Umbradrake froze the moment he heard that—he could tell Big Ears wasn't just talking. That was a threat, plain and simple.

This guy with the giant ears… sure knows how to hit where it hurts.

"Big Ears, I'm begging you, man. We can't keep doing this. If we push it any further, something bad's gonna happen!" Umbradrake pleaded, his face twisted in frustration.

"Oh? Now you're begging me? I told you ages ago to be my right-hand man, but you turned me down. And now look at you," Big Ears sneered.

He leaned in, voice low and firm. "I don't care. We're getting more pigs, period. You want trouble now, or trouble later? Your call."

"I…" Umbradrake was speechless. At this point, he didn't really have a choice. If he kept shaking down the other corpse nests for livestock, he risked pushing them into a full-blown fight. But if he stopped… Big Ears and his crew would turn on him right now.

So, in the end, Umbradrake caved to Big Ears' pressure. And once he took that step, there was no turning back. He was in too deep now, walking further and further down a road he couldn't escape.

…

Of course, Big Ears wasn't just throwing out threats for fun. He knew damn well that a showdown with the neighboring corpse nests was inevitable.

Once his boss came back, they'd be cleaning house anyway.

So why not squeeze them dry while he still could?

Sure enough, after Umbradrake went back out and started extorting more livestock, the other corpse nests were reaching their breaking point. The tension was thick, and the anger was boiling over.

"What the hell is up with Umbradrake? He's here every other day demanding pigs!"

"Is he trying to take over Southvale or something?"

"I don't care anymore. If he shows up again, I'm going all in. I'll fight him to the death!"

"Damn right! If we all stand together, let's see what he can really do!"

"…"

The Zombie Kings were seething, their fury growing by the day.

With resources running dry, their underlings—the mindless undead—were starving, restless, and itching for blood. The hunger was driving them mad, and the thirst for violence was becoming unbearable.

All it would take was a single spark to ignite a war.

…

Meanwhile, Ethan was walking down a brightly lit underground corridor, getting closer and closer to the classified lab.

City Guards were stationed along the hallway, rifles in hand, eyes sharp and alert.

"Young Master Trent, welcome," the captain of the guards said, straightening up the moment he spotted him.

Trent still reeked of alcohol. "Yeah, brought a few good friends along. Thought we'd take a little tour of the lab."

The captain glanced around, clearly uneasy. "Uh… sir, bringing this many people… doesn't really follow protocol, does it?"

"Protocol?" Trent scoffed. "My rules are the protocol. These are all old friends—people I trust. What's the problem with letting them take a look?"

The captain hesitated, then gave the group another once-over. Every single one of them was from a powerful family—names that carried weight, people with influence. He was just a guard. No way he could afford to piss them off.

"Well… if you say so, Young Master Trent. Of course, go right ahead."

"Mm. That's more like it." Trent smirked, clearly enjoying the authority.

The armed guards stepped aside respectfully, clearing a path.

Trent led the group forward, swagger in every step.

Everyone looked around with wide eyes, curiosity buzzing in the air.

Up ahead, an elevator came into view—spacious, sleek, and brightly lit. It looked like it could hold at least twenty people.

"Alright, no rush. We'll take the elevator down—lab's just below," Trent said, stepping inside. He leaned forward and lined up his eye with a scanner.

A thin green beam swept across his pupil.

[Retina scan complete. Access granted.]

"Pretty high-tech," Ethan muttered under his breath, eyebrows raised.

The elevator began its descent, humming softly as it dropped—fast and deep. They went down nearly a thousand feet before it finally slowed to a stop.

Everyone inside was buzzing with anticipation. Then came a crisp ding, and the alloy doors slid open with a smooth hiss.

"Oh my god…"

The group stepped out and immediately froze, eyes wide with shock.

Before them stretched a massive underground hall, brightly lit and bustling with activity. Scientists in white lab coats moved briskly between workstations, arms full of documents and data pads. Technicians were scattered throughout, welding, assembling, and fine-tuning all kinds of mechanical components.

This wasn't just a lab—it was a full-blown research and manufacturing facility.

"Damn, this is next-level," one of the young men muttered, clearly impressed.

Trent stood at the front, hands on his hips, grinning like a proud showman. "So... what do you think? Just your average little lab. Nothing too fancy, right?"

"'Average'? Bro, this place is nuts. I'd move in tomorrow if I could," the guy shot back, eyes still darting around in awe.

Another chimed in, laughing, "Trent, if this is what you call average, I don't even wanna know what 'impressive' looks like."

Trent chuckled, clearly loving every second of it. "Haha, as long as you're impressed, that's all that matters."

Ethan, meanwhile, was scanning the room with sharp eyes. It wasn't just Guard Mechs being developed here—there were other, more advanced projects too.

He spotted sleek, form-fitting armor that looked straight out of a superhero movie—like something Iron Man would wear. There were mechanical arms coated in liquid metal, gleaming under the lights, shifting and flexing like they were alive.

These weren't mass-produced. They looked even more advanced than the Guard Mechs.

As they walked deeper into the lab, researchers began to notice Trent and greeted him with nods and smiles. Trent returned each one casually, like a celebrity on a red carpet.

"Come on, let's head in further. I'll give you the full tour," he said, waving them along.

"Thanks, Trent," several of them said eagerly, already imagining what kind of cutting-edge tech the Hawke family might be hiding down here.

And sure enough, the deeper they went, the crazier the tech got.

Ethan's eyes landed on a set of eight metallic tentacles, each one made entirely of alloy. Under the careful control of a researcher, they writhed and twisted like living snakes.

"What the hell is that?" someone asked.

"Oh, that?" Trent said, glancing over. "That's a bionic weapon system. Modeled after parasitic monster tentacles. You can mount it on your back—it's great for close-quarters combat. Most monsters can't even get near you."

"Holy shit, that's badass," someone whispered, clearly blown away.

Trent was eating it up, loving the attention. He pointed to another station. "See that mechanical arm over there? The surface is liquid metal—it can morph into any weapon shape you want. Plus, it's got a crystal core embedded in the palm. You can fire an energy blast straight from your hand."

"Dude… that's insane," someone muttered, shaking their head in disbelief.

Ethan kept his cool, but his eyes were constantly moving, taking everything in. "What about the Guard Mechs? Where are they?"

Trent waved a hand dismissively. "Pfft, Dorian, come on. Stuff that can be mass-produced? That's entry-level. But hey, if you're curious, I'll show you."

He led them toward a separate section of the lab, where the Guard Mechs were stored.

Ethan kept scanning the area as they walked. While the lab was packed with scientists and engineers, there weren't many high-level combatants around.

But above ground… that was a different story.

Right above them sat Pinnacle Academy, and that place was crawling with powerful Awakeners. Some of the instructors there were SS-rank—no joke. If they got involved, things could get messy fast.

Luckily, Ethan had planned ahead.

He'd already sent Ricky to start spreading the zombie virus. Once the outbreak hit, chaos would follow—and with any luck, it'd pull the heavy hitters away from the lab.

Now, with everything in motion, Ethan slipped his hand into his pocket and sent a discreet signal to Ricky.

The virus still needed time to incubate, but the wheels were turning.

"It's started…"

...

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