Doomsday Innkeeper

Doomsday Innkeeper Ch.5

The system allowed ample room for modification. Jiang Rong immediately used his administrative access to calibrate the parameters of the back door, configuring it to recognize and grant entry exclusively to him—the innkeeper. Room fees would be automatically deducted on a daily cycle, and a guest's structural access would instantly expire the second their room card balance fell short of the daily rate. Anyone attempting to enter without a valid system card would be forced to wait outside the tempered glass, entirely dependent on Jiang Rong's manual confirmation to open the doors. Reviewing these streamlined, foolproof operational parameters, the crushing anxiety that had weighed on his shoulders finally began to lift.

Only then did he turn his complete attention back to the locked Grocery Store module. A small, grayed-out icon sat next to the listing. Jiang Rong reached out and firmly tapped the digital button. The moment his finger made contact, his newly acquired balance of 10 Crystal Coins dropped instantly to zero. From the first floor below, a soft, echoing ding resonated through the quiet building.

The interface of the newly unlocked department expanded, overtaking the entire 24-inch monitor. It revealed a sleek virtual marketplace with no physical storefront, no physical aisles, and no stock inventory displayed anywhere outside the screen. The entire purchasing dashboard was cleanly categorized into five specialized sectors:

• Daily Necessities: Standard items such as soap, toothbrushes, bath towels, and tissue paper, priced systematically between 1 and 2 Crystal Coins.

• Food & Drink: Survival staples including bottled water, carbonated beverages, packaged bread, and instant noodles, priced between 1 and 4 Crystal Coins.

• Medical Supplies: Basic trauma and health management essentials like hemostatic bandages, common anti-inflammatory medications, antipyretics, and targeted painkillers, priced between 1 and 3 Crystal Coins.

• Basic Clothing: A limited selection of utility apparel featuring short-sleeved shirts, rugged trousers, heavy jackets, and sturdy shoes. The designs were completely ordinary, with each individual item priced between 2 and 5 Crystal Coins.

• Weaponry: The defense tab listed low-tier survival tools—a thickened wooden club for 2 Crystal Coins, a standard kitchen knife for 3 Crystal Coins, and a heavy, short-handled survival axe for 5 Crystal Coins.

Jiang Rong tried placing a test order for a basic item, but the screen instantly flashed a message: Insufficient Balance. He frowned slightly, troubled by another detail. While the grocery store interface worked perfectly up here, there was no physical pick-up station anywhere in his private study.

After a moment's thought, he realized it made sense. This was his private quarters—a secure executive space where no guests would ever be permitted. There had to be a primary customer-facing terminal downstairs in the public area that he simply hadn't discovered yet. Deciding to put the search on hold, he backed out of the marketplace to inspect the remaining systems.

He tapped on the Guest Rooms module next. To his surprise, the dashboard didn't feature any pre-set or suggested pricing templates. The daily room rates, maximum occupancy limits, and utility allocations were completely blank, leaving the entire economic structure of the hotel solely up to his discretion.

He leaned against the desk, his analyst brain calculating the overhead and risk factors for a full minute before he began inputting the figures. He priced each room at 8 Crystal Coins per day, with a strict maximum occupancy of two people per room.

To provide baseline value, the daily rate would include two automated meals per day—allowing guests to freely choose whether they wanted to allocate their credits toward breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Any subsequent meals beyond the initial two would have to be purchased out of pocket using their remaining coin balances. In these perilous times, two square meals a day were more than enough to keep a human from starving. That was the absolute limit of his goodwill; he was running a business, not a charity house.

Furthermore, he configured the domestic utilities: hot water and running taps inside the guest rooms would be provided completely free of charge, but only during specific, metered intervals—morning, afternoon, and evening—for exactly two hours per window.

Jiang Rong ran a rough mental audit of the consumer lifecycle:

1. A survivor harvests a Level 1 Crystal Core and deposits it into the reception counter.

2. The system credits their account with 10 Crystal Coins.

3. Upon check-in, the system automatically deducts the first day's rent (8 Coins), instantly flashing the master lock.

4. The remaining balance (2 Coins) is stored safely on the guest's physical room card, allowing them to freely allocate their capital toward extra meals or survival gear at the grocery store.

