RETURN OF THE GOD OF WAR

His Gift

The taxi rolled along the sun-scorched road, its tired tires humming beneath John's booted feet. He leaned back into the seat, the worn fabric pressing against his spine as he stared out the window, watching the world blur past. But his mind wasn't on the passing cityscape. No, it was somewhere else entirely.

Alfred’s voice replayed in his head. "Your grandfather doesn't have long, John. He’s asked for you… he’s dying."

A sneer curved the corner of John Hardwick’s mouth. Dying? So what? The old man could rot for all he cared.

He pushed Alfred's words aside like dust from an old coat. He didn’t care. Not anymore. Not after what they did to him. A simple mistake, one lapse in judgment, and they had torn everything away. His name, his legacy, his dignity; vanished overnight. The golden boy, the youngest billionaire in the country, reduced to nothing more than a headline scandal.

And what had he done? Just one mistake. One.

He had built entire divisions, negotiated mergers that saved the family fortune, and outsmarted rivals twice his age. He had transformed Hardwick Industries into a global titan; and yet none of that mattered when his sin embarrassed the family. The punishment was swift, merciless: exile. Military discipline. Ten years lost.

So now… now he didn’t give a damn. Let the old man give the trillion-dollar empire to a dog for all he cared. John had become something far more powerful than wealth could ever buy. Something no man in a boardroom or on a Forbes list could rival.

He was the God of War.

The taxi came to a halt with a hiss of brakes in front of a towering black gate that stretched like a wall of steel into the sky. John pushed open the door, his boots touching solid ground with quiet finality. He threw a few crisp bills into the front seat and muttered, “Keep the change,” before slinging the rugged, worn backpack over one shoulder.

Just as he approached the gate, a low purr of an expensive engine tore through the quiet. A sleek, obsidian-colored Maybach screeched to a halt right in front of him, tires grinding against the road.

The door swung open, and out stepped a woman in designer heels and a crimson dress that hugged her figure with arrogant perfection.

Helena Morrison.

John’s eyes narrowed. The same woman he’d helped the night before. The same woman who had screamed rape accusations like poison darts.

Her eyes widened as she saw him, lips curling into a mix of shock and scorn. “You?!” she gasped. “What the hell are you doing here... with that filthy backpack?”

John didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. His face remained stone. “That’s funny. I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Her heels clicked furiously as she marched toward him, face twisted in disdain. “This is my grandfather’s mansion, you creep. Are you stalking me? What is this? Is this some twisted begging mission?” She paused, reached into her clutch, and flicked several crisp bills onto the gravel before him. “Here. Take this. Buy yourself a shower and get lost.”

John looked down at the money, then back up at her with an unfazed expression.

The black gate creaked open behind her as two guards stepped out, dressed in black and gold livery.

Helena turned to them sharply. “Get this hobo out of here. I don’t want him near the house.”

She turned and slid gracefully back into her car, the engine purring again as she disappeared into the compound without a backward glance.

The guards stepped forward. One of them, the younger of the two, looked ready to reach for his taser. “You heard the young mistress. Move along you filthy fool.”

John’s eyes locked on theirs for a few seconds, then he opened his mouth and spoke,. “I’m here to see the Grandmaster of the Morrison family.”

The older guard laughed. “The Grandmaster isn’t seeing anyone, especially not street beggars.”

But John didn’t move. He insisted with authority, “Go inside right now and tell the grandmaster that Master Liang’s student is here to see him.”

The guards exchanged glances before bursting into laughter. The taller one, who seemed to be their leader, stepped forward, his chest puffed out with arrogance. “Who the hell are you to command us, huh?” he barked, moving daringly close until he was inches from John’s face.

In a flash, John grabbed the guard’s shirt, his movements precise and brutal. He drove his forehead into the man’s face with a sickening crunch, then swept his legs out from under him with a powerful kick. Before the guard could react, John slammed him to the ground, the impact echoing off the gate. Blood streamed from the guard’s nose and mouth as he screamed, writhing in agony.

John turned to the remaining guards, his voice a low growl. “Take me to the Grandmaster right now!”

Their eyes wide with fear, they nodded hastily, stepping aside to let him pass. John gripped his backpack tighter, his face an unreadable mask as they led him through the gate and into the sprawling Morrison estate.

The guards trembled as they led him through a quiet hallway, but he spared them no glance. He just wanted to do what he came here for and leave as soon as possible.

They stopped at a heavy oak door, one guard opening it with a trembling hand. John stepped inside, his eyes immediately locking onto the scene before him. Helena sat on the edge of a large bed, her hand resting on the frail arm of an old man who lay propped against pillows, his face pale and sunken. Five or six doctors in white coats stood around the room, their faces grim as they monitored machines and whispered among themselves.

Helena’s head snapped up, her eyes widening in outrage. “Who the hell let this poor beggar in?” she demanded, glaring at the guards. “Who the hell authorized this?”

John ignored her, his attention fixed on the old man—Grandmaster Morrison. He stepped forward, his voice steady. “I am Master Liang’s student,” he said, offering a slight nod. “I’m here on his behalf.”

