Playboy Cultivator in the Apocalypse

"You've done well this morning, soldiers." Evalyn said, addressing the Lainwright soldiers on the training grounds, "The results of your training are showing.

It's been a non-stop week of constant training, and that has made you neglect a lot of your needs. Since you're doing well, take today to decompress and take care of your personal needs.

Band together to do the cooking and supply management. Beyond that, feel free to rest, take showers, play cards, or do anything else to relax. It's a day off; do with it as you wish.

I expect you all to show up tomorrow with clear minds, as I will not show any leniency for poor performers or troublemakers."

The soldiers looked at each other in confusion, unbelieving of her words. They were expecting a brutal day but got leniency.

Some soldiers voiced a desire to train, fearing it was a trick question. However, to everyone's astonishment, the Ice General walked out of the training grounds without saying another word.

═─┈─═

Evalyn rubbed her temples in a conference room, sitting before a cup of coffee. Makeup skillfully hid the dark bags under her eyes, but she couldn't hide that they were bloodshot and depleted.

"You can speak your mind, Captain Mills." The Ice General said aloud, addressing the brunette on the other side of her table.

"Mam, are you sure it's okay to have a day off?" Sandra asked with an equally tired expression, "While you've increased morale and defused the tension, you've done it at a bad time.

The soldiers have neglected the required work for the non-stop training.

We're running out of water and toilet paper, and the bathrooms are getting unusable. The kitchens are overflowing with overused equipment. Soon, our essential needs will break down.

If there was a time to make people do work, it's now. Otherwise, we'll have to stop training completely."

"I understand the need, Captain Mills." Evalyn said dryly, rubbing her closed eyes, "However, right now, we need people to calm down. Otherwise, stopping training will be the least of our concerns.

Or have you forgotten what happened last night?"

Sandra winced, taking a deep breath. She knew they were at a brutal crossroads and had to choose their actions carefully. Last night proved that.

-

—Lainwright Military Base Mess Hall—

"We haven't eaten until 11 pm any day this week!" A brown-haired soldier complained loudly, sitting at a table of like-minded people.

Every soldier sat at an empty table as the cooks hurriedly cooked food for thousands. While the Ice General had the Immortals heal them, they still got back late and had to work after.

Naturally, cooking for that many soldiers was a grueling, time-consuming process, especially without preparations. It was a nightmare for the tired soldiers.

"Stop griping, Mick." A bald Hispanic man replied from another table, "Soldiers are cooking without food prep—after training. We're lucky we can rest when we should be gathering supplies."

"Don't tell me to stop griping, Eric." Mick snapped, "I'm not complaining because of the cooks. I'm complaining because that bitch's training prevented food prep and supply gathering.

We finish 12-hour days of physical agony and torture, and then we have to work. We don't finish until 1, and then we have a few hours of rest before it restarts.

She's preventing us from doing anything. Our bathrooms are disgusting, we're barely eating or sleeping, and you're yelling at me for complaining? What a joke.

Stop making this an issue between us second-class citizens. Blaming the oppressed for the problems caused by our oppressor is the problem."

All the soldiers sitting around him lit up and grunted their approval.

"I'm just a pragmatist." Eric replied dryly, "Immortal Skye will track us down and kill us if we don't do what they say—that's reality.

So I'm doing what I can to join them because bitching is both pointless and makes enemies with them. That's all we can do."

Likewise, all the people sitting at his table grunted their approval.

"Hah! How naive." Mick sneered, "The haves won't yield to us have-nots when they already have their meat shields and free labor. That's how it's always been throughout history."

"What should we do then, Mick?" Eric scoffed, "Peacefully protest? Get some picket signs, march, and hold a sit-in?

It's the apocalypse, you fucking clown. If you cause trouble, General Skye will murder all of us.

General Skye is the law; bad press and politics aren't holding her back from massacring us."

The atmosphere in the room multiplied, everyone holding their breath.

