Miles maintained an outward calm, though tension gripped him internally. His demeanor, however, reflected the composed confidence of a master strategist.
"You mentioned ability users earlier," he said evenly. "Does the Southwest Base have any? What are they capable of?"
The soldier hesitated before answering, "The Southwest Base has three masters—two men and one woman. All are ability users. Their powers are extraordinary. One can conjure flames with a flick of his wrist, while another can summon frost, freezing a person solid in seconds."
"Masters?" Miles smirked. "What about the third one?"
The soldier's wary gaze shifted to Miles. "Let us go, and I'll tell you everything."
The four soldiers clustered together, forming a loose defensive line, but their apprehension was palpable. The aura Miles exuded—the aura of an almost supernatural force—kept them rooted to the spot, too afraid to act recklessly.
Miles studied the man, then nodded slightly. "Fine. Answer my questions, and you can leave."
"Miles…" Ryan began, his voice edged with warning, but Miles silenced him with a sharp glance.
"The third master," Miles prompted.
The soldier faltered, his grip tightening on his rifle. Suddenly, his hesitation snapped.
Ratatat!
Gunfire erupted as the soldier opened fire on Miles, his rifle spitting flames in a desperate attempt to take him down.
Miles's expression darkened. His psychic energy surged outward, and the world around him seemed to freeze. The bullets, caught mid-air as if time itself had been suspended, hovered mere inches from his body.
Miles calmly bent down, grabbed Ryan by the arm, and sidestepped to the left.
Thud! Thud!
The bullets resumed their trajectory, burying themselves harmlessly into the snow behind them.
The soldiers stood in stunned silence, their faces draining of color. The one who had fired trembled visibly, his voice cracking as he stammered, "Y-You… how… you dodged bullets?!"
He had seen ability users before, had even witnessed their incredible feats at the base. But this—this was beyond comprehension. Miles wasn't just strong; he was something otherworldly.
Miles remained poised, his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze, sharp and unyielding, locked onto the shooter.
Boom!
A massive SUV materialized out of thin air, slamming down onto the soldier with a sickening crunch. He barely had time to utter a plea before his body crumpled beneath the vehicle's weight.
The three remaining soldiers froze, their terror palpable.
"You still thought you could ambush me?" Ryan barked, wiping cold sweat from his brow. "You don't know the meaning of honor! Get on your knees—hands behind your heads!"
Without hesitation, the soldiers dropped their weapons and sank to their knees. Their voices trembled as they begged, "Mercy! We meant no offense…"
Miles stepped forward, his tone eerily calm. "I intended to let you go, but your actions have made that… difficult."
Ratatat!
Before the soldiers could process his words, Ryan raised his rifle and fired. The burst of bullets tore through them, leaving all three lifeless in the snow.
Ryan's expression was grim as he said, "We couldn't let them live, Miles. If word got back to the base, they'd stop at nothing to hunt you down."
Miles nodded in agreement. His gaze swept over the scene, and in an instant, the wreckage vanished. The bodies of the soldiers, along with Boris's, disappeared into the void of his spatial storage.
"It's time to bolster our defenses," Miles murmured, his eyes narrowing with determination. As they climbed into their vehicle, he added, "Ability users aren't invincible. If there had been more of them, or if they had flanked us, we wouldn't be here now."
"Even with your skills?" Ryan asked incredulously. To him, Miles seemed untouchable, a force of nature.
Miles let out a dry chuckle. "I can't always rely on dropping cars on people, can I? Real ability users have far more sophisticated methods of attack. Against them, my powers might not hold up."
Ryan fell silent, only nodding thoughtfully.
Back at the villa, Miles called a meeting. Ryan, Nathan, Anthony, Isaac, and Thomas gathered around as he addressed them through the intercom.
"Roughly fifty kilometers southwest of us lies an official military base. It houses around 20,000 to 30,000 people," Miles began.
Anthony snorted dismissively. "So what? They're far away. No way they'll bother coming all the way here."
Miles's tone hardened. "Don't underestimate them. They've consolidated significant resources, and their military units are highly mobile. If they set their sights on us, we wouldn't stand a chance."
"What could they possibly want with us?" Thomas asked, cutting to the heart of the matter. "We've got nothing worth their effort."
"That might have been true before," Miles replied, his voice grave. "But things have changed. One day, this disaster will end. When it does, rebuilding will begin—and the first resource they'll need is manpower."
A heavy silence filled the room.
Isaac, his voice steady despite his recent injuries, broke the silence. "You're saying they'd force us into labor?"
Miles nodded. "It's not a matter of if—they've already started. Ryan and I encountered a patrol team yesterday. Their mission was to scavenge resources and capture survivors."
Thomas chuckled bitterly. "If there's food and drink, some people might even go willingly."
Miles's expression darkened. "There's always food and drink. But what kind of food, and at what cost? You'd be risking your life for their scraps."
"Exactly!" Anthony chimed in, slamming a fist onto the table. "Those bigwigs don't see us as people. They'll use us, work us to death, and toss us aside. At least here, we've got food, and Miles has our backs."
The group nodded in agreement. Cloudtop Heights might not match the base's security, but under Miles's leadership, they had stability—and dignity. At the base, they would be little more than disposable tools.