Apocalypse: King of Zombies

Under Henry’s steady healing, the roc’s injuries kept knitting back together.

Last time, when Henry was in top condition, it had taken him more than half an hour to fully patch the roc up.

This time, with his mental energy already battered and his body running on fumes, it took over an hour.

Even so, the Glacial Bear was shaken.

Those wounds were that bad… and it healed this fast?

As the last scars vanished—feathers even filling back in where they’d been torn out—the Glacial Bear’s eyes widened.

Then it strode straight up to Henry, shoved forward its damaged leg, and stared at him with an almost comically hopeful look.

Only now did everyone notice what was wrong.

One of the Glacial Bear’s feet… was missing the entire paw. It was just the ankle stump braced against the ground.

The moment they saw that, they understood.

It wanted Henry to heal it next.

”Skree!” the roc called out at Ethan’s group.

Ethan didn’t quite catch the meaning and immediately looked at Skinny Pete.

Skinny Pete’s face lit up. ”Boss—it’s telling us to heal the Glacial Bear. If we fix its paw, the bear will thank us.”

Ethan nodded, then looked up at the towering white monster. ”Okay. Let Henry rest for a bit, and then we’ll treat you.”

Normally, Ethan would never agree to anything without knowing exactly what he was getting back. ”Gratitude” was a vague reward, not something you could cash in.

But this was different.

The one asking was a Stage SS Glacial Bear.

Ethan wasn’t stupid enough to haggle with something that could flatten him with one lazy swipe.

Besides, some favors were worth more when you didn’t price them too clearly. If he turned this into a transaction, the debt would end with the transaction. But if he helped first—without naming a price—this goodwill could grow into something far more valuable later.

And judging by the roc’s attitude, the Glacial Bear probably wasn’t the ungrateful type. Building a relationship with it could be worth more than a mountain of crystal cores.

Ethan’s easy agreement—and the fact he didn’t demand anything—clearly surprised the Glacial Bear.

It had already decided that if its paw could be restored, it would accept one ”reasonable” request in return.

But these humans… didn’t even ask.

For once, the Glacial Bear looked a little at a loss.

Henry rested for half an hour. With Emily refilling him, his mental energy finally climbed back into a usable range.

He studied the bear’s leg and frowned slightly.

Then, without hesitation, he started healing.

The Glacial Bear’s injury had been there too long. And the bear itself was too strong. Restoring it was far harder than treating the roc.

But no matter how difficult it was, Henry knew he had to make it work.

He understood exactly what Ethan was doing.

This wasn’t just treatment.

This was a chance to win the favor of a Stage SS beast.

He couldn’t afford to screw it up.

White light poured down onto the missing paw.

At first, nothing seemed to happen.

But the Glacial Bear’s face broke into sudden joy anyway.

Because it felt it—

That maddening itch deep in the stump.

The itch of something trying to grow back.

And sure enough, as more and more white light sank in, the Glacial Bear’s paw began to form—slowly, stubbornly—bit by bit.

The pace was painfully slow, but to the bear, it was hope made visible.

Time crawled.

Sweat rolled down Henry’s forehead in heavy drops. His face kept bleaching whiter.

The Glacial Bear was enormous. Its paw alone was almost half a person. Regrowing something that large, on something that powerful, was like rebuilding a collapsed building brick by brick.

Everyone watched in tense silence, barely daring to breathe. With a creature this strong, nobody wanted to be responsible for the bear ending up with a crooked, crippled foot.

Even the Glacial Bear didn’t dare move. It held perfectly still, terrified of disturbing Henry at the wrong moment.

As it watched Henry’s shaking hands, his pale face, the sweat pouring off him, the Glacial Bear’s gaze softened—rare, almost unbelievable on a beast that usually acted like it owned the world.

It could feel the cost of what Henry was doing.

And yet the humans still hadn’t asked for anything.

For the first time, something like indebtedness stirred inside the bear.

Finally—after more than three hours—Henry’s healing reached the last stretch.

