However, when he was packing up, he mostly took bottled water, since bottled water doesn’t have an expiration date, and only grabbed two or three bottles of drinks to improve the taste.

After that, Brian Sullivan found the tobacco and alcohol counter, took more than a dozen packs of the most expensive cigarettes, packed a few bottles of good liquor, and was ready to head back. Passing by a counter that hadn’t toppled over, he saw it had roasted seeds, walnuts, and peanuts, so Brian Sullivan grabbed a bag and took a little of each.

Just at that moment.

A rustling sound suddenly came from behind. Brian Sullivan spun around quickly and saw that, at some point, a mutant rat the size of a piglet was sniffing its way toward him.

As soon as the mutant rat was caught in the beam of Brian Sullivan’s headlamp, its fur bristled instantly, and it let out a strange sound like a snake flicking its tongue. Then, before Brian Sullivan could react, it leapt at him like lightning. Its speed was no slower than that of the fanged wolf, and Brian Sullivan had no time to dodge—he could only raise his arm to block as best he could.

Squelch!

The mutant rat bit down on Brian Sullivan’s arm. The protective clothing seemed to offer no resistance at all; its sharp teeth sank deep into his flesh, and a piercing pain shot through his entire body.

“Get off!” Brian Sullivan gritted his teeth against the pain, trying to shake the mutant rat off, but once it bit down, it wouldn’t let go—he couldn’t shake it free.

With his other hand, Brian Sullivan drew the military tri-edged bayonet from his waist and, in a panic, stabbed the mutant rat. The stab landed solidly, the bayonet firmly embedded in the rat’s back.

Hiss hiss!

The rat released Brian Sullivan’s arm, but in the process took the bayonet with it, dropping it to the ground and hissing like a snake. Then, without hesitation, it lunged at Brian Sullivan again.

Brian Sullivan had some combat training, but very little real experience. In his panic, he’d lost the bayonet, his hand crossbow was strapped to his back, and his pistol was tucked inside his jacket with the safety still on—he didn’t have time to draw any of them. Suddenly, inspiration struck: he remembered he’d made a fang dagger the night before.

The dagger was hanging at his waist.

At that moment, Brian Sullivan drew the fang dagger with a backhand motion. Because he was so tense, all his strength was focused on the dagger in his hand as he tried to block the rat.

Rip!

The sound of a burlap sack being torn open—the fang dagger sliced across the rat’s head, surprisingly without any resistance, directly cleaving half of its head open. Blood sprayed everywhere. Everything happened so fast that before Brian Sullivan could even react, he realized he had killed the mutant rat with a single blow.

There was no time to collect his thoughts. Fearing there might be more mutant rats, Brian Sullivan grabbed the corpse of the one he’d just killed and left the Carrefour supermarket. He needed to get back to the King Kong to treat his wound.

Once he was back on the King Kong and everything was safe, Brian Sullivan wiped the cold sweat from his back and finally felt a wave of lingering fear.

He had thought the basement level was sealed and shouldn’t be dangerous. He never expected such a huge rat to jump out, its incisors as sharp as watermelon knives. It had pierced right through Brian Sullivan’s left arm, and the blood wouldn’t stop flowing.

……

“Ah!”

Inside the King Kong, Brian Sullivan’s gritted cries echoed as he disinfected his wound. He had learned some basic medical skills and had treated stray dogs before, but this was his first time treating his own wound. Only now did he realize how unbelievable it was in movies when the protagonist just grits his teeth and bandages himself up in an instant.

Right now, the pain was so intense that snot and tears streamed down his face. Just thinking about having to stitch the wound up with needle and thread made Brian Sullivan feel it was even scarier than suicide.

He vented his anger by stomping hard on the mutant rat’s corpse at his feet.

Suddenly, Brian Sullivan recalled how he had killed the rat. At the time, he’d only intended to block it with the fang dagger, but the dagger had actually cleaved half its head open.

Brian Sullivan knew how hard the fang dagger was, but he wasn’t sure how sharp it really was.

“How could it cut through this rat so easily?” Brian Sullivan muttered as he applied disinfectant to his hand, trying to distract himself. “A rat’s skull should be very hard. Piercing it with the fang dagger is one thing, but slicing it open? That shouldn’t be possible.”

“Could it be…”

Brian Sullivan replayed the scene in his mind. He’d been so nervous that he’d unconsciously focused all his strength—and his activity—into the fang dagger. “…Was it because of the activity?”

“Activity can repair the King Kong, and strengthen my body… By the same logic, it should be able to strengthen the fang dagger as well… maybe even heal my wound?”

Unconsciously, Brian Sullivan thought of his own wound. If he could use activity to heal, then he wouldn’t have to endure such excruciating pain.

With that thought, Brian Sullivan couldn’t wait to mobilize the activity within his body.

This activity was feedback from the King Kong, infused throughout his limbs and bones, slowly improving his constitution. Now, under Brian Sullivan’s willpower, the activity quickly gathered at his wound.

In an instant, the stabbing pain in his wound was wrapped in a cool sensation, the pain began to subside, and he could feel the wound healing at an incredible speed.

“So it really is possible to use activity to heal wounds. It’s just like the King Kong’s self-repair—extension, the principle is pretty much the same!”