Apocalypse King: Recruiting S-Tier Beauties With My Ruler System
Chapter 70: Not Everyone Thrives on Kindness...

Chapter 70: Not Everyone Thrives on Kindness...

March 17th, 2025 — 4:14 PM

Zone 2A-Δ – Second Floor, Hallway

I left Old Zhou’s house because he fell asleep after two cups.

Though I might be a little arrogant, it appeared he needed someone or something to give him hope. I couldn’t promise she would be alive. But I would definitely keep my word and try to reach the university within three days.

"Phew, what next?" I muttered to myself like a madman.

The afternoon sun shone through the windows at the end of the hallway, rays of orange light telling me that I might have spent too long drinking with Zhou.

I stretched my back with a groan.

The whiskey still sat warm in my gut, but the haze had faded. The kind that made your ribs loose, your thoughts a little slower. The world still spun the same. Just felt heavier now.

The hallway was long and narrow, choked with shadow despite the dying sun bleeding through the cracked window. Light scattered in slanted bars, catching in the dust hanging in the air.

I took my time walking. My boots dragged a little. The concrete underfoot was warped and uneven—water damage, maybe. Something smelled faintly like mildew and something else—cooked rice, burned oil. Strange mix. Human.

I stopped in front of Room 206.

It looked different from the rest—more fortified. They’d jammed plywood over the lower half of the door and sealed the seams with packing tape. A plastic fan had been screwed to the wall next to the door, like someone once believed airflow could fix what the world was becoming.

I didn’t knock right away.

I listened.

Soft voices. Young ones. A woman, maybe two. The cough I’d heard earlier—it came again. Deep. Rattling. Not a cold. The kind that burned from the back of the lungs. Diabetic ketosis? Pneumonia? Could’ve been both.

I rapped my knuckles twice against the wooden panel. Firm, not aggressive.

Silence inside.

Then the latch clicked. Not fully. Just a little.

The door slid open a few inches, and a woman stared back with soft, dark eyes. Her black hair was pulled back into a low, messy fishtail. It must have been warm because her hair clung to her forehead with sweat. She was a little thin but with broad shoulders and a decent build.

Maybe mid-thirties or even younger, the apocalypse aged people much faster.

"You military?"

"No."

"You a scavenger?"

I shook my head. "I’m offering something. Not taking anything."

Her brow twitched. "What?"

"Medicine," I said. "Food. Safety."

She didn’t blink.

"You’re lying."

"I’m not."

"...You have insulin?" Her voice cracked slightly. Not desperation—too proud for that—but close.

I exhaled and watched her face with a nod.

She didn’t open the door further.

Just stood there with that same flat stare—like I’d offered her poison, not hope.

Her eyes drifted over my face, my shoulders, the scuffed boots, and the shirt Qinglan picked out earlier. Maybe she didn’t find what she was looking for.

"I’m not buying it," she said, quieter now. "No one gives out insulin for free."

"I didn’t say it was free."

The door opened a little more—two inches, maybe three. Enough for me to see more of the woman. She wasn’t skinny, not frail. Muscle stayed on her bones, but it was clear it was burning off day by day.

Behind her, the apartment was dim. Furniture stacked like barricades. Blankets hung across windows. Kids’ voices. One was crying, muffled like someone was trying to keep it silent. I caught the silhouette of a man in the back corner, younger, maybe, but hunched.

A family.

Too many people in one space.

Too many mouths.

I didn’t ask how they were still alive. The answer was the same for everyone still breathing.

Luck. For now.

"I don’t need it," she said suddenly, sharp. "You can go."

I flicked my gaze to the system, able to see her basic details, but nothing special... because she was S-Tier. The only information the stingy system gave me was her current state of health and what was wrong with her.

So I didn’t move and waited.

"I am not here to save you."

She blinked at me, almost as if in shock at my words. "Excuse me?"

"You need insulin. I can get you three days’ worth. But I’m not offering it to you as a favour. I need people, hands and those who can work for me. To make this building safe and functioning... I take it you’ve got some experience in the military from your stature, form and those medals on the wall."

Her fingers gripped the doorframe tighter. "I told you. I don’t need—"

"You’re pale," I cut in. "Your breath smells sweet. I could smell it through the crack. It’s not just a cold, it’s ketoacidosis. And if I’m right, you’re a day—maybe two—from slipping into a coma."

The look in her eyes changed. Not fear. Not denial.

Shame.

And hate.

Mostly hate.

"You’re trying to barter with my life?"

"No," I said. "I want you to offer it to me. In return..." My gaze flicked to the older male and female in the back and the children. "Then I will protect everyone in the house to my best ability."

’Three young men, all D-Tier able to be recruited now, and with skills that could make them good guards or militia.’