The huge paw completed itself.

Fully formed.

Whole.

The instant it was done, Henry swayed, his body giving out like the strings had been cut.

He gritted his teeth, trying to force himself upright—

Then he caught Ethan’s look.

A single, sharp signal.

Henry didn’t argue.

His eyes rolled back, and he let himself collapse, dead faint onto the ground.

The Glacial Bear was still riding the high of getting its paw back when it suddenly saw Henry collapse.

Its excitement snapped into panic.

It crouched down so fast the ground shuddered, then carefully scooped Henry up with its huge paw and started shaking him—hard.

Henry nearly got shaken apart. Since he’d only been playing unconscious, he hurriedly opened his eyes before the bear finished the job for real.

The moment Henry ”woke up,” the Glacial Bear visibly relaxed, almost pleased. Then it rummaged around near its ear like it was digging for loose change—

And pulled out a crystal core.

It handed it to Henry.

Everyone’s eyes went wide.

Tier 35.

A Tier 35 crystal core.

Henry wasn’t stupid. He snatched it up immediately, then forced himself to sound weak and grateful. ”Th-thank you.”

”Roar,” the Glacial Bear rumbled, gesturing insistently—clearly telling him to eat it.

Henry’s expression went awkward. ”Uh… I’m only Tier 26. I can’t absorb something that high.”

”Skree?” The roc tilted its head, confused.

Everyone looked at Skinny Pete.

Skinny Pete frowned, trying to parse the sound. ”It’s asking… why?”

”If Henry eats a core that high at Stage A, his body will explode,” Ethan said bluntly.

The roc and the Glacial Bear both wore the same strangely baffled look, like Ethan had just told them the sky was green.

”Skree…”

Skinny Pete listened, then translated, sounding even more confused. ”It says… why can Winged Clan absorb high-tier crystal cores?”

Ethan’s eyes sharpened instantly. ”Winged Clan can absorb higher-tier cores?”

That hit like lightning.

His first thought was Aeralon and Aerisara—but he dismissed it almost immediately. They were thralls now. No mind, no way to explain anything.

So the Winged Clan have a method…

Ethan kept his face calm, but inside, something greedy and cold clicked into place.

Next time we catch a Winged Clan, I’m not letting them die quickly.

If Fallen Star Squad could master a technique like that, it would change everything. It would be a real breakthrough—one that could compress years of growth into days.

Ethan’s robber instincts flared hard.

A method that let you absorb high-tier crystal cores? That was the kind of secret you chased to the ends of the earth.

When the Glacial Bear realized Henry really couldn’t use the core, it sighed—then grabbed a dead Outland Beast off the ground, tore off a leg like it was snapping a breadstick, and offered it to Henry.

It was… almost gentle about it.

Like it genuinely wanted to take care of him.

Henry stared at the dripping, bloody leg in front of his face and went quiet.

Ethan stepped in instantly. ”Uh—cook it first. Roast it. Then eat.”

The Glacial Bear stared at him, blank and puzzled. It clearly had no idea what ”cook” meant.

Ethan turned his head. ”Big Mike. Show them.”

Big Mike perked up. ”On it.”

He grabbed a nearby Outland Beast corpse, slapped together a simple rack, then flicked his hand and poured out flame—starting a quick, brutal roast.

The others jumped in too, gathering wood and stacking it fast.

A few minutes later, the smell of meat filled the air—hot, smoky, and rich.

Normally, grilling in the middle of Rivermark State was suicide. The scent alone would’ve brought every predator in a five-mile radius.

But with a Stage SS Glacial Bear sitting right there?

No Outland Beast within reach had the guts to come close.

Ethan watched the bear’s attention drift toward the fire and the sizzling meat, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

Step two, he thought. Win the monster’s stomach.

Slowly. Carefully. One move at a time.

He’d get a grip on this Glacial Bear.

And once he did…

Once he could park this thing in Fallen Star City like a living mountain—

Who the hell would dare come knocking?