Throne of the Wasteland: Even the Roses in My Arms Have Thorns

“Choose survival? Three crates of expired canned food could keep you going for three months. Choose protection? The thorny healer in your arms is worth more than any can. Choose to show your strength? A mutant beast’s fangs are pressed against the back of your neck.” Gu Chenzhou, a retired soldier, ground his teeth through the radioactive dust and smiled amid the blood and grime of the wasteland shelter. “I’m choosing... to smash the throne down over everyone’s heads.”

When the System panel flashed its scarlet options, the icy mechanic he had rescued was already cracking the wrist of someone hunting her with a wrench. An elven reporter held up her camera to capture his retreating figure, while a martial arts assassin gripped her dagger in the shadows. These thorny roses? He was determined to make them bloom more brilliantly than the apocalypse itself.

The hypocritical city lord’s “trust”?

Sincerity bought with expired canned food hurts most when it stabs you. The black-scaled serpent’s roar?

A ferocious beast awakened by radiation. It has to kneel before it can become a mount.

At last, the final peerless beauty leaned close to his ear and asked, “Master, this time... shall we venture into legend together?”

The wasteland wind swept blood and fire past them, and the roses in his arms finally bloomed as one. So this apocalypse was nothing more than a stepping stone to the throne, offered by the gods.