Surviving the Apocalypse: All I Want Is to Find a Husband
Chapter 165: The Unconscious Man’s Identity

Chapter 165: The Unconscious Man’s Identity

[Two people are still too few, Host.]

Medeia let out a slow, frustrated breath. "Oh, come on! How many do I need to save before I can complete this damn mission?" The system had an annoying habit of throwing vague tasks at her without ever explaining the full conditions.

[At least ten, Host.]

She nearly lost it. "Then why the hell didn’t you say that from the start?! Are you—"

"Medeia," Lucian interrupted before she could curse on the system. "His breathing ... it’s stabilizing."

She snapped her mouth shut and looked down. The man’s chest rose and fell in slow, rhythmic movements. His frostbitten fingers were still blackened from the cold, but that was a problem for later. Maybe Sister Jeanne could help him—or, worst case scenario, his hands might need to be amputated.

The most important thing was that she had saved two people now!

The thought felt bizarre. A demon, feeling proud for saving lives? It was almost laughable. But—whatever. Who cared?

"How do we wake him up?" Medeia asked, tilting her head. "Should I slap him or—"

"No, sweetheart, we’re not slapping his face." Lucian sighed, cutting her off before she could actually follow through with her idea. "We just need to warm him up and stabilize his body temperature. Go sit up front with Bear. I’ll change his clothes and keep an eye on him until he wakes up."

Medeia frowned slightly. It wasn’t like this was the first time she’d seen a naked man. No, not because she had slept with a lot of them, okay?! But in hell, no one wore clothes while they were being tortured.

Because what would be the point? Fabric would either melt the moment it touched the searing flames or become useless when they were tossed into the frozen depths of hell.

However, Lucian looked so serious about it that Medeia decided not to argue. Besides, she was human now—so she had to start acting like one, right?

"Okay." She was about to stand up when something caught her eye—a military dog tag hanging around the unconscious man’s neck. Her brows furrowed. "Is that his identification?"

They had already suspected he might be a soldier because of his gear, but without a uniform, they couldn’t be sure. After all, anyone could scavenge military equipment if they found it.

Lucian reached for the dog tag, flipping it over to read the engraved text.

CPT CALLAWAY, ETHAN

3RD REC. DIV. - B784291

O+ | NO RELIGION

"FOR HONOR, FOR SURVIVAL"

His entire body stiffened. Then, before Medeia could react, he threw the tag away like it was a cursed object.

"Fuck!"

Medeia blinked, startled. Lucian almost never cursed. She had only heard him do it once—maybe twice—before. And the way he spat the word out now, like it physically pained him.

"What? What is it?" she asked, watching him rise to his feet.

Lucian raked a hand through his golden hair, his jaw clenched so tightly she thought it might snap.

"He’s from Country B’s military," he muttered, "My country’s military." His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "The same one I used to serve in."

Medeia’s breath hitched. Her fingers curled slightly as realization sank in.

"The ... the one that lied to you?"

She seemed more irritated than Lucian, even considering burying the unconscious man back into the snow. "Should we kill him?" she asked in an almost lightning-fast manner. "I could do it—no, the system wouldn’t let me."

Lucian took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself before responding. "No, I don’t think that’s necessary. He’s from the 3rd Reclamation Division. It’s not the kind of division that goes around killing people. They’re responsible for escorting survivors to safety zones."

Though the military aimed to reduce the human population, they also had programs focused on protecting and saving lives. But there was a catch.

Survivors didn’t get freedom when they entered a military base. There was no such thing as a free ride in this world, as the late general had once said.

If they were given free shelter, food, and clothing, they would pay for it with their freedom—essentially their very selves.

The Red Star Alliance was similar, but it felt more like working and getting paid by their needs. They can even still live freely and leave if they wanted it.

The military bases, on the other hand, often turned survivors into slaves, pushing them to follow their ideologies. It was all about creating the next generation of soldiers.

"I honestly didn’t think they were still around," Lucian muttered, his voice filled with disbelief. "I thought the Country’s Military had dissolved. It’s been years since I’ve heard anything about them."

