Chapter 16
Chapter 16
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: Training and Preparation
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<Training and Preparation>
Every game has its trolls.
In Survival Life, the nonsense they pulled was like this.
They'd pretend to be regular players, join a team, then lure in monsters to wipe everyone out.
They'd tag along with newbies under the pretense of helping, only to stab them in the back and steal their backpacks.
They'd go between two teams that were progressing well on a quest, sow discord, and make them fight each other.
They'd barge into newbie areas for no reason and drastically increase monster respawns.
...And so on—all the idiotic antics you could imagine.
The devs never interfered except through patches, so the trolls ran wild.
"At least the game's difficulty made it tough on them too."
Even hardcore trolls eventually threw in the towel, and as time went on, their numbers dwindled.
Trolling meant taking risks yourself, after all.
One slip-up, and your character got deleted. Starting over was a hassle, so most just quit.
"They were part of the game, for better or worse."
We were no different, smashing them whenever we could.
One thing was certain: even in a real zombie apocalypse, trolls would show up.
Crazy people are everywhere.
Didn't someone once say that in any group of five humans, one is trash?
"To deal with those trolls..."
I needed to prepare for PvP.
So far, I'd only focused on fighting monsters in the forest.
But what about in a city?
It'd be a mix of obstacles and varied terrain.
Enemies wouldn't just be monsters—they could be humans too.
"You never know if the guy next to you is a psycho."
Staying cautious to avoid those situations was priority one.
But you can't be perfect in every scenario.
That meant building up a variety of countermeasures.
What do you do if you run into a hostile human in a cluttered city?
First, let's review the weapons I had.
"Hmm..."
I had a variety, but nothing great for ranged combat.
At best, a 60-pound hunting bow.
Great power, but bulky and tricky to handle.
"And if the enemy closes in, I have to drop it—which is a hassle."
I could open a dimension gate and toss it in if no one's around, but...
While browsing Mityube, I came across American dudes messing around with slingshots.
"Slingshots? Aren't those just for shooting birds?"
Wrong assumption.
Modern slingshots use 20mm steel balls and pack enough punch to crack a human skull.
"That's no joke."
Of course, you need special techniques and rubber bands to hit that power.
But the slingshot's advantages hooked me.
Easy to use, compact, and simple to conceal.
"Perfect for situations where a bow won't work."
Like squeezing through a small window to attack.
No way with a bow, but a slingshot? Totally doable.
Of course, guns make all these obsolete.
With a gun, you don't need bows or slingshots or any of that junk.
"If not for that damn Metal Plague..."
Still, the Russian fishing boat event five days ago—and that same day—might've given me a shot.
Flipping through videos, a related one on slings popped up.
I thought it'd just be chucking rocks, but this was next level.
"Hitting a human at 100 meters? Insane."
I'd chucked stones at monsters myself, but I had no idea about pro techniques.
Ancient wars even had dedicated slingers.
They trained for nearly a decade to nail enemies at 300 meters.
I didn't need that skill level, but practicing couldn't hurt.
"The more you know, the better."
I'll save this video too.
Scrolling further, javelins caught my eye.
Spears are the classic projectile, after all.
Short range, but insane penetration.
I knew this better than anyone after testing on all sorts of monsters.
"...But pricey..."
And modern steel ones were off-limits thanks to the Metal Plague.
That left me crafting wooden javelins...
"Gonna need a javelin thrower too."
Boosts both range and destructive power.
Bows are usually better, but for mid-sized monsters, javelins shine.
There were tons of videos since so many people geek out over weapons.
I downloaded dozens with detailed crafting guides.
"Buy what I can."
Make the rest myself.
I placed orders for necessities and started sling practice.
This is tough.
.
.
.
"Time to put this to use."
For close combat, I picked a mace.
I'd used fire axes, machetes, pipe wrenches, etc., but none felt right.
They weren't made for killing monsters, to begin with.
This mace was different.
The manufacturer had polled for zombie-apocalypse weapons with high destructive power, and this won.
A long wooden shaft with multiple iron flanges at the end—vicious-looking thing.
"This is basically a flanged mace."
Spikes on the flanges concentrate impact on a single point.
One hit to an unhelmed human's head, and they're done.
"Yeah, that'd kill for sure."
Downside: can't use it in reality due to Metal Plague.
Have to wait at least six months and stick to war clubs or ebonywood bats meantime.
Tomahawks and machetes are solid, but flawed.
"They get stuck in skulls... headache."
