A male survivor walked on, dazed and disoriented. He staggered, each step felt like a monumental effort.

He had a fever. An hour earlier, a mutated leech had bitten him while he was wading through a puddle, and now his entire lower leg was turning black.

No one was coming to his aid.

Unless he could reach the 910 base to find a military medic, he was out of luck...

Ultimately, the man couldn't hold on any longer. With a thud, he collapsed to the ground. His dull, lifeless eyes locked onto the crimson sky above as he gasped, "Damn... this apocalypse..."

Minutes later, he was silent.

Rumble!

The tracks of a tank rolled past his body.

Then came two RVs, followed by a Hummer.

Mud splattered across the man's corpse as the convoy passed.

James Lone cast a cursory glance downward at the lifeless form before looking away, indifferent.

The surrounding survivors didn't pay any attention to the body.

So many had died along the way.

They only felt envy as they watched the tank and the vehicles in the convoy, longing to ride within.

Exhausted legs, empty stomachs, and weak bodies left many swaying unsteadily.

At least half of them were bound to fall along this road.

The survivors looked gaunt and frail; days without washing left their hair sticking in greasy strands to their scalps.

Their eyes were hollow and filled with despair, and their empty backpacks contained little more than their last remaining scraps of food.

In less than a month, proud, refined, wealthy citizens of New York City had been reduced to a pitiful band of refugees.

Inside the RVs, the women peeked out to take in the grim sight outside.

The scene filled them with profound relief.

Without James Lone's protection, their fate would undoubtedly be worse than that of these survivors.

However, the more they witnessed, the more numb they became, their emotions settling into a grim reality.

As they looked at the countless survivors lining the road, who else could ride in comfort, eat well, wear clean clothes, and sleep safely besides themselves?

Who, if not James Lone, could provide such a sanctuary?

They had no doubt that if he chose to lift a finger, countless women would rush towards him, sobbing and begging.

A sense of impending crisis loomed in the hearts of the women.

If they didn't perform well in front of James Lone to secure their position, who knew if he might abandon them...

Before long, rain began to pour from the sky.

There was nowhere to seek shelter on the road.

The survivors had no options left.

They could either push through the rain, risking colds and fevers, or they could brave the threat of animal attacks and head into the thick forest in search of shelter.

Moreover, the military had announced that they could only guarantee the safety of this escape route for seven days.

Moving along this rough terrain already took a lot of time; if the rain continued without pause, they would struggle to reach the 910 base on schedule.

Worse yet, many survivors carried food supplies that wouldn't last through seven days.

With extended journeys consuming huge amounts of energy, their rations would dwindle even faster.

Robbery, theft, and murder were rampant.

Fighting incidents were almost too numerous to count.

James Lone had witnessed at least three murders and robberies during the journey.

The situation was escalating rapidly.

Some survivors seemed to have identified an opportunity. They formed small raiding groups, focusing on one or two superhumans to block the road and collect tolls from every passerby.

The other survivors banded together, growing a collective spine and attempting to charge through.

What was once a path to survival had transformed into a road of slaughter.

Yet, no one dared to confront James Lone's convoy; no one would stop a tank to collect a toll.

A cunning group of survivors spotted their chance and fell in line behind the convoy, falsely basking in the tank's aura of protection as they moved through various checkpoints.

As the convoy rounded a corner, a frenzied crowd rushed towards another group:

"Kill him! Kill him!" "Damn it! Don't let that girl escape!" "Help!" "Run!" "Shit! They've run into the mist and can't be seen!" "Crap! She stabbed me! I'm going to kill her!"

The fleeing individuals, upon catching a glimpse of the tank, mistakenly thought they had stumbled upon the military; elated, they waved their arms and cried out: "Help! Help!" "They're trying to rob us!"

Upon realizing it was military, the pursuers turned tail in terror and fled hastily, disappearing into the purple mist.

Only the ordinary survivors remained, desperately pleading with the soldiers for justice.

