[Chapter 137. The Burden of the Strong]

Searanox lay flat on the scarred surface of the hotel’s front desk, his gaze fixed on the ceiling where water damage had created a mosaic of peeling paint and hairline cracks. The silence of the lobby was heavy, broken only by the distant, rhythmic thrum of his drones and the settling of the old building.

"Thirty thousand..." he murmured, the number hanging in the air between them like a death sentence. "That's madness. If it were a few hundred, maybe even a couple of thousand, I could manage. I could protect them, feed them, and build a fortress. But thirty thousand?" He shook his head slowly. "The Titan Bulls might solve the caloric deficit, but they’re out near the edge of the northern forest. That’s nearly one hundred kilometers from this city center."

He turned his head slightly toward Iris, who stood in the shadows like a silent sentinel. "I could potentially haul twenty tons of meat every five hours," he continued, the numbers running through his mind with the cold, detached precision of a machine. "But a schedule like that would drain my energy completely. I’d have to make that hundred-kilometer run myself, right alongside the cargo drones, just to ensure they aren't swatted out of the sky." His eyes narrowed as he stared into the gloom. "I’d be inviting every predator on the plains to decide I'm a moving buffet on the way back."

He sat up abruptly, his legs swinging over the edge of the desk. The movement was sharp, fueled by a mounting frustration. "But even if I do it, that changes nothing in the long run." A dry, mirthless laugh escaped him. "If I get stuck in a deep dungeon for a day or two, or if the System throws a curveball that keeps me pinned down... they starve anyway."

Iris remained silent. Her silver eyes tracked his every movement, her presence a grounded anchor in the middle of his spiraling logic. She didn't offer empty platitudes; she simply listened as he vocalized the impossible burden he had just inherited.

"They can't farm. They can't hunt. They don't have the gear, and they certainly don't have the levels." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. "Let's be realistic for a second. Even if a group of them managed to get lucky and kill a single Titan Bull, how would they transport tons of meat back across a monster-infested plain to this city? I can carry a couple of tons. You might manage a ton with your strength. Your average Awakened at level fifteen? They’d be lucky to drag half a ton home before the scent of blood drew a pack of predators."

With a sudden, violent movement, Searanox shoved himself off the desk. His foot lashed out in a powerful spinning kick, connecting with the heavy wooden desk. The force of the impact sent the furniture hurtling across the lobby like it had been shot from a cannon.

"That incompetent fucking bastard!"

The desk hit the far wall with a deafening crash, shattering into a thousand splinters and dust. "If Thomas had leveled even a dozen of them properly instead of just himself and his inner circle of goons... if he had bothered to look into sustainable food sources or fortification instead of just hoarding canned peaches..." His voice dropped, turning as cold as the void. "That piece of shit was perfectly content to let an entire city starve to death as long as he got to live in luxury with his forced harem."

He stood there for a moment, his chest heaving, his fists clenched so tight the metal in his gauntlets groaned. Then, soft fur brushed against his cheek. Two strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind, and he felt the solid, warm weight of Iris leaning against him.

"Breathe," she rumbled, her voice a low vibration that seemed to settle in his bones.

Searanox closed his eyes. He took a long, jagged breath in, held it until his lungs burned, and then slowly exhaled the tension. The red haze in his vision receded, replaced by the stark, grey reality of the hotel lobby.

"Better?" A soft, rhythmic nuzzle against the nape of his neck accompanied the question.

He didn't answer immediately. He gently pried her arms away, though he lingered for a second longer than necessary before striding toward the hotel entrance. "No," he said over his shoulder, his voice regained its clinical edge. "They're still starving. Being calm doesn't fill stomachs."

"Your actions now will prevent that," Iris said, falling into step behind him with the silent grace of a shadow.

Searanox pushed through the splintered lobby doors. The noon sun struck his face like a physical blow, a stark contrast to the dim, dusty interior. He strode across the square, his boots crunching on the mixture of gravel, dried blood, and shattered glass that now made up the city's pavement. He stopped before the makeshift distribution table where the last scraps of meat were being handed out.

"Samantha, I want you to listen closely."

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice, a short, startled gasp escaping her. She looked exhausted, her hair matted with sweat and dust.

"I need you to find every single person in this city who knows anything about gardening, botany, or large-scale agriculture," he commanded. "Seeds. I want all of them. Search every basement, every pantry, and every ruined store. I don't want flowers—I want food crops. Root vegetables, grains, anything that can grow in this soil."

His gaze swept across the dwindling meat pile, noting how quickly it vanished in the face of thirty thousand mouths. "I'll check my own provisions for anything plantable, though I can't promise the quality."

Samantha’s hands played nervously with the rim of her sleeves. "Understood, Searanox," she replied with a slight, respectful nod. Her gaze remained fixed on the ground, unable to meet his eyes for more than a second. "I'll put the word out immediately. We’ve already found some people who worked the community plots before the System."

