The Supreme War God Has Returned!

Chapter 002 – The Supreme War God

*****

However, the atmosphere inside the commander’s tent stood in brutal contrast to the chaos outside at this moment.

While deafening roars of excitement threatened to tear the heavens apart and rip through the mountains, a suffocating silence ruled within the tent right now.

It wasn’t merely quiet… It was heavy and thick enough to press against the chest, making breathing feel like a conscious effort.

Six figures knelt inside… six men whose mere names could send shockwaves rippling through the outside world.

The President of Country Aran, the Four Gods of War… pillars who had guarded the nation for decades, each one a living legend, and lastly, the Patriarch of the oldest, strongest, wealthiest, and most powerful family in the country.

Any one of these men could bend the nation with a word, and a casual gesture from them could ignite panic, summon hope, or plunge entire cities into despair.

Yet, at this moment, they were kneeling… not casually or symbolically.

Their foreheads were pressed firmly to the ground, their bodies angled in the same direction with perfect… almost terrifying precision.

If the outside world were ever to witness this scene, it would collapse in awe.

And standing where they knelt toward…

It wasn’t a god, a devil, or even some celestial being who had descended from the heavens

No. There stood a 25-year-old young man, six-foot-seven tall, lean, broad-shouldered, and incredibly handsome in a way that didn’t scream arrogance but instead felt dangerously effortless.

He wore simple, worn camouflage… battle-stained, unremarkable, and almost insulting considering the moment.

Currently, the young man’s expression was calm, casual, and almost bored.

His hands were folded loosely across his chest, standing there as though he were waiting in line for food rather than being knelt to by the highest authorities of a nation.

He was nonchalant to an absurd degree, and if anyone else were to see this, they would either faint, think they were dreaming, or assume they had finally gone insane after too many years at West End.

After all, what kind of young man gets knelt to by the six most powerful figures of a country… and reacts like he’s mildly inconvenienced?

Alas…

Only those who knew who he truly was understood one thing clearly:

This reaction was perfectly normal for him.

This young man… so strikingly handsome it almost felt unfair, so lean and seemingly fragile that he looked more like a model wearing camouflage for a photoshoot than a soldier hardened by war, was none other than…

The Mighty Supreme War God.

That’s right.

If this reality were ever exposed to the outside world, it would send shockwaves powerful enough to paralyze nations.

People would freeze mid-breath, minds would snap, and countless beliefs would collapse overnight. After all, only a pitiful handful of individuals recognize him.

And yet, there was no mistake.

This was the Supreme War God… the absolute pillar of Country Aran.

He is a figure both feared and worshipped by all, a living calamity whose power defied common sense, and whose strength stood so far beyond conventional understanding that even legends felt inadequate describing him.

A few years ago, Country Aran didn’t even have a title known as Supreme War God.

The position didn’t exist at all until he appeared.

And when the title was finally forged, it wasn’t handed to him through nepotism, political favor, or under-the-table dealings.

Instead, it was earned by him, paid for in blood.

Before he arrived at West End a few years ago, Country Aran had been steadily and mercilessly losing for five centuries straight.

Every clash against the five allied countries had ended the same way: retreat, casualties, and another piece of land torn from their grasp.

Each defeat had pressed the nation closer to collapse, and morale had been eroded until hope itself had felt like a foolish luxury.

But then… he stepped onto the battlefield.

Draped in his signature oversized black cloak and mask so cold and expressionless that they revealed nothing, he entered West End. And just like that, the tide flipped.

Almost overnight, the impossible happened.

Enemy lines collapsed, commanders panicked, meticulously planned formations dissolved into chaos, and the very nations that had tormented Country Aran for centuries were repeatedly pushed back, forced to relinquish territories they had sworn to defend to the death.

Thanks to his arrival, Country Aran didn’t just gain a slight moment of optimism; it began to dominate.

And since then, the mere mention of his name became the strongest morale booster imaginable. Soldiers on the brink of death… bleeding, broken, and surrounded by corpses would grit their teeth and rise again, fueled by nothing more than the belief that he was nearby.

For his enemies, however, his name carried a vastly different effect. It was a curse.

His name alone was enough to cause seasoned veterans to fumble weapons and forget formations. Even the bravest warriors found their hands shaking uncontrollably, their instincts screaming at them to flee.

He was a one-man catastrophe.

Yet despite his fame and the countless legends orbiting his existence, no one had ever seen his true face.

Speculation had run wild, some claiming he possessed a physique sculpted by the heavens themselves… ten packs of solid muscle, each more terrifying than the last.

Others had sworn his eyes burned with eternal flames, capable of incinerating anyone foolish enough to meet his gaze.

There were even those who believed he hid his face because he wasn’t truly human… that beneath the mask lay something inhuman, something not made of flesh at all.

But there was one thing no one… not even the most imaginative storyteller had ever guessed.

That the Supreme War God was only twenty-five years old, and that his appearance looked weak… weaker, even, than the most average infantry soldier.

At a glance, he didn’t look capable of lifting a sword, let alone cleaving through elite cultivators like paper dolls.

Yet reality didn’t care about appearances.

Because, despite all logic screaming otherwise…

He was the one and only Supreme War God of Country Aran

….

“Sir Supreme War God, please don’t retire!” The President’s voice suddenly broke the heavy silence.

It came out hoarse, trembling, and painfully raw… like a man clinging to the edge of a cliff with bloodied fingers.

His entire body shook uncontrollably as he bowed even lower, his forehead grinding into the ground.

The moment the words left his mouth, however, the others reacted instantly.

The four Gods of War frantically nodded their heads, their usual composure completely shattered.

One of them even sniffed hard, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

“Please, sir,” another voice followed urgently. “You’ve just finished crushing the enemy. What if they have hidden reinforcements? What if they regroup and attack once you’re gone?!”

“Sir Supreme War God,” one of the Gods of War added, his voice cracking, “you are the backbone of West End. Without you, we… we’ll collapse completely.”

Another chimed in, desperation seeping into every word. “This is when you should be enjoying your glory and reputation! Please don’t leave now!”

“Sir… please…”

Their pleas overlapped chaotically, their eyes bloodshot.

Their pride even lay discarded on the floor, ground into dust.

Especially the four Gods of War… men who had once stood unyielding against armies. They now hovered on the brink of sobbing.

Then, in a sudden burst of reckless courage, the President blurted out, “If leading the army is exhausting you… Sir Supreme War God, I will hand over the presidency to you!”

The words echoed like thunder.

“At least this way,” he continued hastily, his eyes shining with desperate hope, “you will still be the nation’s pillar, our source of strength, and our morale. Country Aran… no, the entire world needs you!”

Everyone looked at the President, slightly taken aback. But then…

“In case you don’t want that, Sir Supreme War God…” The Patriarch’s voice cut in hurriedly, desperation bleeding through every word.

His usually regal posture was gone, replaced by a man grasping at any rope within reach.

“…then take my position as Patriarch instead of retiring.”

The words spilled out faster, as though he feared Zach might vanish if he paused even for a breath.

“At least this way, you won’t be crushed by endless responsibilities again. You’ll enjoy the country’s resources to the fullest and wouldn’t even need to lift a finger.” His eyes gleamed feverishly. “Just mention anything… anything at all, and my family will make sure it’s done.”

It was an offer that would make emperors salivate. Wealth beyond imagination, authority backed by the strongest family in the nation, and a life where desires were fulfilled before they were fully formed.

And it wasn’t the only one.