Chapter 3

Night fell.

The wasteland wind was no longer the dry heat of daytime—it had turned into a bone-piercing blade of steel.

A glance in the rearview mirror showed no trace of that all-consuming gray fog wall. He'd left it far behind.

Jake drove with one hand while opening the system interface to check the blood-red countdown:

[Time Until Gray Mist Arrives: 08:59:32]

[Distance from Gray Mist: Approx. 270 km]

Jake pulled the RV behind a sheltered dirt mound and engaged the handbrake.

Even with "Infinite Fuel," he couldn't drive forever.

People needed rest. And the vehicle needed it even more.

Especially that left front tire—the status panel was still showing moderate wear.

'I need to find a tire and some repair tools, fast.'

Jake took a breath and surveyed his motorhome.

This Lv.1 civilian RV wasn't exactly spacious. Aside from the driver's cabin, the living area was barely two meters wide and three meters long.

A simple fold-out table. Two rows of bench seats facing each other—could double as a dining area.

In the back, there was a narrow 1.2-meter single bed, one pillow, and a thin blanket.

The bathroom in the corner was laughably small. A basic cassette toilet. You could barely turn around in there.

'It's a bit cramped, but still way better than what most players have.' Jake shook his head.

Just then, a shrill howl tore past the windows.

WOOOO—!

The temperature inside the cabin plummeted like a stone.

His breath turned to white mist instantly. Frost flowers began forming on the windshield—visible to the naked eye.

[Region Announcement: Attention, all players in Zone C-996—Cold Front Incoming!]

[Current ambient temperature has dropped to 14°F and will continue falling.]

[Warning: Low temperatures cause body heat loss, slowed reflexes, and a minor decrease in Sanity.]

[Survivors, seek heat sources or warm shelter immediately!]

'Damn, can't catch a break with this game!'

Jake rubbed his stiffening fingers and pressed on the blinking red [Regional Chat] button.

Even someone with his iron nerves felt his pupils contract at what he saw.

[Current Zone Survivors: 7,001,248 / 10,000,000]

In just seven or eight hours, three million players had been eliminated from this zone alone.

Where did they go?

Swallowed by the Gray Mist when they ran out of fuel? Killed by the zombies and mutants the system warned about?

The chat channel was a blizzard of panic.

[So cold... I can't feel my feet... someone please help...]

[Damn it! Why is the heater blowing cold air?! Is this piece of junk broken?!]

[Moron. The engine has to be running to get heat. You need to turn the car on.]

[I can't! I only have 20% fuel left! If I burn it on heating, how am I supposed to drive tomorrow?! The Gray Mist is catching up!]

[I'd rather get eaten by monsters than freeze to death...]

[Anyone have gas? I'll trade instant noodles!]

[I have a gun. I'll trade it for fuel! Please!]

[This game gives you no way out! No fuel = death. No heat = death.]

Jake could smell the despair through the screen—thick and suffocating.

On this deadly highway, fuel wasn't just for moving. It was a lifeline for warmth. To stay warm, you burned gas to run the engine and heater. But if you burned it all, the Gray Mist would catch you tomorrow.

A death sentence either way.

For Jake, though...

He glanced at the fuel gauge—still pinned hard against "FULL."

'A death sentence? Not for me.'

Without a second thought, Jake cranked the heater dial to max.

Full blast.

Hottest setting.

WHIRRR...

Within seconds, scorching hot air came roaring out of the vents.

Frost melted. Cold banished.

The thermometer in the cramped cabin climbed fast.

32°F... 50°F... 68°F... 78°F!

Jake peeled off his jacket, leaving just a thin T-shirt, and leaned back comfortably in the driver's seat.

'It's getting hot in here.'

He adjusted the vents and glanced around the RV interior.

During his 700-800-kilometer joyride earlier, he'd used his speed advantage to grab over a hundred supply crates before anyone else could.

According to the system, this zone had 10 million players but only 100,000 crates—a ratio of 100 to 1.

Jake cracked open every single one.

He got over fifty units of Universal Fuel. The rest were food, appliances, and everyday supplies.

He sorted everything.

[Strategic Materials]:

Universal Fuel — 55 units

Tires — 8 units

...

