Global Awakening: Apocalypse Ender's Chronicle Chapter 1145 1145: The Fort and the Ship's Arrival

As dawn broke over the imposing walls of the Draconic Fort, a familiar rhythm of daily life resumed.

Tris emerged from his quarters, stretching his limbs, tending to his morning ablutions and changing his attire.

Three months had elapsed since the transport ordeal. While the immediate threats from the Dragonoids and their minions had receded, the ever-present danger of Zombies still loomed. Each encounter demanded utmost caution, for a single bite carried the potential for disastrous consequences.

Should the virus propagate undetected within their sanctuary, their haven would inevitably fall.

Nevertheless, the fort teemed with activity.

Farmers were diligently working the fields, the very same patches of land that had been miraculously transported with them when the gate stone detonated. It was an unexpected boon.

Without these vital crops, their community of six hundred souls would have quickly succumbed to starvation.

"Leader!" Nika, his trusted second-in-command, hailed him from the ramparts, her voice carrying over the bustling sounds.

She was already clad in her formidable dragon-scale breastplate.

Even in the absence of dragons on this island, they found solace and security in donning these remnants of past battles.

Though originally crafted to withstand dragonfire, these armors proved remarkably effective against the gnashing teeth of Zombies.

"Scouts report tranquil seas today. No undead have been sighted… Lacking other duties, they've begun constructing rafts."

Tris offered a nod. "Ahhh… Let them proceed. Perhaps they'll develop a Survivor Skill, like shipbuilding or something related."

A wry chuckle escaped him; the thought itself struck him as rather comical.

He then commenced a perambulation through the fort, exchanging greetings with its inhabitants.

The population had grown to a size that evoked the feeling of a small town, yet it remained intimate enough for him to recognize most faces. Children darted between dwellings, their laughter echoing, while smiths' hammers rang out, shaping weapons originally designed for piercing dragon hides.

To date, beyond the destruction of a Zombie's brain or its Core, no other significant vulnerabilities had been discovered. Consequently, their focus remained steadfast on forging weapons capable of penetrating skulls or delivering decapitating blows.

"Morning, Leader," Garron, the weapons master, greeted him.

He gestured with a long spear, its tip bearing a jagged edge.

"Is that…"

"Indeed… Portions of the Dragonbone shaft… I've repurposed them for more spearheads. They retain enough sharpness to penetrate zombie skulls."

Tris let out a laugh. "We've certainly adapted. Who would have imagined that weapons forged for dragons would prove so perfect against the undead?"

Garron grinned. "A skull is less resilient than dragon scales. Makes our work significantly easier."

Nearby, Hannah, the quartermaster, was meticulously organizing provisions.

Her demeanor was strict, a constant reminder to the recruits that their dietary habits had undergone a drastic change since their arrival.

"One meal in the morning, with rations for the evening," she reiterated to a cluster of new recruits.

"Thanks to the Dragon blood enhancements, you require no more. Do not squander our resources."

It transpired that the scavengers and the few native survivors they encountered initially lacked any enhancements. However, with their skilled Alchemists and an abundance of Dragonoid hearts, blood, and other components, they had successfully concocted elixirs capable of transforming and fortifying their bodies.

Tris overheard their exchange and a smile touched his lips.

Hannah's words held undeniable truth…

Following their enhancement through dragon blood or the blood of other Dragonoids during their time in the Dragon Awakening period, their physical forms had grown considerably stronger…

The gnawing pangs of hunger had subsided, and a single meal could now sustain them for an entire day.

***

On the training grounds, Captain Pascal rigorously drilled the militia.

They were no longer situated on the Gondal Continent, the epicenter of the Dragon Awakening Apocalypse….

The previous shelters, where they once could rely on reinforcements, were now long gone.

Consequently, every individual was compelled to master the art of combat!

"Form ranks! Shields raised! Remember, zombies do not feel pain, unlike the Dragonoids! Aim for the head!"

The soldiers responded with unwavering discipline, each driven by the potent fear of succumbing to the zombie plague!

At this juncture, they would much rather endure wounds inflicted by Dragonoids!

Tris paused his stride to observe the training.

Their armor consisted of salvaged dragon-scale gear, originally intended to repel fire and claws.

Now, it had been repurposed to offer protection against bites and the corrosive zombie fluids secreted by certain Zombie Types…

The stark irony was not lost on him.

"Leader," Pascal acknowledged him, stepping forward. "We're conducting drills twice daily now. I believe… they're growing somewhat weary of the routine."

"Haha… It's fortunate we haven't encountered massive Zombie waves recently…" Tris responded. "However, we cannot afford to let our guard down."

The day proceeded with its customary cadence.

