EPZ 33

Chapter: 33

“First, we have to stop the bleeding! C-cloth, anything—just anything at all!”

Peggy’s scream snapped Jigu back to her senses. She rushed over to Edwin in a panic.

Peggy was pressing hard against the wound, but the amount of blood seeping through her fingers didn’t look good at all.

Clenching her teeth, Jigu began frantically pulling out every scrap of cloth she could find from her inventory.

“Hmm. This isn’t good. It’s not just a through-and-through wound. It looks like the bullet fragmented inside him. Unless we remove the fragments, it’ll be difficult to completely stop the bleeding.”

The man standing beside the boy descended the stairs and crouched near Edwin, muttering as he examined him.

Brown hair tied into a low ponytail. Glasses perched over narrow eyes. A white coat that fell to his knees. He looked every bit like a doctor.

Her voice trembling, Jigu asked, “Are you… a doctor?”

“Eh? Ah, that’s a bit ambiguous. I am his attending physician, at least.”

“Can you save him?”

“Haha! Of course not. Not by myself. He’ll bleed out before I can remove all the fragments. And besides, I don’t even have surgical experience.”

Thud.

It felt as if her heart had dropped straight to the floor.

‘Edwin… is going to die?’

Edwin’s pale, unmoving face looked unbearably unfamiliar.

The sticky blood slipping through her fingers was still warm—but the skin beneath her palm was cold and damp.

That chilling contrast told her clearly that his death might not be far off.

But then Peggy cried out urgently, “I—I can help! I used to be a surgical nurse. It’s been quite a while since I quit, but…!”

“Oh?”

The man’s eyes lit up with interest.

“It’s been over ten years! I’m not confident…!”

With everyone’s gaze fixed on her, Peggy waved her hands hurriedly, her face drained of color.

But whether it had been ten years or a hundred, the fact that someone here had surgical experience was nothing short of a miracle. Especially now.

They might be able to save Edwin.

A flicker of fragile hope stirred in Jigu’s chest.

“Then the problem is transfusion. Let’s see…”

The man checked Edwin’s uniform and slipped a practiced hand inside his collar. He soon pulled out a faded dog tag.

“Edwin Moore. Oh, hallelujah. He’s Christian.”

“Renert. Cut the jokes.”

A joke?

At the boy’s sharp rebuke, Jigu shot the man a pointed glare. He merely shrugged playfully and smiled.

She wanted nothing more than to punch him square in the face.

But right now, he was Edwin’s only lifeline.

Suppressing the murderous urge rising inside her, Jigu asked through clenched teeth, “What are you checking?”

“Ah, his blood type. Hmm. B-type. Anyone here B-type?”

The group exchanged looks and shook their heads.

Except for one person—Luke—who was conspicuously avoiding eye contact.

Caliph strode toward him.

“You. What’s your blood type?”

“I—I don’t remember…”

“Answer properly. Before I toss you outside as bait.”

Thud!

Caliph grabbed Luke by the shoulder and slammed him against the wall, gray eyes blazing as he pressed him.

The others’ gazes weren’t kind either.

After all, Luke was the reason Edwin was in this state. He’d run to save himself, then shamelessly slipped back into the group like nothing had happened. There wasn’t a single redeeming quality in his actions.

“Damn it! B-type! I’m B-type, alright?!”

Unable to withstand their piercing stares, Luke finally snapped and confessed. Edwin’s life hanging in the balance because of him had been weighing on his mind as well.

With a crooked smirk, Caliph grabbed Luke by the scruff of his neck and shoved him toward Renert.

“Looks like we’ve got a fresh blood bag right here.”

“Oh, excellent. Then let’s begin the surgery.”

Renert nodded, his thin eyes curving into crescents.

[Party Member]

• Edwin Moore
  Health: 12% / Infection Rate: 0%

Was the surgery going well?

Edwin’s health had dropped as low as 5%, then slowly climbed back up—but after reaching 10%, it barely moved.

A simple number on the status window wasn’t enough to tell her what was really happening. It made her uneasy.

“It’s not a simple procedure. It’ll take quite a while. Why don’t you rest a little in the meantime?”

Click.

Damian gently set down a steaming cup of tea in front of Jigu, who sat curled up with her knees hugged to her chest.

She silently shook her head and clenched her fists tighter.

The dried blood in her palms crumbled into powder and fell to the floor.

“Then at least clean your hands.”

Damian went to the mini bar, where water was boiling, and soaked a handkerchief in the hot water. Steam rose softly as he wrung it out.

After Renert and Peggy began the surgery, Damian had led the group to a common area on the first floor.

It appeared to be a reception room—deep brown leather sofas, an expensive-looking wooden table, an antique fireplace spotless from soot, plush carpets, embossed vine patterns along the windows, and beyond them, a beautiful garden.

The mansion was clearly no ordinary place.

Yet the most extraordinary presence here wasn’t the estate—it was the boy.

As Jigu wiped the dried blood from between her fingers with the warm cloth, she stole a glance at Damian’s profile.

His posture was perfectly straight. Even the simple act of handing over a cup carried elegance. Everything about him suggested he was the master of this mansion—or someone of equal standing.

But what truly troubled her wasn’t his beauty or grace.

‘What was that earlier?’

When their eyes had first met, her vision had turned dark red, as if all the light in the world had been extinguished.

And within that darkness, his blue eyes had shone vividly—dangerously.

Yet now they were calm, serene like the lake in the garden.

‘Was it just déjà vu?’

Her vision had returned to normal, only the edges faintly glowing red—likely because of the zombies roaming outside the estate.

But that chilling sensation hadn’t felt like mere imagination.

Even so, whatever danger lurked in this mansion, they couldn’t leave—not yet.

“…I’m tired.”

Looking again at Edwin’s faintly glowing blue status window, Jigu buried her face between her knees and let out a long sigh.

Bang!

“Damn it! I’m telling you, this bastard is definitely not a doctor! He’s completely insane!”

How much time had passed? The sun that once lit the mansion had disappeared, and darkness had fallen.

The one who woke the dozing group from the sofa was Luke, who burst in swearing and kicking the door open.

“That’s a bit hurtful. I did my best, you know.”

Renert followed behind him, looking pale and exhausted, grumbling as he staggered into the room.

Jigu, who had been anxiously watching Edwin’s status the entire time, leapt to her feet and rushed toward him.

“Edwin?!”

Health: 17%.

It had risen compared to before—but it was still low.

Seeing the anxiety etched across her face, Renert awkwardly raised both hands.

“Mm. The surgery went well. But we’ll need to observe him for now. He lost a lot of blood.”

At that, the strength drained from Jigu’s body. She fell silent, her expression dark.

Peggy gently patted her back.

“We removed all the bullet fragments and controlled the bleeding. If we wait a bit longer, he should wake up soon. Don’t worry too much, Jigu.”

“…Yeah. You worked hard, Peggy.”

Things had improved—at least a little.

The zombies still roamed outside. The unease about the mansion lingered. But the fact that Edwin was still alive was nothing short of a miracle.

As her tension eased, exhaustion came crashing down.

Rubbing her sore eyes, Jigu sighed quietly.

“You look very tired. Why don’t you get some rest for now?” Damian asked, concern clear in his voice.

“That’s right. A warm bath would wash away all your fatigue,” Renert added lightly, winking playfully.

A warm bath?

 The group’s eyes lit up with anticipation.