How to Be Mistaken for a Villain in a Zombie Apocalypse – Chapter 9

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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I struck a few poses in front of the mirror.

Broad shoulders, defined muscles… If it weren’t for my face, I would have thought I’d been body-snatched.

But even my face had changed.

My blemishes and moles were gone, my nose was straighter, my eyebrows were thicker, and my overall appearance was softer.

“What happened?”

I was subtly more handsome, but I couldn’t figure out why.

I covered half my face with a book.

My face was almost perfectly symmetrical now.

My left jaw, which had been slightly angular before, was now smooth and defined.

Even though it was still my face, I felt a surge of confidence.

The kind of confidence you feel when you look in the mirror after a shower, your face clean and fresh.

And I was stronger.

I’d always enjoyed exercising.

My cheap studio apartment didn’t have an elevator, so I’d been forced to climb six flights of stairs every day.

But yesterday, I’d spent the morning setting zombies on fire and the afternoon riding a bicycle.

And yet, I woke up feeling no muscle soreness whatsoever.

“Is this some kind of minimum stat boost?”

The mirror didn’t answer.

I put on my socks, which I’d hung up to dry the night before, and tied my shoelaces tightly.

A brown shirt that reached my wrists, jeans that reached my ankles, a brown leather belt.

It was practically a naked challenge run, but I had to make do with what I had.

I packed my gear: an empty plastic water bottle, a hunting knife, and the empty condensed milk can.

I left the bicycle and the briefcase in the container house.

I decided to leave the backpack behind.

The bright pink color would stand out too much in the green and brown forest.

And that Barbie doll’s creepy smile was really starting to get on my nerves.

I’d have to scrape it off later.

I stepped out of the container house, taking a deep breath.

“Ah.”

The air was fresh, the forest silent.

No birdsong, no insects buzzing.

Just the transmission towers, rising above the trees, their stark metal frames a stark contrast to the lush greenery.

I headed towards the rocky hill. There was a large, hollowed-out rock at the top, a natural blind that offered a panoramic view of the surrounding area.

It was known as the “Sniper’s Nest.”

Of course, that also meant I could get sniped, so I had to be careful.

I stopped next to a tree that was large enough to conceal my body.

I scanned the area, looking for another tree that would provide cover.

The closest one was too exposed, the path leading to it too open.

I’d be spotted for sure.

No good.

I chose a tree that was further away.

It was on a slight incline, surrounded by bushes, perfect for concealment.

I crouched low, moving quickly and silently, then knelt down next to the tree, catching my breath.

I listened intently, my senses on high alert.

Thankfully, there were no sounds of danger.

I let out a sigh of relief, then forced myself to slow my breathing.

It would be faster to just run to the hill, but that wasn’t the point.

My goal was to survive, not to speedrun. And unexpected situations were… well, unexpected.

I had to conserve my energy.

I continued moving, stopping every few steps to gather reeds and long grasses, tying them together in arches.

These simple traps, like snares, weren’t guaranteed to work.

But the more I set, the higher the chances of catching something.

They weren’t very effective against humans, but they worked well on zombies.

Zombies shuffled, and they weren’t very good at figuring out how to free themselves from traps.

They were perfect for catching unsuspecting prey.

Rustle.

I heard a sound, a sound I hadn’t made.

I crouched lower, hiding behind a thick patch of bushes.

Flutter.

It was just a bird.

It had been sleeping on a branch, or perhaps it had been startled by something.

It took flight, disappearing into the sky.

I followed the edge of the paved road. I saw a rusty truck, abandoned after crashing into a tree years ago.

The doors had rusted off, and the spilled oil had stained the ground.

The driver’s seat and passenger seat were useless.

They’d been stripped clean.

But if I climbed onto the cargo bed, using the tires as footholds…

Creak!… Creak… Screech… Screech…

It was noisy, but I didn’t have a choice.

I grabbed a bundle of thin wire, a rusty pair of pliers, and two long wooden stakes, then quickly climbed back down.

I clutched my loot to my chest and ran back the way I’d come.

“Huff… Huff… Huff…”

As I’d expected, a couple of zombies had been drawn to the truck.

They’d pounded on the sides of the truck, their heads cocked in confusion, then shuffled off into the forest, unable to find the source of the noise.

There was a parking lot in the direction the zombies had gone, part of a nature park, with benches, picnic tables, and other amenities.

There were usually a lot of zombies here, but not much loot.

It wasn’t worth the risk, except in special circumstances.

I took a break, catching my breath and assessing the situation.

I found a shady spot and used the wire to make a few simple snares.

I squeezed the wire with the pliers, carefully twisting it, trying to minimize the noise.

I’d never made a snare before.

I’d only seen it done in the game.

But I managed to create a few decent-looking snares.

“Is this another stat boost?”

Probably.

It would be stranger if it wasn’t.

Just like watching cooking videos wouldn’t make you a master chef, there were certain skills that required practice.

Snare-making was one of them.

I made four snares, each with a secure knot and a wooden stake attached to the end.

The stakes were thick and sturdy, probably intended for building a fence.

I attached an empty plastic water bottle to one of the snares and an empty condensed milk can to another.

