Apocalypse Gachapon

The ones surrendering were merchants who had come to the Holy City for business.

West Asia was vast. Apart from the Holy City—the largest fertile land—other regions also sustained many people. Since ancient times, trade (and sometimes war) had flowed between these oases.

These merchants had come to the Holy City to make money, not to die. Ahmad’s earlier restrictions had already angered them, and the subsequent war decree had cost them their goods.

Sure, Ahmad was the king of West Asia—but to these merchants, that was just a title. If the Holy City couldn’t benefit the major powers elsewhere, why should they obey him?

Now, their interests had been severely violated, even their lives threatened. So why should they fight for the Holy City?!

Invaders? Yes, these Easterners fit the term—but what did that have to do with them? Rumor had it they’d had grievances with the Holy City before. Otherwise, why attack? If they just wanted to plunder, weaker factions like theirs would’ve been easier targets.

So why not surrender? Their homes weren’t here. As long as they could leave, it didn’t matter whether the Holy City or these Easterners won—they’d still profit either way.

Their numbers were substantial. In just an hour, nearly 20,000 had gathered, mostly at the eastern gate where Ye Zhongming was stationed.

Their demand was simple: Let them leave the Holy City.

Their attitude? Indifferent. Detached, as if none of this concerned them.

Ye Zhongming stroked his chin, amused as he studied their representatives. West Asians were an interesting bunch.

The entire Holy City was surrounded by Cloud Peak, the battle inside raging fiercely, the Holy City’s forces at a complete disadvantage. What gave them the confidence to think they could remain neutral and walk away unscathed?

Toward factions within China, Ye Zhongming and Cloud Peak were relatively lenient—as long as they weren’t hostile, coexistence was possible.

But for these outsiders—who might’ve even fired at Cloud Peak’s forces earlier—he had no patience or goodwill.

“Two choices.”

Ye Zhongming raised two fingers, then lowered one.

“Since you’re not carrying goods, I’ll implement a ‘level-minus-one’ evolution potion policy. Hand over one potion equivalent to your current evolution level minus one—or items of equal value—and you may leave.”

The merchants erupted in chaos, protesting that their goods had been confiscated—how could they possibly pay?

Ye Zhongming looked baffled. “Then what makes you think you can demand anything in a war during the apocalypse?”

Their earlier confidence evaporated. Their boldness had stemmed from their numbers—over 50,000 across the Holy City. If they united against Cloud Peak, casualties would soar.

They’d bet Cloud Peak would rationally let them leave to avoid unnecessary trouble.

But this young leader was far more ruthless than expected.

“Then, respected Eastern leader, what is your second option?”

A man stepped forward, pressing for the alternative.

“Strip off all your equipment, then leave.”

This caused an even bigger uproar.

While not absolute, higher-level evolvers usually had better gear. To many, equipment was second only to evolution level in importance—sometimes even surpassing skills and bloodlines.

The value of their gear far exceeded the evolution potions Ye Zhongming had asked for.

“I don’t believe all your goods were confiscated. Think carefully. You have thirty seconds to decide.”

“And if we refuse?”

The same man spoke—clearly a leader among them, with high prestige and an eight-star evolution level (concealed, but useless against Ye Zhongming’s nine-star perception).

“If you were nine-star, you might qualify to negotiate as an equal. But you’re merely eight-star.”

The man broke into a cold sweat.

Even an idiot could read between the lines:

Ye Zhongming saw through his disguise.

Ye Zhongming was nine-star.

“I accept. The first option.”

In the apocalypse, knowing when to yield was survival’s golden rule.

Soon, the merchants handed over potions or equivalent items.

Truthfully, Ye Zhongming couldn’t care less about their gear. Evolution potions were preferable.

Once the “ransom” was paid, they fled without hesitation.

“Boss, why not just rob them all?”

Xiao Min, watching nearby, didn’t understand why Ye Zhongming hadn’t seized everything for greater profit.

“After this, our main force returns to Cloud Peak. Antagonizing every faction would bring future trouble. Even if we didn’t fear that, forcing them would trigger resistance, making our siege harder.”

Ye Zhongming then asked, “How much longer to complete our objective?”

Xiao Min checked the real-time data on her tablet. “Roughly two more hours.”

“Too slow. Deploy the air units early. Release the War Beast Battalion to support the genetic army’s flanks.”

Ye Zhongming relayed the order via the Battle Contribution Badge. “I want the Holy City’s remaining forces concentrated around their palace within an hour.”

Acknowledgements crackled through the badge. In the distance, Yangos’s massive silhouette appeared first, followed by Cloud Peak’s still-forming but combat-ready air units.

Simultaneously, at the southern gate, thunderous beast roars erupted. The War Beast Battalion, painstakingly nurtured by Cloud Peak, was now making its debut.

“Xia Bai, you and Red Hair move out too. Eliminate high-threat targets. Intel has already marked them, right?”

Xia Bai nodded. During the battle, Cloud Peak’s intelligence network had pinpointed every dangerous counterattack point.

“Boss… you seem rushed.”

Once Xia Bai and the others left, Xiao Min ventured cautiously.

Ye Zhongming gave a terse “Mn.” Then, after a pause, added:

“We’re running out of time.”