Dark Warlock in the Apocalypse

It didn't take long for all the immigrants to choose their homes. The city was vast, and there were more than enough houses for everyone to take one without running out. The interiors didn't disappoint either.

"There's everything—from a shower, a bathtub, a bed, even a kitchen!""There are things similar to appliances too. They seem to work a bit differently, though.""This is insane. It's better than the studio I lived in back on Earth."

The immigrants, regardless of their group, couldn't help but exclaim in amazement. Hearing all the admiration around him, Elliot felt a sense of unease. He had thought he was forming a solid group, but now everyone's attention had shifted from their rights and interests to the comfort of the city.

'At this rate, even if I tell them to leave, not many will follow me,' Elliot thought grimly. Even if a large number did, if they moved to a place worse than this, they'd curse him endlessly. He'd likely be driven out as leader, too.

His lips felt dry as dark thoughts clouded his mind. 'Should I have accepted the other leader's recruitment offer? The guy seemed so clueless that I could've easily taken over his group…'

Elliot recalled the leader he had met the day before. After getting all the information he needed, he had coldly rejected the man's offer, watching him leave in frustration. Elliot had dismissed him as insignificant at the time, but now he regretted it. Had he joined him, he wouldn't be worrying about maintaining his authority like this.

"Have you all chosen your homes?" a voice asked from behind. It was Emily.

Elliot quickly snapped out of his thoughts and responded, "Yes, we're done."

Maxwell, the leader of the other group, also nodded. "We've finished as well."

"Good. Rest in the houses you've chosen for tonight. If the lord grants an audience tomorrow, we'll summon you again," Emily said.

"I have something I'd like to ask..." Maxwell began.

"If it's about the slaves, speak with the lord. That's not under my jurisdiction," Emily replied curtly, before turning and walking away from the immigrants.

Left behind, Elliot and Maxwell exchanged awkward glances.

"Well, I guess we'll part ways here?" Elliot suggested.

"Yes, have a good night," Maxwell replied.

"You too."

They were fellow immigrants, but having only met a few hours ago in front of the gate, there wasn't much to say. With no overlapping interests, both men turned to head back to their respective groups.

"Hey, you two. You came from Earth, right?" a voice suddenly interrupted.

Elliot and Maxwell turned to see a group of local residents, the "immigrants," blocking their path. The two men noticed that other immigrants had also been surrounded by curious onlookers. There was no malice in their expressions, but the intense curiosity in their eyes suggested they wouldn't be left alone so easily.

One of the immigrants, acting as the group's representative, stepped forward and asked, "What's going on with Earth right now?"

"So, you don't know anything except what happened in your own region?" one of the immigrants asked.

"Yes. With all communication cut off, we have no idea what happened in other areas," Elliot explained.

A collective sigh of disappointment spread through the crowd. They had hoped to hear news about their families or the state of the world, but Elliot could only speak about what he had personally experienced. Still, the immigrants didn't give up, bombarding him with more questions.

"What region are you from? Was it safe?" "How did you handle food? Were there still stores?" "I heard those skeleton creatures are still wandering around Earth. Is that true?"

"Please, one question at a time!" Elliot pleaded, feeling overwhelmed. Along with Maxwell, he patiently explained what had happened in his region: how they survived on potatoes and bottled water, and how skeletons still roamed the streets.

By the time they finished answering, both men were utterly exhausted, nearly collapsing from the effort. Even though other immigrants had helped answer some questions, the sheer number of inquiries was overwhelming.

Still, Elliot knew they couldn't simply give out information without gaining something in return.

"Ahem, may we ask a few things in return?" Elliot began cautiously.

"What do you want to know?" one of the immigrants replied.

"How exactly does this city's political system work? We've only just arrived, so it's hard to figure out."

"Well, it's a class system, obviously. Haven't you heard?" one immigrant answered casually.

"We're commoners, and the people living in the upper district are nobles," another added.

"Basically, the immigrants are commoners, and the pioneers are nobles," a third explained.

"And as for the slaves, they've only recently been brought in, so we don't know much about them yet."

"Nobles?" Elliot and Maxwell exchanged bewildered looks. The other immigrants seemed equally confused. A class system was one thing, but to use such titles even in casual conversation?Nôv(el)B\\jnn

"Why do you call them 'nobles'?" Elliot asked.

"You don't know what 'noble' means? Like in the old days—noble lords, noble gentry," one immigrant replied.

"I understand the word, but do we really have to use that title here?" Elliot pressed.

"Well, that's how the law works. You have to use it," another immigrant explained.

"I don't mean legally. We're just talking among ourselves. Is it really necessary to use those titles when no one's watching?" Elliot stopped himself from saying more, narrowly avoiding something offensive.

But the immigrants already understood his tone, and their faces hardened.

"Why don't you just say it straight? You're calling us cowards who can't even talk casually when the nobles aren't around, right?" one of the immigrants sneered.

"No, that's not what I meant..." Elliot stammered.

"If that's not what you meant, then what is it?" The tension in the air spiked, and Elliot felt his heart pound. One wrong word, and the angry crowd might beat him to death.

The other immigrants, outnumbered three to one by the crowd, felt the same fear. The tension was so thick that a single drop of sweat could have set everything off.

At that moment, a loud rumbling echoed from the distance. The city gates had opened.

The immigrants and the immigrants quickly stepped back, creating a clear path. From beyond the gates, Derek's voice rang out.

"Hurry up, you lazy bastards! You think you can drag your feet just because you did a little work?"

None of the slaves marching in a single file behind him dared to respond. They were too exhausted to even speak. The sudden appearance of the slave procession silenced everyone.

"Those bastards..." Maxwell muttered under his breath, his eyes widening as he recognized a few familiar faces among the slaves. Though he had spoken quietly, his words carried, and several heads turned. Among those was Travis, walking in the slave procession.

"Shit..." Travis cursed as his eyes met Maxwell's. He had thought he'd never see him again after the incident back on Earth.

Just as Travis's gaze darkened with resentment, a sharp sound rang out.

Whack!

'That bastard really ended up here?'