Happened when smashing kobold packs in caves or ambushing goblin groups—weapons jammed, pure panic.
With a mace, it shatters the skull without sticking. Reliable.
"Let's practice."
I played a downloaded video and set up a tree target.
This time, a black dude instructor with a serious face.
"For left swings, step forward with your left foot..."
A big swing.
Thud. The tree shook, shedding leaves.
I swung a few more times, then compared my form to his.
"Something's off."
Looked identical, but felt wrong.
Repeating it, I spotted the difference.
"It's where the rotation starts."
He initiated from the knees; I from the shoulders. Power differed by impact.
Fixed it, smashed the tree—felt the difference.
"But in a zombie apocalypse, posing like this is ridiculous."
I need to be able to one-hand a zombie's head in a pinch.
I drilled with mace and war club for another hour, alternating.
Winter closing in, but I was sweating hot.
"Good."
Confidence in swings building, I switched to sling.
Just cord and stones—great for ranged attacks.
But hitting near the target? Brutal.
"This... won't... work!"
Whirl it, release at the right spot. Easier said than done.
Standard is one-and-a-half loops overhead.
300g stones optimal.
Pro slingers chucked 500g lead shots, but that's beyond me now.
"Hmph."
I rewatched the videos on loop.
Mimicked the stance, wrist snap, fought the urge for extra spins— one-and-a-half, release.
The stone blurred away, landing near target.
My first small win after dozens of throws.
"Whew... tough stuff."
First try perfection? Nah.
I was a Survival Life vet thanks to 5,500 hours sunk in.
Reality's no game—swinging a sling is sweat and struggle.
"Gotta keep at it..."
To survive.
Cooling off, the chill set in.
Stomach rumbling too. Ramen time?
Inside, the warehouse overflowed with ramen, Spam, cans—over it.
"This ain't it..."
Hoarded for survival, but they looked like monsters to me now.
Ramen with Spam? Tasty, sure.
But for long-term apocalypse life, I needed variety.
Right?
Sometimes rice, sometimes noodles.
Humans get stressed without satisfying urges.
Stress is the root of all ills—and death.
"Raiding a whole mart would be ideal..."
If not, priorities?
Diverse cans first.
I'd stocked tuna and Spam, but tons more out there.
"Mackerel, sardines, salmon..."
Whelk, peaches, pineapple—cans galore.
Don't hoard one type—diversify.
"Spend a bit more."
We're grinding for food, aren't we?
Lousy apocalypse eats? No will to live.
Back at the two-story house, I ordered more cans.
Then lurked survivor forums for intel.
"Noodles good for long storage... no moisture, makes sense."
Noodles with soy sauce? Gourmet.
Garden veggies? Luxury.
"Oil helps variety, but..."
Oil doesn't last—1-2 years max.
Post-apocalypse year two: no-oil cooking.
Luckily, this forest has plant oil.
Squeeze fir cones—edible oil. Can't deep-fry much, but hey.
"Need sauces too..."
If only I could loot a whole mart.
Imagining dimension gate, sweeping shelves—pure bliss smile.
"Yeah, right."
Big marts crawl with zombies.
Grocery aisles? Hundreds.
Suicide mission.
"Neighborhood marts, though..."
Think.
Zombies love easy-tear plastic packs.
Cans? Teeth can't puncture—most give up after tries.
Metal Plague? They'd shatter easy, but still.
"Glass jars too—surprisingly survivable stuff."
Local marts likely lootable post-outbreak.
People zombified or fled; just drop the shutter.
"But once tutorial hits, no dice."
Focus on tutorial for real rewards.
I've got about five hours.
Hardware store, convenience store, pharmacy, local mart, motorcycle shop—in five hours.
"What else..."
Guns top everything.
Cop shops, bases have 'em, but normies like me? Dream on.
Outbreak chaos means military rollout—opportunities galore, but...
I chuckled imagining oxy-cuttering a police armory.
Zombies already nuts; that'd get me shot.
"...Nah. Empty station? Viable."
Cops aren't apocalypse-proof.
They'll scramble on orders at first, herding folks—but gradually turn.
Pre-Metal Plague, station empties—perfect window.
"Just get in, jackpot."
Monopolize guns and ammo?
Forest overlord status.
Drooling here.
Laptop search: bad news, no station nearby—just a substation.
Smaller scale, tiny armory.
No pheasant? Chicken it is.
Mapped the substation.
How'd I end up here?
Hunger hit; boiled ramen with Spam and tuna.
Damn, tasty.
<Training and Preparation> End