Entering Apocalypse in Easy-Mode-Chapter 567: Visitors

The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the city leaking through the curtains. They didn’t bother to light the lamp in this room.

Clyde and Mina lay on separate sides of the bed, their bodies finally still after hours of tension.

Neither of them spoke. There was nothing left to say. Words felt heavy and unnecessary. Exhaustion pressed down on them heavily, dull, and absolute.

Clyde lay on his back, one arm resting across his chest, eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling above. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

A thin fracture ran across it like a scar, splitting into smaller lines.

He followed them absentmindedly, as if tracing paths he couldn’t escape.

Six people. The number surfaced without warning.

The next, faces followed,then voices, the sound of panic. The moment their eyes had turned to him, trusting that he would lead them through, protect them, and keep them alive.

He swallowed. He knew he couldn’t erase the memory. He knew it would follow him no matter how far he ran or how strong he became. Just like how the memory when Asqa’s death was still haunting him.

But just for this moment, just for a few hours, he wanted silence. He wanted the images to blur. He wanted the weight to ease, even if only briefly.

He just wanted to forget it for now, just enough to breathe.

Beside him, Mina lay curled slightly on her side. Her breathing was slow and uneven at first, then gradually settled into a steady rhythm. A faint, quiet snore escaped her lips.

She had been thinking too. He knew that. He had seen it in her eyes earlier, the same shadows he carried. But her body had reached its limit faster than her mind and her exhaustion pulled her under the sleep before the thoughts could fully take shape.

Sleep claimed her gently and that’s good for her.

Clyde turned his head slightly, just enough to confirm she was resting. Her expression was peaceful, stripped of fear and tension for once for now.

He decided to close his eyes as well. The darkness came slowly. Then his senses flared.

A sharp, instinctive prickle ran up his spine. His breathing stilled. The world around him sharpened, every sound suddenly too clear.

He heard footsteps. Not one, but many. They were moving through the building below.

Clyde’s eyes snapped open then he reached for his spear.

The one-meter rod was already in his hand before his feet touched the floor. His movements were silent, controlled, born from habit.

He glanced once at Mina. She was still asleep, breathing evenly and unaware.

Good.

He straightened and rolled his shoulders, senses fully awake now.

The footsteps below were clearer. Twelve, maybe more. Spreading out. They feel confidence. Not monsters. They were humans.

Clyde felt no fear. If anything, there was only a faint irritation stirring beneath the exhaustion.

He didn’t know what they wanted, but he knew one thing clearly. He didn’t want this dragged out.

If they were here to talk, they would have announced themselves. If they were here to make trouble, then there was no need for words. He would just need to handle them and go back to sleep.

He tightened his grip on the spear.

"I don’t have time for this," he muttered.

Without hesitation, Clyde stepped to the broken window at the end of the corridor.

He didn’t bother looking down. He already knew the distance.

He jumped.

The fall lasted less than a second.

Clyde crashed into the hotel lobby. The impact cracked the floor tiles beneath his boots, dust and debris exploding outward in a sharp burst of sound.

The dozen men froze in shock.

Their weapons half-raised and their eyes wide. Bodies stiff with shock.

They hadn’t sensed him at all.

Clyde straightened slowly. His spear already extended in his hand with a soft metallic click.

His gaze swept across them, calm and cold, measuring without effort.

They have magical weapons.

"What the hell...." one of them started.

Clyde took a step forward. The air shifted.

Heavy pressure rolled out from him. It was killing intent sharpened by experience far beyond their understanding.

The kind that came from someone who had already ended worlds and didn’t hesitate to do it again.

"You’re loud," Clyde said quietly. "And you woke me up."

The leader swallowed, his confident smile gone.

Clyde lowered his spear just a fraction, pointing it toward the floor between them.

"So," he continued, voice flat and dangerous, "say what you came for. Quickly. I’d like to go back to sleep."

His eyes flicked upward for a brief moment, toward the floors above.

The leader stepped forward despite himself.

He swallowed hard. Up close, the man before him felt nothing like what he had expected. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty, no trace of someone who could be pressured or cornered.

Clyde’s gaze was flat and distant, as if this entire situation was an inconvenience rather than a threat.

The leader felt it then. Clear and undeniable.

This man was stronger than him. Stronger than all twelve of them combined.

This was already different from the plan.

They had come here thinking it would be simple. Two survivors who were tired and wounded. Even if they had killed a Lunar Beast, it must have been luck, numbers, or circumstance.

With twelve people, with magical weapons, intimidation alone should have been enough to force their cooperation.

But standing here now, that assumption felt laughable.

This man felt like death.

"I..." The leader forced his voice steady. "I want to talk to you about working together."

Clyde didn’t react.

"Nased in what happen, there will be more scenarios," the leader continued quickly, sensing the thin patience in the air. "Stronger monsters and worse situations. We need to cooperate to survive."

"No," Clyde said.

The word landed flat and final.

"Now go," he added, tone unchanged. "I want to sleep."

Silence fell.

One of the men behind the leader snapped.

"You dare talk to us like that?" he shouted, anger breaking through his fear. "Do you know how many we are?"

Clyde looked at him. Just one glance.

In that instant, the man felt something lock onto him. A line drawn straight through his skull.

Clyde’s grip tightened on the spear, his posture shifting slightly, weight settling into his legs.

He calculated it without effort. Punching a hole through the man’s head would take less than a second.

Clyde felt the urge rise, sharp and efficient.

Then he stopped himself.

He sighed slowly, eyes still cold, still empty, and said nothing.

The pressure in the room thickened, heavy enough that several of the men took an unconscious step back.

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