Apocalypse Gachapon - Chapter 1584.5- Thank you

When the female guards entered the city, Stink Nest’s will broke completely.

The disparity was too vast—in levels, skills, and equipment. Ten-to-one numbers meant nothing when only two or three could simultaneously engage Cloud Peak’s elites.

Methodically, they began the slaughter. No hurry. No escape. The icebirds and the undead Red Hair had sealed every exit.

“…Isn’t this too extreme?”

One of Old Man’s squad whispered it. His teammates paled.

They’d seen their compatriots’ brutality firsthand. Earlier, they’d questioned the necessity. Now, witnessing an eight-star dragon, two eight-star icebirds, a nightmarish undead beast, and an eight-star war hound, they understood: Stink Nest was doomed.

With only Ivan as their sole eight-star evolved, nothing could stop Cloud Peak.

No wonder they declared slaughter so casually. Even without lifting a finger, their tamed monsters alone could turn this place into a graveyard.

Now, Old Man’s team wondered: Were these ruthless allies a blessing… or a future threat?

Ye Zhongming, standing nearby, showed no anger at the whispered doubt. He simply gazed at the corpses on the walls and said softly:

“If I were weak, they would have slaughtered us instead.”

Silence.

This was the apocalypse. The law of the jungle, stripped bare.

Weakness wasn’t misfortune—it was sin.

Right and wrong didn’t enter into it.

The battle ended in an hour. A speed that left Old Man’s squad dumbfounded.

Killing ten thousand should take longer—until they remembered Yangos’s breath incinerating hundreds in seconds.

Looting took far longer. By dawn, every valuable item in Stink Nest lay piled outside.

Casualties? None for Cloud Peak. A handful of minor injuries. The resistance had been too feeble to matter.

The spoils:

100,000+ low-tier demon crystals (only 2,000+ at six-star or above, a pitiful seven at eight-star).

Equipment—one intact gold-grade piece, thirty-some blue, two hundred green. (Cloud Peak’s forces wore all blue or better; the haul was laughable by their standards.)

Assorted materials, scrolls, potions—a few impressed Ye Zhongming.

After claiming the best, Ye let Old Man’s squad pick ten items each from the leftovers.

“Wait—we can take evolution potions too?”

Their eyes locked on the vials. Most six-star potions were gone, but plenty of five-star remained. For a team where only a few were five-star evolved (the rest stuck at four), this was a windfall.

At Ye’s nod, they dove into the trove like starved men at a feast. Even Old Man, usually composed, joined the frenzy.

Smiling slightly, Ye left them to it and entered his tent. Inside, Ivan lay curled on the ground.

The former warlord had tried to flee yesterday. Yellow Ball caught him in under a minute.

“Made your decision?” Ye asked.

Ivan glanced up, then away. Silent, as he’d been since capture.

“I know you understand Mandarin.”

Ye had noticed Ivan’s reaction during the slaughter order—foreigners had been confused; Ivan had understood.

“Last chance. Tell me what I want, and you die clean. Refuse, and the pain will make you regret being born.”

He sat, watching. “Ten seconds.”

“…You’ll keep your word?” Ivan’s accent was thick but intelligible.

“Belief is your concern, not mine.”

A bitter laugh. Then, haltingly, Ivan spoke:

“Yakutsk is the largest nearby city. Recently, a beast tide hit. Wiped out a major faction’s branch. Their main force sent an expedition, allied with locals, and is still fighting the mutated creatures there.”

He detailed Yakutsk’s factions, nearby powers, and rumors, including the attacking organization’s name and strength.

But nothing about the black-clad zombie woman.

Ye tried again: “Ever hear of a female mutated zombie carrying a black cat?”

Ivan frowned. “No zombie. But… one of the beast tide leaders was an eight-star mutated black cat.”

Ye’s eyebrow twitched. He fired off more questions—some about Yakutsk, some random—occasionally repeating earlier ones to check consistency. Satisfied Ivan wasn’t lying (the man clearly hoped for mercy), he turned to leave.

At the tent flap, Ivan suddenly called out:

“I—I could join you. Serve loyally.”

Ye paused. Then, without turning, he gave Ivan the last words he’d ever hear:

“Thank you.”