The rain kept pouring down.

It mirrored Victor Steele’s heavy heart.

He stood in a cemetery, facing an old, moss-covered tombstone. Clearly, it hadn’t been tended to in ages.

What made it unusual was the tombstone bore no name.

A nameless grave.

Victor knelt before it, motionless for what seemed like an eternity. The rain soaked his clothes and his hair, streaming down his face, past his eyes, his cheeks, his lips, and chin, finally dripping onto the muddy ground.

But he seemed oblivious.

His fists were clenched tight, thoughts consumed by the anguish of a long-buried memory.

“Victor, run! Don’t let them get you. You have to survive…”

“Never seek revenge for me. Live quietly, under the radar…”

Fifteen years ago.

He had witnessed—helplessly—as those people drove his mother to her death.

If she hadn’t pushed him into the river, giving him a chance to escape, he would have been buried alongside her long ago.Back then, after being pushed into the river, he fell unconscious. By some miracle, he didn’t drown and was carried downstream to an unknown riverbank.

When Victor Steele woke up, he was nothing more than a penniless beggar. Not long after, a mysterious figure took him away.

When he reappeared, he had become the stuff of nightmares for countless terrorists.

As a War God, he crushed global terror networks, unstoppable and unmatched.

Especially in recent years, the name "War God" echoed far and wide, inspiring countless admirers.

And now, here he was, in silence and shadow.

Before him stood a gravestone—the resting place of his mother.

The pain of "a child wanting to care for their parent while it's too late" hit harder than anything else in the world.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours. Finally, Victor stood up.

He tilted his head upward, his sharp gaze like an eagle’s piercing strike, muttering, “Fifteen years... I’ve come back. Edmund Steele, Fraser Clan, Norton Clan... and all those who turned a blind eye while my mother was driven to death, do you even know I survived?"

His fists clenched tightly.

In that moment, a terrifying aura erupted from his body, like a storm sweeping out, even halting the raindrops in midair for a split second. “I swear, anyone involved in what happened back then will pay for it a thousand times over!”

Victor Steele took a deep breath, unclenching his fists as his expression returned to calm. From his pocket, he pulled out an old Nokia phone and made a call. “Derek, did you find out everything I asked for?”

“Got it, but the person you’re looking for seems to be in some trouble…”

Victor’s eyes turned ice-cold instantly.

Back when he was a starving boy on the streets, ready to collapse, there was a girl who handed him a piece of bread and saved his life. That kindness had stayed etched in his mind all these years.

Now, on his return, aside from seeking revenge, he had another mission: repaying that debt of gratitude.

“A small kindness must be repaid a hundredfold,” he muttered.

“Alright, send me the address,” he said, ending the call. Without hesitation, he strode out of the cemetery.

…

Mingyang Community, East Sea City.

A small crowd had gathered outside an old building, whispering and gesturing toward the commotion at the front.

There, a group of thuggish men swung wooden bats as they blocked off the entrance. Their menacing smugness radiated off them.

“What’s going on here? Did Bertrand Whitman cross someone he shouldn’t have?” a neighbor murmured anxiously."I heard they're here to collect a debt. Bertrand Whitman's daughter, Alexandra Whitman, took out a 200,000 loan for medical treatment. Now the lenders have come knocking."

"A loan shark, huh? You just don't mess with those types. Looks like the Whitman family is in some serious trouble now."

"True, but back then Bertrand Whitman's condition couldn't wait. If it weren't for that, they wouldn't have gone down this road."

The bystanders buzzed with gossip, mostly expressing sympathy, though it was clear most of them were just here for the spectacle.

"Everyone in there, get out! Or do you want your whole building demolished?!"

Among the group of rough-looking men stood Paul, his scarred face twisted in a sneer as he shouted.

No one responded.

Paul waved his hand impatiently, his tone icy. "Well then, boys, take that door down!"

At his command, a group of thugs charged up and began smashing at the door with sticks. Thuds rang out violently.

Soon enough, with a sharp creak, the door opened.

A young woman stepped out, dressed plainly but undeniably beautiful. Her eyes were full of defiance as she glared at Paul.

"What do you think you're doing?!" she demanded angrily.

"And what do you think?" Paul's grin widened, his voice laced with mockery. "You owe us money. What, planning to skip out on us?" Alexandra Whitman snapped angrily, "I've already paid back all the money I owed you!"

She had indeed taken out a loan, twenty thousand dollars, to pay for her father's medical expenses. She had paid back over thirty thousand dollars in total. But these people just wouldn’t stop hounding her, demanding more for so-called interest.

"Paid it back?"

Paul pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolding it slowly. "It’s all here, black and white. You borrowed twenty thousand from us. Sure, you paid back the principal, but you missed the deadline for the interest. You've been overdue for three months now. With late fees, you owe us eighty thousand altogether."

Alexandra’s face was burning with fury. "You're shameless! That wasn’t what the original contract said. This is fake!"

"Fake?" Paul feigned innocence, pointing at the sheet. "It's got your signature and fingerprint right here. Care to explain how that’s fake?"

"Either way, I've paid already! I’m done, so you can stop harassing me!" Alexandra snarled.

Paul smirked, his tone mocking. "Sorry, sweetheart, it doesn’t work like that. No cash? That’s fine. Look at you—pretty enough. Why don’t you come work for us for a few months? That should help cover your debt."Paul waved his hand dismissively, his voice cold. “Go, grab her.”

At his order, the thugs immediately moved to surround Alexandra Whitman.

Some bystanders couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable as they watched.

Eighty thousand in debt? What kind of job pays that off in mere months?

It was obvious—if Alexandra got taken, her reputation would be ruined.

Whether it was being toyed with by some rich scumbags or forced into doing unspeakable things, the outcome was clear.

At that moment, a middle-aged woman rushed out of the house and positioned herself protectively in front of Alexandra.

Despite her simple attire, traces of her youthful beauty still lingered; it was clear she had taken good care of herself. This woman was Catherine Eldridge, Alexandra’s mother.

“Mr. Paul, Alexandra doesn’t understand the bigger picture sometimes. Please, forgive her. I promise, we’ll pay back what we owe,” Catherine said anxiously.

Seeing the fierce men before her, she quickly pulled Alexandra behind her, her tone pleading, “Just give us a little more time, please.”

“These are just a few thousand dollars, a small token of appreciation. I hope Mr. Paul and your men can at least have some tea with this.”

As she spoke, she produced a stack of crumpled bills from her pocket, offering them to Paul with a humbled demeanor.

“Mom…”Alexandra Whitman was both shocked and furious. Her mother, Catherine Eldridge, had humbled herself before these thugs, and that alone ignited Alexandra's anger.

*Slap!*

Out of nowhere, Paul’s hand came down harshly on Catherine’s face.

“Paul, you—” Catherine started, too stunned to finish her sentence, clearly not expecting to be struck.

*Another slap!*

Paul hit her again, his smirk cold and unforgiving.

“Tea money? What do you think this is, a handout for hobos? Get the hell out of here with that!” His sneer deepened as he raised his hand for another strike.

Before his third slap could land, Alexandra darted in front of her mother, shielding her.

Just as Paul’s hand was about to connect with Alexandra’s face—

Whoosh.

A shadow burst through the crowd, swift and silent like a ghost. Before anyone could process what had happened, Paul’s neck was suddenly gripped tight by an unseen hand.