can do it…”

I’d smiled at them as the ambulance doors closed.

There was a large table in the living room of the last house.

I laid out everything I’d found.

I’d searched all seven houses, but I hadn’t found much.

Two 500ml bottles of water.

An unopened pack of sausages.

A spoon and a fork.

Still no can opener.

A flashlight, a small first aid kit, and a roll of toilet paper.

A hunting knife and a fire axe.

At least I had plenty of clothes.

I’d discarded the ripped and bloodstained items, keeping only the ones that were in good condition.

I now had a brown windbreaker, a pair of comfortable hiking boots, a clean shirt and jeans, and a wide-brimmed hat.

There were two cars, but they were old and looked like they’d been out of commission for a while.

There was also a bicycle, a three-speed model with a large basket on the front.

It was fine for leisurely rides around the countryside, but if I tried to pedal it at 40 or 50 kilometers per hour, it would probably fall apart.

I’d been prepared for the worst, but it was even worse than I’d expected.

I unfolded the newspaper. It was old, the paper yellowed with age, but the underlined sections were still clearly visible.

Crow.

That was the name of the zombie virus in this world.

The transmission method… well, that varied depending on the difficulty level.

I’d have to gather more information.

That was why I’d burned the houses, even though supplies were scarce. If the virus was airborne, I was screwed.

The rest of the news was irrelevant.

A terrorist had been executed.

The Minsk Republic in the west denied any involvement.

The Romer Republic in the east expressed its condolences for the unfortunate “accident.”

I shook my head and opened my backpack.

It was time to check the phone.

I was sure the power and water were out in this village, but that didn’t mean they were out everywhere.

The phone was a smartphone, not much different from the one I used to have.

The battery was full.

The buttons worked.

And that was the good news.

“Enter passcode.”

“No network connection.”

I couldn’t even make an emergency call.

I set the phone aside.

“Great.”

This was starting to feel deliberate, like someone had intentionally sabotaged everything.

I put the phone down and examined the items I’d collected.

I accidentally nudged the bullet.

I caught it before it rolled off the table.

It wouldn’t fit in the .22 pistol, but it might still be useful…

“Huh?”

I looked at the bullet again.

There was a scratch on the side of the casing, a “V” shape that had been deliberately etched into the metal.

A brand new pistol.

A scratched bullet.

A locked briefcase.

I picked up the briefcase again.

It was a sleek, black metal case.

There was nothing unusual about it, except for the combination lock.

No, wait.

There was something else.

A small, translucent panel next to the lock.

It was the perfect size for a fingerprint.

I pressed my finger against the panel.

A red light flickered inside, but nothing happened.

“This is getting ridiculous.”

A gun with no bullets.

A locked phone. Limited supplies.

A briefcase that wouldn’t open.

“Status window…?”

Nothing happened. In situations like this, there was usually a translucent window that only I could see, with messages like “Hidden stat activated!” or “Apocalypse Convenience Store: Everything 99,999 won today only!”

“Status window!”

I tried again, putting more energy into it, but nothing happened.

“Staaaatus…”

Hiccup!

I hiccuped.

The phone was ringing. Buzz, buzz! Ring, ring! It vibrated insistently, as if demanding to be answered.

But hadn’t it said there was no network connection?

I took a sip of water and answered the phone.

“I told you not to touch the briefcase, Hoot.”

A gruff male voice.

I said nothing.

“Where the hell are you? Why is your phone off? Don’t you have any idea what’s going on? The situation is…”

The man’s voice was cut off.

“Who is this?”

The voice was lower now, more menacing.

I took a deep breath and answered.

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