I Woke Up 120 Years After The Apocalypse-Chapter 36: Rushers

Sand Bandits HQ, 3 km from Vulkania, one month earlier.

"You’ve completely lost your mind, Zarod!"

"We have to wait for them to give us the signal !"

"This is suicide!"

Protests erupted from all sides inside the bandit headquarters. The place had lost a large part of its population; many had deserted after the deaths of the various warlords.

Even though trade with Vulkania had been profitable and had allowed them to grow, most of the bandits still carried bitterness and resentment after their defeat against the Vulkans, and against Akram in particular.

Zarod’s reputation allowed him to keep a tight grip on the men who remained, but they were no longer numerous enough to attempt any kind of vendetta against the growing power of Vulkania and its leader.

Akram had played a major role in weakening the Sand Bandits’ control over the Varang, to the point where they had become vulnerable once again, even to the Oathbearers, who had not intervened in the region for several months.

For Zarod, this was unacceptable. Such a position of weakness did not suit him, and his name had lost much of its former prestige.

As he prepared a travel bag, he ordered only Koard, the last surviving bandit warlord, along with two of his men, to follow him to the headquarters of the Rushers’ queen, which only fueled the protests.

Koard was boiling with rage. After his defeat and the loss of his arm, he had survived by a hair’s breadth, pulled back from the edge of death by Zarod when he returned to the HQ.

However, Zarod, eager to make an example of Koard for anyone who dared question his authority, had treated the wounds on his arm and face only in the most rudimentary way.

As a result, Koard now wore a metal mask at all times, hiding the hideous scar that ran across his face. As for his arm, it had been replaced with a cheap prosthetic, bought and produced by the Vulkans.

This irony was intentional on Zarod’s part, meant to completely crush his subordinate’s spirit.

As they reached the gates of the HQ, Zarod kept repeating his plan to the skeptics.

"This is madness, Zarod, even you won’t stand a chance against her! They’re too many!"

"I know."

"We absolutely have to wait for the signal!!"

"I know."

"Then why are you running away?!"

Zarod finally stopped just before leaving the compound, turning back toward his men, who were slowly gathering behind him.

"Running away, me?"

"Even if the plan succeeded... we wouldn’t be able to carry it out fully."

"I’m going to find manpower, and cannon fodder. Stay here and behave."

He didn’t say another word, turning away and leaving for good this time, Koard and the others close behind him.

The days of travel that followed were filled with danger. Never since his rise to power had Zarod traveled with such a small group. And one thing was certain: many hated him, and many took advantage of this opportunity to try and bring him down.

Over the course of four days, they were ambushed every night. Zarod and his men barely survived each attack, his abilities clearly surpassing those of their enemies.

Still, even Zarod was not immune to exhaustion. His physical strength waned with each passing day.

The last day was by far the hardest: their food had been stolen, and they were wounded and utterly drained.

Despite everything, Zarod and his men finally reached their destination.

The Rushers’ headquarters, known as the Kingdom of Lady Elnor.

This place had nothing of a kingdom but the name. Walls so thin that a simple breeze seemed enough to knock them down. Fields so dry that only cacti could grow there.

The metal of the gates was so rusted that the doors themselves looked permanently sealed.

And yet, Zarod stepped forward, wearing the same confident expression he had carried all along.

"We come to see Queen Elnor, we come from the Varang, I am Zarod of The Dunes."

A man appeared before the bandits, alone, perched atop a watchtower on the verge of collapse.

Before anyone could react, a bolt was fired from the tower.

Zarod did not flinch. His eyes showed no fear. At that moment, he embodied pure determination.

"OH FUCK!"

"SHIT!"

Zarod turned toward the source of the voices: his own men.

One of them stood frozen among the others, who stared at him in horror. A bolt was lodged in his eye. After a few seconds, he collapsed, never truly understanding what had happened.

Koard screamed at the top of his lungs at the sight of his companion, the man he had grown close to during those brutal days of survival, now lying lifeless on the ground.

"Those sons of bitches, fuck! Let’s kill them!"

"NO."

Zarod instantly reined in the bandits, who were ready to sell their lives dearly. He repeated his words, shouting even louder.

"We came to see Lady ELNOR! I am Zarod Of the Dunes, leader of the Sand Bandits of the Varang... Do you not take my status into account?! We come in PEACE!"

The man who had fired the shot looked at the bandit leader for a moment, then turned toward the walls. He grabbed a horn and blew into it.

The deep sound that followed was, in a way, proof that Zarod had succeeded in keeping his remaining men alive.

The mechanism of the great gate began to move. Rusted gears, worn down by time and weather, started turning again after months, perhaps years, of inactivity.

The gate slowly opened with a deafening screech, forcing the bandits to cover their ears.

After long seconds of waiting, the interior of the HQ finally revealed itself, along with an entire group of Rushers.

At their head stood a woman whose appearance sharply contrasted with that of the Rushers, usually filthy and poorly clothed.

The young woman, with long, silky hair and clothing reminiscent of old nobility, stood tall, her gaze filled with pride, even condescension.

The woman standing before Zarod was his target.

The infamous Lady Elnor.