"Ride the modified street bikes out there to draw the attention of the corpses?"
The order hung in the cold morning air, greeted by expressions of sheer, paralyzing terror. After the bloody experiences of the past forty-eight hours, every single survivor huddled in the Takagi courtyard knew that the rotting monsters relied entirely on sound to hunt.
And those customized, exhaust-popping "Ghost Fire" motorcycles?
On a normal day in the old world, riding one down the street might indeed offer the rebellious thrill of flouting noise ordinances. But *now*? The thousands upon thousands of corpses milling blindly outside the reinforced gates had become a living, flesh-eating nightmare. Sheltered behind the tall perimeter walls, the group at least retained a fragile shred of security. But to hop on a screaming motorcycle and go for a joyride through the infected streets? Were they in a rush to be torn apart and eaten alive?
"I heard you boys used to be quite the 'cool' delinquent street racers," Adrian said, his dark eyes locking onto the handful of youths he had specifically singled out. He offered them a beaming, utterly merciless smile. "So why is it that now, when your syndicate actually needs you to ride, you have suddenly gotten cold feet?"
These were the very same *Isshinkai* thugs who had glared at him with furious, thinly veiled hatred just yesterday when he had decapitated their boss. Although they had managed to swallow their anger at the time to survive, Adrian had absolutely no desire to keep such ticking time bombs around his new empire.
Any individual who posed even the slightest potential threat of future rebellion was best sent to their bloody death immediately. Of course, in an apocalyptic era where human resources were incredibly scarce, senseless slaughter inside the compound would be far too wasteful. One ought to at least find a highly practical way to put such biological 'waste products' to use first.
"I..."
The six thugs who had been singled out exchanged terrified, uneasy glances. Anyone with half a brain could see that the new Master was simply purging those he deemed undesirable. Yet, looking at the heavily armed turncoats standing right behind Adrian—their rifles raised and eyeing them with malicious, eager intent—they naturally dared not voice a single objection.
Going out to serve as bait was indeed a near-certain death sentence—perhaps a one-in-ten chance of outrunning the horde. But if they dared to refuse the order? That would mean an instant, absolute bullet to the head. A zero-in-ten chance.
The doomed men looked with pleading, desperate eyes at the fellow gang members they had once proudly called 'brothers.' Yet, upon meeting their gaze, every single one of their former comrades sheepishly turned their heads away, staring intensely at the concrete.
'Better a dead friend than a dead me,' was the unspoken, cowardly consensus. While it was true that they had all sworn blood oaths to be brothers in the past, in a living hell like this, wasn't a 'brother' just someone you sold out to buy yourself another day of breathing?
Rumble... Vroooom!
Under the silent, cowardly gazes of their peers, the six former core members of the Isshinkai—looking as utterly miserable as if they were walking to the gallows—climbed onto the heavily modified motorcycles. The heavy iron gates were pulled open. With a desperate, terrified twist of the throttles, they shot out into the street like bats out of hell, their engines screaming.
Thanks to the heroic, forced sacrifice of these six pieces of cannon fodder, the massive horde of Shitai that had been besieging the Takagi estate was instantly drawn away by the deafening noise, chasing the bikers down the block. After all, the undead possessed absolutely no intelligence; in Adrian's tactical eyes, they were no more significant than a swarm of mindless locusts. Easily manipulated.
"Pick up the pace, livestock! If you keep dragging your feet, you can stay behind and wait to be eaten!" Adrian barked.
The Takagi family had hoarded a substantial stockpile of supplies and heavy vehicles, but now, every last drop of fuel and grain had effectively fallen into his hands.
Most of the terrified survivors were herded into three large, commercial buses. Each vehicle was packed with nearly sixty people—shoved in so tightly, in fact, that they resembled nothing so much as crying, sweating sardines in a tin can.
Adrian, however, simply grabbed Yuriko Takagi from the study. The beautiful Wall Street elite was still bound, gagged, and utterly shattered from the morning's degrading biological ordeal. He effortlessly hauled her trembling, filthy body outside and tossed her bare ass carelessly into the back seat of a heavy armored Jeep, climbing into the driver's seat to lead the vanguard.
The convoy encountered no significant obstacles on the road. Most of the Shitai had already been lured away by the doomed bikers, and the few scattered stragglers that remained wandering the asphalt were utterly incapable of withstanding the crushing impact of the heavy bus bumpers. Furthermore, since the distance between the fallen Takagi estate and the Yokogawa Mountain Base was a mere one kilometer, they arrived at their fortified destination before the dead could even manage to regroup into a threat.
