Apocalypse King: Recruiting S-Tier Beauties With My Ruler System
Chapter 59: How to Save a life

Chapter 59: How to Save a life

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March 17th, 20xx — 05:12 AM

Zone 3B-Δ – Rooftop

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The spear tore through flesh, bone, and something denser.

Not cartilage. Not marrow. Something underneath that pulsed not with life, but with presence.

The sensation travelled up the shaft. Through my palm. Into my arm. Like I’d just driven the weapon through a living nerve.

Lao didn’t fall.

He dropped, yes—down to one knee, the right side of his body trembling, blade-arm twitching like a dying limb still wired to a corpse. But he didn’t fall.

Because falling meant yielding.

And he hadn’t stopped changing yet.

Thick black blood spilt from the ragged gash in his shoulder and throat, down his chest, and across the rooftop in uneven circles. The scent followed—sweet, sour rot, old copper, the burn of oil on hot stone.

Then the sound.

He laughed.

Wet and broken, bubbling up from a place deeper than lungs. The kind of sound that meant something human was trying to breathe through something that wasn’t.

[Bond Alert: Jiang Roulan — 04:27 Remaining]

Four minutes.

The number meant nothing. But the weight of it did.

The spear in my hands vibrated once. Not from nerves. Not from technique. It just... wanted. My Qi had soaked into it too deeply. It was no longer just an extension of me.

It was hungry.

Lao pushed off the ground with his good arm. Stood, swaying, a smear of black trailing behind him.

His right shoulder dragged. The blade had begun to melt into itself, curling inward like a closing jaw. Flesh lapped over steel like wax folding into flame.

His voice crawled up his throat.

"Break one side," he rasped. "The other grows sharper."

He ran.

Crooked.

And I ran to meet him.

We clashed.

Not the first time. Not even the bloodiest.

But this time, it was different—because everything was breaking.

His movement curved. Not in arcs. In spirals. Like his momentum had become liquid, folding around his injuries instead of fighting them. The blade swept up from below, crooked and twitching, too wide to block but too erratic to cleanly dodge.

I stepped sideways.

Only half.

The edge grazed my ribs—hot, sharp, too shallow to stop me, too deep to ignore. My shirt tore. Skin followed. I kept moving.

My right arm twisted.

The spear came around in a flat circle, aiming for his exposed chest—

And met resistance.

Not bone.

But intent.

He turned inside the arc and took the hit across his ribs, absorbing the force like a dying planet swallowing an asteroid. He didn’t block. He just endured.

I felt it vibrate back into me.

The spear wants to kill.

My body wants to survive.

My mind wants to choose.

I pushed forward, teeth clenched. My left hand pulled back the haft. The right thrust.

A jab meant to end it.

His knee shot up—inhuman angle, a mess of tendons and blood—and deflected the strike at the last second.

We spun apart.

Both of us are bleeding.

Both of us are breathing.

But only one of us, still thinking.

He cocked his head sideways, twitching, the smile reappearing like a mask slipping back into place.

"Still holding back," he whispered. "Why?"

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

[Bond Alert: Jiang Roulan — 03:59 Remaining]

My eyes flicked to the rooftop’s edge.

I could see her, far below.

Still.

Waiting.

Dying.

And Lao stepped forward again.

He moved first.

A stagger. A drag. Then a blur.

His blade arm carved a trench across the concrete with each step, spraying sparks as steel screamed against stone.

I met him mid-charge.

My spear rose, braced against my shoulder. His blade descended—sloppy, but heavy. It smashed into the haft with a deafening KRAK, jarring my spine, vibrating my teeth. The impact sent out a gust of air that slapped the blood off my cheek.

I twisted with it, using the momentum. Let him overextend.

Brought my knee up into his gut—THMP—then spun and drove the butt of my spear into his side.

CRK-THUD.

He stumbled, spat blood, then screamed.

Not from pain. From joy.

His mouth split further. The skin tore back across his cheek, exposing raw tendon and a second row of budding teeth. The purple veins along his neck pulsed violently—bulging, bubbling, crawling—like something alive was trying to escape.

His blade arm split.

Not broke—split.

