Chapter 126: Hidden Quest Completed +1, Title Acquired +1!
The exact same scene was unfolding inside the other two warehouses.
On the north side of the northernmost depot, the makeshift command post had been cleared out, and those teetering on the brink of death were carefully carried in one by one.
Major Joyce had been placed here as well.
With Sheila activating [Domain Expansion], a soft circle of white light flared outward centered on Eudora, enveloping a portion of the critically wounded survivors within its boundary.
A Firefly City guard, following orders from his superiors, was using a food syringe brought from Seed City to meticulously feed warm rice porridge into Joyce’s mouth.
The porridge was pleasantly warm and undeniably fragrant; the guard’s own throat bobbed repeatedly as he swallowed down his saliva.
He was simply famished.
Meanwhile, inside the southern, southeastern, and southwestern warehouses, the “supplies” hauled in by the military had sent the survivors into an absolute frenzy.
Hardly anyone tormented by both starvation and thirst could keep their composure at the sight of actual food and water.
The endless forced march had completely depleted their stamina, leaving their bodies frail and their wounds festering.
The sheer bleakness of the road ahead had drained every ounce of their will, making even another step feel impossible.
Yet with water and food laid out before them, an orderly line formed with astonishing speed.
How many years had it been since the Cataclysm? Accustomed to choking down black hardtack rations, these people had never dared imagine they would live to taste anything else.
And yet, with the rich aromas teasing their nostrils and the piping-hot food and drinks steaming at the front of the queue, they had no choice but to believe.
The scent of the food was complex and layered—there was the hearty aroma of… roasted potatoes?
A gentle sweetness, and even… the unmistakable richness of meat?
The fragrant steam steadily cut through the rancid stench choking the warehouse.
After days without a single bite, the gnawing ache in their bellies had become a dull, everyday background noise, the sensation of hunger numbed alongside their spirits.
Now, however, the aroma of real food acted like an ignition spark, slowly waking their withered stomachs and intestines back to life.
Stirring alongside their physical hunger was their numbed perception of the world around them.
Survivors who had turned callous and indifferent to the suffering of others were now craning their necks, eyes glued to the front of the supply line.
They stood on tiptoe, straining for a clearer view of what was happening ahead.
Especially after the first man received his water and roasted potato, taking a ravenous bite right before their eyes.
It was a potato roasted to a crisp, golden brown, completely unlike any mutated flora found in the wasteland.
The crowd in line held their breath, their hollow, sunken eyes locked onto the potato like a pack of starved wolves.
The first man to receive the potato didn’t even bother returning to his corner of the warehouse; taking just two paces away from the line, he eagerly tore off a massive mouthful, skin and all.
Having traveled all the way from Seed City to the evacuation column, the potato was no longer piping hot, but it was still pleasantly warm.
And deeply aromatic.
The onlookers watched as his teeth broke through the golden skin, exposing the fluffy, steaming flesh beneath.
The man froze for a fraction of a second, and then began chewing with frantic, desperate fervor.
As he chewed, his knees suddenly gave out, and he collapsed onto the muddy floor, his sunken eyes instantly brimming with tears.
Heavy, fat teardrops fell with soft splatters onto the earth, and onto the roasted potato clasped in his trembling hands.
Tears and snot ran down his face unchecked.
Without even bothering to wipe his nose, he threw his head back and brought the canteen in his other hand to his cracked lips.
Gulping down a massive mouthful of clean water, he lowered the canteen and took another bite of the potato.
His jaws opened wide, yet he only pinched off a tiny, precious mouthful.
Deep reverence and awe were warring fiercely against his primal survival instincts.
The tears never stopped, streaming down his hollow cheeks in unbroken lines.
A low murmur rippled through the watching crowd.
Above all else, this man’s reaction proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the military’s rations were real food.
Truly, genuinely edible.
After starving for so long they had lost count of the days, real food and water were finally in their grasp.
Deep inside their bellies, acid churned violently, driven by a raw, ravenous craving.
From the depths of their pitch-black despair, flickerings of “bewilderment,” “hope,” and “awe” began to kindle anew.
None of them were holding up any better than the weeping man.
While he sobbed in quiet reverence, many waiting in line felt their own vision blur as they gazed toward the guards dishing out rations.
As the line advanced, more and more people received their portions.
—Yet not everyone was handed the exact same item.
Whenever someone reached the front, the guards on duty used heavy-duty flashlights to carefully inspect their physical state.
On the right-hand queue, the sentries scrutinized the depth of toxic discoloration spreading across the survivors’ skin.
On the left-hand queue, rations were allocated based on physical mobility.
Some had their limbs crudely bound in rags, while others could barely walk, requiring someone to half-drag them to the front.
Following their strict briefing, the soldiers dispensed different foods tailored to each individual’s condition.
Throughout the warehouse, muffled sniffles, broken sobs, and tremulous sighs gradually rose into a chorus.
Those who received food didn’t question a thing; not a single person asked why the rations weren’t identical across the board.
The moment they left the line, they desperately shoved the food, broth, or hot brew into their mouths.
They ate through blinding tears, weeping uncontrollably with every swallow.
The crying was hushed, yet it rolled through the cavernous space in wave after wave.
Perhaps they were weeping in gratitude for a sliver of hope that had finally arrived, or perhaps… the unimaginable torment of the past few days had simply found an outlet through which to spill.