The old man’s eyes widened, a flicker of recognition cutting through his frail state. He struggled to sit upright, but John raised a hand. “Don’t stress yourself. I was sent by Master Liang to perform an important task.”

Helena shot to her feet, her voice sharp. “I don’t care who this Master Liang is! Get the hell out, now! Guards, drag him out!!!”

The Grandmaster’s voice, weak but firm, cut through her tirade. “Shut up, Helena.”

Helena’s eyes widened, mouth ajar as she turned her gaze to the old man on the bed. “G-Grandfather?”

Grandmaster Morrison looked at her, sharp despite his age. “I said leave this room now!”

She blinked in disbelief. “You’re… yelling at me? Because of him?”

“I said get out.”

She opened her mouth to argue—but his stern gaze silenced her. Her grandfather had never spoken to her like that. The words stung, made worse by the fact that they were for this filthy stranger.

He turned to the others. “Everyone. Out. Guards. Doctors. Leave us.”

Helena’s face burned with anger, her glare boring into John as she stormed out, followed by the doctors and guards. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving John alone with the Grandmaster.

When the room was empty, the old man exhaled slowly. “Forgive my granddaughter’s behavior.”

John nodded. “It’s fine.”

He approached, setting down his backpack. “Master Liang gave me two tasks. The first is to heal you.”

For years, the Grandmaster had suffered from a rare illness no physician could diagnose. Not a single hospital in Europe, Asia, or America had found a cure.

John’s mentor, Master Liang, the Chinese master who’d taught him the God Hand, had imposed two conditions when passing on the ancient skill ten years ago: find the Belmont Grandmaster and heal him, and a second task John still didn’t fully understand. He didn’t know why Master Liang cared about the Morrisons, and frankly, he didn’t care. A mission was a mission.

He raised his right hand, placing it gently on the old man’s forehead. Then, with his left hand, he touched his own temple with two fingers.

“Heal,” he said with a low voice, and a soft green glow bloomed from his palms.

The old man’s pallid skin flushed with life. His cheeks filled. The tremble in his limbs faded. His breath came smoother.

John lowered his hand after a few seconds, and the light faded.

The old man sat up, unaided and stunned. “I… I feel… I…”

He swung his legs over the bed and stood.

With tears in his eyes, he dropped to his knees before John. “Thank you. Thank you, Heaven bless you—”

Just then, the door burst open.

Three expensively dressed men in their forties and a woman in her thirties stormed into the room. Helena stood behind them, triumphant. “See! I told you! He was scamming grandfather—”

But they all froze immediately they entered the room.

The room went dead silent; so silent you could hear a pin drop. The air turned thick, almost too heavy to breathe, as the Morrison family stared in wide-eyed disbelief. Their jaws were practically on the floor. Standing tall and proud, like a man reborn, was Grandmaster Morrison, the family patriarch who hadn’t gotten out of bed in years.

This was the man they thought would never walk again. This was the man they’d already started mourning in their hearts. But now? Now he looked like he’d shaved twenty years off his life. His spine was straight, his eyes blazed with energy, and there was color in his cheeks that hadn’t been there in a decade.

The four Morrison children stood frozen like statues. They looked like characters from a luxury magazine spread, completely out of place next to the rugged, battle-hardened figure of the man standing silently beside the bed.

John.

He wasn’t dressed for any kind of high society. A plain black cap shadowed his face, his black shirt was worn from years of use, and his cargo pants looked like they’d seen war—and probably had. He didn’t need to say a word. His very presence screamed power, control, and quiet danger.

Helena, the one who had raised the alarm about John, stood near the doorway like she’d just taken a punch to the chest. Her face drained of color, her fists clenched at her sides. She looked ready to explode.

Darrell Morrison—her father and the eldest son—was the first to speak. His voice cracked as he took a cautious step forward. “Father... what’s happening? How... how are you standing?” His voice was full of disbelief, like a child seeing magic for the first time.

Grandmaster Morrison’s smile was calm but radiant. “This man,” he said, pointing to John, “is a Divine Healer. With a single touch, he cured me. Something no doctor, no hospital, no billion-dollar medicine could do.”

Divine Healer? John nearly rolled his eyes. What a ridiculous name. He wasn’t some mystical savior. The ability came from pain, sacrifice, and ten years of brutal training under Master Liang. But John said nothing. His face remained unreadable, cold, and calculating as the Morrison family turned to size him up.

Their gazes sliced through him, like they were trying to find the trick behind the illusion. All they saw was a man who didn’t belong—worn boots, rugged build, a tired old backpack slung over one shoulder. No fancy rings, no expensive watch. Just grit and muscle.

Darrell’s expression darkened. His voice took on an edge. “Helena told us you were a scammer. Said you were here to take advantage of my father.”

At that, every eye in the room turned to Helena.

She looked like she wanted to melt into the floor. Her posture stiffened, her face flushed a deep shade of red, and her gaze dropped to the floor. She had sounded the alarms, summoned her family, ready to expose a fraud; only to be left humiliated by the very miracle she swore couldn’t happen.