Down the middle, like a cleaver tearing meat. A second, smaller blade curled out from the jagged wound, twitching like an insect limb.

He gets stronger when he’s broken.

I struck again.

A thrust to the chest—clean, fast, accurate. He twisted. It caught his shoulder instead.

SHHK.

Flesh tore like cloth. Bone grated. He howled—and lunged again.

This time, I didn’t retreat.

I planted both feet, adjusted grip, and dragged the spear upward, opening his shoulder from collar to biceps. Black blood sprayed across my chest—hot, wet, sour.

His second blade lashed out.

I ducked. It whistled past my ear. Close enough to feel the wind.

He laughed—throat gurgling, lips gone.

"More—more of you," he croaked.

[Bond Alert: Jiang Roulan — 03:12 Remaining]

I didn’t look.

I just stepped in again.

My arms were slowing.

Not tired. Just... outpaced.

The spear was fast—but not fast enough. Lao wasn’t fighting like a man anymore. He didn’t strike in arcs. He lashed out like instinct wrapped in steel.

Every injury made him faster. Hungrier. Worse.

His second blade had finished growing, twitching like an insect’s limb. His chest heaved unnaturally, flesh bubbling where ribs should be.

My grip shifted again. I readied the next strike.

But something felt off.

Not just in him.

In me.

’The spear doesn’t know how to adapt.My body does.’

Lao blurred toward me. No warning. Just weight.

The blade cut low, screaming against the air. I twisted, narrowly avoiding the edge, but the shoulder behind it crashed into mine.

It was like hitting a packed muscle soaked in concrete, soft, but too heavy. His skin was hot. Slick. Swollen with something that shouldn’t have been alive.

I didn’t fall back.

I let go.

The spear fell to the concrete with a hollow clack.

Lao blinked.

Too late.

My right fist moved on its own.

I didn’t pull it back far. Just enough. All the power, all the Qi threading my bones, every adjustment the fight had taught me—channelled forward.

Straight. Clean. Focused.

CRRRK—BOOM.

His stomach imploded.

The impact was like a thunderclap inside wet cement. His body folded around my hand. Eyes bulged. Air left his mouth with a sick howl.

Then came the sound.

BWAM—!

Lao was airborne—blasted off the rooftop like a rag being thrown. Concrete cracked in spiderwebs where his feet left the ground.

’I didn’t even think.I just moved.’

My hand bled. Knuckles torn open.

But I was calm.

[Bond Alert: Jiang Roulan — 01:22 Remaining]

I turned toward the edge.

And ran.

The rooftop vanished under my feet.

I didn’t think and just jumped.

Wind hit me like a wall. My coat flared. My boots found rusted metal and—

CRACK—!!

Everything rattled.

My legs buckled hard on impact. Pain shot through both knees and up my spine. I dropped into a crouch and barely caught myself on the stair rail. Breathing shallow. Skull buzzing.

’Fuck...’

No time to complain.

I looked down.

She was right there. Three steps below me.

Jiang Roulan.

Crushed against the railing, half-curled, blood pooling out from beneath her coat. Her arm twisted under her weight, bent at an angle that wasn’t right. Hair stuck to her cheek. Lips half-parted. Eyes closed. No movement.

I slid down beside her, knees hitting hard. Pressed two fingers to her throat.

Nothing.

Cold.

But not gone.

Not yet.

[Bond Alert: Jiang Roulan — 01:12 Remaining]

The alert glowed in the corner of my vision, making my heart race, and her time was running out.

’Too fast. I almost lost her.’

She wasn’t breathing right.

Her chest moved slowly with shallow breaths. Not enough to pull anything in or keep her alive.

I pulled the system open.

[Top-Grade Marrow Washing Potion – Compatible]

[Direct consumption impossible. Unconscious.]

[Recommend: Oral transfer]

[Risk: Moderate.]

[Side effect: Dual Refinement, 70% Effect each. Acceptable loss.]

Oral transfer.

Right.

I stared down at her face again. Her mouth was soft. Still a little open.

’She’s not gone yet.’

My hand went into my inventory.

The vial was already warm, like it had waited for this.

I cracked the seal, raised it to my lips—

And drank.

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