By taking the risk to hunt zombies, a person could legitimately purchase a future inside his walls. The price wasn't cheap, but given the total security of the Absolute Domain, it wasn't extortionate either. It was the perfect equilibrium for his survival and theirs.

Mathematically, if he managed to fill all five rooms daily, it wouldn't take long to accumulate the 500 Crystal Coins required for the Level 2 hotel upgrade. However, Jiang Rong had no intention of letting ten unpredictable strangers into his perimeter all at once.

He accessed the administrative overrides and artificially capped the active inventory at two rooms, restricting the maximum tenant capacity to just four guests at any given time. With fewer people inside the firewall, he could easily monitor their behavior. If a group tried to mutiny or cause trouble, four desperate survivors were significantly easier to neutralize than ten.

Satisfied with his risk-management layout, he hit save. Another sharp ding echoed from the first floor.

Closing the terminal, Jiang Rong headed downstairs to the lobby. The moment he stepped behind the front desk, he spotted the physical changes. A newly materialized screen—smaller than the one in his study—was now mounted neatly adjacent to the black deposit disc, displaying the public grocery store menu. Directly beneath it sat a stainless-steel pick-up chute.

He spent a few minutes testing the user interface. He attempted to force a purchase from the lobby screen, but the system rigorously blocked the transaction, displaying the same financial restriction message. Nothing materialized in the pick-up slot. Jiang Rong nodded in silent approval. With the automated firewall processing transactions flawlessly, he would never have to worry about tenants shoplifting or bypassing the ledger.

Reaching under the counter, he noticed a new drawer had appeared. He pulled it open to find a stack of blank, unactivated room cards. They bore no printed numbers or text, featuring only a matte metallic strip wrapped in a dark gold line that had not yet been illuminated. He took one of the blank keys and swiped it against the proximity scanner near the glass entrance doors to test the loop. The doors remained firmly bolted, flashing a blinding red warning light. It was clear proof that a card was completely useless until a formal check-in settlement occurred. Even if a thief managed to steal his blank inventory, they wouldn't be able to breach his security.

With the operational mechanics of his fortress thoroughly reverse-engineered, a wave of profound relaxation washed over him. He walked into the automated restaurant to have his breakfast, selecting the egg fried rice from the dashboard. Within seconds, the shutter slid open, delivering a steaming, perfectly cooked tray. He carried it over to a table by the window and ate his meal in absolute silence.

Once he finished, he decided it was officially time to open the hotel for business.

Taking the physical remote control from the desk drawer, he pointed it at the front entrance and pressed the toggle. The heavy iron roller shutters groaned, slowly grinding upward into the ceiling. The mechanical racket immediately drew the attention of a few scattered zombies wandering the desolate asphalt outside. The creatures twisted around, shambling frantically toward the sudden sign of life.

But right as they reached the perimeter, a much louder, thunderous crash echoed from a parallel street farther away. The sound shattered the morning air, instantly diverting the horde's dull senses. The monsters turned their backs on the hotel, trailing the louder noise down the block.

Jiang Rong calmly walked back behind the secure reception desk and sat down, his posture poised, ready to welcome his very first paying customer.

Yet, the hours bled away with agonizing slowness. The morning turned into afternoon, and the afternoon faded into twilight, but not a single human soul crossed his path. Jiang Rong didn't mind the wait, nor did he have any intention of stepping outside to scout or actively recruit tenants. Within these walls, his safety was absolute and mathematically guaranteed; the second he crossed that threshold into the wasteland, he was just another mortal piece of meat. He wasn't going to take that risk for anyone.

When night finally fell at 8:00 PM without a single check-in, he decided to call it a day and head upstairs to his quarters.

He hesitated for a brief moment, his finger hovering over the shutter remote, before ultimately deciding to leave the heavy metal roller doors open. Since the tempered glass doors were entirely reinforced by the system, and no one could breach the perimeter without an activated room card or a direct manual invitation from him, leaving the armor up was perfectly safe.

More importantly, it was a tactical calculation. The hotel was brightly illuminated, its infinite power grid casting a brilliant, defiant beacon of clean electric light into the pitch-black apocalyptic night. Paired with the glowing neon signboard above the entrance, his fortress would be visible from miles away. In a world drowning in darkness, cold mud water, and terror, that light would inevitably draw the right kind of desperate, coin-carrying survivors straight to his doorstep.