Then, Grandmaster Morrison’s voice rang out, clear and commanding, like thunder. “Helena, prepare the jade room. Now.”

Helena’s head snapped up. Her mouth fell open. “The jade room? You want me to do it? Let the maids handle that!”

Her voice was sharp, her pride bleeding through every syllable.

Darrell turned to her, his face hard and furious. “Helena!” he shouted. “Do as you’re told! Right now!”

The command hit her like a slap. Her lips quivered. Her eyes burned with fury, and they locked onto John like daggers. Her hatred was raw, wild, and ugly. She looked like she might scream, like she might lunge at him with her bare hands.

But she didn’t.

Not with her father staring her down and her grandfather watching silently, full of newfound strength.

With a dramatic swirl of her dress and a furious stomp of her heels, Helena spun around and stormed out, the door slamming so loud it echoed through the halls like a gunshot.

The silence that followed was thick, uncomfortable.

And John?

He didn’t move an inch. Didn’t blink. Just stood there.

Unbothered. Unmoved. Untouchable.

Grandmaster Morrison turned to his children, his voice firm and commanding again—like the leader he once was.

“Call everyone in the Morrison family,” he said. “Tell them to be here tonight. I have something important to say.”

His sons and daughter nodded slowly, still clearly shaken. They didn’t say much, but their eyes kept drifting toward John; like he was some wild animal they didn’t trust. One by one, they walked out, casting quick, suspicious glances over their shoulders before gently shutting the door.

Now it was just John and the Grandmaster.

John’s eyes narrowed. His voice was calm, but sharp. “What was your connection to Master Liang?”

The Grandmaster smiled a little and motioned toward a nearby chair. “Please, sit. It’s a long story.”

John sat down, stiff as stone. He didn’t relax for a second. His backpack rested by his foot, and his eyes stayed locked on the old man.

The Grandmaster took a breath and began.

“It happened twenty years ago,” he said, voice steady but full of memories. “I was walking downtown and saw this beggar sitting on the sidewalk. Dirty clothes. Ragged beard. He looked like someone nobody would notice. I gave him some money. Just a little... barely anything.”

He smiled to himself. “But that beggar wasn’t just anyone. He told me his name was Liang. Said he was a spiritual man. And then he looked straight into my eyes, like he was reading my soul... and told me something crazy.”

John leaned forward slightly, listening.

“He told me I would get sick. A disease no doctor could cure. I laughed. I thought he was just making up stories to get more cash. But years later... it happened. Just like he said. I got sick, and not one doctor in the world could help me. Not even the best. No one knew what it was. I was dying slowly.”

The Grandmaster’s voice grew softer, more emotional. “But I remembered Liang’s words. He told me that night, ‘When the time comes, my student will come to you. He will heal you.’ And now here you are. You’re the student. You healed me.”

John didn’t smile. He didn’t even blink. But inside, his mind was spinning. He was the student. He had trained for years under Master Liang, surviving pain, training, and lessons no one else could endure. He’d mastered the God Hand; a healing skill that could bring people back from the edge of death. But Liang had always said there were two tasks. One was the healing.

And now, the second was coming.

The Grandmaster looked directly at John, his expression turning serious; almost nervous. “Liang told me something else too. He said that after you healed me, I had to give you something in return. My most valuable gift.”

He paused.

“My granddaughter, Helena. She’s yours.”

John’s face hardened instantly.

What?

Helena?

The woman who hated him? The one who slapped him in front of everyone? Who accused him of being a fraud and tried to throw him out?

She was the gift?

John’s stomach turned.

She was beautiful, yes; but also rude, proud, fiery. She looked at him like he was dirt. Marrying her? It felt like a cruel joke. The last thing he needed was to be tied to someone like her.

But the Grandmaster kept going. “I know she’s a handful. I know she’s angry now. But she’s strong. She’s brave. And Liang said this was destiny. You saved my life. And Helena is your reward.”

John clenched his fists. He wanted to say no. He wanted to refuse, to stand up and walk out of this rich man’s house and never look back. But he couldn’t.

Because Master Liang’s words still echoed in his head.

“When the time comes, accept the gift without question. The path ahead depends on it.”

This was the second task. And he’d made a vow; a sacred promise to obey. To complete the mission. He couldn’t walk away.

Before he could answer, the Grandmaster stood up confidently. He was glowing with energy, as if he hadn’t been sick at all.

“You’ll stay here tonight,” he said. “The family will gather, and I’ll make it official. Helena will be your bride.”

John didn’t say a word. His face stayed calm and unreadable. But inside, it was chaos.

He had healed a dying man. That was simple.

But marrying Helena Morrison?

That was going to be war.

The Grandmaster stepped forward and placed a firm hand on John’s shoulder. A gesture of deep trust. Deep gratitude.

“You’ve done more for me than I can ever repay,” he said. “Rest, Divine Healer. Tonight, everything changes.”