Reborn As SSS-Rank Plunderer's Dominion

At that moment, Astrea noticed the bite mark on the old woman's arm.

It was clear—she had been infected by the zombie that the old man had just turned into.

Given her current condition, it would only take one minute before she fully transformed into one of the undead.

Still, Astrea instinctively checked the old woman's basic stats. It was a habit she had developed in the apocalypse.

What she discovered sent a chill down her spine—the old lady had completed a first kill and awakened a talent.

[Whitney (Undergoing zombification), Lv2, No Class, S-Rank Talent: Max-Level Luck.]

Astrea knew the old woman's last name was Li, but she hadn't expected such a unique first name.

"Whitney, huh?" she thought, chuckling quietly. "Guess it kind of fits, considering all the crazy stories she's been telling."

Unlike her past life, where only limited personal data was visible, her current SSS-Rank talent gave her something more—she could directly see a person's talent.

This was a jackpot!

An S-Rank talent had a one-in-a-million chance of awakening, and yet it had appeared on this old woman who was moments away from turning into a zombie.

Though Max-Level Luck was a non-combat talent, it was still incredibly rare. In battle, it might not seem as powerful as other S-Rank talents, but nobody dared to underestimate it.

In the apocalypse, drop rates were painfully low across the board.

On a small scale, luck could directly influence loot drop rates—better weapons, items, and supplies.

On a larger scale, it affected chances of triggering hidden quests, secret dungeons, and rare class awakenings.

Whenever an item that increased luck appeared, it would spark a mad scramble between major factions, regardless of how poor its other stats might be.

If one showed up at an auction, the bidding would skyrocket to insane prices.

The Russian General, Mike, once famously said, "If I had to choose between a thousand well-trained soldiers and a single point of luck, I'd take the luck without hesitation."

Astrea knew this all too well. In her previous life, when she had ascended to the rank of Firelord, her luck stat had barely reached 2 points. That alone spoke volumes about how valuable it was.

No time to waste.

Before the old woman could fully transform into a zombie, Astrea didn't hesitate—she activated Hand of Plunder!

Ding! You have used Hand of Plunder on survivor [Whitney]. Talent plundered successfully! Remaining uses: 0.

Ding! You have obtained an S-Rank Talent: Max-Level Luck!

"What the hell? That's it?"

[Talent: Max-Level Luck (S-Rank)]

Talent Level: S-Rank God's Blessing: Survivors with this talent have their luck permanently locked at the max level of 10 points. This luck value is immune to any reductions caused by equipment or environmental factors.

This meant that no matter what kind of cursed gear or debuff-heavy dungeon Astrea encountered in the future, her luck stat would remain untouched.

Starting off with max-level luck could only be described in four words: Way Ahead of the Game!

Meanwhile, Whitney, who had just lost her talent, felt a strange sensation, as though something had been drained from her body. Yet she couldn't quite figure out what it was.

At that moment, the zombie infection was already taking over her body, visibly altering her appearance. However, she remained completely unaware.

Whitney noticed Astrea mumbling to himself with a grin plastered on his face. Annoyed, she rolled her eyes at him.

"Hmph! Look at this kid, just standing there gawking! I'm over seventy, I fell, and you don't even have the decency to help me up?"

"Astrea! What are you staring at? Get over here and help me up! Didn't your mom teach you to respect your elders?" she barked, baring her yellow teeth as she struggled to get up.

Before she could fully rise, Astrea casually lifted a knee and lightly bumped her, using just enough force to send her wobbling back like a mountain of jelly.

Thud!

Whitney crashed against the wall, her flabby body jiggling from the impact. Worse still, the gold tooth she had just had installed earlier that year flew out of her mouth, and blood began to gush from her gums.

Astrea had half a mind to finish her off right there, but he held back. He wanted to wait until she fully transformed into a zombie—killing her then would net him more experience points.

He spread his hands in mock innocence and gave her a smug grin. "Oh no! Your teeth! How clumsy of me. I'm so sorry. Is that good enough for you?"

"Clumsy?" Whitney glared at him, eyes blazing with fury. "That was on purpose, you little bastard!"

