"Wow, congratulations, Cynthia!" Jenny beamed, her eyes sparkling with genuine joy as she clapped her hands together. The golden hairpin glinted in Cynthia's auburn hair, its intricate patterns catching the dim light filtering through the administrative building's windows.
"Yeah, lucky," Jon muttered, clicking his tongue with a playful edge, though a flicker of envy crossed his face.
'Maybe one of those orbs will have a Black Grade treasure,' he thought wistfully, his mind drifting to the unprocessed treasure orbs in his storage space.
The Yasside Hairpin's power, designating a 15-meter defensive zone with enhanced team abilities, was a game-changer, and Jon couldn't help but wonder what other secrets his orbs held.
Cynthia smiled softly, securing the hairpin in her hair. The effect was immediate and striking. "Gasp…" "Woah…" "Wowww…" The group's murmurs of awe filled the room as the hairpin accentuated her natural beauty, casting an almost ethereal glow around her.
Even the Beauty Lord, whose allure had once commanded attention, seemed diminished in comparison, her elegance paling beside Cynthia's radiant presence. Laura, ever pragmatic, suppressed a spark of curiosity about the treasure's power. "Congrats," she said with a small smile, nodding. 'I'll check it out later,' she thought, her practical nature overriding her intrigue.
With the moment of discovery behind them, Jon led his group out of the opulent room, rejoining the others waiting outside the administrative building.
The shocked expressions on Jon, Jenny, and Cynthia's faces betrayed the significance of their find, though no one dared ask questions. The former "Lords" and their fighters, still reeling from Jon's earlier display of power, watched in silence, their eyes filled with regret and speculation.
'Was there a treasure in there all this time?' The Blade Lord thought, biting his lip as he stared at Cynthia's hairpin. His mind churned with what-ifs, the sting of their defeat sharpened by the knowledge that they'd overlooked such a prize.
The Poison Lord shared his sentiment, her gaze flickering to the Beauty Lord. 'If only we'd found that,' she thought, believing a treasure like the hairpin might have tipped the scales in their favor against Jon.
The Beauty Lord, however, was a step ahead, her sharp mind analyzing the situation with cold clarity. Her frown deepened as she considered Jon's overwhelming aura, which still sent shivers down her spine. 'Would we have won with that?' she wondered, doubting a single treasure could counter Jon's raw power.
Using subtle hand signals, she communicated her thoughts to the other "Lords": Wait. Observe. Despite their humiliation, the "Lords" hadn't given up entirely, their ambitions simmering beneath the surface.
Jon, meanwhile, was lost in his own thoughts, his gaze drifting to his wristwatch.
'Why didn't it detect the hairpin?' The question gnawed at him, refusing to fade despite his earlier resolve to let it go. A wild theory crossed his mind: 'What if the watch doesn't recognize it as a treasure, or it's broken?' But a quick glance confirmed the watch was functioning perfectly, its treasure indicator still pulsing faintly toward the Beast Lord, who trailed closely behind him.
'I'll need to talk to him soon,' Jon decided, intrigued by the idea that a person could be a treasure.
Without sending the former "Lords" and their fighters back to the cafeteria, Jon's group resumed their march toward their next destination, the defeated group trailing reluctantly behind. The Beast Lord, his once-imposing demeanor subdued, walked closest to Jon, his eyes wary but curious, as if drawn by an unspoken connection.
After ten minutes of navigating the campus's ruins, they arrived at a vast expanse of land enclosed by gravel and wired fences.
This was the university's bus depot, where vehicles were stored, repaired, and maintained. Rows of buses stretched across the lot, their numbers staggering despite the destruction that had ravaged the campus. The sheer scale wasn't surprising for Palflic University. It was a prestigious institution renowned across the continent, and they were prepared for any crisis, including mass evacuations. Yet no one could have anticipated a disaster of this magnitude.
The scene was grim.
Dried and fresh blood stained the gravel, mingling with scorch marks from burnt-out buses. Some vehicles were charred husks, others split in half as if cleaved by a giant's blade. Large black craters pockmarked the ground, remnants of explosions or fallen survivors.