"I'm a clown?" Mick scoffed back, "You're a sheep who consumes whatever she tells you without looking around.

If Immortal Skye didn't need us for their war, they wouldn't give us techniques. Good people or not, we're liabilities. You don't give liabilities the strength to kill you."

Tensions increased further, both sides speaking about sensitive topics.

"Here we go again." Eric laughed, rolling his eyes, "We should be dead or dying right now.

Yet the Ice General gave us techniques worth hundreds of millions and is training us despite our trying to kill them. And how do you respond? By saying we're oppressed meat shields. It's stupid.

Either way, this argument is pointless. If she didn't give us better techniques, we would've died when the sky beasts and cultivators came down here.

Even if they need us, we need them more. I'm grateful for what I've gotten."

Those around him felt passion and cheered in response.

"Yeah, be grateful, you drone." Mick jeered, "If the cultivators and sky beast come, then we'll do our part and win their war. And then what?

I'll spell it out since you can't wrap your head around it—they'll kill us off for being liabilities. If we're lucky enough to survive, we'll become slaves.

I'd rather take my chances with the cultivators and sky beasts."

His table yelled their assent.

"God, you're like a broken record." Eric scoffed in vexation, "Even if you're right, what can we do about it? There's hope for us to become Immortals if we play by their rules.

By contrast, you're creating trouble and putting us all in danger with Immortal Skye. And for what? What is your master plan for escaping enslavement?"

Other tables jeered at the agitator for causing problems and putting them under the magnifying glass.

"You all think we're weak—that's your problem." Mick scoffed, "We're thousands of people that they need for their war. They have fifty soldiers here.

Immortal Skye is a small place with powerful people like Evalyn and that hellcat. That's all.

We can't kill those people, sure. But if we took out her troops at night, she'd be forced to listen to our demands or die next month.

I'm not implying that we should do that. I'm just saying that we're not weak—that is an effective tactic used successfully throughout history. So don't run around acting like we're defenseless."

A few groups in the room yelled their assent, but most were shocked to hear the man's words.

The plan was rational [by old-world standards], but it wasn't any longer. And while the man said he wasn't implying they should do that, he put it on the table.

"Did he just threaten the Ice General?" Eric whispered in disbelief. After a moment of silence, he slammed the table, got up with the people at his table, stomped to the other man, and picked him up by the collar. "You just threatened our lives by throwing out a murder plan!

Those of us that earned trust will probably lose it now! Are you insane!?"

"Get off him!" A redheaded dissident yelled, getting up and pushing him.

"FUCK OFF!" A brunette sympathizer roared, pushing her back.

CRASH!

Multiple people fell when the redhead crashed into the table, instantly triggering chaos.

Everyone in the room stood up and moved backward or joined the fray.

"WHOA, CALM THE FUCK DOWN, MICK!" A blonde-haired man yelled, seeing the man create an arrow and point it at the blad Hispanic man.

"Yeah, man!" Another man followed, "If you let that thing go, you're dead, and everyone else will die with you."

"I don't care!" Mick yelled irrationally, red in the face, "I'm not going to listen to this shit as I starve and suffer. At least after I teach this idiot a lesson, the Ice General will get the message that everyone isn't okay with this oppression!"

Eric's supporters drew arrows in response, triggering a self-defense web with people pointing raw Qi at each other.

CrrreeeeeaACkKkkccckkccccckkkckkkckkkc!

Before anyone could strike, they felt an icy breeze and the sound of the hallway freezing. The room fell silent instantly, everyone looking to the door.

Dry-ice smoke entered the room like fog, spreading across the floor ominously, giving the room a graveyard feel.

...Crunch! ...Crunch!

Everyone's hearts pulsed, hearing rhythmic footsteps crunching against thin layers of ice.

Crunch!... Crunch!...

"There's no need for you to make a message of a good man, Mick." A hypnotic voice called out from the hallway, sending an icy chill crawling down his spine, "I got your message, loud and clear."