Harem Legion: Queens of the Apocalypse

Magnus Specter turned his head toward one of the women. His voice was low and steady.

“I’m not mistaken, right? Each floor in this place has three washrooms?”

“Y‑yes... three washrooms,” the girl answered, nodding quickly.

“Good. Let’s go take a look first.”

He led the group toward the mall’s washrooms. The place hadn’t seen a soul for nearly a year, yet the air inside was surprisingly clean, no foul smell drifting out.

Magnus raised his high‑beam torch and traced the line of a thick pipe running beside the wall, all the way up toward the ceiling.

“I’m no expert,” he muttered, “but this pipe should go straight to the roof. I’ve been on a few rooftops before—same kind of thing.”

“That’s the drainage pipe,” another girl said. Her father had been a water‑and‑heat worker, and she spoke with certainty. “It goes up to the roof and down into the underground septic tank.”

Magnus thought for a moment, then said, “Then we use the electric saw and cut this pipe. Take the whole line down, all the way to the roof. Could turn these openings into vents... might work.”

He paused again, then added, “Go find the tools first. I’ll head to the roof, mark the vent positions with Meteorite Soil, and fix two steel bars... Every washroom should have one of these pipes, yeah?”

“Yes. Every single one. I’m sure of it,” she replied firmly.

“Good. Get started. I’ll take a look upstairs.”

Magnus slung a bag of Meteorite Soil over his shoulder and climbed to the rooftop. There, he laid several steel rods around where the vent would be. Summoning the Wood Crystal, he turned its energy into solid logs—not ignited—using them like a hammer to drive the rods down near the drainage pipe. Once anchored, he spread a layer of Meteorite Soil over them, mixed it with water, and lit it.

Below, the drainage pipes in the mall were far thicker than those in ordinary residences. The women worked hard, sawing through the three vertical pipes from the basement level up to the sixth floor. The moment the last pipe was severed, the rooftop burst with fresh air pouring in. Breathing up there became effortless.

After the women walked the entire building from basement to the sixth floor again, Magnus nodded with satisfaction. It was crude work, but solid.

At the entrance of the basement parking lot, he had already killed a hen to seal the doorway. He hadn’t even taken its blood yet—no time—but the wound had been sealed with the Super Fire Crystal, so nothing was wasted.

By the time everything was finally done, noon had arrived.

Chloe Clark, Isabel Finch, and the earlier meteor‑digging teams had already caught up with the convoy. Five more groups were still out, leaving the Ice Regiment with over 4,600 women on site.

Meteorite Soil continued to burn at the mall’s front entrance. Magnus spent several minutes hauling over a crane, setting up a steel‑plate canopy between the main doors and the sleeper buses, giving the women cover to dash inside.

By six in the evening, after more than thirty hours without rest, Magnus finally got all 4,400 women inside the mall. Only three sleeper buses were left outside, their teams guarding the convoy and waiting for the remaining diggers.

Four women skilled in electrical work located the mall’s main supply system in the underground lot. After hauling in a giant generator, they connected everything. One pulled the main switch.

Instantly, the entire mall blazed with light.

Over four thousand women looked up at the sudden brightness, and a wave of cheers erupted, loud and trembling with relief.

Emily Ward, Sophia Reid, and Liana Jabbar stared wide‑eyed, almost unable to believe everything had been Magnus’s doing. Liana’s eyes reddened, and she hesitated, voice trembling as she asked,

“Magnus... are we really safe here?”

Magnus Specter let out a long breath, lifting his gaze to the dim lamp hanging from the ceiling. His voice was low but steady. “I’ve tested it. It’s safe. The air outlet is on the rooftop cover. I reinforced it with steel bars and burned Meteorite Clay over it. Chickens, ducks, geese—none of those big creatures can reach that high. And sparrows can’t break through it either. We just need one person to climb up each day and add a fresh layer of Meteorite Clay.”

A wave of cheers burst from the women. A few squad leaders rushed out, panicked, waving their arms to quiet them down before they attracted mutated beasts. Even so, excitement still glowed on every face.

The mall was nearly stripped bare—only a few shelves remained, no beds at all.

