The scenery on both sides of the road was unlike anything Gabriel had ever imagined.
The vast Blackberry Ranch was enclosed at its outer perimeter by wire fencing with walkers tethered along it. Once inside, the left side opened into a standardized agricultural zone with clearly defined furrows, irrigation channels, and posted signs, while the right side was devoted to livestock.
Beyond the sprawling fields of lush crops, the agricultural zone also contained several fruit and vegetable plots.
Dark green vines climbed neatly arranged trellises, already heavy with clusters of different fruits. Dozens of people in straw hats worked among them. Some pruned leaves and branches, others checked the drip-irrigation hoses, while still others pushed carts loaded with compost.
Zhou rolled down the window, letting a faint smell of manure drift into the van.
It wasn't unpleasant. If anything, it carried a sense of life, productivity, and order.
The sight hit Gabriel so hard that he unconsciously slowed his breathing, his eyes almost greedily sweeping over every patch of green.
Until now, he had thought being able to grow food on the scale of the prison was already a miracle in the apocalypse.
A plantation this vast looked like something straight out of an agricultural documentary from before the fall.
Murphy and the others didn't rush him. Instead, they deliberately slowed the van.
Gabriel thought he heard someone inside chuckle softly.
His cheeks immediately grew hot as he realized he probably looked like some country bumpkin seeing a city for the first time.
The road continued onward, with the edge of Blackberry Ranch opening into an even larger area.
He saw neat residential sections and livestock areas. In the distance, he could even make out several greenhouses covered in transparent material.
More people began appearing along the road.
Some hurried past with farming tools over their shoulders. Others carried toolboxes. Two people walked together with baskets on their arms, chatting and laughing as they went.
When they noticed the unfamiliar van, they glanced over curiously.
There was no fear or hostility in their expressions.
At most, there was a casual sense of, "Oh, another newcomer."
The people here weren't merely surviving.
They were living.
Living organized, productive lives with plans for tomorrow.
Gabriel instinctively looked down at himself.
His black priest's robe was stained with blood and vomit and gave off an unpleasant smell. A ridiculous bandage was wrapped around his neck. Even the shoes he had carefully cleaned before leaving the prison were now filthy from Greg's earlier hostage attempt.
He suddenly felt like a drop of dirty oil falling into a pool of clear, running water.
An indescribable sense of shame rose inside him.
Whatever moral confidence Gabriel had carried at the prison because of his position as a priest and his belief in "protecting the weak" vanished completely here.
The van continued another eight or nine kilometers up the mountain, passing the same walker barriers, several watchtowers, and firing platforms.
At the end of the road, Rock Fortress finally rose before them.
Its lower walls were made of thick concrete, with additional layers of brickwork and rammed earth above. Sharp pieces of metal and anti-climbing wire had been installed at critical points.
A ring of trenches and rows of barricades surrounded the perimeter, while armed sentries patrolled the watchtowers along the walls.
Beside the main gate was a smaller side entrance meant only for personnel. It was open at the moment, with guards checking everyone who passed through.
Compared with the prison, this place looked less like a survivor settlement and more like the entrance to a heavily militarized city-state.
Zhou and the others parked outside.
After getting out and exchanging a few words with the guards, one of the sentries looked Gabriel over.
His eyes paused on the wound around Gabriel's neck and his dazed expression. The guard frowned briefly, then waved them through.
Once they entered Rock Fortress, the scenery changed again.
There were no fields here, but the roads were even more orderly, dividing the interior into clearly defined functional areas.
Warehouses, stables, kennels, greenhouses, training grounds. Everything seemed to have its place.
Directly ahead stood three tall, castle-like buildings, presumably the command center and living quarters.
The entire core area had a strong military atmosphere. Every so often, organized teams in matching uniforms and carrying weapons passed by.
Gabriel found himself struggling to breathe.
Everything around him seemed to exert a silent pressure, making him feel small, useless, and completely wrong.
