Harem Legion: Queens of the Apocalypse-Chapter 57 Conquerors Don’t Ask Permission

"Alright then." Magnus stood up, making like he was about to leave. "You’re coming with me to the military airbase. You give the order using the codes, I’ll pose as someone from Cliff’s side, and we get those soldiers working for us."

"Airbase? No way!" Oliver panicked, waving his hands. "That place’s crawling with rogue troops. Sure, there’s a regimental commander holding it, but he’s already jumped ship. The codes won’t work!"

Oliver was genuinely freaked out. Magnus might be bulletproof, but Oliver? He’s just flesh and bone. Heading to that base was a suicide mission for him.

"I want the traitors," Magnus said, tapping his temple. "Think for a second - why do you think they turned?"

Oliver blinked. "Because... no food or water?"

"Exactly. And now we’ve got supply trucks loaded with water and grain. We roll over there claiming it’s all from the corps under Baxter’s orders, tell them they’re getting pardoned and absorbed back in, maybe slap on a made-up mission, and boom - they’re mine."

Oliver still seemed lost. "Why insist on using the general’s identity? Wouldn’t they be more thankful if it came from you?"

"Me?" Magnus scoffed. "Put yourself in a deserter’s shoes. Two randoms roll up with a bunch of supplies, talking about recruitment. What would you do?"

Of course - kill and loot them.

Now it clicked for Oliver. Using Cliff’s name gave them a buffer, at least some credibility.

"But about the ones at the airbase... far as I know, the general already tried giving them orders. Which means the codes were used before. I’ve got all ten code sequences, but I don’t know which one they expect now. It’s a gamble."

Magnus frowned. "Then tell me - what troops do you actually have confidence in?"

"West Sector and North Sector!" Oliver blurted out. "Right before the 3rd Division went rogue, our 5th Division was handling their comms. I’m sure North’s on code two, and West is on code three."

"Good. Then we head west." Magnus was already shifting into action. He stripped a uniform off a corpse in the armored personnel carrier, slapped on a ballistic helmet, and while changing, asked, "You still remember the codes, right? ’Cause I’m not getting blown because you spaced out. I can handle whatever comes - but I won’t be able to cover you."

Oliver let out a long sigh, resigned. "I remember. These codes are tight - one wrong letter and you’re a dead man. I knew going in I’d have to use them today, so I wrote ’em down." He pulled out a small notebook.

That part caught Magnus’s attention. He looked over at him - clearly, Oliver wasn’t too happy with Cliff if he was scribbling down priority codes. If Oliver died today, this little book was his parting screw-you to the general.

Magnus took the notebook. First page had the ten code sequences. Flip a page - notes: 3rd Division West Sector - used 3 codes. 17th Division North Sector - used 2 codes. That settled Magnus’s doubts. Every word Oliver said lined up - no need for any more back-and-forth.

"Alright. The supplies stay with me. As for you, figure your own way back to Lightwater Residences. I’ll send someone to find you later. Remember, if they use the passcode and there’s an ’A’ tacked on at the end, that’s my man. You can turn me in, sure. But I’m confident..."

He raised his right hand, pulled the trigger. Bang. A bullet tore through his own left palm. Blood sprayed. His face didn’t flinch.

"I’m confident I can kill my way to your headquarters and take your damn head. Believe it?"

Sounded real enough. But Magnus had no intention of keeping tabs on Oliver. He just wanted Oliver to think there was still a mole in Lightwater. Moles who "add an A to the passcode."

*****

Watching Oliver drive off, Magnus let out a slow breath. One thing was clear. Oliver probably wouldn’t betray him. Handing over the codebook was already a death sentence in itself.

Unless Oliver had been lying from start to finish - and wasn’t afraid of being hunted.

Even if that were the case, Magnus didn’t care. If Cliff caught wind that someone invincible was rampaging through Springvale City, the bastard would sleep with one eye open for weeks.

Worst case? He’d wasted an afternoon.

But if the plan worked... then Magnus scored big. With Baxter’s name and orders, two thousand enemies could be digging up the meteor in Coldmere Town’s west side for him.

That trade was a damn steal.

At 2:57 PM, Magnus was about twenty minutes out from Springvale’s west gate. On horseback? Maybe a bit less. Driving the Humvee - sure, he’d be fast. But hauling three transport trucks behind him meant three hours to Coldmere.

He had to hit the west gate no later than 4 PM.

He couldn’t drive a damn infantry vehicle. That thing might as well be a brick now. The Humvee plus three trucks? No way he could drive them alone. Time to find help.

That was top priority.

Problem was - this was a commercial block. Survivors? Probably not.

Time pressed - nerves frayed. Magnus armored himself with Fire Crystals, then started going shop to shop.

Restaurant, jewelry store, pawnshop, clothing store, looted supermarket - nothing.

By 3:25 PM, still no one.

He reached the end of the block. A bank - a Springvale branch of the National Bank. Shuttered tight. But... maybe something.

Electronic lock didn’t work. Without hesitating, Magnus fired three shots at the roll-up gate.

"Seventh Vanguard of Springvale garrison!" he roared. "If any of you are still alive inside, this is your only shot. Get out now, or stay behind and rot!"

"Wait - yes! There are people!" a hoarse male voice shouted from inside.

They’d heard the Humvee earlier. When they tried opening the door, three giant centipedes had slipped through. They slammed the gate shut again, screaming for help, but no one heard.

Now someone had.

Out waddled a pudgy guy in a torn suit, face flushing with excitement.

"Wait! Where’s the rest of you?! Where’s the army? The rescue team?!"

Magnus stepped inside. Scanned the room.

Ten people. Three men. Seven women.

The women - wild hair, torn outfits, blank stares.

The men - pale, dull eyes.

His expression darkened.

He pointed at the three men, voice cold as death.

"You three. If there’s one of you who hasn’t acted like a damn animal - raise your hand now. I’ll give that one a chance."