I looked at the report on my desk. It was very promising.
In six months, I became 16 years old, and winter was coming; the committee had grown significantly, nearly reaching a population of 4,000. Most of these people came from another camp that had joined us or from territories we had forcibly taken over. The rest were individuals searching for a new home. At our current rate of growth, we will reach 4,000 within a month. That is a good sign.
We do not lack food, water, or other essential supplies. However, we do lack manpower, so we accept anyone who enters the camp after thorough screening and quarantine procedures.
The camp has expanded rapidly, particularly in the manufacturing sector. We have begun producing our own weapons and ammunition, and with the help of machinery, production has accelerated significantly. Our herbal medicine garden has also flourished. Using local herbs, we can produce antibiotics, painkillers, and other essential medicines. This sector has performed well.
Energy production has improved as well. We have built additional wind turbines and micro-hydro systems, taking advantage of the surrounding river. Combined with natural biogas generated from waste, the camp has become largely self-sufficient.
As the population and land demands increased, we expanded our territory. The inner wall is now constructed from concrete, providing much stronger protection than the former wooden structure. However, due to high costs, only the inner wall is concrete; the outer wall remains made of wooden logs gathered from nearby forests.
We also established a communications hub equipped with shortwave radios, HAM radio operators, and organized courier routes. These systems support trade and communication with other communities. They have proven highly beneficial for commerce and for maintaining a steady flow of new arrivals.
Residents have begun opening their own businesses, including soap-making, furniture production, textile workshops, tanneries, pottery studios, and weapon manufacturing. These enterprises are stabilizing the local economy. We implemented additional taxes for businesses, which now provide a steady income for the committee.
We have opened five more schools, created community gathering spaces, and introduced improved work schedules. We have also begun constructing roads to connect with allied communities.
Overall, the committee is thriving.
I glanced at the time; I was running late.
I quickly closed the report, placed it in the drawer, and stepped out of my office, greeting the passing maids and Blood Guards as I made my way to the training hall. More than seventy people were already gathered, waiting patiently. As I entered, they stood and saluted in unison.
Everyone present was part of the military leadership, including commanders, company leaders, platoon leaders, and squad leaders. The entire military command structure had been assembled.
"Everybody, have a seat," I ordered, taking my place at the front desk. They sat down together, composed and disciplined.
In the front row were five commanders. At the center sat Supreme Military Commander Nicole, who oversaw all military personnel. She was positioned in the middle, facing the gathered leaders, wearing five Angel Wing badges.
Beside her sat Defense Commander Jason, who wore four Angel Wing badges. He had once led a community that later joined ours and had previously served as a company leader in the army before the outbreak. A landmine had cost him his leg, forcing him into early retirement. His disability did not concern me; his expertise did. After thoroughly evaluating him, I appointed him commander of the wall guards, gate teams, watchtowers, and the Quick Reaction Force, placing approximately 400 soldiers under his command.
Behind him were four company leaders, each commanding 100 soldiers. Beneath them were twelve platoon leaders, each responsible for 20 to 30 soldiers. In the back rows sat around forty scout leaders, each leading 8 to 12 troops.
On the right side sat Operational Commander Molly. She oversaw the scouts, clearing teams, escort units, and supply runs, with roughly 200 soldiers under her authority. Behind her were her company, platoon, and squad leaders.
On the left was Training and Reserve Commander Michonne. After recognizing her capability in handling the justice system, I promoted her to commander. She now supervised recruit training, drill instructors, and rotational reserves, overseeing approximately 200 personnel. Her subordinate leaders sat behind her.
Finally, there was the Special Operations Commander, currently myself, as people also call it the Blood Angel Division. I had yet to find anyone suitable for the role, so I retained the position temporarily. As a Supreme Leader, balancing both responsibilities was becoming increasingly difficult. I hoped to appoint a qualified replacement as soon as possible.
The meeting lasted nearly two hours, covering defense strategies and security matters. Once dismissed, everyone returned to their duties.
The training hall currently serves as our temporary headquarters while a new command center is under construction. The previous building had become too small for our growing operations.