The door opened wider, because of the broken hinge, it didn’t open all the way, but enough. So I walked inside, watching my step.

Warmth clung to the apartment. Not comforting warmth—stale and thick, like a breath that never left the room. The smell of people pressed together for too long. Sweat. Old soup. Damp clothes. A thread of something sharp and chemical—maybe rubbing alcohol, or perhaps urine. My boots thudded quietly against worn wood.

She didn’t speak.

I kept my hands visible, not reaching for anything. A good rule—never act too aggressively in a house full of survivors who don’t trust you yet.

"Close it behind you," she said, voice still low.

I did.

The latch clicked.

No weapon came out, but I watched her shoulders. They didn’t relax.

She led me further inside, past the half-barricade of overturned dressers and chairs. The shadows eased open, revealing the living room—or what passed for one.

Three young men. Early twenties. Maybe younger. One was asleep against the far wall, curled around a pipe like it might protect him. The other two stared at me, one with narrowed eyes, the other just tired.

A woman sat with her back to the wall. Grey hair. Heavyset. Her mouth hung open slightly as she breathed, shallow and fast. Her skin was ashen. Her limbs bloated. I’d seen that look before.

Too much time without meds.

Too little time left.

Then I looked back at the woman who let me in.

She wasn’t pretty in the usual sense. But sexy, or rather... a strong beauty different from the typical women of this kingdom. But there was something about her—sleeveless tank top clinging to sweat-glossed skin, the quiet strength in her biceps, the kind of lean muscle that didn’t come from fitness apps or gym memberships.

Real survival muscle.

Her waist narrowed under loose cargo pants, the curve of her hips almost too sharp. But she stood tall, held her posture like she hadn’t forgotten discipline. Her lips were cracked, but juicy and full. Her skin was golden, flushed under the heat and exhaustion, but her eyes hadn’t dulled. Not once.

It might be the first time I met a woman with darker skin, so personally... She was beautiful, with a unique charm that fair skin couldn’t match.

"What’s your name?" I asked.

"...Tang Wei."

I nodded. "John Wang."

"Figures," she muttered, half to herself. "Only a lunatic would walk into a room like this without a gun drawn."

"I’m not afraid of you."

"You should be."

That made me grin.

Tang Wei wasn’t like Jiang Roulan, despite having similar backgrounds, but... I liked it. She was exhausted but still sharp.

"Still not going to ask what you want in return?"

"You already said it."

I nodded toward the older woman. "She your mother?"

"Aunt. But she raised me."

"She’ll be dead in two days."

Tang Wei didn’t blink.

She just lowered herself into a crouch next to the old woman. Her palm brushed lightly against her neck—checking pulse, maybe. Or maybe just holding on.

"I can get you three vials of insulin. Enough to stabilise her. Maybe even help her sit up. But if I do—"

"You want me to join your team."

"I want you to serve a purpose," I said bluntly. "You’re a top-tier human. Don’t ask how I know. Just trust I didn’t come here without knowing at least that much."

That got a reaction.

A flicker of something behind her eyes. Anger. Or fear. Maybe even hope.

I stepped closer. Carefully.

"I can’t promise miracles. I can’t promise you’ll like what’s coming next. But I don’t waste people. If you want your family safe, this is how it starts."

Tang Wei stared at me.

Then she looked at her aunt again. Her fingers bent slowly against her thigh.

"...Three days?"

"That’s what I’m offering. Think of it like a trial."

"And after?"

"You come upstairs. Meet the others. We talk."

She stood slowly, gaze still locked on her aunt.

Then, quietly: "You got the meds now?"

I opened the system with a thought.

[Store Accessed]

[Item: Emergency Insulin Kit (72 Hours) – 30 ZKP]

[Confirm Purchase?]

I bought two, one for the mother and the other for Tang Wei.

The two vials appeared in my hand, cold, sealed, glimmering faintly blue beneath the label.

Tang Wei stared.

"...What the fuck are you?"

I knelt beside the aunt and placed the vial gently on a folded towel near her head.

"Just a man trying to build something before the world finishes dying."

I stood again and met her sharp gaze.

"You’ve got three days."

Then I turned to leave.

Her voice followed me out.

"John."

I stopped at the threshold.

"If you’re lying... if this is some kind of trick..."

I glanced over my shoulder.

"I’m not. But I won’t beg either. I really hope your mother gets better, oh... here."

I pretended to pull something out of my jacket and removed a small pack of bacon and eggs, and instant porridge that I had taken from my apartment and left them on the cabinet. "Your brother looks weak. The porridge should be able to comfort his stomach."

And then I left her there, watching the vial like it was glowing with something holy.

’I might be a horrible man, using her weakness... but once she and her brothers become my men. They will forgive me for being rude now.’