Chapter 43
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: Pussy Greeting Farewell and Survivor Encounter
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"Mmm..., that pussy greeting looks so nice....
From now on, whenever I have to go out,
you're greeting me off like this every time.
Alright, I'm really, really, really heading out now.
The second I get down, pull the rope."
"“Yes....”"
"Good. Guard the house well."
"Take care out there, Master.... Don't forget the map I drew for you.... Eut. I put every detail in there...."
Hye-jeong paused mid-pussy greeting to turn her head and remind me not to forget the map she'd painstakingly drawn herself.
She must be really worried since I was heading out to rescue her sister and family.
Maybe it was the afterglow of sex, but she let out a soft, lewd moan in the middle.
Hye-jeong tried to play it off like nothing happened, but I heard it clear as day.
Her cute attempt to brush it off like it was nothing made her look a little adorable.
"Yeah, got it. Don't worry."
Lee Seo-yeon, on the other hand, had turned beet red but kept up the pussy greeting, shyly shaking her hips side to side while bowing her head to see me off.
"Please be careful.... We'll be waiting.... ...If it's too tough, just come back. We'll all die without you, Master. We have no supplies left."
Unlike Hye-jeong, who had stopped her pussy greeting to speak, Lee Seo-yeon kept it going the whole time she talked.
Meaning she held her plump cheeks spread wide with both hands and shook them all the way side to side.
'Lee Seo-yeon really commits once you tell her to do it... She's a natural submissive pussy slave....'
I rappelled down the rope.
I hit the first floor in no time.
The moment they saw my feet touch the ground,
my two pussy slaves yanked the rope up.
I gave them a thumbs-up with my hand, signaling they'd done well.
I told them the same over the radio.
"You're doing great. Keep pulling. Lower the rope again when I come back later."
-"Static... Yes, Master. Static..."-
Even if those two betrayed me somehow, fell asleep, or the radio crapped out and they didn't lower the rope...
I could always climb back up using the drainage pipes or the exposed apartment AC units outside.
That's the level of physical spec I had now.
Asking them to lower the climbing rope later was purely for convenience—nothing more, nothing less.
The second I hit the ground, I pulled yesterday's fully kitted UMP45 from my Subspace Storage.
To burn through the surplus .45 ACP rounds, I decided to make the UMP45 my primary weapon.
Tucked in my waistband was a fully kitted Colt M1911 as backup and emergency sidearm.
The game description called the M1911 a legendary semi-auto pistol, personally designed by firearms genius John Browning and considered the structural foundation of modern handguns.
It was an old gun named after the year the US military adopted it—1911.
But the real reason I picked it as my secondary was simple: in Battlegrounds 2, it was the only pistol that used .45 ACP and could mount a suppressor.
All the other .45 ACP pistols couldn't take a suppressor, so no other options.
"Time to really head out."
Cross-referencing the map Hye-jeong had so carefully drawn with the Daegu map I'd pulled from the real internet,
I'd pinpointed the exact building, so I aimed for the shortest possible route.
As the sun set and night fell, most streetlights flicked on automatically.
LED lamps with light sensors or seasonal timers lit up the streets like daylight all at once.
It was a civilized luxury we still enjoyed since the power hadn't cut out yet.
But it wouldn't be long now—once it did, the city nights would turn pitch black.
I shot every zombie I saw as I walked.
It was to secure my safety now and ensure a safe return after grabbing my new pussy slave.
To minimize risks on the way back to base, I swept them away with the UMP45 as I moved.
- Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! -
- Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! -
I had about 4,000 rounds of .45 ACP—not as many as 9mm, but plenty—so I used them generously, like watering flowers.
These were short-range rounds with no real use outside a situation like this.
I also had around 2,000 each of 5.56mm and 7.62mm for longer ranges,
and if I ran low, I could always hit up Battlegrounds 2 on the second floor for more.
With all stats except Magic Power at Lv.10 boosting my superior physique,
plus passive bonuses from Aiming, Reloading, Marksmanship, and Weapon Mastery,
I advanced without issue.
Sure, a new pussy slave would be nice, but my safety came first,
so I strictly avoided narrow alleys or chokepoints where zombies could swarm.
'Take a "shortcut" down the wrong alley,
and you're fucked for real.
No escape route, surrounded by a horde—you could get torn apart in seconds.'
Playing Project Zombie World,
you sometimes die to a dumb "oops" mistake or careless slip, getting bitten and infected.
Most of those happen when you get cocky, overconfident in your skills.
A little more caution, and you wouldn't give the zombies an opening in the first place.
I stuck to wide boulevards as much as possible.
Kept vigilant all around, always with an escape route ready.
Extra pussy slaves are great, but if I die, it's all over.
Even if it took longer, I proceeded slowly and steadily.
'Good. Keep it safe like this.'
My suppressed UMP45 barely drew aggro even when firing,
and any that did come were no match for my stats and passives.
- Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! -
- Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! Pong! -
I cleared every zombie ahead on my path,
pressing forward bit by bit.
Then, at some point,
while mainly watching ahead but scanning everywhere,
I sensed presences behind me—human movements, not zombies. I tensed and looked.
'Survivors scraping by in this zombie apocalypse...?
Just like Project Zombie World NPCs approaching.
They're dodging zombies to get to me.
Since I cleared the area, they've got room to approach now.'
With me popping zombie heads with a suppressed UMP45,
zombies had thinned out along the road I took.
That let a group of survivors trail my path toward me.
'Can't let my guard down just 'cause they're human.
...Four in total? Classic NPC four-man party.
Hope there's at least one cute girl in there.'
Finger on the trigger, I watched their moves.
Ready to light them up if needed.
Hostiles from the jump were rare, but they existed.
'...Weapons: no guns visible.
Baseball bat, hammer, knife on a stick spear.
Fire axe, sickle. Lame.'
They waved when our eyes met.
Like "thank god" or "help us" vibes.
Standing still, I watched as the four survivors drew closer.
'Fuck, all dudes. Was hoping for a pretty girl...'
The four closed in.
They got within 20 meters.
I leveled my barrel at them from there and spoke.
"That's far enough. Come closer and I shoot."
"““......?!””"
They looked shocked at my wariness.
Then one opened his mouth, pleading not to be hostile.
"...W-we're not approaching with bad intentions. ...P-please help us. You're special forces, right? Special Forces? Marines? ...Ah, no. Judging by your gear, probably something elite.... 707 Special Missions or something? My friend and a junior from my hometown are in that unit......"
They'd mistaken my full kit for spec ops gear.
The uncle who'd spoken first rattled off connections, trying to find common ground.
But I stayed silent,
so the others chimed in.