Survivor's Gacha; Endless Improvisation

The next day, the war chamber of Fort Aegis was stifling with bodies and tension as twenty Awakened stood around the scarred alloy table, the same one that had borne maps and desperate strategies a day ago.

Deciding on the Awakened to go for "Operation Winterfang" was one thing, convincing them to subscribe to the motive and necessity of the mission was another thing.

Like they say, you could force the horse to go to the river, but you could not force the horse to drink water.

Most of the 20 selected Awakened were dedicated soldiers of Fort Aegis, but still, they were men and women with free will, some of them even had families in the quarantine zone that they were not willing to leave behind.

Operation Winterfang was a gamble. Fighting a C Rank monster was a crazy gamble, not to talk of going out there to meet it in its territory.

Without doubt, the casualty rate would be high. It required a lot of convincing to move Awakened to go on a mission that had a high mortality rate, and hence why it took a whole day to convince them.

But they managed it, just like Holt managed to rope his friend, Ethan into the mission despite his initial rejection.

In the end, all of their lives were on the line.

If the wall fell, not only their lives, but the lives of their families, friends, and the hundred thousand people in the quarantine zone would be affected.

To stop the disaster, some people had to step up, and so they did.

The Supreme Commandant occupied the head of the table in a rigid posture as his D- Rank aura pressed down like a vice on everyone present. He didn't need to shout for silence, his very presence demanded it.

"This is Operation Winterfang," he said. "I believe the Captains who invited you here already briefed you on the basics of the mission".

His voice rolled like stone dragged across steel. "This is a mission that is directly tied to the survival of Fort Aegis".

"You were chosen because you represent the twenty sharpest edges Fort Aegis can wield. In ten days, you will march into the wilderness to hunt a C Rank Rift beast. You will cripple it, kill it, or die trying".

The Supreme Commandant didn't even try to sugarcoat it, he went straight to the point and the room didn't so much as breathe.

As soon as he was done speaking, Holt stepped forward with a rolled map under one arm. The surface was etched with frost rings drawn by careful scouts, and he spread it across the table before looking at the 20 Awakened.

"Our target is a Frost Wolf," he said, his tone level and clinical. "C- or C Rank from what our scouts saw; it has frigid Rift powers".

His face turned solemn. "It freezes everything in its wake, from soil, to flesh, and even the air; the beast can turn kilometers of ground into glassed ice in hours".

"It's bite carries Rift frost that lingers, eating away at whatever it touches. You don't just fight the beast, you fight the cold itself."

After saying that, Holt turned back to the map as he pointed at the visible markers that were marked on the map. They were scouting paths, hunting patterns, and zones of devastation of the C Rank monster.

"Our objective is not to fight it head-on like a rabble," he continued. "We draw it out, force it into fire nets and demolitions, and overwhelm it with overlapping force and cunning".

He took a deep breath. "Fire and heat will be our greatest weapons. Demolitionists will set traps and trackers will box it in, as for the rest of us…" his eyes swept the room, "we finish the kill."

A low murmur rippled across the chamber.

Ethan stood near the edge of the group, uncomfortable in the leather straps as he listened in silence. Unlike the rest who wore military uniforms and custom combat rigs, he was the only one in a faded civilian jacket.

He drew stares from the others and though he felt uncomfortable, it didn't show on his face as he kept an impassive look on his face.

His impassive look seemed to irk them even more. He didn't belong here, and the others made sure he felt it.

The first scoff came from a tall Fire Elementalist whose scarred arms glowed faintly with embers. She folded her arms, her eyes boring into him like knives.

In the end, she could no longer hold herself as she scowled. "A civilian? Really? This is what we're gambling on?"

A broad-shouldered Demolitionist snorted, his voice rough as gravel. "Hell, I've lost men better armed than him on regular E and D Rank sweeps. Why is he even standing here?"

The murmurs spread, sharper now.

Ethan caught the glance of a slim woman near the corner. She kept silent, eyes hooded, but the air around her was still in the way predators went still before they struck as she silently stared at him.

If Holt's briefing was right, she was a Mobility Specialist. She didn't speak, but her gaze was enough; she was measuring him, dismissing him.

