THE WAR GOD'S RECKONING

Chapter 2

Max didn’t look at the woman, not even once.

His brows furrowed slightly as he walked past her, boots steady on the cracked floor, eyes locked on the two figures lying motionless on the ground. His breathing was fast, and uneven, like something feral was clawing its way out of his chest.

“F-Father…”

Rose’s voice shook as she saw him approach. Tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving clean lines through the dirt.

“Little Rose is scared.”

Max stopped in front of her and knelt.

The anger inside him roared, but his face didn’t show it. He forced his expression soft, forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and gently patted her head.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said quietly. “Dad is here.”

Rose clutched his sleeve with both hands, fingers trembling.

“Father,” she whispered, glancing fearfully toward the woman. “Please tell the fat aunt to stop beating Aunt Amelia.”

Max’s jaw tightened.

He looked down at his daughter.

“As long as Dad is here,” he said slowly, “no one will touch you again.”

Rose stared at him, as if trying to make sure he was real.

“Dad… don’t leave me again,” she murmured, gripping his clothes harder. “Little Rose wants to take a nap.”

Her eyelids fluttered.

Max’s eyes reddened instantly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll be right here.”

Rose nodded weakly and then her body went limp in his arms.

Max caught her instantly.

He lifted her carefully, as though she might shatter, his chest tightening as he took in the bruises on her small body. Purple marks, swollen skin and old wounds layered over new ones.

Something inside him snapped.

For five years, he had stood on battlefields soaked in blood, fighting for the glory of the country.

And his child had been beaten like trash.

The rage surged violently, pressing outward, and crushing the air.

“Who the hell do you think you are?!” the fat woman shrieked, finally snapping back to reality as she pointed at him. “Do you know where you are...”

“Shut up.”

The word didn’t come from Max.

A cold sneer sounded behind her and before she could react, her body flew sideways, crashing into the wall with a heavy thud.

She slid down, choking.

Max didn’t turn his head, his eyes were on the second body on the floor.

Amelia.

Blood on her lips and bruises across her face.

His sister.

His grip tightened around Rose and the murderous pressure in the room thickened.

“Commander!”

The call snapped him back and Max inhaled once.

“To the hospital,” he ordered, voice sharp.

“Yes, sir!”

A tall, lanky man stepped forward immediately, lifting Amelia with practiced care.

As they turned toward the waiting chopper, a shrill voice cut through the air.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the woman screamed. “Those are my properties! They belong to me by the Smith family’s grace! Do you dare offend them?!”

Max stopped and slowly, he turned his head.

The woman’s words died in her throat, cold sweat poured down her back as she met his gaze.

There was no fury or shouting, just deathly calm.

“Take care of her,” the tall man said, waving his hand.

Two soldiers stepped forward at once, grabbed the woman, and dragged her away as she struggled and screamed.

Max turned back without another glance, tightened his hold on Rose and walked toward the chopper.

---

Max paced the corridor, eyes flicking to his watch again, each second stretched and his patience thinned, strand by strand, until it felt like something inside him would snap if the door didn’t open soon.

Finally, it did.

A man in a white lab coat stepped out of the ward, adjusting his glasses with trembling fingers.

“Sir… both patients are stable,” the doctor said carefully. “They need rest and proper nutrition. With time, they’ll recover fully.”

Max nodded once and the doctor exhaled quietly, relief washing over him.

This was the War God.

The man rumored to have slaughtered his way through an army of ten thousand and walked out alive.

When the mayor personally ordered him to handle the War God’s daughter and sister, his legs had nearly given out.

Max didn’t spare him another glance, he pushed the door open and walked in.

Inside the ward was quiet and machines hummed softly.

Two beds and two bodies that mattered more than anything else.

“Brother…”

Amelia’s voice was weak but unmistakable.

She forced herself upright, her frail body trembling under the effort.

“Don’t move,” Max said immediately, crossing the room in two strides and holding her steady. “Lie down.”

Amelia stared at him, disbelief flooding her pale face.

“Brother… is that really you?”

Her bony fingers lifted, hesitant, as if afraid he’d disappear.

Max took her hand.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “It’s me.”

Tears welled up in Amelia’s eyes.

“It’s a relief,” she whispered. “They said you were dead.”

Max let out a dry breath that barely qualified as a laugh.

“Dead?”

His eyes were cold.

“I don’t die that easily.”

Amelia’s restraint finally broke and she began to sob, shoulders shaking.

“I’m so happy… so happy you’re alive…”

Max pulled her into his arms, holding her carefully, his jaw tight as her tears soaked into his uniform.

“I’m here,” he said. “It’s over.”

After a moment, he eased her back onto the bed, his grip firm but gentle.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low. “How did you end up like this? Didn’t the Smiths give you the treatment money?”

Amelia shook her head slowly.

“They didn’t,” she said hoarsely. “When I went to ask… they drove me out.”

Max froze, his eyes darkened, and a dangerous red creeping in.

“They refused?” he asked.

“They didn’t just refuse,” Amelia continued. “They humiliated me.”

Silence settled heavily in the room.

Back then, it was Fiona, Max’s wife who had secretly given Amelia money and helped her recover.

Then Fiona found out she was pregnant, the Smith family demanded she abort the child, she had refused and they expelled her.

With nowhere to go, Fiona took on menial work and moved in with Amelia. They survived quietly until recently, the Smiths suddenly appeared, they took Fiona away and then they took Rose and Amelia and handed them over to that woman who tortured them

“I see,” Max said.

His voice was calm and inside him, something savage clawed upward urging him to destroy.

He had gone to the battlefield in place of their useless son. He had bled, killed, and survived for five years under their agreement.

And they dared to break it, they dared to touch his wife, dared to touch his child and sister.

It seemed the Smith family had grown tired of breathing.

“Sir.”

A sharp voice cut through the room.

Max turned and Tiger stood at the door, posture rigid, and expression tense.

“What is it?” Max asked.

Tiger swallowed.

“Sir… your wife is getting married.”