The General's Courtship Dance
I ended up inside a zombie apocalypse novel. And then the sun rose. I checked the time—it was six in the morning. Seemed like a decent hour for a fight. So I grabbed my gear right away, slipped on my knuckles, and gave my body a quick once-over.
Preparation complete.
I skipped food. Something told me—no, I was certain—I’d just end up getting my guts punched out anyway. I settled for water, then lined up some frozen meals for when I came back victorious. The rooftop door was probably open. Survivors who’d fled up there would’ve turned into zombies, and the plants growing out of their corpses would’ve mutated them into variants. I had no idea what kind of variant I’d be dealing with, but I had a strong feeling it was going to be a massive pain in the ass.
Still, I didn’t think I’d lose. After the last battle, I’d gotten a lot stronger. I was basically the ultimate of ultimates…!
“This… is me…?”
I muttered some cringe nonsense at my reflection in the mirror, then headed upstairs. As I climbed, an inexplicable anxiety wrapped around me. My body was heating up. I’m not exactly a masochist, but at this rate I might actually turn into one. A brain soaked in endorphins from getting gut-punched by zombies? This wasn’t some sleazy erotic novel.
“Ah, fuck.”
Right. This is a nineteen-plus novel. My head went fuzzy. Out of all the stories I could’ve fallen into, it had to be a porn novel—and as a woman, no less. The world didn’t go dark, and my hands didn’t shake. After getting beaten up so many times, my only thought was, Guess I’ll just take a few hits and call it a day.
I reached the seventh floor and slowly opened the door to the rooftop. The floor was covered in thick vegetation. Countless zombies must have died here; the ground was packed with green-tinged dirt. And right in front of me stood one variant.
“……Fuck.”
The variant, wearing nothing but pants, slowly turned its head. I knew exactly what this thing was. A General. Commander-type zombie that led the “Kkeopittan,” “Jang,” and other general-grade undead. It possessed both immense physical power and high intelligence. And it raped female survivors. Or rather, it impregnated them. Its deformed genitals had become tentacles that planted its spawn directly into the womb.
If it did that to a female zombie’s uterus, the offspring would become a Guard—protectors that escorted the General and other high-value zombies. If it did it to a female survivor, the result was an Officer. A highly intelligent variant that assisted other mutants in tearing down survivor groups. This was basically a boss fight. More dangerous than the Boxer on the third floor, but also something I had to kill right now. Running away wasn’t even an option. That fact made it even more terrifying. My eyes stung with tears.
The General wasn’t an ordinary zombie. It stood over two meters tall with ridiculous muscle mass. It could grab a grown man with one hand and slam him around like a ragdoll. And right now, that General was looking at me and preparing its courtship dance.
Here, “courtship” meant a beating, and “dance” meant testing my body—checking whether I was fit to carry its offspring. It was a merciless assault that didn’t give a damn about consent. I had two choices: stop resisting, pretend to be a weak female, and get cleanly devoured… or fight back with my bat, kill the thing, or survive by getting pregnant.
Thinking about it, that made three choices. Either way, my decision was already made.
“………………”
“GRAAAAAAAHHH!”
The moment I readjusted my grip on the bat, the General roared. Its fist flew at me almost instantly. It was twice as fast as the Boxer—if I hadn’t been watching carefully, I would’ve been hit for sure. But I’d already survived countless near-death situations. I twisted my upper body just enough to dodge, then immediately swung the bat at its arm.
“……Ugh!”
“GRAAAH!”
As I avoided the General’s swinging arm, I thought, I can’t deal meaningful damage like this. I needed something heavier or sharper. Or I had to strike the head directly, but there was no way the General would allow that. In the end, there was only one method left.
Get beaten my way and beat it to death.
I was intimately familiar with this kind of brawling. It was what I’d always done back when I was SwineLord Park Jeong-heum. So I charged forward with a roar that came from my very soul.
“I’ve been living the brawler life for years, you bastard!”
“GRAAH!”
“Huh?”
