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Evil MC's NTR Harem

Chapter 1026 College · Oct 12, 2026

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Chapter List (1266)

Page number / 26

1001 Chapter 1001 Pixel 2026-10-12
1002 Chapter 1002 Infinite 2026-10-12
1003 Chapter 1003 Grass 2026-10-12
1004 Chapter 1004 Paint 2026-10-12
1005 Chapter 1005 Lego 2026-10-12
1006 Chapter 1006 Stone 2026-10-12
1007 Chapter 1007 Social 2026-10-12
1008 Chapter 1008 Potato 2026-10-12
1009 Chapter 1009 Adjective 2026-10-12
1010 Chapter 1010 Reverse 2026-10-12
1011 Chapter 1011 Guess 2026-10-12
1012 Chapter 1012 Bread 2026-10-12
1013 Chapter 1013 Specialist 2026-10-12
1014 Chapter 1014 Checkup 2026-10-12
1015 Chapter 1015 Planet 2026-10-12
1016 Chapter 1016 Truth 2026-10-12
1017 Chapter 1017 Salted 2026-10-12
1018 Chapter 1018 Fish 2026-10-12
1019 Chapter 1019 Life 2026-10-12
1020 Chapter 1020 Imaginary 2026-10-12
1021 Chapter 1021: Chaptee 1021 NPC 2026-10-12
1022 Chapter 1022 Fighter 2026-10-12
1023 Chapter 1023 Math 2026-10-12
1024 Chapter 1024 Poster 2026-10-12
1025 Chapter 1025 Knight 2026-10-12
1026 Chapter 1026 College 2026-10-12
1027 Chapter 1027 Pumpkin 2026-10-12
1028 Chapter 1028 Registration 2026-10-12
1029 Chapter 1029 Time 2026-10-12
1030 Chapter 1030 Pure 2026-10-12
1031 Chapter 1031 Rain 2026-10-12
1032 Chapter 1032 Phoenix 2026-10-12
1033 Chapter 1033 Champion 2026-10-12
1034 Chapter 1034 Koala 2026-10-12
1035 Chapter 1035 Guide 2026-10-12
1036 Chapter 1036 Service 2026-10-12
1037 Chapter 1037 Cargo 2026-10-12
1038 Chapter 1038 Adventure 2026-10-12
1039 Chapter 1039 Login 2026-10-12
1040 Chapter 1040 Magazine 2026-10-12
1041 Chapter 1041 Detection 2026-10-12
1042 Chapter 1042 Turtle 2026-10-12
1043 Chapter 1043 Tower 2026-10-12
1044 Chapter 1044 Streak 2026-10-12
1045 Chapter 1045 Literature 2026-10-12
1046 Chapter 1046 Dancer 2026-10-12
1047 Chapter 1047 Construction 2026-10-12
1048 Chapter 1048 Alliance 2026-10-12
1049 Chapter 1049 Shop 2026-10-12
1050 Chapter 1050 Brain 2026-10-12

Chapter 1026: Chapter 1026 College

A massive steel hatch built into the ground groaned open, the mechanical hum echoing across the empty landscape.

A second later, heavy gears locked into place, and a gust of stale air burst outward from the underground facility.

Then came the rumble—deep, rhythmic, and growing louder by the second.

One after another, armored vehicles began to climb out of the bunker.

The sunlight gleamed off their reinforced plating and mounted gun turrets.

Twenty-four of them in total, each fully armed and ready for battle.

Their thick tires crushed the cracked concrete beneath as they assembled in formation.

They had chosen to move in daylight.

Some might have called it a reckless decision—after all, the undead were most active under the sun’s glare—but Ross Oakley had reasons of his own.

Fighting at night would have been far too easy for him and his men.

They weren’t ordinary humans at all; they were stronger, faster, sharper.

A few million zombies were hardly enough to make them sweat.

But Ross understood one thing very well: power was most valuable when hidden.

He would not reveal his full hand unless the situation truly demanded it.

Until then, he would play the role of a well-prepared leader—confident, capable, but seemingly human.

The world didn’t need to see a god walking among them. Not yet.

