Apocalypse: becoming the hidden Ruler[English]

Axel, freshly advanced to Level Five, wasn’t in a hurry to absorb the Saint Sea Twig.

The next morning, just after getting out of bed, his phone rang.

“Brother, have you forgotten about me?” Zane’s voice was thick with despair. “I’ve called you like five times already. We’re stuck at the highway entrance. Completely fucked.”

The convoy was at a standstill—trucks packed tight, engines idling uselessly. Zane had initially thought it was an accident or roadwork. Only after asking around did he learn the truth: a major figure was arriving, and every vehicle was undergoing intense inspection.

“Boss,” one of his men said grimly, “mutated beast meat only keeps for half a month. If this drags on, we’ll have to butcher it early and dump it cheap.”

“That’ll be a huge loss.”

“Zane, should we turn back?” Wren asked, rubbing her temples.

“I’ve already called Axel,” Zane replied confidently.

Wren stared at him in disbelief. “No one can help with this. Turning back now might save us something.”

“It’s probably the Senate Chiefs’ Meeting,” someone muttered. “The big one.”

“That wasn’t even in the news…”

“Let’s wait,” Zane said, though his anxiety was obvious.

At the same time, Axel—after getting the license plate number—dialed Sergio.

Less than fifteen minutes later, several staff members hurried over.

“F93068. That’s the one.”

“What’s the problem?”

A pudgy, middle-aged man with narrow eyes smiled politely. “Sorry to keep you waiting—there’s a fast-track inspection lane. Please follow me.”

The convoy slowly pulled out of the jam.

Axel sent Zane an address.

Zane understood immediately.

“You guys go on ahead,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “I’ll meet Axel alone.”

He squinted into the distance. “What the hell is that kid planning now?”

Despite the nerves, he felt a familiar spark of excitement.

.......

At a bar called da in Everton, Axel sat quietly with a baseball cap pulled low, sipping craft beer.

He’d already fended off two groups of overly enthusiastic girls when a woman drenched in perfume, dressed flamboyantly and plastered in makeup, plopped down across from him.

“Uh…” Axel sighed. “This is really necessary?”

Zane rolled his eyes, clearly uncomfortable. “You told me to show up as a beautiful woman, didn’t you? I’m not enjoying this shit, okay? And don’t even think about taking advantage of me.”

Axel’s lips twitched. “You… think you qualify as a beautiful woman?”

“What?” Zane looked himself over. “I think I look pretty damn good.”

Then he leaned forward. “Enough bullshit. What do you want? Some urgent mission?”

Hearing the excitement in Zane’s voice, Axel chuckled.

“Nothing urgent. Just helping you get your business set up here. I’ll be staying in Everton for a while.”

Zane immediately pulled out his phone, ignoring the surroundings.

Axel’s phone buzzed.

“The walls have ears?”

“No,” Axel replied. “I actually mean it.”

“Then what are you plotting?”

Meanwhile, in a shadowed booth deeper inside the bar, a fat man casually glanced in Axel’s direction.

“So that’s your double,” Butcher muttered, a smile tugging at his lips.

He’d done his homework. He knew Axel had a friend like this—someone who’d played key roles before.

When Axel called Zane over, Butcher had already gone on high alert.

“Too bad, kid,” he thought, draining his glass. “You’re not slipping past me.”

“You really don’t need me?” Zane asked, giving Axel a long look. “Then I’ll focus on my business.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Axel grimaced.

“It’s fine,” Zane said. “Come by sometime.”

They drank a little more, exchanged a few casual words, and soon Zane stood and left the bar.

.........

“They’re leaving already? What the hell are you two plotting?”

Butcher rose from his seat, staring at Zane’s retreating back with a puzzled frown. His gaze slid back to Axel—and then his figure blurred, dissolving into the noise and shadows of the bar.

A trap? Or is the kid throwing up a smokescreen?

