Chapter 97: Tragedy

Hong Wei’s excited chatter died in his throat. “Oh…god”

Lin’s hand flew to her mouth, her pupils dilating.

This was her world—the district where she’d grown up, worked, lived her entire life.

Erased like chalk from a board.

“My restaurant,” Uncle Lin whispered, voice barely audible above the wind.

Gone. Everything they built, destroyed in hours.

Memories reduced to debris. Lives scattered like dust.

Movement in the ruins caught their attention. Rescue teams worked through collapsed structures, seeking survivors or recovering bodies for proper burial. Occasionally they emerged with stretchers bearing still forms covered in makeshift shrouds.

The human cost. Numbers become personal when you witness recovery.

A woman’s wail echoed across the devastation as rescue workers carried out a small form from the rubble.

The sound cut through the air, reaching them despite the distance.

A Child. Always hardest to process.

Lin turned away, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. Uncle Lin’s hand found her back, offering comfort through his simple touch.

Hong Wei stared at the scene below with wide eyes that held too much understanding for sixteen years. “How many?”

How many dead? How many orphaned? How many families destroyed?

“Thousands.” Ethan’s voice carried no emotion. Facts required clinical delivery to remain bearable.

“Maybe more. We won’t know final counts for a day or so.”

They watched in silence as another family reunion played out below. A man in rescue worker colors emerged from rubble carrying an elderly woman. Alive—her movements confirmed that much.

Three figures ran toward them from a nearby camp.

Joy amid tragedy. Life asserts itself despite overwhelming loss.

Yet for every reunion, a dozen other searches ended in heartbreak. Bodies were extracted from collapsed homes. Families learning their loved ones hadn’t escaped the initial assault. Children calling for parents who would never answer.

“We should go back,” Tiana said quietly. “This isn’t… we shouldn’t be watching.”

Ethan nodded, leading them away from the wall.

“The restaurant can be rebuilt,” Uncle Lin said eventually, his voice stronger than before. “Buildings are just stone and wood.”

Lin looked up at her father, tears still glistening on her cheeks. “But the memories…”

“They live in us, sweetie. What matters is that you are well and sound. Others lost their homes and their families. We should be grateful.”

Lin nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Uncle Lin turned toward Ethan, who walked beside them in thoughtful silence.

“Ethan… Thank you. You are truly a blessing from god.”

The simple statement carried decades of hard-earned wisdom. Uncle Lin had seen enough of life’s cruelties to recognise genuine protection when it appeared.

A blessing from god.

Ethan felt something in his chest at those words.

He’d never considered himself a hero. His past experience in back on Earth and the constant bullying had shaped who he is.

He never believed in heroes.

Why? Because they were never there to help him and his family.

They were simply a myth, at least in his life, they were.

In his current life, Ethan did not want to play hero. However, the small family of father and daughter had helped him when he needed help. The least he could do was make sure he helped them when he could.

“You are welcome,” He replied simply.

…

Two weeks had passed since the war had ended.

In that short time, the city had shifted—changed in ways that went deeper than rubble and reconstruction. Streets once riddled with ash now carried the sound of footsteps again. Survivors returned, piece by piece, to what remained of their lives.

Tiana and Hong Wei had moved into Ethan’s mansion in the First District—a quiet, high-walled estate far from the frontlines.

Lin and her father had been given an estate of their own—courtesy of Ethan—to rebuild their restaurant. It wouldn’t be the same, but it was a start. Tiana had even offered them her own apartment, and they had accepted it with gratitude.

Still, for all the visible change—cleared debris, rising walls, repaired roads—something remained untouched. The dead. They could not be brought back.

Until recently, rescue workers moved through collapsed districts, combing the wreckage for the missing.

Some bodies were found. Others never would be.

And amidst it all, the living carried on.

The city no longer looked like the place they remembered. Destroyed buildings had been patched.

Ethan stood atop a hill overlooking the Third District.

His thoughts drifted back to the moment he’d assumed control—when the burden of leadership had landed squarely on his shoulders.

He hadn’t wasted time.

Salaries in the Third District had been raised.

No longer were the workers treated as little more than tools to fill the pockets of those in the First and Second Districts.

He’d given them dignity—and protection. The security presence in the Third now rivaled, even surpassed, that of the Second. Many had protested, especially those who saw safety as a privilege reserved for the wealthy.

But Ethan was the city lord now.

Power and status gave weight to his decisions. Let them complain. They couldn’t stop him.

He’d gone further—imposing a tax on the rich: 2.5% of their yearly income.

A modest amount to some, a sharp blow to others who had never paid anything before. The funds went directly to reconstruction efforts and support for displaced families.

And while the city rebuilt, Ethan hadn’t sat idle.

He’d been training, sharpening his skills, honing the abilities he’d acquired over the last two weeks. He hadn’t advanced to Gold Rank yet.

Not because he couldn’t, but because he chose not to. He still had work to do, and things to improve on before ascending further.

Instead, he focused on raw combat.

No shortcuts. No talent crutches.

He trained under Ezekiel and the city’s top generals, Ruan and Zhao, absorbing techniques, adapting strategies, and learning how to fight not just with power, but with purpose.

His growth was exponential.

Each session carved away hesitation, each duel tempered his instincts.

He was no longer just powerful—he was becoming experienced.

And experience was what made kings out of warriors.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep