The airport terminal buzzed with anticipation. Fighter jets carved patterns across the gray sky, their engines roaring in formation.

Below, tens of thousands of special forces soldiers stood at attention, their rifles gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

Among the crowd of waiting dignitaries, the CEO of one of the nation’s most powerful industrial groups wiped sweat from his brow despite the heavy air-conditioning.

"Any sign of him yet?"

"Nothing,"a man replied. "We've been standing here for four hours."

"Four hours is nothing," someone hissed. "If we can earn the War God’s favor, our families will dominate this city for generations."

Around them, hundreds of wealthy tycoons and politicians jostled for position, each hoping to catch the first glimpse of the legendary figure who had turned the tide of war single-handedly.

Seventy-three classified operations across four continents.

Zero failures.

The only War God in the nation’s history.

The crowd surged forward as military vehicles approached, only to groan in disappointment when junior officers emerged instead.

“Where is him?”

Miles away, heavy rain washed over the Riverside Cemetery, the sky a bruised, leaden gray.

Knee-high weeds choked the pathways between weathered tombstones.

Alexander Kane stood at the entrance.

He wore simple black clothes. No insignia. No medals. The man who made nations kneel looked like an ordinary civilian now.

His face, hardened by five years of war, softened slightly as he gazed at the neglected graveyard.

He took no pleasure in war. But defending his country was a mission he couldn't walk away from—the heavy price of wearing the uniform.

Now, the smoke had cleared. The battles were won, and he could finally lay down his arms.

Today was the anniversary of his mother’s death. That was why he chose this day to return—to settle the blood debt the Thompson family had owed him for five long years.

Meanwhile, deep within the cemetery.

"Hurry it up! This land’s already been sold to the Morgan Group for road construction," a voice barked, shattering the silence. "We gotta clear these moldy rocks out before dark！"

The roar of excavators filled the air. Metal buckets tore into the earth, unearthing mud and smashing headstones into jagged piles of rubble.

Derek, a burly man in an expensive suit, crouched beside a freshly dug grave. He held a yellowed urn in his hand, turning it over like it was a piece of trash, his face twisted with disgust.

“Boss… are we really doing this?” one of the men asked nervously. “That urn belonged to Mrs. Thompson… you know, the former—”

“Former what?” Derek spat a thick glob of phlegm onto the grave marker and crushed it under his shoe. “You mean that pathetic woman whose son turned out to be a rapist? The one who died from shame?”

He sneered and lifted the urn slightly, shaking it with deliberate contempt.

“Five years ago, the Thompsons erased that mother and son from the family record. To them, they’re worse than garbage. This land belongs to the Thompson family. If they say it’s a landfill, then it’s a landfill.”

The men around him laughed crudely.

“Yeah, I heard that woman used to act all high and mighty,” another thug said. “Ran the whole Thompson Group after her husband died. Turns out she raised a beast instead.”

“A beast?” Derek snorted. “More like a filthy animal who tried to force himself on his own aunt on his wedding night.”

Just as their words fell, through the curtain of rain, a figure appeared under a black umbrella, walking slowly down the stone path.

Derek squinted at the approaching man. The face looked familiar—too familiar.

"Well, look what crawled out of the gutter!" Derek stood up, let out a jagged laugh. "If it isn't Alexander Kane—the Thompson family’s very own star rapist. I heard you died in prison."

Alexander stopped. He tilted his umbrella back, revealing a face as sharp and cold as a blade. His gaze drifted over the shattered stones and locked onto the urn in Derek’s hand.

His mother’s ashes.

In an instant, the atmosphere froze. A suffocating killing intent, forged in a sea of blood and millions of corpses on the battlefield, radiated from him.

"Put it down," Alexander said. His voice was quiet, but it carried a chill that bit straight to the bone.

Derek opened his mouth to mock him, but the sudden pressure in the air made the hair on his neck stand up. He shook it off, thinking it was just a trick of the wind. A paroled convict couldn't threaten him.

"Put it down? Ha!" Derek tossed the urn slightly in his hand. "You think you're still the Thompson heir? Five years ago, on your wedding night, you tried to crawl into your aunt’s bed in front of the whole city. I was the one who snapped your bones one by one before we threw you in the hole."

Derek took a menacing step forward. "Your old lady was pathetic, too. Begging on her knees like a dog. All it took was one word from your Uncle Robert, and she jumped right off the roof of the Thompson building. Splat. Brains all over the sidewalk. It was a mess."

CRACK.

Alexander’s knuckles popped as he clenched his fist. His eyes turned a deep, vengeful crimson.

"You’re saying my uncle forced her to jump?"

Five years ago, he was drugged and framed. Overnight, he went from the crown jewel of the family to a disgraced criminal.

His uncle had ordered his body broken and tossed him into a cell like a dying animal. The next day, the news came: his mother had "committed suicide" out of shame. It had been the thorn in his heart for half a decade.

He had lost everything—his reputation, his health, his only family.

He would have died in that cell if it weren't for a chance encounter with a master who rebuilt him from the inside out.

 He had already suspected his uncle was behind the drugging, but he never understood why his mother—the brilliant woman who turned the Thompsons into a powerhouse—would kill herself over a few rumors.

Now, the ugly truth was out.

"She jumped to save your life, you idiot. A life for a life—that was the deal Robert made," Derek sneered, lowering his voice. "But honestly, it was that tech patent she owned that he really wanted. The Thompson empire is built on your mother's blood. As for you..."

Derek suddenly smirked and hurled the urn at the ground.

The ceramic shattered. The white ashes were instantly swallowed by the filthy mud.

"You don't even deserve to bury her."

Something inside Alexander snapped. The iron-willed general was gone; only a monster remained. The killing intent exploded like a volcano.

"This was the only place she had left to rest," Alexander said, lifting his head. His eyes held a darkness that made even a veteran thug like Derek flinch.

"Since you won't let her rest, you can stay here and keep her company. Forever."