"Maybe someone brought it back," Medeia speculated. "Like Orlon. It’s possible some people decided to create their own version of a military base. The military might not be the same as it once was."

The truth was, the military could have gone either way—becoming either a force for good or something worse.

"He looks so young," Lucian said, lowering his head, studying the man’s face carefully as he lay wrapped in blankets. "How old is he?"

[Name: Ethan Callaway

Age: 24

Ability:

Pain Resistance (Grade-A) — Effect: The user’s nervous system has adapted to suppress pain, allowing the user to withstand injuries without flinching or slowing down. However, ignoring injuries for too long can lead to fatal consequences.]

Medeia let out a sharp breath as she read his ability. It would be useful in a fight, allowing someone to keep going despite injuries—but in a way, it also seemed like a double-edged sword.

It numbed the pain but didn’t heal him. Unlike Naomi’s regenerative ability, Ethan’s was more of a temporary fix.

It made sense now, he couldn’t feel the cold or the agony of freezing, so he just kept walking, pushing himself until his body finally gave out.

"He’s 24 years old," Medeia said softly, "So young. He’s just a kid."

Lucian glanced at her, his gaze lingering for a moment. "Your age is the same as his."

Medeia couldn’t help but laugh softly. "Honey, that’s just my body age. I’m technically older than your grandma ... and probably your great-great-grandmother too."

Medeia paused for a moment, realizing something felt off in the way she had said that. Did it mean her boyfriend was just a kid to her?

She quickly brushed the thought away, refocusing on Ethan. "Anyway," she talked about Ethan’s ability to Lucian. "What about his ability? It doesn’t make sense. If he could suppress the pain, why didn’t he search for shelter? Unless there was something else driving him to keep going."

Was he suicidal? Or perhaps ... was he searching for help?

But would someone suicidal walk through a snowstorm while carrying a backpack full of basic survival gear? The military rations in his bag were already half-eaten, a sign that he still had a will to live.

The corner of Medeia’s lips curled into a subtle smile. "I think we might meet more survivors," she murmured, her gaze flickering over to Lucian. She couldn’t resist repeating her old question, "Should I slap him now?"

But before Medeia could make a decision, to her surprise, Ethan suddenly coughed. His eyes fluttered open, his pupils darting around as though he couldn’t focus. He groaned softly, struggling to make sense of his surroundings.

"Where ...?" His voice was hoarse, like it took all his strength just to speak.

Medeia leaned in closer, her face hovering over his. "Where are you? You’re in a bandits’ truck right now, and if you don’t wake up in the next thirty seconds, they’ll toss you straight into the jaws of a monster."

Her random words buzzed in his ears like a distant hum. Ethan barely understood what she was saying, but as his vision cleared, and he finally saw Medeia’s face above him, his eyes widened in awe. "I ... I see an angel ..."

Medeia’s eyebrows furrowed, confused and a little irritated. She thought to herself, Has he lost his mind after being buried in the snow for so long? "What angel?" she asked.

Ethan, weak and exhausted, raised a trembling hand, trying to touch her face, but Lucian quickly moved in and gently nudged Medeia away, his protective instincts kicking in.

Lucian’s smile was a contrast to the coldness in his voice. He leaned in just slightly and looked right onto Ethan’s face. "Careful where you reach, or I might just send you to heaven myself."

Medeia’s breath caught in her throat, a soft gasp escaping her lips. It wasn’t because she thought Lucian was overreacting, but she felt happy that her honey could be jealous of her.

For some reason, Lucian’s warning sparked a sense of alertness in Ethan. He forced himself to sit up and shouted, "Who are you?!"

"Calm down," Lucian said gently, trying to ease the situation. He even raised his hands to show Ethan that he wasn’t holding any weapons. "We’re not here to hurt you. It just so happens we found you buried under the snow and thought maybe we could help."

"Help?" Ethan furrowed his brows, clearly doubtful of Lucian’s words. "Do you expect me to believe you?"

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