Regressed with Omnipotent AI on Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 157: Tianri’s Remain

"Well, since you had so much fun, your punishment is washing clothes by hand for a month," Zack said, smirking.

"What? But there's a washing machine!" Annie protested, her face falling.

"Hand wash. And you'd better scrub them clean," Zack said firmly, shutting down any hope she had.

"Ugh..." Annie's shoulders slumped as she pouted, dragging herself away like a deflated balloon.

Just then, Ego's voice echoed in Zack's mind. "Sir, the harvest statistics are in," Ego began. "The total rice yield is 1,7 tons, averaging 1,060 kilograms per acre. Wheat yield is 1,1 tons, averaging 1,000 kilograms per acre. Corn came to 9 tons..."

Ego continued listing off the results: soybeans, peanuts, and other crops all contributed to the grand total. "In summary," Ego concluded, "4,154 tons of grain were harvested. This is enough to feed everyone for three to four years."

Zack was stunned. "That much? In just one season?" He'd expected a good harvest, but these numbers were off the charts. "Is this land cursed or blessed? How can the output be so absurd?"

Ego replied calmly, "The grain has been tested and is safe for consumption. There are no signs of mutation."

"Seriously, Ego, work on your metaphors," Zack muttered to himself. Still, the good news brought a smile to his face. As the leader, this kind of success meant hope and stability for everyone under his protection.

"Let's celebrate," Zack announced, his voice brimming with pride. "Notify everyone in the industrial zone and the city: Tomorrow is a day off! Tonight, we're hosting a farm party, and food rations are unlimited. Bring everyone! If they're nearby, they can drive themselves; if not, send the jet to pick them up."

Cheers erupted as Zack finished speaking.

"Long live the leader!"

"Long live!"

The atmosphere on Sing Sing Farm shifted instantly. Exhaustion gave way to excitement as everyone began preparing for the party. "Let's make this dinner unforgettable!" Gavin shouted. "We old folks will show the young ones how it's done!"

Zack's announcement didn't just excite the workers; it left Sophia and the others pleasantly surprised as well. Their anticipation grew with each passing moment.

Soon, trucks and industrial vehicles flooded Sing Sing Farm. Normally used for transporting waste, the trucks were now brimming with people. Songs filled the air as they cheered Zack's name, their faces glowing with happiness.

In this cruel, apocalyptic world, a dinner party for thousands of people, complete with fine wine and delicious food, was something no other survivors could even imagine. But in this place, Zack made it a reality.

"Long live the leader!"

"Long live Sir Zack!"

Cheers echoed from every corner of NYC converging at Sing Sing Farm, where the aroma of food and drink filled the air. Over two thousand people had gathered, their excitement transforming the once-desolate farm into a lively celebration. Standing atop the high walls of the former prison, Zack surveyed the scene. From his elevated position, he could see the entire crowd reveling below. Whenever his gaze landed on a group, they erupted into thunderous cheers, their voices rising like waves crashing against a cliff.

Among the crowd, shrill voices pierced the air—mostly from the women in the industrial zone.

"Sir Zack looked at me! Did you see?!"

"Dream on! He was obviously looking at me!"

For a brief moment, the weight of the apocalypse was forgotten. Thousands of people were caught up in the joy of celebration, their laughter and cheers blending into a symphony of hope.

"No wonder ancient emperors would grant amnesty during moments of joy," Zack mused, a faint smile playing on his lips. Compared to displays of power or authority, the act of giving back—even something small—was far more rewarding. The gratitude it inspired was a different kind of power altogether.

"Feeling accomplished, sir?" Ego asked, its voice interrupting his thoughts.

"Yeah," Zack admitted, nodding slightly. From having nothing to building a thriving base filled with people who admired and relied on him—it was hard not to feel a sense of pride. This kind of respect, this adoration from thousands, was intoxicating.

"Even so, a celebration is still a celebration," Zack said, his voice turning serious. "Make sure the mechanical army remains fully operational. We can't let our guard down." Even in the midst of revelry, Zack stayed cautious. While the city celebrated, he made sure the mechanical forces filled the gaps left by workers, maintaining the base's security.

While NYC basked in the joy of its harvest, another story was unfolding far to the north. In the remnants of what was once a strong country, disaster loomed—one caused by Zack's space-based tungsten rod seem trivial by comparison.

The land ravaged from the worst earthquakes and tsunamis. But that changed when tectonic plates shifted violently under the force of the space-based cannon. A third of the area was swallowed by the sea. The remaining land was ravaged by aftershocks and tsunamis, leaving it unrecognizable.

Still, the people of Tianri Base were nothing if not resilient. Despite unimaginable devastation, many survived through sheer grit and determination. But their survival wasn't fueled by hope—it was driven by a singular, burning obsession: revenge. Their hatred for Zack and NYC Base consumed them, giving them purpose in a world that had stripped everything else away.

"Keep training!"

"For revenge, you must give ten times—no, a hundred times—the effort!"

Even as the night deepened, torches illuminated the Tianri Base, their flickering light revealing rows of short, wiry figures locked in brutal combat. The training was merciless. Fighters didn't just spar—they fought as if their lives depended on it, often leaving both combatants bloodied and unconscious.

"Get up!"

"Fight until you drop dead!"

A man with half his face disfigured barked orders, his scarred visage twisted with rage. With a whip in hand, he lashed at those who collapsed from exhaustion, forcing them back to their feet.

"The only reason you're alive is for revenge!" he roared. "If you can't even do this, you don't deserve to live! None of us do!"

The survivors trained relentlessly, their hatred for Zack driving them to endure unimaginable pain. The disaster caused by the space-based cannon had wiped out most of zombies, allowing the survivors to focus entirely on their vendetta.

Through this relentless training, they stumbled upon a dark discovery: Extreme physical exertion significantly increased the likelihood of mutation. Before, the chances of someone becoming a mutant were about one in ten thousand. But under their grueling methods, that number skyrocketed to one in a hundred. Of course, the cost was staggering—countless trainees perished before they could mutate, their bodies broken by the inhumane regimen.

"Run fifty kilometers along the beach! No breaks until you're finished!" The disfigured man's voice echoed through the base as the trainees stumbled toward the shoreline, their determination unwavering.

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