"Rayan." Searanox turned toward him, ignoring the fearful looks from the nearby crowd. "I'll bring more meat this afternoon. I can't give you a precise time, so stay on standby." His attention shifted back to Iris. "You handle the dungeon clear. You know the routine. Get in, clear it, and get out."

His gauntleted hand swept toward the four women—Lana, Carmen, Vanessa, and Sarah—who were standing nearby, watching the exchange with a mix of awe and uncertainty. "You four—with me. We’re heading to the swamp when I return. Prepare yourselves."

He strode away before any of them could respond, the crowd parting before him like a dark tide. He dragged his gauntlet down his face as he walked, feeling the immense weight of the coming days pressing down on his soul.

After completing his routine clears of the forest dungeons, Searanox returned to the tower and began sorting through his supplies. It was a grim task. He pulled out crates of vegetables he had scavenged early on—carrots, potatoes, and onions that had gone wilted and soft after more than a week in the open air of his storage area. Half of the stock had already turned into a mushy, spoiled mess.

He carefully sorted through the piles, storing what remained salvageable in the hold of an Intermediate Cargo Drone. The rest was hauled to the waste pits.

`Storing fresh food in the open was, in hindsight, not the brightest idea I’ve ever had.` He thought bitterly. He left the tower behind, returning to the city with a cargo drone that was two-thirds full of fresh, albeit slightly bruised, produce.

On the open plains, he didn't waste time hunting the Titan Bulls. Instead, he targeted medium-sized beasts—creatures his drones could store whole without needing to be dismantled on-site. It was a matter of efficiency. With each kill, he repeated the systematic process he had perfected: the drone would store the carcass, strip the non-edible parts to save weight, and then transfer the clean meat to a secondary cargo drone.

By the time he reached the city's ruined skyline again, all three of his cargo drones were packed to capacity.

Fifteen tons of meat. It was an impressive haul by any standard, but as he looked at the sprawling ruins of the city, he knew the truth. It still wasn't enough to sustain thirty thousand people for more than a day. But it would have to do for now.

Six hours had passed by the time he touched down at the hotel. The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long, jagged shadows across the ruined square. Four cargo drones hovered near the entrance, their pale yellow lenses glowing steadily as they waited to discharge their loads.

The city already felt different. There was a buzz in the air—a sense of motion. With Thomas and his predatory guards gone, people were emerging from their hiding spots in the surrounding apartment blocks. They moved through the streets with a tentative sense of purpose. Searanox watched them from above, realizing that if he had seen the true scale of this crowd yesterday, he might have hesitated to take control. It was madness. Pure, logistical madness.

Searanox’s thoughts shifted as he descended. `Why go small? If I'm going to do this, I have to go big from the start.`

"Sir, you've returned." Samantha's soft voice carried across the square as she hurried toward the landing zone.

He looked around as he approached the hotel entrance. The crowd was thinner here, kept back by a makeshift line of rope. The mountain of meat he’d left earlier had completely vanished. Not a single scrap remained on the table.

He turned to face her, the dim, orange light of the setting sun glinting off his armor. "The seeds, Samantha. Tell me you have progress."

"About two hundred people came forward with various seed collections," she reported, her voice gaining a bit of confidence. "Mostly garden vegetables, some grains and a lot of fruit pits. We've already started clearing a massive plot of land behind the hotel—the old park area—for a communal garden." Her hands twisted in the fabric of her shirt, a nervous habit that hadn't quite left her.

Searanox gave a curt, approving nod, stepping over a shattered floor tile as he entered the lobby. "Good. Then prepare a dedicated security team to fight off wild beasts. We won't be planting just inside the city walls. You'll need to cultivate the fertile land around the outskirts to get the yields we need."

He stopped in the middle of the foyer, and one of the cargo drones followed him silently through the broken glass doors, its thrusters humming.

The drone began to drop its cargo. A cascade of vegetables, fruits, and small pouches of seeds spilled onto the floor. In the corner of the lobby, a mountain of produce began to grow as the drone emptied two and a half tons of salvage.

"See this as my personal contribution to the startup," he said, motioning toward the pile as the drone disappeared in a flash of blue sparks, returning to his inventory.

"That's... that's quite a lot," Samantha whispered, eyeing the overflowing corner.

"It's every piece of produce I had that wasn't completely spoiled," Searanox said, his gauntlet gesturing toward the heap. "Listen to me carefully: my personal reserves are not endless, and this stuff doesn't have a long shelf life. Get the gardeners on this immediately. Sort the seeds, plant what you can, and eat the rest tonight."

His voice was flat and matter-of-fact, leaving no room for the gratitude she clearly wanted to express. He watched her process the information, the weight of the responsibility finally starting to mirror his own.