When the room finally emptied, only two people remained: Molly and Michonne.
I signaled to a Blood Guard, who brought our weapons. I took my sword and faced them.
"All right. Grab your weapons. I don't have much time to train you today, so let's begin."
Both women had been training with me for nearly five months, and their improvement was obvious, especially Michonne's. When she first started, she could barely swing her katana properly. I often wondered how she had managed to kill anyone with the way she handled a blade. Now, her technique is sharp, controlled, and precise.
"Attack. I want to see how much you've improved."
They moved toward me together, striking in coordinated rhythm. Their footwork was steady; their timing nearly synchronized. Still, I was faster.
I pivoted between them, steel clashing against steel. I deflected Molly's downward strike, spun low to parry Michonne's thrust, then stepped back just enough to let their blades cut through empty air. My movements were fluid, economical, every block calculated, and every dodge deliberate.
No matter how aggressively they pressed, I countered, parrying, redirecting, slipping past their attacks by inches.
Minutes passed. Their breathing grew heavier. Their shoulders tightened. Fatigue crept into their stance, and it came to mistakes, slower recoveries, wider swings, exposed flanks.
I punished every opening with the flat of my blade.
The technique was called "slinging," a sharp strike with the blunt side of the sword. It wouldn't cut, but it stung. Over the next half hour, they received several of them. I didn't hit hard enough to injure them, but it was hard enough to remind them of their mistakes.
Their clothes were scuffed; their arms reddened from impact. Sweat clung to their skin. Eventually, both collapsed to the ground, panting heavily.
"Damn it, Max," Molly groaned, rolling onto her back. "You won again. But next time, we'll beat you."
Michonne pushed herself up slightly, calmer but just as determined. "Thank you for the training. I'll prepare harder next time."
Molly shot her a look. "Training? He's been beating us mercilessly."
She rubbed her bruised forearm.
I smirked. "Have you heard? No pain, no gain."
"Max," Molly muttered, pointing at me weakly, "one day I'm going to stab a sword in your ass. Remember that."
"You're welcome to try," I replied lightly. "Until then, keep dreaming."
Before she could fire back, the door opened.
Clementine stepped inside.
I lowered my sword immediately. "Clementine? What are you doing here? I told you to rest."
"I was bored sitting alone in the treehouse," she said softly. "I wanted to see how things were going."
I walked over instinctively and took her hand.
"Max," she said with a small smile, "I'm only three months pregnant. I can walk by myself."
Reluctantly, I let go, though my eyes drifted to the gentle curve of her stomach. The bump was still subtle, easy to miss unless you were looking for it.
Michonne's expression softened in a way it rarely did.
"How's the baby? Are you eating properly?" She asked, her voice warm.
"Yes," Clementine replied. "I'm eating and resting as you told me. Thank you...for everything."
"You're welcome," Michonne said. "If you have questions, you can always ask Rebecca or me. What did the doctor say?"
"He said everything looks good. But because of my age, there's a higher risk of complications, so I need regular checkups... exercise, eat healthy food, and plenty of rest."
"That's excellent news," Molly said, pushing herself upright and gently wrapping an arm around Clementine's shoulders.
Then her grin turned mischievous.
"Clementine, do you remember the first time you told Max you were pregnant?"
"Molly, don't," I warned, already feeling the heat creep up my neck.
She ignored me. "He nearly choked to death at dinner."
Clementine covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
I raised my sword slightly. "If you keep talking, the next training session will have extra slinging."
Molly froze mid-laugh. "You wouldn't."
I gave her a look.
She leaned back. "All right. Fine."
The memory lingered in my mind anyway, Clementine announcing it so casually over dinner, and me almost inhaling my food in shock.
I hadn't expected this. I had never imagined becoming a father at my age. We hadn't been careful. Now the consequences stood right in front of me.
And yet… I didn't regret it.
A family.
Something I had secretly wanted for a long time.
I stepped closer to Clementine, resting a protective hand gently against her lower back. My posture softened without me realizing it. My shoulders, so often tense during command, relaxed.
No matter what came next, I would protect them.
With everything I had.