"Father!"
As soon as the heavy steel gates of the base rolled open and he drove the Jeep into the lower compound, Adrian spotted Saeko standing at the entrance. She was clad in full, black military tactical gear, her hands resting confidently on the hilt of her katana as she awaited his return.
"We welcome you back in triumph, Master!"
The purple-haired swordswoman gazed at the heavy vehicles filing in behind his Jeep, followed by the massive crowd of bewildered, terrified survivors, and a blissful, dark smile spread across her beautiful face.
From now on, all of this—the towering walls, the fertile land, the weapons—everything here belonged exclusively to her and her Master. These people stepping off the buses were not refugees; they were now her subjects, her property. She had already undergone a complete, terrifying shift in mindset, fully embracing her role as the lethal Queen of this apocalyptic fortress.
"Excellent. With this fresh livestock here, the lower base can finally go into full operation," Adrian grinned with dark delight, pointing toward the dazed crowd.
The perimeter of the Yokogawa Mountain Base encompassed several hundred acres of barren, terraced land. On average, this meant each able-bodied person would be responsible for tilling and tending two or three acres by hand. It was a trivial task for seasoned, old-world farmers, but for these soft, sheltered survivors accustomed to comfortable lives in the big city, it would undoubtedly prove to be a grueling, back-breaking nightmare.
But Adrian did not care about their comfort. Anything could be learned. He was absolutely convinced that, under the combined, primal incentives of leather whips, live ammunition, and the desperate threat of starvation, even a pampered corporate pig could be taught how to farm the dirt.
With such a massive influx of people entering the base all at once, resources for daily necessities and living quarters in the lower camps immediately became stretched thin. Providing for the eating, drinking, sanitary, and sleeping needs of over two hundred frightened people was, without question, a massive logistical challenge.
Fortunately, the intimidating, blood-soaked authority established by Adrian—who had proven he would effortlessly sever heads without a second thought—still held absolute sway. Consequently, no fools dared to stir up any protests or demand human rights at such a critical juncture.
With the ruthless assistance of Shichiro, Hachiro, and the newly armed turncoats who had pledged their absolute allegiance, Adrian spent the better part of the morning toiling away until, at last, he managed to establish a brutal, highly efficient semblance of feudal order.
Within the outer base, the entire human population was immediately stratified into distinct, inescapable castes.
Loyal commanders like Shichiro and Hachiro enjoyed every conceivable privilege—essentially occupying a status akin to the Daimyo warlords of feudal Japan.
The armed men who had voluntarily defected and pledged their loyalty as guards were treated as a privileged military class—much like the Samurai of old. Not only were they entirely exempted from manual agricultural labor, but they also enjoyed access to amenities and comforts far beyond the reach of the common folk. They were given access to confiscated alcohol, tobacco, and the best cuts of meat. On any ordinary day, these things might seem utterly commonplace; yet in the burning hell of the new world, they were priceless treasures—goods that a billion yen couldn't buy.
As for the ordinary people? The elderly, the weak, the former corporate drones?
They were left with no choice but to rely on grueling, exhausting daily labor to earn just enough meager rations to keep their bellies from rumbling. After all, in a dead world like this, mere survival is a luxury in itself. Surely they didn't expect the Master to simply feed and shelter them for free?
Having finished delegating the brutal administration of the outer base, Adrian finally made his way back up the private road to the mountaintop sanctuary with a leisurely, victorious air.
"Welcome back, Husband."
In stark contrast to how she had appeared that morning in her intimidating tactical gear, Saeko was now waiting for him in the grand foyer. She was clad in a stunning, pure-white silk kimono adorned with delicate cherry blossoms—an elegant, traditional outfit that lent the lethal young woman an added touch of mature, submissive grace.
However, standing right behind the beautiful swordswoman was a 'cow'—or rather, a woman dressed entirely as a literal cow—looking utterly bewildered.
"Huh? Why do I have to wear something like this?!"
Shizuka grumbled in profound dissatisfaction. The massive, airheaded school nurse was stuffed inside a plush, humiliatingly degrading black-and-white cow mascot costume, complete with a tail and floppy ears. She was frantically attempting to peel the heavy outfit off her sweating body; however, with her hands completely trapped inside the bulky, rounded plush hooves, she found it utterly impossible to undress herself.
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