WMSR – QT Chapter 118

 

WMSR – QT Chapter 118

By

siofra

Chapter 118: The Senior of the Apocalypse

Inhaling deeply, Gu Song continued: "And the reason I judge the probability of him joining a survivor safe zone to be under fifty percent boils down to Mr. Lin's solitary, independent temperament. Do any of you recall the past rumors surrounding him?"

Those who had been listening with rapt attention quickly dug through their memories for accounts of the enigmatic wielder. Though Mr. Lin had only grown increasingly interactive with their outpost in recent years, his reputation had preceded him for a long time. Strictly speaking, the wielder was far from cold-blooded or merciless; over the years, he had rescued numerous ordinary citizens trapped or hunted by zombies. Yet his temperament was profoundly isolated—while he delivered people from peril, he steadfastly refused to shelter or adopt them, typically abandoning them near a Z City refuge and leaving them to fend for themselves.

Just like the safe zones, not every survivor camp maintained the harmonious atmosphere of their outpost; warlords and corrupt wielder factions frequently governed other settlements, exploiting civilian residents to the extreme. In fact, a portion of the people Mr. Lin rescued consisted of runaways fleeing those tyrannical camps—individuals who naturally harbored zero desire to return behind fortified walls. Nor did a settlement guarantee absolute safety, as weaker camps routinely fell overnight to sudden zombie breaches. Consequently, the most practical law of survival across the apocalypse was aligning oneself with a powerful ability wielder; the stronger your protector, the higher your margin of security.

Driven by this consensus, numerous rescued survivors had frantically begged Mr. Lin to take them under his wing. Most wielders readily accepted such pleas because the dynamic between ability wielders and ordinary humans was mutually beneficial: wielders provided protection and received labor in return. Weaker fighters often exaggerated their combat metrics to amass large followings, living like royalty off the sweat of ordinary citizens—or at the very least, utilizing those human shields as disposable meat sacks to buy escape routes if a horde ever breached the perimeter.

Yet toward all these eager followers who threw themselves at his feet, Mr. Lin remained entirely unmoved, rejecting every single petition. Even more shockingly, when persistent individuals ignored his rejections and trailed him in secret, their courage failed to soften his stance. When those very stalkers subsequently triggered zombie encounters and shrieked for assistance, Mr. Lin stood by as an indifferent spectator, watching them get torn to shreds by infected hordes. Once that incident leaked, the entire region understood that Mr. Lin possessed a heart of iron and an unyielding streak of absolute independence, permanently extinguishing any further thoughts of dependency.

From that juncture onward, isolation became his defining trademark.

Aware of this deeply ingrained solitary streak, Gu Song's optimism regarding Mr. Lin's migration into a safe zone remained dismal. A man so fiercely independent might accept the logistical inconvenience of spending extra hours each month bartering for provisions in a safe zone, but forcing him to live cheek-by-jowl within a crowded community would likely constitute an infinitely greater torment.

While Gu Song's analysis resonated unanimously among the outpost members, miles away, Lin Jiawen remained trapped in agonizing internal torment.

With the survival camp occupying his thoughts, Lin Jiawen cast his gaze toward the person standing right before him. He remains so breathtaking, so captivating. Five years have passed, and he is like a treasured secret I have concealed away in the dark, wrapped tightly in fabric so that only I may steal greedy, precious glances at him each day. If feasible, he wanted to lock this individual away for eternity, shielding his radiance from the gaze of any living soul.

If all Z City outposts relocated, that outcome was arguably superior—it would keep everyone far away from his exclusive treasure. Though acquiring food supplies would require an exhausting trek, he feared no physical hardship; he cared nothing for the extra mileage each month, willing to endure any measure of toil as long as he could exclusively monopolize his singular treasure.

Yet whenever those extreme impulses flared within his mind, a deep-seated instinct whispered a stern warning: You cannot do this. If you cross that line, you will live to regret it...

Though Lin Jiawen lacked context for why such internalized warnings surfaced, he placed absolute faith in that cautionary voice, which explained why he never executed the darkest desires harbored in his heart.

Forcing down his suffocating possessiveness, logic reclaimed his faculties. He recognized that forcefully chaining themselves to Z City was a dangerously irrational plan; choosing whether or not to relocate toward a survivor safe zone could not be decided through the lens of his solitary desires alone.

To him, bypassing a safe zone meant nothing more than running extra miles and enduring physical labor; but to the person he loved most, forcing such an isolated existence introduced unmitigated risks.

Leaving aside other factors, the biological fragility of ordinary humans meant accidents could strike at any moment. When Z City still hosted active outposts, occasional medical personnel resided within the camps to manage emergencies; but now that every civilian group was migrating toward established safe zones, the nearest operating base stood roughly a two-day round trip away even at his maximum wielder velocity. Five years into the apocalypse, functional fuel-driven vehicles were entirely extinct.

When a crisis struck, would he be forced to leave his cherished partner behind to suffer in solitude while he sprinted for help, or drag a feverish, helpless body across treacherous outdoor terrain toward a distant safe zone thousands of miles away?

Alternatively, should he preemptively adopt a strategy mirroring those warlords who accumulated battalions of servants—retaining an outsider purely to delegate domestic chores and tend to his beloved during his absences, thereby breaching the sacred isolation of their shared sanctuary?

Regardless of which path he evaluated, Lin Jiawen found every single option entirely unacceptable.

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