Ethan clenched his jaw. He didn't want to care, but the sneers were burrowing under his skin and it annoyed him.

Before he could answer, Jonas slammed a fist against the table.

BANG!

The alloy rang like a gong as he sprang to his feet and glared at them. "You got a problem with him, you got a problem with me!"

His voice was low, but dangerous, his massive frame tense as a bowstring.

"Stand down, Captain," the Commandant warned.

Jonas looked at him and obeyed, but barely as he kept glaring at them.

It was at that moment that Holt stepped forward, keeping his hands flat on the table. His voice cut through the noise like an arrowhead. "You want to know why he's here?"

His sharp eyes swept through them. "Because when the impossible happened, when death came wrapped in claws, shadows, and fire, this man right here improvised and saved our lives, the life of my cohort".

The murmurs died instantly.

Holt's voice dropped, deliberate, each word hammered into the chamber.

"I'm not looking down on what you've faced in the Apocalypse, but few have faced what I've faced. The Conductor, Pike, the Ashroad, even a Rift-Tyrant Behemoth, you've all heard the whispers".

"Yes, I, Jonas, and my cohort survived it all".

"Most of you thought they were exaggerated stories to keep recruits in line, they weren't. They were survival. When monsters stronger than any of you ever faced tried to wipe us out, he gambled, and the Wheel never failed. Not once."

He leaned closer, his eyes like ice. "So if you doubt him, you doubt survival itself. And if that's your choice, you're welcome to step off this mission now".

"I'll mark you as volunteers for wall duty instead."

The chamber fell silent. No one moved, and no one left.

Ethan swallowed.

He hated Holt's dramatics, he hated being put on the spot, and even more he hated the way the room stared at him now like a puzzle they couldn't solve. But something in him also shifted.

Holt wasn't wrong. The Wheel hadn't failed him yet, and maybe, just maybe, it never would.

The Commandant's expressionless gaze cut across the chamber. "Adaptation Specialist," he called. "So be it. You're part of Operation Winterfang now, Ethan Cole. Prove Holt right."

The briefing rolled on from there, breaking into tactical details, assignments, and strategies. The names all blurred together in Ethan's ears as they were called. He listened and nodded when Holt glanced at him, but his focus was inward.

The Wheel spun faintly in his vision, restless and eager.

He felt surreal. 'I guess we're going back out there, huh?'

After that, everything happened fast and they went straight to training.

…

BZZZ!

The training yards lit up in fire and frost.

Training already started.

The Fire Elementalists conjured blazing shields against frost simulators the engineers rigged together, heat meeting cold in hissing plumes.

Demolitionists tested explosive traps in controlled detonations, while Trackers sparred with soldiers acting as wolves, practicing encirclement drills.

Melee Specialists broke bones against reinforced training dummies, their fists ringing like sledgehammers.

As for Ethan, he stood apart at first, uncertain how to train improvisation. The Wheel wasn't something he could command like a spellbook.

It was a gamble, his gamble.

But Holt's words echoed in his head, and so he tried.

Pressing his palm down, the Wheel spun.

DING!

~----~

[Improvised Tool: Cryo-Flare Bolt – A single-use flare that releases freezing smoke upon detonation. Limited control. E Rank]

~----~

He grimaced, showing no one, then he made another draw.

DING!

~----~

[Improvised Gear: Pneumatic Spike Boots – Increases jump force by 50% for 3 uses. E Rank]

~----~

He chuckled to himself. 'Not useless, but not great either'.

'It seems like I've really become rusty'.

He practiced the motions, imagined battle scenarios, and tested the strange, cobbled-together inventions the Wheel granted him. Every weird tool was another answer waiting for the right question.

Soon, night fell and training slowed.

The frost simulators hissed out, the flames died down, and the tracks cooled. Soldiers limped back to barracks, sweat steaming in the cold air.

The Commandant's voice ended the day with words heavier than iron.

"Nine days, that's all we have".

"You will bleed together, move together, and kill together. If you fail, you don't just die, you take Fort Aegis with you."

The words sank deep into Ethan's bones as he walked back to the walls. The Wheel glimmered faintly in his mind, spinning even when he didn't call it. He stared at the stars above the smoke.

'Ten days', he thought. 'Then Winterfang'.