Axel probably knew he was being tailed. That meant this might be deliberate misdirection—keeping Butcher focused on the wrong target while Axel and Zane quietly swapped identities when no one was watching.

Or maybe…

Maybe there’s no plan at all.

The thought irritated him.

If that was the case, then all this anticipation had been for nothing.

“Hard to say,” Butcher muttered. “Keep watching both of them.”

Axel was already a Level Five Awakener. That meant personal supervision. As for Zane—he could leave that to others.

“Time to head back.”

After settling the bill, Axel returned to the villa district at an unhurried pace. From a distance, Butcher watched him casually enter his room, expression dark and conflicted.

Axel needed to be protected. Closely. And yet… Butcher couldn’t help hoping the kid would do something unexpected.

“What a fucking pity.”

With a shake of his head, Butcher vanished.

Back inside his room, Axel placed the beer he’d picked up on the corner of the table. His eyes slowly returned to their usual calm indifference.

“No rush,” he murmured. “Let’s do this properly.”

He took out the Saint Sea Twig and began absorbing it, inch by inch.

In his inner vision, the twig released a strange, unfamiliar energy. Unlike primal stones or crystals, it didn’t strengthen him directly. There was no surge of power, no brute-force enhancement.

Instead, it resonated.

Deep within him, the ancient tree responded—and so did every inch of his body. Skin. Meridians. Cells.

Axel saw something bizarre.

Under the influence of the Saint Sea Twig, every Awakening Skill he possessed unfolded before him like dissected film reels. Abundant. Explosive Energy. Each one was broken down, analyzed, reassembled.

He understood them now.

For example, Abundant wasn’t just “healing”—it was a precise recombination of attribute-less elemental forces, structured in a way that restored damaged tissue.

His power hadn’t increased.

But these skills were no longer external.

They had become part of him.

Time dissolved.

His Flood-level Original Veins roared at full capacity, drawing Force from all directions like an enormous pump.

Riley sensed the change from her room—but didn’t interfere.

Even when Axel’s phone rang, he remained submerged in that strange, wordless state.

.......

Night fell.

A military vehicle rolled to a stop at the side of the road. Five men stepped out.

The one in front was short, slender, almost scholarly in appearance. Beside him walked an elderly man with a slight stoop and a gentle smile, and another—handsome, sharp-eyed, and utterly unsmiling.

“Xavier. Malachi.” The leader spoke softly. “You haven’t been to Everton in a while.”

“Five, maybe six years,” Xavier replied.

He looked around, exhaling. “Everton’s starting to feel like it used to.”

“Nolan. Sethan,” the leader said. “Change into civilian clothes. I want to walk.”

The two vanished instantly.

Soon, the group of five looked like ordinary office workers heading home late—baseball caps pulled low, faces unremarkable.

It was past midnight, yet the streets were still alive.

They walked leisurely.

Outside a livehouse, a man in a sports car tossed his keys to a waiter and was instantly swallowed by a crowd of girls. Nearby, drunk men and women squatted at the entrance, laughing, arguing, barely holding themselves together.

Jerome watched quietly, an old book tucked under his arm.

Then he felt a small tug on his sleeve.

An eight- or nine-year-old girl looked up at him, eyes bright with cautious hope.

“Uncle… want to buy some flowers?”

Her skin was sun-darkened. Her voice soft. Not far away, her mother stood with a two-year-old strapped to her back.

“Alright,” Jerome said gently. “How much for all of them?”

The girl’s face lit up. She took the money and ran back.

“Mom! We sold all the flowers tonight!”

“I still have balloons,” her mother replied. “Let’s stay a bit longer.”

Jerome walked on.

Xavier chuckled. “General, I thought you were going to buy the balloons too.”

Their pace never changed—but a few seconds later, they were already standing at the far street corner.

“General,” Xavier said quietly, “it’s already remarkable that Krythos has held together this long. Some things are immutable—ancient, universal. No nation escapes them.”