Level Up with My Guild in the Apocalypse

After Charvet returned to his apartment, he stored the supplies he had gathered and took a moment to catch his breath. He'd already fought a mini-boss and leveled up, but he knew this was only the beginning. The world outside was chaotic, and if he was going to survive, he needed to keep moving.

With his new iron sword in hand, Charvet stepped out of his apartment, locking the door behind him. The streets were quiet now, but he knew that wouldn't last long. Zombies, mutated animals, and who knows what else roamed the city. He needed to level up, and that meant hunting.

Charvet moved with a calm confidence. His steps were steady, his mind focused. He wasn't rushing. The system had given him a chance to grow stronger, and that's exactly what he intended to do.

The first zombie he encountered was level 1. Charvet swung his sword with ease, taking the zombie down in a few clean strikes. The system immediately updated his experience points, showing how much more he needed to level up.

"Not bad,"

Charvet muttered to himself, wiping his sword clean. He was ready for more.

He moved down the street, finding a few more zombies. A level 2 zombie came at him next, but Charvet had learned from his previous battles. With a practiced swing, he defeated it quickly, earning more experience.

As he continued on, he spotted a group of mutated dogs lurking in an alleyway.

They growled, eyes glowing with a strange, unnatural light. Charvet didn't hesitate. He took them down one by one, using his sword and his quick reflexes. The animals were fast, but his new weapon and skills were enough to keep him in control.

By the time the sun began to set, Charvet had killed several more zombies and a few mutant animals. His experience points were adding up, and the system notified him that he had leveled up again.

Charvet checked his status. He had earned 1 stat points and put them into Endurance. His HP increased to 150, giving him a little more staying power in the battles to come. 

Charvet moved cautiously through the streets, stepping over bloodstains and broken glass. The city was eerily quiet, except for the distant groans of zombies. He wasn't worried. At his current level, normal zombies weren't much of a threat.

His goal was simple—find more supplies. He remembered a small convenience store not far from his apartment. It had metal shutters, which meant there was a chance the inside was untouched.

When he arrived, he found the shutters halfway down, the glass door locked. He tested the door—no response. But he could hear faint sounds inside. People. Survivors.

Could be a safe group… or trouble.

Charvet didn't waste time. He gripped his sword, took a step back, and kicked the door hard. BANG! The lock snapped, and the door swung open.

Inside, the store was dimly lit. Shelves were mostly empty, but there were still some supplies left—canned food, bottled water, medicine. But that wasn't what caught his attention.

A group of people was gathered at the back. Some were sitting on the floor, bruised and trembling. Others stood silently, avoiding eye contact. Among them were women with torn clothes, elderly with swollen faces, and even a few young children curled up in fear.

And in the middle of them stood a man.

He was tall, muscular, wearing bloodstained clothes. His arms were crossed, and a smirk played on his lips. He wasn't alone—three other men stood beside him, weapons in hand. Unlike the frightened people, these men looked like they had adapted to the apocalypse quickly.

Players.

The leader stepped forward, his eyes locking onto Charvet.

"Who the hell are you?"

Charvet's grip on his sword tightened. "Just looking for supplies."

The man chuckled. "Supplies? Yeah, we own this place. And everything in it—including them." He gestured to the scared survivors behind him. One of the women flinched, gripping her torn sleeve.

Charvet's expression darkened. He had seen this before—in MMORPGs, in online communities. The strong preying on the weak. But this wasn't a game. These weren't NPCs. These were real people suffering under the rule of a tyrant.

One of the players stepped forward, gripping a rusty machete. "You got two choices," he sneered. "Leave, or join us. We could always use another sword."

Charvet exhaled slowly. His body relaxed—but his mind sharpened. He had already decided.

"There's a third option," he said.

The leader raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? And what's that?"

Charvet's sword moved before he even finished speaking.

"You die." 

The first thug rushed at him, swinging wildly. Charvet sidestepped easily and drove his sword into the man's stomach, pulling it out without hesitation. The thug dropped to the floor, gasping for breath.

Another man came at him with a scream. Charvet stepped forward, slashing across his chest in one smooth motion. The man collapsed, blood soaking his shirt.

The last two men froze, fear in their eyes. Charvet didn't wait. He advanced quickly—one man tried to run, but Charvet's sword found his back. The other stumbled, dropping his weapon. Charvet kicked him hard, knocking him down, then ended it swiftly.

Now only the leader remained. He backed up against the wall, dropping his crowbar.

"Wait! Wait, man—we can talk about this!" he begged, holding up his hands.

Charvet walked over calmly, grabbed the man by his shirt, and slammed him against the wall. His face was emotionless.

"Why?" Charvet asked quietly. "Why hurt people who can't fight back?"

"They're weak!" the man stammered. "Someone's gotta be in charge, right? The strong survive!"

Charvet stared at him for a moment, then replied in a low voice, "The strong protect."

Without another word, he plunged his sword into the man's chest. Quick. Clean. No hesitation.

The room fell silent. The survivors stared, wide-eyed and shaken. 

Charvet wiped the blood from his iron sword, his face calm and unreadable as the last of the oppressors fell lifeless. The small store was filled with silence, broken only by the quiet sobs of the beaten survivors huddled in the corner.

Charvet scanned the room, his eyes landing on a middle-aged man with a bruised face. Without wasting time, he approached him.

"What happened here?" Charvet asked, his voice low but firm.

The man hesitated, glancing nervously at the bodies on the floor. "T-They were stronger than us. They took over… did whatever they wanted." His voice trembled.

Charvet's expression didn't change. "Why didn't you fight back?"

The man looked at him, confused and scared. "We… we're just normal people. We can't fight like you."

