The Apocalypse Is My Second Home

1

Noah's eyes snapped open.

The first thing he saw was the white ceiling above him. He lay motionless, staring at it blankly as he struggled to piece together what had happened. After several moments, he finally turned his head and realized he was in a hospital.

The steady beeping of medical equipment filled the room. Beside him, a monitor displayed green lines that rose and fell across the screen, though he had no idea what they were supposed to indicate.

He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his body. Every movement sent another wave of agony coursing through him. The pain was almost unbearable, yet he clenched his teeth and refused to cry out. After a moment, he slowly lowered himself back onto the bed, breathing through the discomfort.

This wasn't a dream. He had actually survived.

But how was that possible?

The last thing he remembered was a sword pressed against his neck. Even now, he couldn't forget the chilling sensation of the blade against his throat. The memory remained so vivid that he could almost feel the cold steel against his skin.

Noah instinctively reached for his throat, only to find nothing there. His fingers brushed against his skin, searching for a wound, but there was no cut, no blood, and no sign that a sword had ever touched him.

His confusion deepened.

Only then did he begin to take in his surroundings. Everything about the hospital seemed unfamiliar. The room was spacious and well-equipped, furnished with an air of comfort and luxury that felt completely out of place.

It was nothing like the hospitals he remembered from the apocalypse, where survival took precedence over everything else and people barely had time to worry about luxuries. Back then, even finding a place to receive treatment could be a matter of life and death.

The door suddenly swung open, and a woman walked in. She wore glasses, and a deep frown creased her face as soon as she saw him.

"You're still alive? You're very lucky, you know. It's all your fault for being so careless, standing in the middle of the road as though you own it!"

Noah stared at her, bewilderment written across his face. After a brief pause, he asked, "Who are you? Are you perhaps one of my people?"

It was an innocent question, but the woman reacted as though he had gravely insulted her.

"How dare you!" she snapped, her eyes widening behind her glasses. "What do you mean by that? Are you insinuating that I'm your servant or something? Don't you have any respect for your aunt anymore? I've noticed you've become much more mouthy these days!"

Noah's expression stiffened.

Aunt? Do I have an aunt?

He searched his memories, but nothing came to mind. He had no recollection of this woman, let alone any idea why she was claiming to be his aunt.

"You'd better pray you recover quickly so you can join us at the family meeting next week," the woman continued, her voice dripping with contempt. "If you want to stay in bed, that's your business!"

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away, leaving Noah staring after her in utter bewilderment.

Something was wrong.

Although he hadn't even stepped outside the hospital, he could already tell that this place had nothing in common with the apocalypse. Everything was too comfortable, too orderly, and too luxurious. It was as though he had awakened in an entirely different world.

And then there was the woman. She clearly knew him, yet he had never seen her before in his life. Worse still, she seemed to expect him to know her.

Frowning, Noah raised his hand to touch the bandage wrapped around his head. However, the moment his fingers brushed against his skin, he froze.

His hand...

It was soft. Far too soft. There wasn't a single callus on his palm.

This wasn't the hand of a man who had stood at the top of the apocalypse, a man who had killed more enemies than he could count and struck terror into countless hearts. It wasn't the hand of someone who had fought his way through endless battles, survived countless near-death experiences, and clawed his way to the pinnacle of power.

No, this wasn't the hand he remembered.

His hands had once been accustomed to wielding all kinds of high-caliber firearms. They had gripped weapons capable of tearing through his enemies and operated the controls of every type of aircraft he had ever flown. Years of battle had left them marked by countless scars and hardened by relentless training.

But this hand was completely different.

It didn't belong to him.

A dreadful suspicion began to take shape in his mind.

Ignoring the pain that flared throughout his body, Noah immediately forced himself upright. Agony surged through his limbs, and he instinctively tightened his grip on the bedsheets to steady himself. Yet he barely spared the pain a thought.

He needed answers, and he needed them now.

Fortunately, there was a phone lying beside him.

He snatched it up and immediately opened the camera. A moment later, he found himself staring at the reflection of a completely unfamiliar person.

The face on the screen was young, with a bandage covering part of it. From what he could see, the young man was quite handsome. His features were smooth and well-defined, bearing none of the harshness that had come to define Noah's appearance back in the apocalypse.

For several seconds, he simply stared at the screen, unable to believe what he was seeing.

This wasn't his face.

It wasn't his body.

Then whose body was he occupying?

Noah tried to recall his final moments before his death.

He had been betrayed by his right-hand man, Oliver, and his second-in-command, Mikel. Both were men he had trusted with his life, yet they had turned against him for the sake of power. He had never suspected their intentions because he had been too trusting, too willing to believe in their feigned loyalty.

The betrayal happened during a battle to conquer the most powerful apocalypse base in the Western Land. Had Noah succeeded, his base would have become the undisputed number one power in the region.

He had fought through the enemy's strongest soldiers, overcome countless obstacles, and finally defeated the base's ultimate leader.

But the moment he won, a sword came hurtling toward him.

Noah ducked instinctively, narrowly avoiding the blade, only to find himself surrounded by his own men. Oliver, Mikel, and his other trusted subordinates had joined forces against him.

They had all betrayed him.

These were the men he had raised from nothing, giving them food, shelter, resources, and opportunities to rise from the lowest ranks of society. He had treated them like brothers, stood by them through countless hardships, and trusted them with his life.

Yet they repaid his kindness with betrayal, turning against him in the high-quality mechanical armor he had personally developed for them.

Outnumbered and surrounded by men who knew his fighting style and wielded weapons of his own design, Noah stood little chance. Still, he fought with everything he had, refusing to surrender even as their coordinated attacks overwhelmed him.

But no matter how fiercely he resisted, his strength had limits.