Chapter Five: The Summoning

The storm raged on for two days before it finally began to subside. In the end, the barrier of Zone Nine withstood the onslaught, and the monstrous tempest, like a rampaging beast, was repelled—defeated by the shield, it withdrew and disappeared. Once it was gone, everything returned to its former tranquility. The people who had hidden within Zone Nine started to stir; they bustled through the halls, preparing weapons, food, ammunition, and every conceivable supply. The trading hall, usually so cold and deserted, was now alive with a cacophony of voices.

After every storm, the mutated creatures and energy leeches would inevitably appear in the places the tempest had swept through. To ensure the safety of the settlement, the ruling factions would hire mercenaries and hunters to scour the surroundings, clearing out these monsters. This was not only to keep the roads open but also to harvest energy chips from the creatures, compensating for the network energy lost while the shield was up. Only those who made exceptional contributions to the settlement could earn the right to live here permanently. Some might even go further, joining the ranks of the settlement’s inner circle—a tempting prospect for those rootless mercenaries, hunters, and warriors.

Because of this, the trading hall was now a hive of activity. Once a pre-cataclysm commercial center, it had long since lost its original function, yet people had found a new purpose for it.

“Hey, we’re heading to clear out the zombie horde in the west district—anyone want to join?”

“The Redbeard Mercenary Company is recruiting! Prove yourself and you can join us, and have a home here! Sign up now!”

“Guns! Cannons! Grenades! If you can afford it, we’ve got every weapon you could want! Need a war vehicle or a grenade launcher? We can get them for you—limited stock, act fast!”

In the midst of the marketplace clamor, Farren quietly ascended the stairs to the second floor, paying no mind to the desperate souls below. Most of them would never return. Mercenary companies recruiting now were just gathering cannon fodder, sending rookies to the front lines under the pretense of “trials.” Only those who survived, unscathed by monsters or friendly fire, would be offered the chance to join. Otherwise, they wouldn’t live to see another sunrise.

As for the supposed “cooperative missions,” everyone knew those were just invitations for betrayal—partners in battle would turn on each other the moment the objective was met. With limited rewards, the fewer survivors, the greater the spoils.

Even the seemingly harmless arms dealers were far from innocent. Sure, they could get you anything—grenade launchers, war vehicles, even tanks—but you’d never know what tricks they’d set up. Perhaps your vehicle would “break down” at just the wrong moment, or your tank would inadvertently hit a live wire, reducing you to a pile of charred remains. Then, in the name of “recycling,” the arms dealers would reclaim the wreckage.

Such was the post-apocalyptic world: order still existed, but only in the ways one chose to interpret it.

The heavy door closed behind Farren, shutting out the clamor beyond. He removed his wide-brimmed hat and, smiling, raised his head to look ahead. Judging from the opulent and spotless decor, this was clearly a VIP room. Others had arrived before him—most he recognized, a few he didn’t, though he could easily guess their identities.

Anyone qualified to be here was among the elite of Zone Nine, so it wasn’t hard to deduce who the strangers must be.

At Farren’s appearance, nearly everyone’s expression changed. Those who knew him grew grave; those who didn’t wore puzzled looks, clearly uncertain who this young man was.

“Well, I didn’t expect they’d call you in too. The old men must really be in trouble this time, ‘Doctor.’”

A woman lounging on the sofa waved at him with bored indifference. She looked about twenty-five or six, her hair dyed in a riot of colors. Her otherwise attractive face was riddled with rings—through her lips, nose, ears, and even two metal hoops dangling from her eyelids, making her look like a walking metal exhibit, enough to make anyone with trypophobia faint.

“Greetings, Your Majesty the ‘Queen.’”

Farren smiled and bowed in response. The woman seemed pleased by this, laughing as she waved a hand. Then she tossed a flirtatious glance at the black cat by Farren’s side.

“Hey, little one, you’re here too? Want some candy from big sister?”

At her words, the black cat poked its head out, gave her a look, then quickly retreated. The Queen only shrugged. Just as she was about to say more, a man as massive as a bear suddenly stood up and strode over to Farren, looming over him.

“So, you’re the ‘Doctor’?”

“That’s right.”

Farren’s smile didn’t waver as he met the man’s gaze. The brute abruptly tensed, grabbed Farren by the collar, and hauled him up, glaring murderously.

“You killed my brother?!”

“I’m not sure who you’re referring to, sir.”

Even with his collar in the man’s grip, Farren remained unperturbed. The black cat arched its back, hissing at the man threatening its master. The others in the room reacted differently—some watched with indifference, others with morbid curiosity. Those who knew Farren looked at the brute as though at a dead man walking.

“Two days ago, at the bar—do I need to jog your memory with my fists?!”

Unbothered by the attention, the man clenched his meaty fists, veins bulging as he trembled with rage. Yet Farren’s smile didn’t falter.

“Oh… that patient. Of course I remember. I treated him, but he was beyond saving, so I had to put him down. Is there a problem?”

“You—what did you say?!”

The man’s fury erupted; he raised his fist high. Farren made no move to resist, only shook his head slightly, a helpless smile on his lips.

“It seems you need treatment as well.”

At that instant, an overwhelming sense of dread exploded within the man—a warrior’s instinct screaming of impending death. He leapt back, muscles tensed, power surging as he prepared to deliver a lethal blow…

But when he landed, his enormous body was utterly powerless. With a heavy thud, he collapsed onto his back. His lifeless eyes still burned with rage, but all trace of life was gone. There wasn’t a mark on his body—save for the surgical scalpel embedded dead center in his forehead, the only evidence of what had transpired in that instant.

The newcomers blanched with shock. This man had been a level-five authority, the leader of a mercenary company—yet now he was just a corpse. That young man had killed him with a flick of his wrist. Did he not realize what that meant?

Those familiar with Farren, however, gave the body barely a glance before losing interest. They’d seen this coming—a mercenary leader? Level-five? It hardly mattered.

In the face of death, all are equal—a truth that is anything but an empty phrase.

A creak broke the silence as the door opened again. An elderly man in a tailored suit entered, surveying the corpse before turning to Farren, who stood quietly, smiling as before.

“You haven’t changed at all, ‘Doctor.’”

Farren offered no reply, nor did the old man seem to expect one. He waved a hand, and the body was swiftly removed. The door closed once more.

No one objected. The frail-looking old man who stood before them was the Executive Director of the Blackstone Group, which ruled Zone Nine—in simple terms, the king of this place.

“Well, now that everyone is here, I’ll be brief.”

Standing before the gathering, the old man cleared his throat, looking over those seated and standing before him.

“Thank you all for coming. I’m sure you’ve noticed that everyone present wields considerable influence in Zone Nine. As for why we’ve called you here, the reason is simple.”

He paused, then continued.

“Blackstone Group hopes you will join our city development program.”