THE ALMIGHTY WAR GOD

At the Barbosa mansion, a lavish and extravagant party was in full swing. The men wore sharp, designer suits; the women dazzled in elegant gowns that shimmered under the crystal chandeliers, adorned with jewelry worth millions.

Then, a young man named Magnus showed up out of nowhere—dressed in a worn-out T-shirt and faded jeans. No greetings. No apologies. Just a calm, good-looking guy making a bold request:

“I need ten million dollars for my mom’s surgery. Please lend it to me.”

The party was paused for a while. Almost everyone there stared at Magnus as if they wanted to spit on him.

“You son of a bitch! You have the balls to show up here and ask for money? What the hell’s wrong with you? Can’t you see we’re celebrating Grandpa’s birthday?”

Magnus lowered his head, hiding the fire in his eyes. The one who just lashed him out was Julius—his cousin and biggest hater. They went to the same university, but Julius couldn’t stand the fact that the girl he wanted was more interested in Magnus.

“Julius is right. You must be brain-dead,” said a blonde woman stepping up beside him—Agnes, Julius’s mother and Magnus’s aunt-in-law. “Only a filthy beggar would crash a party like this. Right, Marco?”

Marco, Julius’s father, said coldly, “I didn’t want to say this, but whatever happens to your mother is none of our damn business. Your father’s name has been erased from the Barbosa family tree. That means you, your mother, and your siblings have no right to ask us for anything. Got it?”

Magnus took a deep breath, struggling to keep himself calm.

What Marco said was actually true. His father had been kicked out of the Barbosa family—the ninth-richest family in Mersyvale—for choosing to marry a poor, immigrant woman who was carrying his child.

They hated him for it. They hated him so much that when he died in a car crash two years before, not a single Barbosa showed up at the funeral. Not even a half-hearted condolence.

And now, that poor, immigrant woman—his mother—was lying in a hospital bed, barely clinging to life.

Were they really going to turn their backs again? Just let her die like she meant nothing?

“I’m begging you,” he said, voice steady. “Ten million dollars is spare change to you guys. I swear I’ll pay every cent back. I’ll work two, even three jobs at once. I’ll hustle. Just… please.”

He bowed low, both hands clenched in front of him.

CRASH!

A glass flew past his face and shattered at his feet. Red liquid splashed up his pants.

Magnus slowly looked up to find Julius glaring at him.

“Don’t talk like you matter, you piece of trash,” Julius growled. “We’d rather blow ten million on a family trip to Europe than lend a single cent to scum like you. Right, Grandpa?”

Julius turned to Vincent—the patriarch of the Barbosa family. The old man with pure white hair gave Julius a cold glance but said nothing. Then he stared at Magnus with a face carved from stone.

“Dad,” Viona, Marco’s sister, spoke up, “we should have security drag this bum out. His presence alone ruins the entire mood.”

“I agree with Viona, Father-in-law,” said Frank, her husband. “He’s nobody. Miller chose that poor slut twenty years ago. Whatever mess they’re in now has nothing to do with us.”

Magnus’s jaw clenched. He could take insults aimed at him—but calling his mother a slut? That crossed the line.

If he had any other way to get that money tonight, he’d sock Frank right in the face and walk out of this godforsaken mansion without looking back.

“Magnus, right?” Vincent finally spoke. “You entered Barbosa property without permission. You’ve made everyone here uncomfortable. I suggest you leave. Now. Before I call security.”

Magnus’s fists trembled. He had begged—pleaded—and this was how they responded?

He stared back at Vincent, eyes darkening.

“Mr. Vincent,” he said, voice thick with emotion, “I wouldn’t be here unless it was for life-or-death situation. My late father once told me that I could count on you. That no matter what, you were still his father. Even at the very end, he believed that.”

His words sparked fury from the others. Almost in unison, members of the Barbosa family erupted—shouting, pointing, throwing insults at him.

Except for Vincent. Sitting still in his wheelchair, the old man’s gaze softened—just a little.

“Miller told you that?” he asked.

Magnus nodded once.

Something flickered in Vincent’s eyes. Regret, maybe. Or sorrow. Whatever it was, he turned to Marco and Julius and motioned them closer.

Magnus watched them huddle, whispering. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but judging from how Marco and Julius suddenly looked pale and pissed, Vincent wasn’t exactly siding with them.

There was a glimmer of hope in Magnus’s chest.

Maybe the old man still had a soul.

“Magnus,” Vincent said at last, with Marco and Julius flanking him, “I could lend you the ten million. But it comes with a condition.”

Magnus’s eyes widened. “What condition?”

Vincent pointed at Julius. “Next week, my grandson is scheduled for his mandatory military service. I want you to take his place.”

Magnus blinked. “You want me to enlist—instead of Julius?”

“Exactly.”

“But... is that even legal?”

“Stop asking questions, you moron,” Marco snapped. “Just give us your answer. Are you in or not?”

Magnus glared at Marco. Just like Julius—same arrogant look, same smug tone.

But Vincent… seemed like he wasn’t joking at all.

“…Fine,” Magnus said. “I’ll do it.”

Vincent raised an eyebrow. “You’ll serve for a year and a half in his place. Whatever happens to you there is none of our concern. Still want the deal?”

“Yes,” Magnus said firmly. “Just make sure I get the money tonight.”

His mother needed surgery tomorrow morning. The only doctor who could perform the surgery was going to fly to Australia the next day’s noon. That meant the surgery bill had to be paid that very night.

Vincent nodded. “That can be arranged. I’ll transfer the money to your bank account.”

Magnus’s eyes lit up. “Can I get it now?”

“Not so fast, you son-of-a-bitch,” Julius snapped. “That was just the first condition. There’s one more.”

Magnus stared at him. “What’s the second condition?”

Julius stepped forward, puffing his chest out. A crooked smile spread across his face.

“Lick the bottom of my shoe,” he said, taking off his right loafer and kicking it toward Magnus. “Lick it clean, if you want that money.”

Magnus’s jaw locked. His hands curled into fists.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Not at all,” Julius sneered. “That’s the second condition, bastard.”

Magnus almost laughed in disbelief. This had to be a joke.

He turned to Vincent, hoping the old man would put an end to this madness. But the Barbosa patriarch just sat there in silence—waiting. Just like everyone else.

‘These people are sick! Absolutely sick!’ Magnus thought.

He looked at Julius, then at the black loafer lying in front of him.

If only he had money or power, he wouldn’t have to do something pathetic like this in front of these gruesomely sick people. But, he had no choice.

“…I want a guarantee, Mr. Vincent,” Magnus said, picking up the shoe and looking him straight in the eye. “I want to hear it from you—that I’ll get the money after I lick this damn shoe.”

Vincent nodded. Pulling out his phone, he said, “Once you’ve done what Julius asked, I’ll transfer the money.”

Magnus stared back in silence.

Could he really trust this man’s word?

“What are you waiting for? Hurry up, bastard. Lick it!” Julius growled.

...