Lancy felt a bit flustered.

James Lone's mental link buzzed just in time: "We're not the military. This has nothing to do with us; keep moving."

"Okay..."

The tank rolled onward without stopping, gradually passing by.

The three vehicles in the convoy followed closely behind.

The pursued survivors were filled with rage and disappointment.

Where was the military authority to maintain order?

They soon noticed a large swarm of survivors trailing behind the convoy.

Realizing the situation, they quickly hurried to blend into the throng.

The tank crushed the makeshift roadblocks effortlessly.

The raiders, stunned by the approach, couldn't muster the courage to intervene; they let the armored beast pass freely.

The RVs and the remaining survivors followed without issues.

After kneeling, Monroe approached James Lone promptly, saying, "Master, we've got a lot of people trailing behind. Should I help disperse them?"

James casually munched on a few ability fruits: "No need. Let them follow; they make excellent shields and are free manpower."

The women paused to think, realizing that if danger arose, these survivors could buy them time...

Someone else's death was better than their own.

Just then, James noticed something emerging up ahead.

"Is that a supply point set up by the military?"

A group of soldiers had erected a few makeshift tents, surrounded by barbed wire, establishing a 100x100-meter safe zone.

Gaggles of survivors lined up to enter, and the safe zone was already overcrowded.

The tank rumbled to a stop outside the supply point, and the survivors gaped in shock, none daring to approach.

James surveyed the bustling crowd within the supply point and said, "Lancy, park the convoy aside; we're not going in."

"Understood."

Soon, the convoy maneuvered into an open space beside the safe zone.

The tank and three vehicles formed a loose circle, creating a boundary of relative safety.

James scanned the surroundings, noting there were no suitable buildings for overnight stays within 200 meters, and decisively commanded, "We'll rest here for the night."

The women instantly perked up: "Yay!" "Finally, we can rest!"

They eagerly jumped out of the vehicles to stretch their legs, having been cramped for so long during the bumpy ride.

Wot hopped out and curiously examined a wildflower nearby.

The husky jumped down and immediately marked its territory by peeing against a tree, then proudly leapt onto the Hummer's hood.

James glanced at his phone's map.

They had only covered about 15 kilometers today before reaching the first supply point—contrary to the military's claim of a supply point every five kilometers.

Moreover, the route didn't lead directly to the 910 base but veered southward instead.

At this rate, they wouldn't reach Zhu Family Village until at least the night after tomorrow.

James called Lancy over to explain the journey for the following day.

Meanwhile, Shirley Inr Won and a few women set up tents in the cleared space among the vehicles, erecting lights for illumination.

Monroe began planning the food preparations; cooking during travel was inconvenient, and with limited space in the RVs, dinner would be quite simple tonight.

Bread, roasted sausages, fried eggs, some vegetables, milk, and of course, the obligatory grilled mutated frog meat.

These dishes were basic but quickly put together.

James dined, while the women could only watch enviously.

They were punished with hunger tonight.

The aroma of food wafted through the air, and the nearby starving survivors, blinded by the purple mist, couldn't pinpoint the source of the delicious smells.

They mistakenly believed it was coming from the military camp.

Desperate shouts erupted from the crowd, "I smell fried eggs! I can smell fried eggs!" "The military is distributing rations now!" "I want to eat too! I want to eat!"

The atmosphere turned chaotic until soldiers opened fire on the two most disruptive troublemakers, restoring some semblance of order.

However, the chaos proved impossible to control.

When the survivors finally shoved their way into the safe zone and discovered each person would only receive three compressed biscuits, a wave of disappointment crashed over them.

"Those soldiers are getting good food while we just get biscuits!"

But none dared to escalate the situation; the sight of dozens of guns kept them in check.

Yet a simmering anger toward the military began to brew among the crowd.

...

The convoy made up of armored vehicles had drawn the attention of the stationed soldiers.

Before long, an officer arrived on the scene, flanked by two soldiers.