"Help! I'm being attacked! Someone come quick and see this!"

Whitney lay sprawled on the ground, flailing her arms and pounding the floor as she wailed dramatically.

She tried to attract the attention of anyone on the floor, but the hallway remained eerily silent—no one came to her aid.

When her first plan failed, she quickly switched tactics.

"My son's a cop! You know that, right? I'll have him pull the surveillance footage. You won't live to see tomorrow!"

Whitney jabbed a trembling finger at Astrea's face, her expression twisting with rage and desperation.

To Astrea, she was like a fool who just didn't know when to quit—the human equivalent of drinking sewage through a straw.

No more nonsense. Without hesitation, he drew his blade and swiftly severed her outstretched hand at the wrist.

A fountain of blood erupted from the wound.

"Ahh! Murder! He's killing me! He's really killing me!" Whitney shrieked.

Astrea didn't stop. In a matter of seconds, he methodically sliced off her remaining limbs, leaving her lying there like a broken, blood-drenched puppet.

It was a necessary precaution. Once a person was on the brink of turning into a zombie, immobilizing them by removing their limbs was standard protocol—no one could argue with that.

Oddly enough, Whitney didn't seem to feel any pain. Her eyes widened in shock as she realized her helpless state. Terror crept into her heart.

In her panic, her body betrayed her—she lost control of her bladder.

The acrid stench of urine mixed with blood spread across the floor, but there was nothing Whitney could do about it.

"Please! I'm begging you! Don't kill me! I swear I'll be a good person from now on!" she pleaded, her voice trembling.

Astrea chuckled darkly. "A good person? Maybe next life."

He leaned down, flashing a chilling smile. "But you know… I think I liked you better when you were feisty and full of attitude."

Whitney blinked, confused by his words. She was still trying to process what he meant when—

Swish!

Her body stiffened. Her vision blurred.

For a brief moment, the world spun violently around her. Then she saw her own decapitated head rolling across the ground, flipping and turning over a dozen times before it finally came to rest.

Ding! You have successfully killed Lv2 Zombie. Gained 20 XP and 2 Gold Coins.

Ding! Level up! Reached Level 2. Earned 5 free attribute points.

Ding! Talent: Hand of Plunder—remaining uses: 1.

In the blood-soaked aftermath, Astrea noticed a faint green glow flickering beneath the zombie's corpse. His eyes narrowed in curiosity—this might be something valuable.

Astrea kicked over the severed corpse, revealing a ring beneath it—a ring emitting a faint green glow.

He recognized it instantly. That glow was unique to apocalypse-grade gear.

In the post-apocalyptic world, equipment was classified into six tiers, ranked from lowest to highest:

Common, Fine, Rare, Legendary, Mythic, and God-tier.

The drop rates for equipment were abysmal. Most loot consisted of basic survival supplies. Finding any kind of gear was a cause for celebration.

After the 7-day newbie protection period, even owning a single piece of Common-grade equipment was enough to make you brag like a king.

And now, on his very first kill, Astrea had struck gold.

"Wow, the drop rate's actually insane!" he exclaimed with glee.

"Heh, no doubt about it—Max-Level Luck, baby!"

In his previous life, Astrea had lived under the oppressive shadow of Gina, the so-called school idol. Life had been a series of bitter disappointments and silent endurance.

Gina's controlling nature and constant emotional manipulation had crushed his spirit. Whenever Astrea said something she didn't like, she'd hit him with a combination of cold indifference and verbal abuse.

To cope, he had withdrawn into himself, becoming a quiet, passive version of who he truly was.

But something inside him had snapped after killing both his former girlfriend and Whitney. Years of pent-up frustration and suppressed emotions came flooding out all at once.

Now, it was like a switch had been flipped—Astrea felt lighter, freer, even cheerful. His once dark and brooding demeanor gave way to something much brighter.

As the old saying goes, "If silence doesn't turn you into a monster, it'll turn you into a psycho."

Astrea had no intention of staying trapped in his own mind any longer.

"No more mental energy wasted on useless overthinking," he muttered to himself with a grin. "From now on, I'm just going to say what's on my mind. Live free. No holding back. Why the hell not?"