Farmers reaped their harvests, fishermen returned with their catches, smiths mended weaponry, and sentinels maintained their vigil atop the walls.

The fort operated with a degree of self-sufficiency, yet this equilibrium remained precarious, capable of shattering at any moment…

At the midday hour, Tris convened with his officers in the council chamber. Nika, Hannah, Garron, and Pascal were gathered around the table.

"Any fresh reports?" Tris inquired.

"Supplies are still okay," Hannah stated. "But we'll need to expand the fields soon. Six hundred mouths are manageable now, but if we grow…"

"We'll manage," Tris replied. "The Land Owner Talent still works here. I can claim more ground if needed… But the land here is just a bit too corrupted. It's taking a lot longer than before."

Nika gave a nod of agreement.

"I think the undead are probing us. Yesterday's Mermec Zombies weren't random. They're testing our defenses. A Lord-Type Zombie must be aware of our base by now…"

Tris's brow furrowed. "Then we'll keep testing them back. As long as the Zombie Lord is intelligent, they'll think twice."

The officers nodded in unison. It was routine now… plan, defend, and adapt.

Later in the afternoon, Tris walked the island with Garron.

They inspected the outer farms, where workers tended to crops under the watchful eyes of guards.

"Strange, isn't it? I'm already used to this kind of life…" Garron mused. "We were dragon slayers once. Now we're zombie hunters."

Tris laughed softly. "Life changes fast. At least the skills still matter."

They passed a group of children playing with wooden swords.

One proudly shouted, "I'm the Dragon Knight!"

Another countered, "No, I'm the Zombie King!"

The adults nearby chuckled at the scene.

"See?" Garron said. "They've already adapted."

By evening, people gathered around fires, sharing stories and laughter.

Meals were simple, and snacks at night were mostly pan-fried perilla leaves dipped in flour and egg wash.

Of course, the adults only had snacks, but the children must have full meals even if they had draconic blood so they could grow.

Soon, Tris returned to his quarters while accompanied by a few women…

Well, after being infused with some high-quality Dragon Blood, his urge at night was unusually strong… It could not be calmed with simple medicines.

***

The next morning, within the barracks of the Draconic Fort, Wendel rose from his bunk.

Unlike most of the residents, he wasn't originally from the Dragon Awakening Apocalypse.

He was a true foreign survivor, one who had selected the Zombie Outbreak Apocalypse back on Earth.

For the first six months, he had wandered the mainland, escaping hordes of undead with his Walker Talent. It allowed him to walk across almost any surface… walls, ceilings, even water for short distances. That ability had saved his life countless times, letting him slip past swarms and climb out of danger when others were trapped.

But eventually, the mainland became too overwhelming.

The hordes grew larger, the safe zones fewer. He had walked until his legs gave out, finally reaching this island.

At first, he thought he was alone.

Then, about a year later, the Draconic Fort appeared out of nowhere.

He remembered the system's mention of Neutral Shelters and assumed this was one.

The people here were different… They were stronger, faster, enhanced by dragon blood.

Their weapons were strange too… spears tipped with dragonbone, armor forged to resist dragonfire. Against zombies, these items were overkill, but they worked.

Wendel found his place quickly.

He wasn't a leader, but he was useful.

He became a hired guard, patrolling the walls and helping with scouting.

In exchange, he enjoyed the fort's protection and food. He even made a little profit on the side.

"What a life… I don't have to worry about Zombies anymore. This Neutral Shelter is the best…" He muttered to himself.

The fort had Draconic Tools and Items, rare supplies that fetched high prices.

His best customer was Raze, a wealthy survivor who always seemed to need more.

Wendel acted as a middleman, trading items for cores and other valuables…

"Raze… Why are you not looking for Draconic Tools anymore?" Wendel muttered after Raze seemingly stopped buying from him…

Anyway, daily life was steady.

In the mornings, he walked the perimeter, checking for signs of undead.

The island wasn't entirely safe.

Wendel knew of the unexplored ruins deeper inland, places shrouded in toxic miasma.

The air there was thick and foul, enough to choke a man in minutes. Scouts avoided those ruins, and Tris had forbidden expeditions.

By midday, Wendel joined the militia for drills. His Walker Talent made him an oddity… he could climb walls faster than anyone, and the children often begged him to show off.

He humored them, walking sideways along the ramparts until they laughed. It was a lighthearted moment in a world that rarely offered joy.

As evening fell, Wendel sat by the fire with other guards…

Everyone thought it would be just any other day

However, just as the night settled, Wendel noticed something unusual.

From the watchtower, his eyes caught movement on the horizon.

Two silhouettes appeared…

Ships!

"Raise the alarm! Hurry!" he yelled.