Worst of all were the zombies, their shambling forms scattered across the depot. Unlike the sluggish creatures from the early days of the fall, these zombies were faster, jogging toward the group with an average level of 8, a grim reminder of the evolving threats in this shattered world.
Jon's group sprang into action, their movements precise and coordinated.
Within five minutes, the depot was cleared, and the zombies were removed with ruthless efficiency. The former "Lords" and their fighters watched in awe, their earlier bravado replaced by a grudging respect.
With the area secure, Jon's team surveyed the buses, counting roughly a hundred vehicles still in decent condition despite the devastation. For Palflic, this preparedness was a testament to its resources, now proving invaluable in their bid for survival.
Without delay, they boarded the buses, the engines roaring to life as they turned back toward the cafeteria. Along the way, they cleared the roads of debris, overturned carts, shattered glass, and fallen trees, ensuring a smooth path for the convoy. The rhythmic hum of the engines was a small comfort, a promise of mobility in a world that felt increasingly claustrophobic.
A Few Hours Earlier,
Back at the cafeteria, tension had gripped the survivors as the first group of deserters returned, their faces pale with fear.
They brought unsettling news of new, terrifying monsters, their fragmented accounts sparking panic.
"I heard something happened to them," one survivor whispered.
"W-What…"
"H-How…" The murmurs spread like wildfire, fear taking root as the deserters admitted they didn't know what had happened after they fled. The group of leaders tasked with maintaining order struggled to quell the rising hysteria, their authority fraying under the weight of uncertainty.
Just as panic reached a fever pitch, a second group burst through the cafeteria doors, their voices cutting through the chaos.
"Everything is fine, they're going to continue!" one shouted.
"Jon's a monster, you should have seen him!" another added, awe in their tone. But the news wasn't all hopeful:
"Tunde… he didn't make it…" The words hung heavy, silencing the room. The atmosphere shifted to a cautious calm, relief mingling with grief.
While most survivors clung to the hope of Jon's success, lecturers, staff, and former school executives pressed for details, desperate to understand the dangers beyond the cafeteria's walls.
To pass the time and ease their nerves, the survivors listened to the second group's stories, piecing together tales of Jon's power and the horrors they'd faced. The narratives, though fragmented, offered a distraction from the fear that had gripped them.
The distant rumble of engines broke the cafeteria's tense silence, growing louder and steadier.
Vroom… Vroom… Vroom…
The sound was a lifeline, a pulsing rhythm that promised escape. Survivors rushed to the windows and doors, straining to see the approaching convoy. When the line of buses came into view, their eyes widened, and a wave of cheering erupted, infectious and unrestrained.
"They brought the buses!"
"Yes! We're getting out of here!"
"Woah!"
The shouts echoed through the cafeteria, tears of joy mingling with cries of relief.
For the first time since the fall, hope felt tangible, like a beacon in the darkness. The survivors had endured unimaginable horrors, zombies, monstrous creatures, and psychological strain that had arisen from the uncertainty of their future.
Due to that, rumors of gangs, betrayals, romances, and heartbreak had woven through the group, some even exploiting Jon's reputation to gain influence or safety. Desperation had driven others to flee or rebel, many meeting tragic ends.
These were also among the issues Tunde had tried to tell Jon about, but his death had left those words unknown to him.
As Jon's group disembarked and entered the cafeteria, the crowd's cheers reached a fever pitch, a roar of gratitude and hope.
Jon's Moon Gaze swept over the survivors, and a pang of sorrow hit him. Their numbers were fewer than he remembered. Things must've happened along the way.
Jenny stepped forward, raising her hands to quiet the crowd. Her presence commanded attention, her voice steady and resolute. "We brought enough buses to get everyone on board," she announced. "We'll start clearing the path out of the school, and in two or three days, we'll be ready to leave this place for good." Her excitement was contagious, igniting a spark of hope that spread like wildfire.
"Pack your things, everyone," she continued, clenching her fists with conviction. "The military or some form of aid will be out there, and following proper procedures. We will survive this." The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices echoing through the cafeteria, a rare moment of unity and optimism.
As the survivors savored this fleeting happiness, a question lingered in the air, unspoken but heavy:
What comes next?
The buses were a lifeline, but the world beyond the campus was an unknown, filled with new dangers and uncertainties.