NOVEL NEXT Chapter 7: [Registering Safezone]
It had been given to a man who had become an unstoppable force, a one-man army who had towered above the rest of humanity.
That man had reigned for years, his sheer power making him a legend. But now… now Leon had a chance to claim it for himself.
"A grand opportunity, is it not?" Solm chuckled. "Survive. Thrive. Entertain us."
And with that, the voice cut off, leaving behind an eerie silence.
Leon exhaled, shaking his head. He could already imagine the chaos Solm's words had just unleashed upon the world.
Those who clung to hope would fight tooth and nail to claim the reward.
Those who had already been at the edge of despair would crumble.
The weak-willed would succumb, and the number of zombies roaming the streets would increase overnight.
Panic.
Fear.
Bloodshed.
That was what today would bring.
Leon shifted, rubbing his temples before glancing around the dimly lit warehouse.
He pulled out a protein bar from his bag and unwrapped it, chewing slowly as he planned his next move.
He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
There was no point in dwelling on what others would do — he had his own survival to focus on. He needed to move, to prepare. But before that, something clicked in his mind.
The [Safezone] feature.
His fingers moved swiftly, pulling up his system interface.
The [Safezone] feature allowed survivors to designate a particular location as their own sanctuary.
Once activated, no other human could enter without the owner's permission.
It wouldn't stop zombies, but it would at least keep out opportunistic scavengers looking to steal supplies or kill for an easier way out.
How could he have forgotten something so crucial?
He navigated through the menu, selecting the warehouse as his designated Safezone. A dull, invisible pulse swept through the building as the system finalized the change.
Now, unless someone had the extremely rare [Safezone Break] ability, they wouldn't be able to step foot inside.
Only after setting it did he exhale, feeling a bit of relief.
His gaze shifted toward the entrance of the warehouse.
He had spent the night — or rather, an entire twenty-four hours — unconscious. That realization made his stomach tighten. Losing that much time in the apocalypse was dangerous.
Anything could have happened while he was out.
But what was the cause? Was it exhaustion? The stress of reincarnation? Or maybe a side effect of his class awakening?
Regardless, it was concerning, but nothing he could change now.
Leon pushed himself up, stretching his stiff limbs as he surveyed his surroundings.
The warehouse was in shambles — dust-coated crates were stacked haphazardly, old machinery rusted along the walls, and the air was thick with the scent of abandonment.
But this place was his now, and he needed to make it livable.
He adjusted the straps of his backpack and set it down. First, he had to check for any hidden dangers —chemicals, rats, or anything else that could pose a threat.
He pulled his knife from its sheath, stepping cautiously through the dim interior, checking behind every stack of crates and every shadowed corner.
Nothing.
'Good.'
Next, he needed to secure the building completely.
The warehouse had only two entrances — the main roller shutter and a side door. He had already barricaded the main roller so he focused on the side door. He found an old metal beam nearby and wedged it against the door handle, making it much harder to force open.
He glanced at his work and nodded. It wasn't perfect, but it would do for now.
With security handled, he turned his focus to cleaning. If he was going to stay here for the foreseeable future, he couldn't afford to live in filth.
He began moving debris out of the way, clearing a space in the corner where he could rest more comfortably.
Dust clung to his hands, and the air grew thick with disturbed particles, but he worked methodically, pushing past the exhaustion lingering in his bones.
His mind drifted as he worked.
The warehouse wasn't an ideal long-term base. It lacked proper resources — no running water, no power, and no reliable food supply.
He had gathered some supplies from the supermarket, but they wouldn't last forever. He'd need to venture out again soon.
His fingers tightened around the handle of the broom he had found. He hated the idea of stepping back into the madness outside. But the apocalypse didn't allow for hesitation.
After finishing his cleanup, he sat down on an overturned crate, finally allowing himself a moment to breathe.
Leon scanned the room, his sharp eyes searching for anything useful as he cleaned. The warehouse had once stored goods, but now it was nothing more than a forgotten relic.
Dust blanketed the concrete floor, and abandoned crates stood stacked in the corners, some broken, others still intact.
The place smelled of rust and stale air, but it was sturdy. It would serve its purpose.
He walked over to a stack of crates and kicked one slightly. It was heavy. He crouched down, prying it open with the edge of his knife.
The nails groaned in protest before finally giving way, and the wooden lid clattered onto the floor. Inside, a tangle of cloth and papers greeted him.
'Useless.'
Leon sighed, moving on to another. He had been doing this for an hour now, shifting through debris and abandoned items.
Most of it was garbage, but he kept at it, hoping to find something worthwhile.
And then —
[You have discovered Loot: Pistol]
Leon blinked. His heart skipped a beat.
He reached into the crate, his fingers wrapping around cold steel. A gun. A real gun. Not just some makeshift weapon but an actual firearm.
He pulled it out, inspecting the pistol under the dim light filtering through the warehouse windows. It was a standard model, a semi-automatic, still in decent condition.
The weight was familiar in his grip. His past life had taught him the value of firearms.
In the early days of the apocalypse, melee weapons were a necessity, but as time went on, guns became a game-changer.
He checked the magazine. Five rounds. Not much, but enough to get him through a pinch.
[You have discovered Loot: Sniper]