His convictions about forgiveness and giving sinners another chance suddenly seemed pale and ridiculous in a place where survival and development were treated as absolute priorities.
Almost idiotic.
He thought of Greg.
He thought of his own foolish trust and the disaster he had nearly caused.
His stomach churned again.
Zhou and the others eventually brought him to a small conference room.
"Wait here," Leon said.
Then he and the others closed the door and left.
Gabriel stood alone in the middle of the room, completely at a loss.
He didn't even dare sit down.
He simply stood there stiffly, listening to his heart pound against his chest.
The seconds dragged by, each one a form of torture.
Over and over, he rehearsed what he would say when he finally met "Commander Calista."
How he would apologize for his stupidity.
How he would express his sincere repentance.
But now that the moment was actually approaching, every carefully prepared word crumbled away.
His throat was dry.
His palms were sweating.
Even the wound on his neck, which had already started to close, began throbbing faintly again.
He had no idea how long he stood there before the door finally opened.
Someone walked in at an unhurried pace.
Gabriel instinctively looked up.
His heart tightened.
Calista was even younger than he had imagined.
Yet her youth did nothing to lessen the authority she carried.
She wore a fitted combat uniform with the jacket casually left open. A leather belt circled her waist, holding a holster and a dagger.
Her light golden hair was tied high behind her head, revealing a smooth forehead and a pair of gray-blue eyes.
Her features were delicate, her beauty striking, but her expression remained indifferent.
Calista walked into the room without even giving Gabriel any special attention.
She casually pulled over a chair, sat down, leaned back, and only then turned her eyes toward him.
That single look made Gabriel feel as though she had examined him completely from the inside out.
There was no scolding.
No interrogation.
Not even the slightest unnecessary display of emotion.
Yet Gabriel found it more suffocating than if she had shouted at him.
He stood rooted to the spot.
He remembered the thriving community he had just seen outside.
He remembered the beliefs he had defended so stubbornly, beliefs that had nearly gotten someone killed.
A crushing wave of shame and self-loathing swept over him.
"I... I..."
Gabriel's knees weakened.
He sagged forward and barely managed to keep himself upright by bracing both hands against the table.
"Commander, I've sinned. I was blind. I..."
His words became incoherent as he choked back sobs.
"I trusted the devil. I questioned Rick. I questioned your orders...
"I nearly got myself killed, and I could have gotten other people killed too. I don't deserve to wear this robe. I don't deserve to speak about God's mercy!"
He broke down completely.
The terror of almost becoming "meat."
The rage and humiliation of being deceived.
The collapse of his faith in his own judgment.
The crushing sense of insignificance he felt in the face of this vast, thriving community.
His hatred of his own incompetence and mistakes.
Everything burst out at once.
Gabriel was no longer the priest trying to guide lost souls.
He was simply a fragile man who had been shattered by reality and was drowning in regret.
Calista watched him quietly as he sobbed and confessed his sins.
Her face showed little emotion.
Her thoughts, however, had already wandered elsewhere.
She remembered Gabriel from the original storyline.
The priest who had locked his church doors at the beginning, cowardly and selfish, only to later learn to shoulder responsibility in desperate situations and even become a fierce fighter.
Then she thought of Carol.
A victim of domestic abuse. A timid mother who lost her daughter. And eventually, one of the deadliest women in the group.
Their paths had something in common.
Reality had humiliated them, broken them, and ground them down.
Then they had rebuilt themselves from the wreckage.
The Gabriel crying in front of her was infuriating and almost ridiculous.
But perhaps this state of complete psychological collapse was exactly where real change could begin.
Rock Fortress didn't lack farmers or workers.
It didn't even lack soldiers.
But someone with potential combat ability who had experienced total disillusionment and might now be reshaped was another matter.
Especially since Gabriel's position as a priest could prove useful in ways that ordinary soldiers couldn't.
He might be worth investing in.
The question was...
Who should she hand Gabriel over to?
...
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