By the second day, the system had already passed judgment.
My party had become one of the stronger groups operating around the city hall. The system evaluated me as an Intermediate Silver Grade, a classification that separated me from the majority of survivors this early on. Alfred had reached Peak Bronze, standing just one step away from Silver, while the rest of the group had stabilized somewhere within Bronze.
It was not a coincidence.
It was the result of controlled engagements, careful point spending, and knowing how the system rewarded momentum. I'd be lying if I didn't say that it was mostly due to me and Alfred, but the memories left behind by our parallel lives gave me a framework. I knew when to push, when to retreat, and when to let others grow instead of carrying them.
As I scanned the crowd gathered around the city hall, familiar patterns emerged. People clustered around strength. Those with A Class gifts were already forming small circles of influence, survivors hovering near them like moths drawn to flame. Confidence and power reshaped social order faster than fear ever could.
Two figures stood out immediately.
Not because of rumors, but because I remembered them.
From other lives.
The first was Nigel Ong.
A local policeman before the apocalypse. He still carried himself like one, posture straight, movements disciplined. His gear was a mix of his old uniform and system bought armor, and his eyes never stopped scanning his surroundings.
Nigel bore an S Class Gift.
Chaos Hounds.
The ability allowed him to summon hell hounds formed from condensed demonic energy. The fuel was simple and brutal. Souls. Every slain opponent strengthened his pack. Either reinforcing existing hounds or allowing him to summon new ones. It was not a subtle gift, but it was devastatingly effective.
From the memories I carried, Nigel's faction always grew quickly in the early days. Firearms still worked on monsters below Peak Bronze, and he had secured access to police armories before chaos fully set in. The combination of trained shooters and summoned beasts made his group efficient, ruthless, and difficult to challenge head on.
Most of the former policemen had gathered under him.
Even the former police chief deferred to him now.
The system had stripped away old hierarchies and rebuilt them around power. Nigel adapted faster than most.
The second figure was impossible to miss.
Hans Delima.
He stood near the edge of the point shop boundary, calm and unmoving, as if the chaos around him did not exist. The air behind him warped subtly, mana fluctuations hinting at something immense just beneath the surface.
Four presences hovered at his back.
I recognized them instantly.
Four Guardians of the Cardinal Directions.
The Azure Dragon of the East.
The Vermillion Bird of the South.
The White Tiger of the West.
The Black Tortoise of the North.
Each guardian was a mythical entity, a summon far beyond what most survivors could comprehend. Individually, they were already Gold Grade beings. Together, they formed a complete system of offense, defense, suppression, and endurance.
From my memories, Hans was always a late game tyrant. At this stage, however, he was already terrifying. Among the three of us, he was likely the strongest right now, even with the immense mana upkeep required to sustain his summons. Though from what I can tell his summons can also stay at their current state and still contribute to combat without draining his mana at all.
Hans was selective.
Only survivors with B Class or A Class gifts were accepted into his faction. No exceptions. His group was small, elite, and intensely loyal. People did not approach him casually. They approached him knowing rejection was likely.
Then there was me.
I did not announce my presence. I did not need to.
The knowledge that I possessed an S Class gift had already spread. Some remembered me instinctively. Others recognized my name from whispered conversations. Enough had seen my abilities firsthand to understand that my strength was not exaggerated.
Offers came steadily.
Survivors approached with promises of loyalty, with claims of usefulness, with desperation thinly veiled as confidence. I turned most of them away. The memories from my parallel lives were clear on this point.
Power without reliability creates fractures. Fractures get people killed. I was strict. Trust mattered more than raw ability.
Ara and Alfred helped with selection. Alfred evaluated people by how they behaved under pressure. Whether they froze, adapted, or panicked. Ara focused on temperament. Who listened. Who followed instructions. Who adjusted when plans changed. All of this based off of their past memories as well.
I reached out to a handful of individuals I remembered clearly. Allies who had proven themselves in other lives. Some were not powerful yet, but they always became reliable when given the chance.
The party filled quickly.
Fifteen members. The system limit.
I structured it deliberately.
The Main Squad centered around me. It included Vanessa and three A Class gift users. This was the flexible core of the party. Mobile, adaptable, capable of handling sudden threats. Vanessa's enhanced reflexes made her ideal for coordination and interception.
Alfred led the second squad.
It consisted of him, Martin with his Flamespit B Class gift, and three of their former high school friends. Two B Class gift users and one C Class. Alfred preferred close range engagements. Pressure, momentum, and overwhelming force.
The third group fell under Ara's leadership.
She brought in two of her college classmates, both B Class gift users, along with two A Class survivors who had approached me earlier. I vetted them thoroughly. Ambitious, but not reckless. Capable of teamwork. Ara's squad leaned toward support, control, and stabilization.
It was not a faction yet.
But it was the beginning of one.
Around us, city hall continued to churn with unrest. Parties formed and dissolved. Arguments erupted over territory, points, and authority. The system had given everyone the same starting line, but not everyone understood how to run the race.
Nigel offered immediate benefits.
Hellhounds as companions. Firearms. Patrols. Structure.
Hans offered prestige and raw power.
I offered growth.
Not safety. Not guarantees. A path that rewarded effort and obedience.
At this stage, Nigel held the advantage. Numbers and logistics always dominate early.
But my memories were clear.
The later days belonged to those who adapted.
Local powerhouses had emerged, shaping the flow of survivors and territory around the city hall. Alliances were forming, lines being drawn, and ambitions taking shape faster than anyone wanted to admit.
With the three of us as the main players, the apocalypse should be more bearable.