“…I think… I can actually see clearly again?”
Someone sniffled hard, cradling a bowl of white rice porridge as they muttered in utter disbelief.
“Is this… an illusion? The bleeding from my cut… it seems to have stopped.”
With time of the essence, Mo Zeya hadn’t had the luxury of making the distribution squads memorize every detailed item description.
Yet the survivors quickly pieced it together on their own.
“This ginger broth… after drinking it down, the freezing chill just vanished.”
After the crying subsided somewhat, hushed conversations began to ripple across the dark floor.
“Where on earth did these rations come from?”
Having been hauled back from the brink of death by the food in their hands, people finally found the breath to ponder the question.
“Seed City, right? Didn’t they say a relief convoy from Seed City arrived?”
“…Isn’t Seed City just another frontier outpost like us? Cough, cough… How could they possibly possess such miraculous food?”
“Exactly… This is nothing short of a divine miracle.”
The speaker stared down at the roasted potato in his palms, murmuring under his breath.
…
“Officer Mo Zeya, distribution across all three warehouses is complete!”
Fang Peng snapped a sharp salute toward Mo Zeya.
“Was it sufficient?”
“More than enough. As per your instructions, each bowl of soup was divided among three survivors, beverages were split into two portions, and aside from the roasted potatoes and pickled radishes, all other items were halved. The boxed stir-fries were partitioned into thirds… Every single civilian has received their share, and we even have modest surpluses across all three depots.”
“Good.”
Mo Zeya gave a firm nod.
The Chinese Restaurant’s stock was limited. Before setting out, the Commander had strategized with her: if they handed out full portions, the rations would never stretch far enough to cover everyone.
Seed City hadn’t brought its daily catering order back into its own walls today; every last scrap of it had been loaded into the trucks to serve as emergency relief for Firefly City’s refugees.
Thankfully, Seed City’s pre-ordered catering had included a generous supply of roasted sweet potatoes, steamed rice, and rice porridge.
They had anticipated that the fleeing column would be in dire straits.
Compared to the maximum stat buffs of a full serving, what the refugees needed most was simply a bite of something in every belly.
During the transit, she had crunched the numbers: splitting the portions according to Yves’s blueprint could roughly stretch the food across a little over two thousand people.
Yet the realities on the ground were far grimmer than their worst estimates.
What they had feared wouldn’t feed two thousand souls had actually left them with food to spare.
Mo Zeya released a quiet sigh in her heart, gesturing toward the lead truck. “The provisions in that vehicle are meant for your detail.”
Fang Peng blinked in surprise. “For us?”
“What, are you not flesh and blood? Do you think you’re forged of solid iron?”
“No, that’s not it at all!” Fang Peng’s lips were parched and split. During the distribution, he had been so overwhelmed with relief for the civilians that he had completely forgotten about his own men.
“Call your soldiers over and divvy up the food in that hauler. If you run short on drinking water, there’s plenty more in the rear transports.”
Seed City had banked pure water reserves well before the rains; the supply they had hauled out was more than ample.
“Understood!” Fang Peng bellowed.
With reality staring him in the face, every lingering trace of doubt had long evaporated.
Only pure, staggering shock remained.
Yet the captain was a sharp man; he knew this was neither the time nor the place to pry into the origin of these provisions.
Seed City clearly harbored secrets.
And secrets meant Seed City held formidable trump cards—ones far more potent than anyone had ever imagined.
At this critical juncture, the stronger Seed City proved to be, the greater their odds of successfully making it to its walls alive.
“Major Joyce will likely regain consciousness soon. Once you finish distributing rations to your men, go pay her a visit.”
Mo Zeya climbed back into the cab, preparing to roll out alongside Heixi to reinforce the Awakener squad currently locking horns with the beast surge.
“Yes, ma’am!”
Fang Peng snapped another crisp, heartfelt salute toward Mo Zeya.
A thousand words of gratitude condensed into a single military salute.
An unspoken tribute to an immense debt of life.
…
One in the morning.
Ling Jing was astride her electric tricycle, studying her map under the headlights.
She had been out for three full hours, but her harvest was clearly lagging behind yesterday’s.
All the decent mutated flora and fauna in the immediate vicinity had already been cleared out. Swarms of mutant mosquitoes were thick on the wing, but those vermin were far too revolting for her to bother chasing around all night.
Her tricycle’s top speed had its limits, and if she pushed any deeper into the wastes…
Ding!
Hm?
[You have completed the Hidden Quest: Save the lives of 50 dying wasteland humans using food! You are rewarded with 1 Lucky Draw attempt!]
Ding!
[You have completed the Hidden Quest: Save the lives of 100 dying wasteland humans using food! You are rewarded with 1 Lucky Draw attempt!]
The chime didn’t stop there.
Ding!
[You have completed the Hidden Quest: Save the lives of 200 dying wasteland humans using food! You are rewarded with 1 Lucky Draw attempt!]
Ding!
[You have completed the Hidden Quest: Save the lives of 400 dying wasteland humans using food! You are rewarded with 1 Lucky Draw attempt!]
Ding!
[You have unlocked a Hidden Achievement! Completed: ‘Save over 300 lives with food’! You have acquired the title: ‘Culinary Healer’! Please continue expanding your patron base~]
[Reward: 1 Featured Pool Lucky Draw attempt!]
Ling Jing: ?
Well, damn.
