After Surviving the Apocalypse, I Built a City in Another World

Their task was to open up decent paths for the main forces, who were still away from the scope of sentries, or maybe in the arrays. They were asked to consume a lot of the enemy ammunition as well.

As earth users, they were to create similar pathways to what their shells made. However, because the other side also had earth elementalists, it had to be reinforced every so often.

The plan was to get the enemies to enter a pacing, thinking they were the best Basset could send, and then take advantage of the paths for their powerhouses to enter the enemy territory in one fall swoop.

The main forces should be attacking soon, including the Rongo Mercenary Team, and they honestly dread it as much as the enemies probably did.

Another Terran slave was a man called Hippo, though his current appearance of stick and flesh showed a very different image from his name.

He used to be very chubby before the disaster, but the lack of decent food in this continent naturally took a toll on him.

He was also filled with bruises all over his body, each one different in age and in size.

He was a wind elementalist, and he would use his entire body to control the air around him. He was fairly impressive in his avoidance of the arrows and redirecting them away from his own allies.

The training of the wind elementalists was no less harsh than the others. The Basset Town guards would shoot dozens of arrows—a mix of blunt and real ones—from all directions, for them to either avoid or redirect.

This would not have been so horrible if they cared to give them a few breaks, allow them to heal some wounds, before throwing them into another arrow shower, but what could they do? They could only fight on if they wanted to survive.

The number of people they witnessed died because there were too many arrows embedded on them was a terrifying amount, and it was only through pure desperation and luck that they were still alive and moving now.

Months of such training caused near-permanent scars and bruising. Some part of his skin even seemed to have permanent embossed marks.

Even if those who passed the initial training were given decent bunkers and food as ”rewards”, that was not worth the pain they suffered for every single minute of their stay.

Lastly, there was Anton, another elementalist. He was in his early 30s, and there was a certain sharpness to him that made him a bit intimidating.

He was a rare blue fire user, and his flame throwers—even if they were thin and flimsy-looking—could take down all the arrows it connected with.

Elementalist fire was very strong and could cause extra damage to equipment, but the man’s blue fire practically obliterated those arrows to ashes.

It was quite impressive, actually, and anyone with eyes could tell this guy was special.

Like Baison, Anton had felt a renewed sense of hope when he saw the others. However, unlike Baison, Anton—a veteran—could tell what kind of person Fargo was and he immediately acted low-key to keep himself from getting too much attention.

Whenever there were fights, he’d hold back a lot. His fire was blue, but he could change its temperature, making it appear like a normal fire. In people’s eyes, he was a simple fire user who may or may not survive the harsh training.

Too bad the order this time was to do their best of their ability to handle their enemies: Alterra and their allies.

Now, his ability was revealed—and he could see the surprise among his ’allies’, Terran or not.

He’d definitely be maximized now that he showed his strength. This was understandable, who would feed and shelter them when they couldn’t even do anything for them?

It was estimated that after this war, he’d be sent to help out other territories in their wars, risking his limbs with Basset earning all the money.

He was now Level 19 and was, in fact, among the strongest Terrans in Basset—perhaps next only to Fargo himself. The only reason the Lord hadn’t taken notice of him was because of the sheer population he had, including the hundreds of Terrans in his panel.

He would definitely be treated better after this, however. He’d get better quarters and better food, but life was still on the edge and he had to grow stronger to keep alive.

To be honest, sometimes he wondered why he fought so hard.

His family had all perished by this time, and he had little reason to live. He wondered multiple times if he could just join them.

But then he thought: who would remember them if he died?

So, he lived on, even if it was difficult.

However, until now… he wondered if he should still keep holding on. He thought life was meaningless, but at least he wasn’t hurting anyone, which was why he kept low-key.

In his fight, he always won or lost in close margins, but he had never killed anyone. He dreaded the day he’d have to do things so far off his conscience.

Like now.

In the end, he was just a slave and had no control over his body. The moment the masters ordered him to kill, he would—even if it was his friends.

He burst a continuous stream of fire shielding his side, his eyes reflected the walls in front of them, its grandness causing complex emotions of hope, excitement, and despair in his heart. Even if he didn’t look, he could tell the other Terran slaves felt the same.

This… was a Terran Territory.

A territory built the same time as theirs, but it looked no less magnificent as Basset Town.

No, it was even better.

He remembered how the guards—and even Fargo—told them there was a Terran town called Alterra. It was such a random share of knowledge, but they quickly realized it was to mock them.

At first, they were so surprised when they found out, and elated and proud that there was such a territory. Now, they dreaded it.

After all, they had to go take it down.