The Reborn Young Master's Guide to Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse BL-Chapter 11: Step Eleven: Know Who Owns the Weapons

Because trust won’t stop bullets, but power might.

Asher stood by the stone fountain outside the Greyson estate, the morning fog curling around his legs like smoke.

The air tasted like rain and tension.

He adjusted the collar of his black coat, sharp and tailored, the fabric stiff around his broader shoulders.

Another reminder of how much he had changed.

He was no longer the fifth-born shadow that the Greyson family ignored.

Footsteps approached behind him.

"Car’s ready," Tristan said, his voice low and precise.

Asher turned around to face Tristan.

The older man was dressed in his usual uniform of charcoal slacks, pressed coat, and gloves despite the mild weather.

There was nothing flashy about Tristan but there was something exact and very deliberate.

"You pulled strings for this, didn’t you?" Asher asked.

Tristan merely nodded his head.

"He doesn’t meet with children. You are the exception."

The drive took them out of the polished Capital, and past the broken concrete fences and abandoned overpasses, until they reached the heart of the city’s underground sprawl.

Layers of security greeted them as cameras veiled in broken signage, unmarked men in tailored black flanking checkpoints, and finally a biometric scanner hidden behind what looked like a rusted vending machine.

It beeped once before sliding open to reveal a steel door.

Asher followed Tristan down a narrow hall lined with black glass and humming walls.

The guards they passed didn’t look like typical underground muscle.

Their posture was upright like the military.

You can tell that their eyes were trained.

He filed the details away.

Something about this place felt... cleaner than it should have been.

At the end of the corridor stood a thick wooden double door.

Tristan knocked once and pushed it open.

Inside, the room was warm and bright.

Books lined the walls, and weapons were displayed like art, and in the very center, behind a polished oak desk, sat an older man with silver hair slicked back and an expression that gave nothing away.

His silver eyes, too sharp, too knowing, landed on Asher.

The man’s silver eyes reminded Asher of someone... sharp, assessing, familiar.

He couldn’t place it now, not at this moment.

"I wonder if my grandson, little Cas, will ever look that sharp in black." The older man mused, lifting up an eyebrow.

Asher kept his tone dry.

"Depends on whether he survives the next few years."

The Guildmaster’s lips twitched in a faint smile.

"Fair point. He always did have a talent for trouble." The old man chuckled.

’What a funny boy,’ the old man thought.

Asher took a seat.

Tristan remained at the door, his arms crossed.

"You are but a young boy," the Guildmaster said, not as insult, but as observation.

"But your request wasn’t."

Asher reached into his coat and pulled out the folded list.

It was two pages, handwritten in clean, block letters.

He slid it across the desk.

The Guildmaster picked it up, scanned the first few lines, then chuckled.

"EMP-shielded generators. UV-sterilized medkits. Shock-resistant tactical gear. Water filtration units. Explosive-resistant drone shells. Good gods, young boy. Are you planning to outlive a war?"

"I don’t plan to die any time soon," Asher said simply, a sly grin on his face.

The Guildmaster casually tossed the papers onto the desk.

"You are not asking for anything illegal, by underground standards. But you are asking for high grade survival stock. That’s not cheap."

"I can pay," Asher said.

"And I’m not just buying for myself."

"No," the old man said.

"You’re buying for a faction. Quietly. You wouldn’t be here otherwise."

Asher said nothing.

Silence stretched thin.

The Guildmaster tapped his fingers.

"I’ll accept it. But under one condition."

Asher raised an eyebrow.

"I want you to attend the gala I’m hosting as my son’s partner in two weeks," the man said slowly, "but when you attend keep your eyes open. Especially near the walls. The glass holds more than reflections."

It was phrased like a metaphor.

But Asher knew better.

"Noted."

The Guildmaster stood, a sign that the meeting was over.

"You’ll receive half the inventory in three days. The rest, I will send it over when the time is right."

Asher stood as well.

"And if I want more supplies, Guildmaster?"

The old man chuckled again, "Then prove you’ll survive long enough to use it."

Asher nodded.

"Oh, and young man? Call me Holland." Holland said as he reached his hand out for a hand shake.

Asher took his hand, the alliance blooming like a rose.

---

The car ride back was silent for several minutes.

Rain began to hit the windshield in soft patters.

Finally, Tristan spoke.

"He doesn’t deal with just anyone."

"I figured."

"He’s dangerous. But more than that—he’s observant. If he’s given you his name, and the deal, then he either sees you as useful..."

"I understand. By the way, is Holland connected to the military?"

"They say the Guildmaster used to babysit all the military families’ babies back in the day," Tristan muttered.

Asher’s hand clenched into a fist.

"His favorite grandson’s in the military now. People call him the Young General."

Asher didn’t reply, and simply stared out the window.

---

Back at the estate, dusk had swallowed the gardens.

Lights flickered on in the windows.

The manor buzzed with quiet tension, as it always did when power shifted.

Asher passed through the front hall without a word.

Entering his bedroom, Asher laid down on his bed, his thoughts a mess.

It was him.

Caspian Winters, the Young General known as the Ice Emperor in the apocalypse.

He was the man who made a promise to him yet Asher died before Caspian was able to fulfill it.

The Winters Corporation was the Greyson family enemy and they had clashed many times in his previous life, yet somehow, they grew closer.

Asher had some feelings for him in his previous life, yet Caspian had coldly rejected him, shattering his heart.

How dare Caspian break his heart, yet promise to come back for him, confusing him!?

Asher steeled his heart for revenge, wanting to forget about Caspian.

Could he open his heart again for his unrequited love that he long buried deep within his broken heart?