Cassel — POV
"Wow, Boss, look—there’s a market in that direction."
The voice rose from behind , loud and unrestrained, slicing through the thick, dusty air of the city’s outskirts.
I didn’t need to turn around to know which of my n was gawking again—so of them couldn’t hide their excitent even if the world was collapsing a second ti.
"Is the market really what caught your attention?" another one snapped, scoffing under his breath.
"Look around. These people are practically throwing their superpowers in our faces, showing off like peacocks at every corner."
He wasn’t wrong.
As we walked deeper into the safe zone, the streets beca more alive—alive in the strange, twisted way only the apocalypse could allow.
People were gathered everywhere: so forming little crowds, others standing alone on crates or broken stone blocks.
They waved flas, sent sparks dancing through the air, bent spoons with their minds, or lifted small objects with psychic bursts as if trying to prove sothing.
"What...? That guy barely managed to make a fla a few centiters larger than a candle’s," a younger man muttered, unimpressed.
"How can you even compare our strength to his?"
A few of the team chuckled lowly, their steps crunching on the gravel.
Even now, in a world filled with death and monsters, they still had ti to mock the small displays of power others relied on to survive.
"You all keep staring at the show-offs," soone said dryly, stretching his neck as if bored with the spectacle. "I’m going to look for a wife."
The man walking beside him barked a laugh. "You an those won who sell themselves for a al or so protection?"
"Enough," I said, cutting through the chatter before it spiraled. My voice didn’t need to rise. Authority had a weight of its own. "All of you, shut up and walk faster. No pointless chatter."
The street quieted instantly, though the noise of the city replaced their voices—the distant shouts of vendors, the tallic clink of makeshift tools, and the soft hiss of powers being shown off.
Henry smacked one of the n in the back of the head—lightly, more playful than disciplinary—before quickening his steps to walk beside .
His presence was steady, reliable, and calm in a way most people had lost long ago.
"Boss," he said, eyes scanning the city with the sa sharpness that had saved our lives many tis, "what do you think about this safe base?"
Smart as always.
He was already analyzing, already piecing the situation together. It hadn’t even been an hour since we’d stepped through the city’s gates, and yet he understood the rhythm of this place: its hierarchy, its rules, its dangers.
Here, the strong devoured the weak—not taphorically, but with a brutality the old world would never accept.
The strong had more food, more weapons, more power.
Power was everything now.
It was about security, it was about survival, it was worth more than gold or money, or the old concept of morality.
This was the law of the jungle reborn.
"It doesn’t matter," I said, pulse steady.
"First, we rent a house. Then we start planning our future. Just remind the others to stay quiet and avoid drawing too much attention for now."
I didn’t want trouble—not yet.
Not before I had secured supplies, territory, and leverage within these walls.
Compared to the wasteland beyond the city, this place truly was paradise.
Not a perfect paradise—just the last, fragile imitation of one.
It had food.
It had organization.
It still had people who rembered what civilization looked like, even if their mories were fading.
This city, surrounded by fertile land and blessed with agricultural abundance, had beco valuable beyond belief.
The military presence at the start of the apocalypse had suppressed riots early, preventing a total collapse.
And because of that, people here followed rules—not because they were good, but because breaking them ant starvation.
There were fewer thefts.
Fewer murders.
A semblance of order—however weak—still lingered.
But I knew this wouldn’t last.
Not forever.
Within half a year, everything would shift.
The virus would evolve.
It would sink into the soil, infecting crops, mutating plants until safe food beca rarer than diamonds.
Poison-bearing vines would grow across farmland. So plants would beco carnivorous, while others would beco venomous.
People would starve, cities would fall, and the safe zones would beco battlegrounds.
I needed to act now—stockpile food, secure shelter, gain allies, and position myself before the storm arrived.
"Alright, Boss," Henry said softly.
"Boss... will we rent just one house?" Liz asked from behind, her voice hesitant. "I an, our numbers are really—"
She wasn’t wrong.
