Regressing Through the Apocalypse with the Third Male Lead-Chapter 13

Moments ago...

Florence followed Harley into the house, finding the boy sitting on his bed, clutching a picture frame.

"She’s the only family I have," Harley began, his voice trembling. "I always promised myself I’d finish my studies, become an engineer, and give her a better life. That’s what kept me going. But now... what should I do?"

Florence sat beside him, Kathleen’s gentle words echoing in his mind: The best way to connect with someone going through something is to be there for them. Share your experiences if you think it will help. That way, they won’t feel alone, and maybe a path will open for them.

"Lady Lima said your aunt’s last words were to live and survive," Florence said softly.

Harley looked up at him, his eyes filled with doubt.

"My mom said something similar before she passed," Florence replied, offering a small smile. "She told me to live, survive, and along the way, I’d find my purpose... and people who would stand by me no matter what."

"And guess what?" Florence continued, his smile growing. "I found them—people who support me and people I’d give my life for without regrets."

"You’re handsome, but you’re so cringe," Harley muttered, turning to the window.

"Cringe?" Florence asked, confused. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing." Harley shook his head. "So, who is she?"

"She..."

"Just a guess, but she must be your lover, the way you’re talking," Harley interrupted.

"Not really. I was the only one who thought that way back then," Florence admitted.

"Complicated, huh?" Harley said with a faint smirk.

"Very."

"So, where is she now?"

"Far away," Florence replied, his gaze distant. "I think she’s living her life in full happiness now."

"It sounds like you won’t see her again," Harley observed.

"Maybe. But if given the chance, I’d like to see her one last time, even if it’s just from afar."

"I don’t really understand," Harley admitted.

"You don’t need to. But when you meet someone who brings you true happiness, your aunt will be happy too," Florence said.

Harley turned to him. "You don’t look that happy to me, though."

Florence froze, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

"That’s just how I see it," Harley shrugged. "And if I had to sacrifice my life for someone who supported me, do you think they’d truly be happy?"

He caressed the photo of his aunt, taken during his elementary graduation. "Because honestly, I’ve never been happy remembering how my parents saved me years ago. Sometimes, it feels like a selfish act, leaving others behind to deal with the pain."

Throbbing guilt washed over Florence as memories surged in. His mother’s voice echoed: "Florence, my son. I’m sorry." The words weighed heavily, and the silence in the room grew oppressive.

Harley stood, removing the photo from the frame, then folding it and slipping it into his pocket. He grabbed a backpack, stuffing a few belongings inside.

"I’m going to find my aunt," he declared.

Florence walked outside but doubled back just as Harley approached the door. Before the boy could step out, Florence grabbed him and covered his mouth.

"Be quiet," he whispered.

Through the gap in the door, they saw her.

Freyah stood over a stranger on the ground.

"But you see, no one I’ve asked has managed to pull the trigger. Most lose their guns to me—just like you," she said, smirking as she raised a knife and plunged it into the man’s shoulder.

"Ahh!" The man’s scream pierced the air.

Harley flinched, but Florence remained still, watching.

"Reveal yourselves," Freyah commanded, her gaze shifting upward.

Two figures emerged—a woman from the backyard and a man from the rooftop, both in blue police uniforms.

Freyah’s smirk widened as she activated her skill. "Teleportation, huh? Interesting."

Florence’s eyes widened, his gaze darting above Freyah. Without hesitation, he dashed toward her, surprising everyone.

He shoved her aside.

"You fool!" Freyah exclaimed, regaining her footing. With a leap, she pushed Florence away just as hundreds of knives rained down from the sky.

Thud. Shrieks. Boogsh. It happened fast.

"Freyah! Florence!" Harley’s horrified scream broke the tension.

Florence staggered, a knife lodged in his shoulder, but his focus was elsewhere.

A meter ahead, Freyah stood in her pool of blood. Knives pierced her body, and her left arm laid severed on the ground. She had pushed Florence at the last moment, taken the brunt of the attack.

"Lady Lima!" Florence pulled the knife from his left shoulder. A faint green light enveloped the wound, and it began to close. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward Freyah.

The sniper raised a walkie-talkie. "She’s as good as dead now. With this, the threat is gone, correct?... Okay. Understood. We’ll leave now."

"Hey, what about the other two?"

"Just leave them. They won’t come with us, even if we beg. Let’s go," the sniper replied, helping his wounded companion to stand before supporting him with his shoulder.