Charvet frowned slightly. "When the world changed—when the apocalypse started—did anything strange happen to you? Any… system or notification?"

The man's eyes widened slightly. "Y-You mean the screen? The one that showed up in front of us?"

Charvet's interest sharpened. "So you do have the system."

The survivors exchanged uneasy glances. A young woman holding a child nodded slowly. "We all got it. It just appeared when everything went to hell. But we don't know what to do with it."

Charvet's jaw tightened. They had the same chance as me. The same system. And they did nothing with it.

"So you just hid here? Waiting to die?" he asked, his tone colder now.

"We're scared," the woman whispered. "Those… things out there. Zombies, monsters. We can't face them."

Charvet stared at her for a moment, his face hard but his eyes thoughtful. Fear. That's what holds them back. Not weakness—fear.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his frustration in check. "You don't have to be fearless to fight. You just have to try. Kill one zombie, get stronger. Level up, and you'll be better than you were yesterday. That's how you survive."

But no one responded. They just looked down, too afraid to face the reality outside the store.

Charvet sighed, his sharp gaze sweeping over the battered survivors huddled in fear. "If you want to live, stop waiting for someone to save you," he said, his voice calm but firm. "The system gave you a chance. Use it."

Some of them lowered their heads, avoiding his eyes, while others stared silently, their faces filled with fear and uncertainty. No one responded.

Without another word, Charvet turned and stepped outside, the cold wind brushing against his face. The metallic scent of blood mixed with the stale air. In the distance, the growls of zombies echoed through the empty streets, but he didn't look back.

I've said what needed to be said. The rest is up to them.

Charvet walked down the cracked, blood-streaked street, the sky above dim with gray clouds. The distant groans of zombies echoed between the ruined buildings, but he moved with steady steps, his iron sword resting on his shoulder.

They all had the system, he thought, recalling the fearful faces of the survivors in the store. The same chance I had. But they chose to hide, waiting for someone else to save them.

His grip tightened slightly on the sword's handle. Fear… it's natural. But in this world, fear without action is a death sentence. They'll die in that store eventually. Not because they're weak—but because they refuse to change.

A sudden snarl broke his thoughts. A group of zombies stumbled from an alley ahead—level 1s and a few level 2s, their rotting faces twisted in hunger.

Charvet's expression didn't change. He moved.

His sword sliced through the first zombie's skull with ease. He stepped forward, fluid and precise, his calm eyes tracking every movement. A level 2 lunged, but he sidestepped smoothly, driving his blade through its neck. Blood sprayed, but Charvet didn't even flinch.

They're slow. Predictable. If you don't panic, they're nothing.

One after another, the zombies fell, their bodies collapsing onto the cracked pavement. Charvet's breathing remained steady, his movements sharp and efficient.

[You have gained 10 EXP.]

[You have gained 15 EXP.]

[Level Up! You have earned 1 Stat Point.]

Without hesitation, he opened his status screen and added the point to Dexterity. 

As he wiped the blood from his sword, he noticed something near one of the level 3 zombies he'd just killed. A faint glow caught his eye—a drop.

Kneeling down, he picked it up. It was a piece of armor, simple but sleek. Black in color, designed to cover his entire upper body except for his arms.

[Basic Armor (Upper Body)]

Defense: Blocks physical attacks from Level 1 zombies.

Durability: 100/100

Charvet strapped it on without hesitation. It fit snugly, adding a slight weight to his chest, but nothing he couldn't handle.

Not bad. It won't stop stronger enemies, but it's better than nothing.

Standing tall again, he glanced back toward the small store in the distance.

Turning his gaze forward, Charvet started walking again, his sword ready.

In this world, the system doesn't care about fear. It rewards those who act. And I'm not planning to be weak.

With every step, every kill, he was growing stronger. And he wasn't going to stop.

As Charvet walked down the desolate street, he summoned his system interface with a thought. A translucent screen appeared before his eyes, displaying his current status.

[Player Status]

Name: Stormbringer

Level: 8

HP: 150/150

Strength (STR): 18

Dexterity (DEX): 18

Intelligence (INT): 15

Endurance (END): 16

Skills: Intermediate Swordsmanship (Passive): Can be upgraded by practice.

Stat Points: 0

Equipment:

Iron Sword (Basic Weapon)Basic Black Armor (Blocks attacks from Level 1 zombies)

Quest available: "Survive the Night"

Not bad, he thought, dismissing the interface with a blink.

The night deepened, and the streets grew colder. Zombies roamed aimlessly, their hollow groans filling the air. Charvet moved like a shadow among them, his sword slicing through rotting flesh with ease. His movements grew sharper, faster—each kill precise and efficient. Blood splattered his armor, but he remained calm, his breathing steady.

Hours passed, the darkness slowly giving way to the faint glow of dawn. As the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon, Charvet stood amidst a pile of lifeless corpses, his sword dripping with dark, thick blood.

[Level Up!]

You've reached Level 9.

1 Stat Point Acquired.

Without hesitation, he allocated the point to Dexterity. He felt the subtle shift in his body.

Wiping the blood from his blade, he exhaled softly. "That's enough for now."

This was the first day of the apocalypse, and he had hunted from noon until the morning. The streets, once alive with the bustle of daily life, were now littered with the corpses of zombies and the faint traces of humanity's collapse.

The faint glow of dawn crept over the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the bloodstained pavement. Charvet stood amidst the aftermath, his iron sword slick with dark, dried blood, his black armor marked with scratches and stains from countless battles.

Turning his back on the carnage without a second glance, Charvet made his way back to his apartment. The city remained silent, save for the distant groans of the undead lingering in the shadows.

This is just the beginning, he thought, disappearing into the quiet morning, his steps steady and unwavering.