Clash with the General
The General's fighting style was brutally simple. It relied on its overwhelming physique to smash the opponent, break their stance, and press the advantage. That meant it struggled against enemies who could tank the pain, possessed superior physical stats, or—like the protagonist—had overwhelmingly superior technique. And right now, I knew exactly how to fight it. It was depressing that I'd learned this the hard way, but whatever. "If I survived, that means I'm strong!"
"GRAAAAAHH!"
I twisted my body sideways and slipped past the General's fist. Then I ducked under its arm, planted my right foot, and drove the Beopbong straight into its torso. Piercing felt better than swinging right now. The satisfying crunch of bone traveled up the shaft into my hands. Just as the General swung its other fist down, I raised the Beopbong horizontally to block.
"You little shit. You're weak."
"GRAAAAAHH!"
My arms took some strain, but it wasn't enough to break my guard. If anything, it felt like losing would be harder than winning. I circled slowly, then charged straight in. I deflected its obvious punch with the bat and immediately countered with a heavy swing. Blood sprayed from the General's side as the five-kilogram iron club connected. With its flank wrecked, I could ignore attacks from that side for a while.
"Whoops!"
A knee kick came flying, but I dodged it easily—just a quick step back was enough. This thing was probably still adjusting after getting up. It didn't fight like a trained boxer, didn't slash with sharp nails like some variants, and didn't hunt with hunter instincts. If it was just a one-trick body monster, I had the advantage.
"Experience matters, you know!"
"GRAAAAAHH!"
"Guh—!"
Ah, hitting someone while they're posing is cheating. The bastard even grazed my arm on the way past like it was testing me. Still, that told me one thing for sure: I'd take some hits, but I was going to win.
I backed off, loosened my arms, then kicked off and sprinted forward. When the distance closed, I jumped and brought the Beopbong down hard.
"GRAAH!"
"Ugh, the height difference is annoying."
The General crossed its arms in a panic, so my strike aimed at its head didn't land cleanly. Still, it didn't matter. I now knew my attacks were lethal to it. Part of me wanted to laugh and ask who just coughed, or crack a joke about "General, my dear General" since I liked that actor. But the situation didn't allow for it, so I focused and kept fighting.
Then stars exploded in my vision. My jaw went numb. The General had swung its arm to grab my neck but ended up clocking my chin instead. My legs didn't give out, but something definitely cracked.
"Ah, tch. Hey, asshole. You got money for implants?"
"GRAAAAAHH!"
Another obvious punch. A telegraphed haymaker loaded with raw power. I moved to deflect it, but—wait. Why wasn't it bouncing off?
"Ah."
"GRAAAAAHH!"
I realized what was happening when the General brought its left arm up as a feint while winding up the real punch with its right. This was going straight for the stomach. Normally I'd have eaten that hit, but I had experience now. I swung the Beopbong in the opposite direction just in time.
"......Augh!"
"GRAAAAAHH!"
The impact felt wrong. The handle kept vibrating in my grip. I'd blocked the attack, but this wasn't how I was supposed to do it. Well, Yeji. Nobody gets it perfect on the first try. Just do better next time. I reset my stance and decided the arms needed to be dealt with first. Smashing the head was the goal, but I couldn't reach it right now. I'd given my brass knuckles to Noh Changhun, so the old method wasn't an option. You know, the one where I wrapped my legs around its neck. Huh?
"You brain-dead bitch!"
I couldn't believe I hadn't gone for the legs yet. I should've broken its knees or shins first, then taken my time wrecking the arms. It would've turned into a sitting duck. Then I'd just cave its skull in. I'd thought of that last time, so why was I being stupid now? Whatever. It was fine.
"Come on!"
I waggled my fingers at it with one hand. The General charged. It went for a tackle—this wasn't what I'd expected. It lowered its posture and spread its arms properly, unlike regular zombies that just rushed headfirst. If it grabbed me, this was going to suck. I swung the Beopbong vertically. A knee kick wouldn't do much against this thing anyway. The moment it shook me off, it'd just tackle again. Getting pinned meant an endless beating, so I swung with everything I had and smashed the General's head.