There were too many of us for a single small house.
But I didn’t want us scattered.
The strength of our group wasn’t in numbers—it was in unity. Splitting up would only weaken us and increase the risk of losing soone.
"It’s fine," I said. "Let’s go to the place they told us about first and see what we can get."
We headed for the registration office, weaving through streets packed with people, carts, makeshift stalls, and buildings patched together with whatever scrap material people had scavenged during the last months.
Inside the office, the air was stale and hot.
Electricity was barely functioning—lights flickered weakly, and the fan in the corner was dead, covered in dust as useless as old technology could be.
No internet, no digital systems, no old-world efficiency.
Everything was done by hand.
"Excuse ," Henry said the mont we entered, slipping effortlessly into his polite, gentle persona.
"We’re new here and want to register and rent a place to live. Where do we sign?"
The female clerk blinked at him, cheeks flushing instantly.
Henry smiled in that noble way of his—charming without even trying.
With his soft tone, good looks, and courteous posture, he could’ve been a prince rather than a man walking through an apocalypse.
Her voice wavered as she guided us, suddenly eager, suddenly extrely helpful.
I stepped forward next, expression calm, tone steady.
"We’re one group. So of our people have superpowers. I want to register them and rent a place to stay. Can you tell us the fees?"
The clerk handling registrations was a bald man with acne-scared cheeks.
His expression was dark—bored or annoyed, it was hard to tell. But who could bla him? After the world burned, everyone carried invisible wounds.
Still, he did his job.
"Ordinary people register in that book. Write your full na and age. Superpowered ones use the red register."
He pointed lazily. "If you want a house with three rooms for a full week, that’ll be 60 kilograms of food."
My brows rose.
Three rooms?
There were almost twenty people.
"That’s way too small," I said plainly. "Is there a small villa with at least two floors?"
The man stared at like I had grown a second head.
People would rather sleep on dirt than lose food.
A villa? In the apocalypse? Most people considered it a luxury beyond reason.
Still, he recovered and listed a few options in the city center—large villas, plenty of space, good structure. The price?
150 kilograms of food for a week.
A steep cost.
Especially for a building without electricity or running water.
But I didn’t hesitate.
"Fine. I’ll take this villa. We’ll pay for the full week now."
I turned slightly. "Henry, have the n bring the crates."
He nodded and left to handle it.
I had chosen this villa for a reason.
The district was the sa one where General Zan lived—a man whose upcoming tragedy would soon shape the future of this city.
A tragedy I intended to use to my advantage.
"Here’s the key to the villa," the clerk said eventually.
"Jack! Jack, co here. This kid will guide you."
A skinny boy hurried over. His clothes were ripped, his skin smudged with dirt.
He looked ten... maybe twelve... maybe younger.
Hunger distorted age.
"I’m a good guide, sir," the boy said with a forced smile. "And I only need a little food as commission."
Greed flickered faintly in his eyes—but not the kind born from malice. It was survival.
"Let’s go," I said.
We stepped back into the streets with purpose.
People stared as we passed—how could they not?
We were nurous, well-equipped, and walking confidently through a place where confidence was rare.
So girls fluttered their lashes at my n, offering shy smiles or bold glances, but none of the team mbers paid them attention.
They walked with straight backs, faces hard, arms full of supplies they carried without complaint.
Until at last...
The boy stopped.
We all lifted our eyes.
A villa rose before us—white walls, sturdy gates, and a quiet aura of long-gone elegance.
Our new refuge.
Our temporary ho.
And the next stage of the plan.
From this place, we will build our own kingdom and gradually increase our strength, rising
bit by bit...
Until we reach a height where no one will dare oppose us.
Since this world only acknowledges the strong,
We will beco the strongest beings—
So that no one can crush us...
So that we rise high enough to be the ones who do the crushing.
Only then will we not rely survive this terrifying world-
We will beco its rulers.
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