"That’s a pity. But if you insist..." The woman sighed, trailing after the sniper. As she walked past Freyah, she glanced down with mild disdain. "Sheesh, what a grotesque sight." She whistled nonchalantly as they disappeared through the gate.

When the trio was out of sight, Harley sprinted toward them.

"Freyah! Freyah!" Florence called desperately, but there was no response. Her head hung low, her body seemingly lifeless as the knives pinned her to the spot.

"I’ll pull them out and heal you! Sorry, but this will hurt!" he said, reaching for the knife lodged in her right shoulder.

Just as he touched it, a croaking voice emerged. "Damn..."

Florence froze as Freyah slowly raised her head. "This was my favorite hoodie..."

"Freyah..." Florence gasped, startled.

Ignoring him, Freyah picked her left hand and pressed it against her severed arm. A faint glow emerged as nerves, flesh, and skin began to knit back together. Within seconds, her arm reattached to her body.

"Damn... Those were some nasty bastards." Freyah winced as she pulled the knife from her shoulder. The wound closed instantly. "But their skills were interesting. I’m impressed. They are a good unknown variable."

"You’re gravely injured. Stop talking," Florence scolded, his voice thick with concern.

Freyah glanced at him, irritation flashing in her eyes as she removed the other knives. "Your Highness, I know it’s in your nature to do things like this. But don’t ever do that again."

Florence fell silent, his expression conflicted.

"I’ll survive no matter what," Freyah continued. "But you... You might really die and never return to your world."

"I know that," Florence said softly. "But even if it happens, I’ll still save you."

Freyah’s gaze hardened. "It’s useless. Look, you only make things worse. Don’t save me. I don’t need that."

Without waiting for a response, Freyah brushed past him. "Harley, I need to borrow your bath and some clothes."

"Yes, of course! This way..." Harley gestured quickly, worry evident in his voice. "But are you sure you’re okay? Shouldn’t we go after those guys?"

"I’m fine. I just need to wash off all this blood," Freyah replied curtly. "As for them, they clearly want me dead. As intriguing as that is, we’ll likely meet again. But for now, we have more pressing matters to deal with."

---

Two hours later...

They rode their motorcycles under the cover of setting sun. This time, Harley offered to take Florence in his motorcycle, hoping to ease the awkward tension between him and Freyah.

Freyah, riding alone, was deep in thought. Her mind fixated on her next objective: the owner of the storage skill. If she could secure it, supplies wouldn’t be an issue, and they could head to the airport without further delays.

But the trio lingered in her mind. It’s only the second day of the apocalypse, and someone already wants me dead. Could another regressor be involved?

Her brows furrowed as she considered the possibility. If they want me dead, they must know about my skill. Simple tricks like that won’t work. Still, their abilities—teleportation, invisibility, duplication—caught me off guard. Then that guy, I should have thought more carefully before creating that soul contract...

The roar of her motorcycle echoed as she sped forward, unease growing in her chest.

---

San Fernando, Pampanga

Meanwhile, the trio returned to an abandoned beer factory. It had taken them two and a half hours to ride there from Manila.

"You were right," Grace said, pulling off her helmet. "Her skills are monstrous. She wiped out those zombies with ease."

"It’s a shame we couldn’t recruit her or the other guy," Rudy, the sniper, muttered. "But we took her down. With those knives in her body, there’s no way she survived."

In the factory’s dimly lit center, a teenage girl in a school uniform waited for them. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel-com

"Rudy, Grace, Simeon," she greeted them with a bright smile. "Thank you. Because of you, we can save more people and survive."

"You’ve already done so much, Paula," Rudy said. "If it weren’t for your timely posts and fake bomb threats, we’d have far fewer survivors."

Paula’s expression turned somber. "If only I’d foreseen everything earlier, we could have saved more."

Simeon, still nursing his wound, patted her shoulder gently. "You’ve done more than enough. Let’s focus on helping those we can."

Paula nodded, her smile returning. "Thank you, Simeon." She hurried off to assist other survivors.

The trio watched her go, admiration in their eyes.

"Do you think she’s really dead?" Grace whispered.

"No one could survive that many knives," Simeon replied, wincing as he touched his injured shoulder.

"You should get treated and rest," Rudy said, his voice firm. "We’ll need you when the Chief arrives."

As Rudy walked away, unease gnawed at him. It wasn’t guilt—he justified his actions as necessary for humanity’s survival. No, it was something else.

Those cold, dead red eyes of Freyah’s still haunted his mind.

This chapter is updat𝙚d by f(r)eew𝒆bn(o)vel.com