[Food & Drink]:

Mineral Water (500ml) — 24 bottles

Hardtack Biscuits (100g) — 15 packs

Rice Crackers (100g) — 10 packs

Potato Chips (70g) — 6 packs

Coca-Cola (330ml) — 11 bottles

Instant Noodles (cup) — 11 cups

Marinated Eggs — 5 packs

Ham Sausages — 7 sticks

Lettuce (100g) — 1 unit

Corn (100g) — 12 ears

Lamb Stew Kit — 1 unit

...

[Appliances]:

Electric Kettle — 2 units

Induction Cooktop — 2 units

Rechargeable Flashlights — 3 units

...

Jake's eyes lit up at the sight of his packed RV.

What mattered most in the apocalypse? Supplies. No question.

With what he had here—if rationed carefully—an average person could survive a month.

The only annoyance was that the system didn't include a backpack. All this stuff piled up in the RV was getting cramped.

Especially the 55 units of Universal Fuel—they took up way too much space.

But to the people in chat freezing into icicles, Universal Fuel was liquid gold. A lifeline.

With that thought, Jake opened the regional chat. He typed: [Selling: 1 unit of Universal Fuel. PM me if interested.]

The moment this message dropped, the wailing chat went dead silent—then exploded.

[HOLY?! Someone's actually selling fuel?!]

[Is he insane?! That's 100 km of life right there! Is he the owner of a gas station?!]

[Please, can I have it for free? I'm literally freezing to death.]

Jake: [No.]

[Cruel! You're gonna get what's coming to you!]

[Shut up! I'll buy it! I'LL BUY IT! DM me, please!]

...

In less than ten minutes, Jake traded 10 units of fuel for exactly what he needed.

Food—water, bread, and more.

But the real prize: one of the trades got him a Hatchet-Gun—a combination axe and shotgun. There were only three shells left, but still.

Jake stowed it in his pack, planning to examine it later.

Right now, he was hungry.

His eyes swept over the neatly organized supplies and landed on the lamb stew kit. He hadn't expected the supply crates to drop something like this.

He tore open a bottle of water and poured it into the induction cooktop pot.

Plugged it in.

Hit the switch.

Any other player wouldn't dare use an induction cooktop. The vehicle battery's pitiful charge would die before the water even boiled—leaving them stranded.

But Jake's [Infinite Fuel] came with the "excess energy to electricity" trait. The generator was pumping out raw, untamed power.

Boiling water? He could run a welding rig off this thing.

Gurgle, gurgle...

Two minutes later, the water was boiling.

Jake tore open the hotpot set. Inside: broth base, 1.5 kg of lamb, tomato paste, seasonings, and assorted vegetables.

'Pretty generous,' Jake couldn't help thinking. He was satisfied.

He dropped the rich broth base into the roiling water.

While waiting for the stew to simmer, he glanced out the window again. The wind outside had grown more vicious—like a thousand wailing ghosts.

Meanwhile, more messages popped up in the regional chat.

[I can't take it anymore... too cold... my fingers are turning purple…]

[Anyone have food? I'm starving. I'll trade my body for a piece of bread. I'm f—]

[Seriously? Who has the energy for that right now? Get real.]

[I just drank some cold water, and now I have stomach cramps so bad I want to die.]

[Mom... I want to go home...]

Watching the stream of desperate messages scroll past, Jake lifted the lid. The rich, savory aroma of lamb and herbs filled the cabin.

He ladled a generous portion into a bowl—tender meat, soft carrots and potatoes swimming in dark, flavorful broth. He took a bite.

The warmth spread through his chest like a furnace.

"Ahhh—"

[Consumed high-calorie, delicious food.]

[Status Updated: Full.]

[Sanity recovering slightly... Current: 100/100 (Max overflow)]

[Evaluation: In the apocalypse, a bowl of hot stew is more precious than gold.]

Jake drained the last of the broth, feeling a light sweat bead on his forehead. He glanced out at the pitch-black, frozen wasteland.

Outside was hell. Inside was heaven.

"Day one," Jake murmured, shoving the last bite of lamb into his mouth. His eyes, half-veiled by steam, were dark and sharp. "If I want to keep living like this... this rig's got to get stronger."

Just then—THUD. A heavy impact against the door.

Then claws, raking across metal. SKRREEE—!

Jake's fork froze. His eyes snapped to the door.