The General looked annoyed as it grabbed my baseball bat. It effortlessly yanked it from my hands, crumpled the metal like paper, and tossed it off the roof. My mind went blank for a second. This wasn’t some cheap bat with no durability. Sure, I’d broken plenty before, but that was because I’d been swinging and blocking nonstop for ridiculous reasons. This one was practically brand new—I’d only swung it once.
And it had crumpled the thing like that?
“…………Huh?”
Suddenly, pain exploded through my right leg. Only then did I understand what had happened. The General had kicked my right leg with its own. The moment I realized I needed to respond, a heavy fist slammed into my stomach. My breath caught, my body lifted off the ground, and then I crashed down on my back.
“……Cough!”
Thankfully, I was used to pain like this now. I staggered to my feet, breathing hard. I took awkward steps while observing the General. It stood there like this was nothing. Of course it did. It was a powerful variant. The one that had devoured all the zombies in this building. Instinct told me I had no chance of winning.
But I didn’t want to give up. Telling myself it would somehow work out, I raised my guard and took a step forward. I threw a probing left jab. My left arm was instantly caught. My mind went white as I frantically tried to pull it free, but it was useless. The General squeezed, testing how sturdy my body was, trying to crush the limb.
“Grrrrrgh……”
“GRAAH.”
Then it punched my trapped left arm and threw me. I managed to roll with the impact on instinct and get back up, but my body was already turning into a wreck. My left arm was shaking violently. I’d only been fighting for less than a minute, yet I was already gasping for air. Strangely, though… I felt like I could keep going.
Unfortunately, my body was heating up again. A smile crept across my face. My happy circuits were burning at full capacity, and my footwork was becoming more natural. And then I saw it.
“GRAAH!”
“The opening is reaaaaal!”
I dodged the General’s punch by a hair and slammed my metal knuckles into its solar plexus with everything I had. Since they were solid steel, it should do some damage. Or maybe not. Either way, even zombies accumulate physical trauma when you beat them. They might be able to move at extreme levels, but that only went so far.
And the reason I could fight with this much confidence was because my opponent was a General.
“You’re still a zombie, asshole! You need to breathe and eat too!”
The General staggered back a step after taking the hit to its solar plexus. The higher the intelligence of the variant, the more it needed oxygen and nutrients. Without them, it couldn’t function. This monster followed that rule of life too. So fighting it wasn’t like fighting a zombie—it was like fighting a human. An insanely tough human.
“Kgh!”
I hastily crossed both arms to block the General’s uppercut. But the moment I stopped the punch, my guard collapsed. And once my guard collapsed, the result was obvious.
“Hurgh!”
It hit my stomach again. This time with even more power. My body flew up once more. I slammed into a ladder and crumpled to the floor. The impact was enough to make my limbs tremble. But it was pain I could endure. I shot back to my feet and resumed my footwork.
Blocking was something I needed to avoid as much as possible. I was already at a disadvantage in size and strength—simply blocking carried huge risk. The way both my arms were shaking after that last exchange proved it. Seeing the bruise forming on my right arm, I knew defense was not the answer. So what should I do?
“Uraaaaah!”
“GRAAH.”
Using the experience I’d gained from getting my stomach punched repeatedly, I recreated the Boxer’s style. I moved my upper body with each step, dodging attacks and countering. My fist drove into the General’s knee. It didn’t seem like I’d broken the bone—maybe just burst some flesh. But the fact that I could land hits was what mattered.
While I was feeling moved by that small victory and preparing for the next attack, a knee suddenly flew at me.
“………………!”
It smashed perfectly into my solar plexus again. I rolled across the floor. I knew I had to get up, but for some reason my body wouldn’t listen. The General must have decided I was neutralized. It walked over to my collapsed form, knelt on one knee, and grabbed my left leg. Then it hammered its fist down on my thigh.
I thrashed in agony, trembling violently. Next it was my right leg. Just like a doctor testing reflexes with a rubber hammer, the General punched my legs over and over, testing how much I could endure. When I tried to stand, it stepped back. Then it moved its mouth and gave a wide, toothy grin.
It was clear mockery. A sneering smile at the female who would bear its child. But I had no mental energy left to respond to the provocation. Shaking, I raised my guard again. And so the battle began once more.