My players are too fierce!

Fragments of Obsession, [Sick Village], first floor of the mansion, back door.

A tattooed young man was assigned here by the clan chief to do guard work.

He leaned on a gun, yawning, his eyes full of sleepiness.

Outside the balcony, the blood moon hung high, snow was falling heavily, and it was pitch black; you couldn't see anything if you were a little further away.

He was very dissatisfied with the task assigned by the clan chief.

In this desolate wilderness, there isn't even a bird in sight, and those monsters won't come out on their own, so what's there to be wary of?

What's more, they recently caught two fat sheep.

Fresh meat is definitely better than that pile of rotten meat, right?

It's a pity that the old man had all the head of the pot; what a disappointment.

Next time, let's cook that old man together with the eldest sister, so he won't get in the way.

But I heard the old man's meat isn't very good...

As I was thinking, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

It was because of this oversight that he didn't see someone come downstairs.

And behind that man was a large horde of plague-infested zombies.

The newcomer was none other than the swordsman.

He quietly went to the backyard and gently opened the gate.

There was no lock, only a bolt, which could keep out mindless plague zombies, but not conscious living people.

squeak-

He saw that the man standing guard at the back gate was already asleep.

He reached for the back door, drew his broken sword, and his eyes were filled with coldness.

These things can no longer be called 'human'...

They are... the fallen!

Aim at the neck, and thrust out—

"Uh..."

The fallen one stared wide-eyed, his eyes filled with disbelief.

Whether he couldn't believe there were zombies who could use swords, or whether someone was actually planning a sneak attack, is unknown.

Looking at the convulsing corpse lying on the ground, the swordsman's eyes remained calm, even showing a hint of excitement.

These are cannibals...the fallen...

Just like the coachman he killed before, he repeatedly told himself that these people were the enemy and that killing them was an act of justice, which made him feel much better.

Not to mention that the blood on his hands didn't belong to his comrades at all.

But...why is the blood of these twisted beings also red?

Take a deep breath—

Perhaps his olfactory nerves had rotted away, because he couldn't smell anything at all.

All was quiet, and snowflakes gently landed on his shoulder.

With bloodstained hands, he pushed open the back door.

A gust of cold wind swept into the corridor.

A fallen man carrying a bowl shivered in the wind and cursed, "You bastard! Trying to sneak in and slack off again, are you?!"

He was almost at the door when he seemed to sense something and stopped in his tracks.

Does it smell bloody?

"Yes... hehe..."

In the shadows, a sword severed half of his neck, leaving the alarm he was about to sound inside his stomach.

Fresh blood splattered into the bowl of soup, and the swordsman barely managed to catch it.

Thump, the heavy object fell to the ground.

On his deathbed, he saw a group of monsters emerging from the dark snow.

It's over...

Although the fallen one failed to raise the alarm, the swordsman was ultimately not a true white-robed assassin.

The sound of the body falling to the ground still carried.

There are no rooms in this corridor, no rooms to hide in.

"What the hell are you doing? Making such a commotion just guarding the gate!"

The man was furious. He had a flintlock gun stuck to his shoulder and strode angrily toward the back door.

Then he ran headfirst into the rotting-faced swordsman.

The fallen man was startled and raised his gun... seemingly realizing that the gun was difficult to maneuver in this confined space, he began to swing it around like a stick.

"There are enemies!"

This time, the swordsman failed to launch a sneak attack. His several sword strikes were blocked by the opponent's fire poker, giving the opponent a chance to sound the alarm.

Ta-da!

The sound of hurried footsteps could be heard all around; the enemy was gathering!

Charge forward, ignoring the opponent's swings, trading injury for injury.

The butt of the gun slammed into the swordsman's left shoulder, and his broken sword pierced the man's heart.

He stepped on the corpse and pulled out the broken sword with one hand.

If your shoulder is not working properly, it could be dislocated or it could be a comminuted fracture.

The Heartbreak Plague granted the swordsman the gift of pain shielding, but also robbed him of his self-healing ability.

It's already a blessing that rotting flesh can move; how can we ask for more?

Sometimes the swordsman would think that if his flesh and blood attribute hadn't reached two points, he might have long since turned into a lifeless pile of rotten flesh.

This room is at the intersection of a T-shaped passageway, with an iron gate in front and a long corridor to the left.

boom--

A figure wearing a bird-beak mask was pressed tightly against the iron gate.

His eyesight was a little blurry, but he still recognized him by instinct; it was Kashima.

He opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything.

He forgot that his vocal cords had long since rotted away.

Kashima shook the iron gate, seemingly saying something, but he couldn't hear what he was saying.

It turns out he was also deaf; no wonder he hadn't sensed any sounds from the corpse before.

[Sanity -10]

Current sanity: 5/90

There was no other way but to help his brother out of this predicament, since that was his purpose in coming here anyway.

Raise your hand and chop hard.

"What the hell is that?!"

A squad of three Fallen Ones, armed with weapons, came to investigate.

Then you see a sword-wielding monster, not much different from the plague zombies outside, banging on the door.

One man held a gun, while two others drew their bows.

boom--

The bullets missed, but two arrows struck the swordsman's left arm, from which black blood slowly flowed.

bang——

The lock was smashed down.

The broken sword was unharmed.

The good thing about this game is that the equipment can be bound; there's no concept of durability.

However, in the swordsman's eyes, Kashima did not immediately leave the room.

He knew without a doubt that Kashima had seen the thing behind him.

The two corpses were clearly not enough to feed the hundreds of plague-infested zombies.

boom--

The shot shattered the swordsman's kneecap, forcing him to lie prone against the door.

Close your eyes and let the darkness completely envelop you.

Waiting to be killed or to die naturally when reason fails.

The swordsman fell silent, as still as if he were dead.

"Hurry up! We need to get that thing off the sheepfold, otherwise the fat sheep will get dirty and we'll get yelled at!"

The leader of the fallen ones, holding a gun, berated his two henchmen.

The lackey dared not speak out in anger and had no choice but to do as he was told.

only..

As soon as I stepped out of the corridor, I saw another group of guests.

Plague zombies!

These things don't usually cause them trouble, do they?

At the same time they discovered the latter, the latter also discovered them.

Fresh flesh and blood are more appealing than the half-rotten flesh and blood of the swordsman.

Faced with such a vast numerical disadvantage, the three Fallen Ones were terrified and screamed as they retreated.

Kashima huddled in a corner of the room, out of sight from the doorway, listening to the increasingly sparse bursts of gunfire and screams coming from not far away.

There was no more noise from the kitchen next door; the cook there had probably joined the fray.

Including the sounds of flesh being torn apart that came from behind.

Is this what zombie crisis is all about...?

Holy crap, that's awesome! This guy's really going all out this time?

After the gunfire stopped, he turned sideways and looked out the door from around the corner.

The swordsman was still leaning against the door, with several teeth marks on his shoulder.

His face was unrecognizable; it was completely rotten.

He poked it, but the swordsman turned to ashes the next moment.

[Number of players remaining in the current instance: 2]

After the swordsman who had been blocking his view disappeared, he saw a woman in a white robe standing on the opposite side.

Only the whites of his eyes were visible, and there were black tear stains at the corners of his eyes.

Her eyes were full of confusion.

She waited for the swordsman for a long time.

But why...why would he rather die than become family with them?