The armored convoy rolled out of the bunker in perfect synchronization, their engines rumbling like a pack of beasts hunting prey.

They drove past the empty land in the outer area of the city.

Parkland City stretched ahead of them—a dead metropolis that once housed over two million souls.

Now, it was a home for shuffling corpses and the resistance that wanted to restore order amidst the chaos.

No orders were given. None were needed.

Brandon, Ross’s trusted right-hand man, led the column with stoic focus.

Every soldier in the convoy knew their role down to instinct.

Ross himself sat in the second vehicle, relaxed and unconcerned.

He had reclined his seat slightly, a comic book spread open on his lap, the corners of his lips curling faintly as he turned the pages.

The hum of engines was the only sound for ten long minutes. Then, without warning, it began.

”Contact—north and east!” a voice barked through the radio.

The calm morning shattered.

A roar of gunfire erupted as the mounted turrets came alive, spinning and firing in synchronized bursts.

The chatter of high-caliber machine guns thundered through the streets, each burst cutting through the moaning swarm ahead.

Brass casings poured down from the turrets like golden rain.

From every direction, zombies flooded into view—crawling out of shattered windows, bursting through broken doors, climbing over wrecked cars.

The stench of decay filled the air as thousands became tens of thousands.

But numbers meant nothing.

The convoy never slowed.

The trucks plowed through the streets, shredding undead flesh to ribbons.

Heavy gunfire, rocket bursts, and grenades painted the battlefield with fire and gore.

Severed limbs flew through the air. Skulls burst apart like rotten fruit.

Inside the armored cabin, Ross barely looked up.

He turned another page of his comic, one hand casually resting on the window frame as explosions flashed outside.

Brandon’s voice crackled over the radio. ”Clear. Moving to the central district!”

”Good,” Ross murmured, not taking his eyes off the page. ”Keep the formation tight. Let them come.”

Outside, the slaughter continued. The convoy carved through the horde like a blade through mist.

Every few seconds, another wave of the undead was reduced to ash and blood.

The earth trembled from the constant barrage of firepower.

But through it all, Ross remained serene—unbothered, unreadable.

His men fought like soldiers, but he sat like a man waiting for something bigger.

He knew this was only the beginning.

He still needed to harvest more heart stones for his people.

Until then, he let the sound of gunfire play like music while he finished his comic, a faint smirk forming on his lips as the convoy bathed the city in fire and death.

***

An hour passed, and the world above the bunker had turned into a living apocalypse.

The thunder of gunfire never ceased.

It rolled across the plains like a storm that refused to end, shaking the ground and echoing off the ruined shells of distant buildings.

The scent of burning gunpowder mixed with rot and blood until it became a heavy, choking perfume of death.

Around the convoy, the battlefield was no longer recognizable—there was no ground, only a vast carpet of mangled corpses stretching in every direction.

Every inch of the landscape was painted in crimson and black.

The bodies piled so high that the gunfire began to chew through the dead just to reach the ones still standing.

Yet the horde kept coming, endless and insane, crawling over mountains of their own kind just to die again.

And through it all, the guns never stopped.

The barrels of the mounted turrets glowed a dull red, yet they did not melt.

Ammunition belts that should have run dry after minutes of constant firing never seemed to end.

The feed systems didn’t jam, the engines didn’t falter, and the gunners didn’t tire.

It was unnatural, eerie—like something out of a dream.

But no one said a word.

Everyone knew.

Ross Oakley didn’t fight fair.

His undead men all knew it so well.

Ross had a way of bending the impossible until it obeyed him.

Infinite ammunition, weapons that never overheated, armor that never broke—it was just another one of his miracles or great luck.

And no one, not even his closest men, dared to question him.

They just fired, killed, and kept moving.

It was shocking to see one man ignoring the carnage, walking directly to the dead zombies to collect heart stones from their bodies with complete absence of fear or hesitation.

Then, through the storm of gunfire, a new sound broke the rhythm.

”Tog-tog-tog-tog!”

The rhythmic pounding of rotor blades.

Heads snapped upward.

A dark shadow cut through the clouds—one helicopter, then another, circling above the smoke like vultures.

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