The feedback felt wrong. I'd swung like I was trying to plant it into the ground, yet the Beopbong was being pushed back. The bastard was powering through the impact and still rushing me. I felt its hand slip inside my knee.
"Ah, fuck!"
"GRAAAAAHH!"
With a triumphant roar, the General grabbed me properly and my body tipped backward. Thanks to my preparation, I didn't black out—I managed a sloppy breakfall. But I couldn't stop it from climbing on top of me. It was desperate enough that it didn't even bother with proper posture, just hammered my stomach twice. It looked ready to go for the solar plexus next, but it was too late. I bucked my hips and wrapped my legs around its neck as punishment for not securing my legs.
I didn't expect the technique to actually work—zombies usually ignored joint locks anyway.
"But what happens if I mount you like this?!"
"GRAAAAAHH!"
I pulled myself up using my legs until my body was glued to the General's face. Using the Beopbong as a counterweight, I flipped my position until I was sitting on its shoulders like a child getting a piggyback ride. Of course it didn't stay still. It grabbed my legs and sprinted toward a nearby display shelf. But I'd done this before. I was good at chicken now.
"Kuhk!"
"GRAAAAAHH!"
It was a race: would the General smash me into the shelf and shake me off, or would I cave its skull in first? Whoever retired the other won. And I had the advantage—my Beopbong was a five-kilogram lump of iron. Even just pounding with the handle would cause fatal damage thanks to the weight. I took a few hits against the shelf myself, but I still killed it. With a wet crunch, the General's head split open and its brain was destroyed. It staggered forward and collapsed. I pulled my legs free, hopped a few times to check for injuries, and found nothing serious beyond the existing bruises.
"You bastard. Stay in your lane if you're a general. Acting tough when you're this weak."
More importantly, my condition meant I probably couldn't collect spider silk. If Baron had sent a General here, there might be other escort units nearby. I didn't want to stick around and get into another messy fight with variants. I steadied myself and headed straight for the hardware store.
The place was a wreck too. Noh Changhun was shirtless, stretching, with another General lying dead at his feet—its upper body completely mangled. He'd clearly beaten the hell out of it.
"What the—Changhun-ah. You took down a General too?"
"Yeah. What about you?"
"One came after me. Well, there was one in the hypermarket, so I killed it."
"Shit."
Noh Changhun spat bloody phlegm onto the ground. Things clearly weren't going his way. Or maybe the story wasn't following the original novel. Wait, was that it?
"Baron's expanding his territory. He's trying to box us in."
"Why?"
"Looks like he's stockpiling power. I thought he'd leave us alone while he crushed other survivor groups, but apparently not."
"Really?"
"You brain-dead bitch, you got no reaction? We're fucked!"
"No, fuck that! Are we weak? Weak? Are you weak? Are we that pathetic?!"
"Ignorance is bliss, huh."
"N—no. Sorry."
With a heavy thud, the roadside sign shook. It didn't just shake—it crumpled under Noh Changhun's fist. The metal post was dented inward. I'd gone too far, but since I'd only said "Noh," it was probably fine. He took a breath, stared at the sign, and muttered,
"Should I rip this off?"
"What for?"
"To make sure they're dead?"
"You crazy bastard."
"No, if I swing this, most of them would lose their heads, right?"
The triangular shape did look like it could decapitate most zombies. But this idiot was obviously copying a scene from some anime. I started yelling at him about how that was absolutely not happening and asking if he thought he was the main character, then dropped to one knee. I knew why. The impact from the display shelf during the rodeo earlier had hurt more than I'd thought. Embarrassed, I forced myself back up. No, fuck that. This guy had just killed a General and was strutting around shirtless like some action hero. I had to at least match that energy. I crossed my arms and struck a pose—then immediately collapsed again.
"Ah, ah...... Nothing happened!"
"Shut up and go rest. Stop posing."
"............................"
"Go rest. We're probably going to need night watches for a while."
"Fiiine......"
I'd won, but it didn't feel like a victory. It just felt sad. I'd finally overcome my past PTSD in style, so why did I feel like crying...?