I filled them with rocks.

They’d make a noise when triggered.

The sound of plastic hitting plastic would be different from the sound of metal hitting metal, so I’d know which trap had been triggered.

I continued towards the rocky hill.

I set the plastic bottle snare in a dense patch of grass, next to the trail.

I filled it with small pebbles and covered it with leaves and twigs.

The sun was high in the sky. Ten o’clock? Eleven? The top of the hill was covered in rocks, so I wouldn’t get scratched or injured, even if I had to crawl.

I crawled on my stomach, like a spider, scanning the area.

The view was breathtaking.

I lay down on the warm rocks, feeling a sense of peace.

“Grrrrrowl.”

The sound was surprisingly loud.

I was already feeling the effects of hunger.

“Ugh.”

My stomach cramped.

I curled up, clutching my abdomen.

Maybe I should have brought the sausage.

But it was cured meat, and I didn’t want to risk getting dehydrated.

You need to eat to survive…

A distant voice echoed in my head.

No. Stop it.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts.

My stomach growled again, then settled down, as if realizing it was pointless to complain.

Flutter.

I heard the sound of wings flapping.

It was coming from the direction I was planning to go.

The park ranger’s house.

Dried food, water, a backpack, weapons… It wasn’t a treasure trove, but it was better than nothing.

It was known as the “Sample Platter.”

It would have to do.

The bird meant there were probably zombies nearby, but that’s why I’d brought the snares.

“Okay.”

Everything seemed clear.

I carefully made my way down the hill, repeating the same routine I’d been following.

Choose a destination, scout the area, move quickly and silently, set traps, place snares in areas with dense vegetation.

I placed the condensed milk can snare near a stream and one of the unbaited snares at a crossroads.

I reached the stream.

There were three stepping stones, small and picturesque.

The water gurgled, a soothing sound.

I was tempted to drink from the stream, but I didn’t know if it was safe, so I ignored the urge.

The sun was getting stronger.

It was almost noon.

My mouth was dry.

I thought about the stream.

I set the last snare.

And then, I saw them.

Two zombies, shuffling around in the clearing in front of the park ranger’s house.

A red plaid shirt, blue jeans, a scraggly beard, a receding hairline.

It was definitely the park ranger.

The other zombie looked similar, probably a friend or colleague.

The Transmission Tower Forest was where most newbies died.

And the park ranger’s house was the deadliest spot in the entire forest.

If you charged in, thinking you could easily take down two zombies, you’d either become another zombie in that clearing or, if you were lucky, you’d win the fight but end up severely injured, bleeding profusely.

You might win the battle, but you’d lose the war.

But if you knew what you were doing, it was manageable.

It required a bit of luck, but luck could be manipulated.

For example…

“Special delivery!”

I walked towards them, then suddenly threw a rock.

I missed.

No problem.

I had more rocks.

This time, I hit him square in the head.

“Grrrr!”

The park ranger zombie charged at me, full speed ahead.

I turned and ran, retracing my steps, moving as quickly as I could.

The park ranger must have been in good shape when he was alive.

He was faster and stronger than the average zombie.

He wouldn’t go down easily, even with a few well-placed shots.

Newbies, used to slow, lumbering zombies, would freeze in terror.

He was fast, and he was tough.

I stopped, turning to face him.

He was closing in, snarling, his face contorted in rage.

He’d bypassed the first snare.

No problem.

I continued backing away.

If you didn’t win the lottery, you just had to keep buying tickets.

He ignored the snare at the crossroads.

But the zombie behind him tripped over the makeshift tangle of grass and fell.

Not enough.

Something’s missing.

What am I missing?

I racked my brain, a nagging feeling that I’d overlooked something. I thought and thought…

“Ah.”

Right.

The zombies weren’t falling for the traps.

I had to make them more appealing. I had to make them… irresistible.

A legendary singer, a true icon, had once said that a star only excited their fans, but a superstar drove both their fans and their haters crazy.

I had to become a superstar.

I turned to face the park ranger zombie.

He looked pissed. I… had failed to consider his emotional state.

So, I decided to do something that always cheered people up when they were feeling down.
I poked my cheek with my index finger and swayed my hips.

It had worked on a certain idol group.

It would work on him.

“Grrrrraaaaaaaagh!”

The park ranger zombie went ballistic.

Not enough.

I placed my hand on my hip and poked my cheek again.

“What’s the point of this choreography?!”

I popped my hip.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

“Gyaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

The zombie screamed like a teenage girl and charged at me.

They said men became more sensitive as they aged.

It seemed to be true. He didn’t even slow down, even though blood was streaming down his face.

He was a crazed fan, and I was a superstar.

But I knew my limits.

I didn’t attempt a moonwalk.

That was a level of skill I couldn’t even dream of achieving.

But I did manage to crabwalk across the rocky streambed.

I popped my hip, striking a seductive pose.

The zombie, now a raging fangirl, snarled and foamed at the mouth.

But I saw it.

His ankles twisting and turning as he stumbled across the uneven rocks.

His gait was slower now, his ankles strained.

Screech!

“Got you.”

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