The female team members had brought their own quilts, cushions, and thin mattresses. One by one, they spread them across the cold floor, each claiming a spot to sleep.

From the second to the fifth floor—four levels—each holding more than a thousand women. Half the floor space was already filled. The first floor was set aside for cooking. On the sixth floor, Liana Jabbar was preparing to turn the space into a bathing area.

Water Crystals were plentiful, firewood too. Setting up a place for everyone to bathe was finally possible. There were no showers, but the sixth floor had once sold kitchen and bath supplies. They’d found over thirty abandoned display bathtubs.

Each tub’s drain was plugged. After the women used the water, Liana and Charlotte Renard planned to work through the night forging several huge steel basins to store that used water.

Meteorite Clay would burn constantly beneath the basins. The rising steam could warm the entire floor.

By nightfall, Magnus had already dragged several dead animals to block both the mall’s main entrance and the underground garage ramp. Aside from the women on guard duty outside, the remaining four thousand women gathered inside and made themselves a rich dinner.

Magnus slaughtered two chickens and a duck for them. This time the women didn’t roast the meat—they simmered it into ginseng chicken soup, a strong tonic to restore the energy they’d burned over the past days.

Each floor now had its own heating stove. And on the sixth floor, the first batch of women began to wash—two per tub, changing water every three rounds.

Liana Jabbar and Sophia Reid were in the first group. Before Sophia went up, she pulled Chloe Clark aside and whispered firmly, “Take a squad and keep an eye on Magnus. Don’t let him come up.”

...

In the underground parking garage, twenty cargo trucks were lined up, along with five grain trucks, five vegetable trucks, two loaded with canned food, and several carrying miscellaneous supplies.

Magnus had Taylor Carroll drive the RV inside. He would sleep in it tonight—upstairs was filled wall‑to‑wall with women, and he wouldn’t feel comfortable on any floor.

These days, he was constantly exhausted—not just in the body, but in the heart. The women had been wandering without rest, splashing animal blood on the convoy whenever needed. He felt stretched thin.

After stuffing himself with ginseng chicken soup and washing up, Magnus collapsed onto his large bed. He lay flat on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling, savoring the rare solitude.

Liana, Emily Ward, and the others were gone. Ashton Honda and Sarah Franklin had also gone to take hot baths on the sixth floor. The RV was completely silent—Magnus was the only one inside.

Before leaving, Sarah had placed a big bag of beef jerky on the headboard—one kilogram, two full pounds. Back in peacetime, that bag would’ve cost over a hundred and fifty credits. Magnus could never afford it then. Now he tore it open and chewed slowly, feeling the rich flavor spread through him. It tasted genuinely good.

As for beer—none was drinkable anymore. The last barrel in the RV had been used by Sarah and Ashton a few days ago... for washing their hair. They’d said beer made hair softer. Magnus didn’t understand, but he didn’t bother questioning them either.

Magnus Specter twisted open a half‑jin bottle of strong liquor and lifted it to his lips. One heavy swig—58 degrees—burned all the way down, like a line of fire searing from his throat into his stomach.

He winced at the heat. Grabbing a chunk of dried beef, he tore into it, chewing hard until the sting faded. Then he raised the bottle again and let another gulp roll down.

Before the world fell apart, Magnus couldn’t touch this stuff. A single sip would’ve knocked him out; at best he managed a bottle of weak ale. But now... now the cold bit like knives, and the pressure sitting on his chest never let up. As long as the liquor hit, his mind would go quiet. No wandering thoughts, no worries clawing at him. He’d just drift off, half‑dazed. That kind of sleep wasn’t bad at all.

So over these past months, he’d gotten used to drinking. More and more, too.

At some point, two bottles of that 58‑degree firewater lay empty on the floor. Magnus felt his head go soft and foggy. He was still clutching half a fistful of dried beef in his right hand as he pushed himself up, swaying. He staggered toward the bar counter—might as well grab another bottle. Tonight he just wanted to drink until everything went dark.

But the moment he got off the bed and wobbled his way to the living‑area door, the door of the RV suddenly swung open.

And three women rushed in one after another.

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