Vampire Overlord's Harem In The Apocalypse-Chapter 39: Raiding Spree (IV)

Simon’s senses were on high alert, but despite his usual wariness, he couldn’t feel anything unusual in the boutique.

The air was stale, but that was nothing compared to the oppressive silence that seemed to hang around the place.

The smell was faint, neutral, almost too normal. There were no traces of blood, decay, or the sharp, metallic scent of death that often lingered after a zombie attack. Nothing was out of the ordinary... and yet, everything felt wrong.

The neatness of the shop — its untouched cleanliness — sent a creeping chill down Simon’s spine.

He had learned to trust his instincts, and they were screaming that this place was too perfect, too curated to be an accidental survivor’s hideout. Whoever had cleaned this place had done so with deliberate precision. It didn’t feel like a refuge; it felt like a trap.

He turned to Bethany, his voice low but firm. "Take some clothes," he instructed, his eyes still scanning the room warily. "We’re not staying long. Once we get the clothes, we’ll head out. We need to find a water source. That’s the plan for today."

Bethany nodded, her sharp eyes already darting between the clothes on display. She didn’t hesitate, quickly selecting a few items that looked both functional and relatively undamaged.

Her movements were efficient, precise. There was no time to waste. Simon, meanwhile, was focused on the clothes near him.

He grabbed a few shirts, quickly unwrapping a tight black compression shirt from the stack.

As he looked at it, he knew it would fit him perfectly. His muscles would be on full display once he put it on — something that he normally wouldn’t mind, but right now, there was no time for vanity. Survival came first.

He packed the clothes quickly, stuffing them into his bag, when suddenly, the door swung open with a loud creak, cutting through the quiet air.

Simon’s hand instinctively reached for the gun at his side, but before he could react, he saw her. A middle-aged woman stood in the doorway, rifle raised and pointed directly at his head.

She was dressed in tight-fitting clothes, her posture confident and commanding, but Simon wasn’t phased. Her weapon was steady, but so was his gaze.

He wasn’t scared — not even slightly. He’d faced much worse in the past week alone.

The woman didn’t waste any time. "How dare you break into my place and steal the clothes I planned to sell at the market?" she snapped, her voice dripping with venom. She waved the rifle at him, as if expecting him to back down, to show fear.

Simon just stared at her, his face impassive.

His expression remained completely neutral, but there was something almost bored about the way he looked at her.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t flinch when she pointed the rifle at his head. He didn’t even blink. It was as if she were just another nuisance he had to deal with.

"Is that so?" Simon said, his voice flat, almost disinterested. He didn’t move, didn’t even bother to adjust his stance. "You’re the one who’s going to shoot me over some clothes?"

The woman’s eyes narrowed as if she expected him to be scared, but there was no fear in his eyes, only calm defiance.

The rifle trembled slightly in her hands as she tried to maintain her grip on the weapon, but Simon’s indifference was unnerving. Most people would have been trembling by now, but he stood still, as if daring her to do something.

"What makes you think I care about your clothes?" he continued, his voice now tinged with a dark, almost amused edge. "We’re all just trying to survive. If I need some clothes, I’ll take them. If you have a problem with that, well, then I suppose we’ll just have to figure it out."

The woman’s anger seemed to flare at his lack of fear. She stepped forward, the barrel of the rifle still trained on Simon.

"You have no right to take from me," she hissed, her face flushed with fury. "These clothes are mine. I worked for them. I have the right to sell them. And you... you’re nothing but a thief."

Simon met her gaze without blinking. "In this world, the only right is survival," he said coldly, his tone cutting through the tension in the room like a knife.

"You think you can just hold on to your little pile of goods and pretend everything is still normal? You’re wrong."

His eyes flicked down to the rifle she held, noting the way her finger trembled on the trigger.

She was desperate, scared — just like everyone else in this damned city. But he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.

He had seen too much, fought too hard to let someone like her intimidate him.

Bethany, who had remained quiet up until now, kept her gun lowered but her stance was ready.

She eyed the woman carefully, assessing the situation. She had been trained by Simon in how to handle conflict, but she knew that when it came to someone wielding a rifle, caution was key.

The woman’s gaze darted from Simon to Bethany, but she didn’t seem to fully understand the danger she was in.

Simon’s eyes never left hers. He was waiting for her to make the next move, his body tensed but not on edge. He knew how to handle situations like this.

The silence stretched on for several tense moments. The woman’s finger hovered over the trigger, the tension thick in the air. She wasn’t sure what to do next, and Simon wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice shaky but still laced with fury. "You think you can just take whatever you want from me, huh?"

Simon’s lips twisted into a small, humorless smile. "You’re wrong," he said quietly. "I’m not here to take anything from you. I’m here to survive. Just like you."

The woman’s grip on the rifle wavered for just a moment — enough for Simon to see the uncertainty in her eyes.

"You’ve got two options," Simon continued, his voice now almost soothing. "You can let us go, and you can keep whatever you’ve got left, or you can try your luck, and I can guarantee that you won’t be walking away from this."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the woman said nothing. She stood there, caught between her fear and her anger, torn between the desperate need to protect what she had and the realization that Simon wasn’t bluffing.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the rifle lowered slightly, but it was still aimed in his direction. "Get out," she spat, her voice trembling. "Take what you want. But don’t think you can walk in here again."

Simon didn’t respond, didn’t waste time with further words. He turned away, motioning for Bethany to follow him.

He knew when to walk away. He exited the boutique quickly and walked to the car.