After Surviving the Apocalypse, I Built a City in Another World-Chapter 1863: The Lord of Warrior City

Warrior City

Warrior City, among others, had also recovered well, the speed of which in good part to the ample amount of vaccines.

As a city specializing in fighting, many outsiders would be surprised by this. After all, the common impression of Warrior City was a place of brutes ruled by those with orc blood, no matter how diluted it actually was in reality.

This was because, not too long ago, the City had invested in good healing infrastructure like the Healing Sanctuary and also upgraded the Pharmacy as soon as it could. They also gave good benefits to healers as well as alchemists.

Well, this was a fairly recent development started by the current Lord’s parents. They happened to have a building slot remaining at the time, and this was a hundred years ago or so, so the City hadn’t been a City for long.

Before that, the culture was machismo and self-healing. Back then, getting assistance from others was seen as a weakness. People wouldn’t be punished, per se, but it was off-putting and was known to even ruin prospective marriages to get help.

According to stories, a woman might find a man with a massive (possibly unnecessary) scar more attractive than someone who got help on time. The citizens here were lucky that they were stronger than average.

In time, alchemists and healers slowly dwindled or ran away, because they weren’t as appreciated as they would be elsewhere. Even Cheman, who was a young ambitious man back then, eventually left as well.

The change happened when the current Lord’s mother, and the former Lord’s favorite wife, led the movement for it. The then-Lord perished unnecessarily due to an illness, and then this was closely followed by the previous fire plague, wherein nearly all his children died or were disabled by the aftereffects.

However, the former consort herself could not escape the call of time and, after building various infrastructure, she still succumbed a decade later.

It took the current Lord, Valhalla, a lot to follow his mother’s legacy and get back some healers and alchemists, offering large rewards for their return. It had been one of his bigger projects since taking the crown.

Interestingly, they regained the most healers and alchemists in the past few weeks. One of the ways they managed to recover the lost healers was the announcement that they held the formulas for the inhibitors and the vaccines.

With such an announcement, more and more alchemists came in, fully covered, of course, to get a dip in the formula.

Of course, they had to make oaths, but people of their level and capability could only be bound by strict nondisclosure clauses for a couple of years, a decade or so at most.

At some point, they’d be allowed to recreate it without additional costs other than the royalties of the patent. They might not be able to sell it en masse, depending on the loopholes they find, but they’d be able to make it again using their own resources without breaking an oath.

It was thanks to this that, despite their nature, they managed to recreate the formulas they bought.

The Lord, Valhalla, looked over his City from his palace balcony. His long, dark red hair flowed down his muscular shoulder, extending to his waist. He wore a sleeveless silk sash draped over his body.

He was already in his early 60s, but his appearance was in his 40s at most.

The man observed everything, even if he had been watching the same scenery every day for decades.

The aesthetics of their city were a bit different from those of this region, which preferred the wood and stone constructs and angled roofs.

In terms of clothing, they had similar aesthetics to the places in the Southern desert, draped clothing, because they were free spirits. Their buildings were a combination of both.

His palace had a rounded dome, and the design of the buildings was mostly open air, with covered walkways surrounding the buildings. In the cold wave, there were inner rooms fully walled. They also had networks of tunnels underneath their territory, developed all the way to when they were a Town, according to records.

There were plazas and parks, but the open spaces would likely have youngsters training and sparring, as was their culture here.

The starkest differences with others were the existence half orcs integrated into people’s everyday lives, some were working, some were making rounds as guards, and some were casually walking around.

They were not too common to the point that everywhere one looked, they would see the half-orcs, but they were still sighted often enough that any foreigner would feel an imbalance.

No place was perfect, of course. With this population, there were still a couple of slums, a couple of black market happenings, and so on, particularly prevalent when his uncle was in-charge.

Anyway, despite all its shortcomings, it was still a vibrant city, and it was the home he was proud of.

Not long ago, this city was on lockdown, and these now-vibrant places were empty. But by miracle, the tragedy that would’ve lasted a long time was cut to a month. By fortune, the casualties weren’t nearly as bad as they were the last time, and many people didn’t necessarily have to lose their abilities even if they did get afflicted.

When the Fire Plague started, he remembered how terrified he was. He had seen the previous one destroy families, after all. While he isolated those who were afflicted as soon as it was reported, when he was alone in his room, he couldn’t help but cover his face, shaking.

Nearly all his siblings died during that plague, and he himself was partially disabled by it, saved just because of his strong physique.

He crossed his muscular arms with intricate tattoos, and looked at how things recovered.

He turned to the man next to him, having similar features, but was younger.

"I owe a lot to you, brother."

If Eagle were here, he would blink. It was none other than the man he rescued in Basset Town, Virion.