The torrential rain poured down.
The once gentle Jiang River was no longer the life-giving “Mother,” but a muddy, roaring Beast.
It carried broken trees, mud, and shattered homes, swept over stone streets, devoured everything.
Only one sound remained between heaven and earth—a heavy, unending rumble, as if the earth itself were collapsing.
On a distant hillside, a family of three huddled together.
The man waved a soaked, tattered hemp shirt in vain, but its faint color was quickly swallowed by the leaden rain.
His arm slowly fell, like a broken branch.
The woman clung tightly to the child.
The child’s lips were purple with cold, but she no longer cried or made a sound—she only stared with lost, bewildered eyes at the swirling muddy water below, where she used to play hopscotch.
Suddenly, a crying Boy flew past in the torrent—a face she knew well.
It was the playmate a year older than her, now being taken by the jaws of the Beast.
The Boy saw her, too.
He reached out a hand in vain.
But what could a child understand?
In his eyes shone a pure, pleading hope—just like every time she fell into a ditch, looking up at the Little Brother only a year older.
Instinctively, the Girl broke free from her Mother’s embrace and reached for the Boy.
The flood swept past in an instant.
The two small hands, more than ten meters apart, did not touch.
Instead, because of her Mother’s long malnutrition and thin arms, she couldn’t hold on tightly.
The Girl slipped and was swept into the cold, fierce flood.
The man and woman stood stunned for a moment.
Only when the Girl, terrified, was carried away by the water and vanished from sight did they return to life like souls recalled from the dead.
The woman began to weep, her wailing drowned by the roar of the water.
The man instinctively tore off his clothes, wanting to dive into the Jiang River.
His foot stepped halfway out, then froze and shrank back.
Then, in a rush of heat to his head, he almost jumped again.
—
But in the end, he didn’t leap.
Because his wife’s thin hand grabbed him.
He turned and met her eyes.
In those red, tearful eyes, the plea and fear extinguished the last spark of courage he had managed to muster.
He stared for a long time, slapped himself hard several times, and ugly sobs wracked him.
In the end, he could only cry with his wife.
The only difference was… he hated the Jiang River, but hated his own powerlessness even more.
The middle-aged couple squatted on the ground, crying.
In their daze, someone patted them.
In a haze, they heard their daughter calling, “Mother~ Father~”.
But no one looked up, afraid it was a hallucination.
Until the voice grew louder, then sharper with anger.
The couple looked up, stunned.
For some reason, their soaking wet daughter was standing in front of them, with another dazed Little Brother beside her.
The man suddenly glimpsed another figure.
He looked toward the shadow.
The night was dark as ink.
The person was wrapped entirely in heavy armor, unrecognizable.
It was hard to imagine how anyone could move in such armor through the flood, but the figure had done it.
Perhaps even the surging flood was no obstacle.
The iron moon shone on the armor, its cold light like a meteor.
In just a blink, the figure vanished again.
The man felt a sudden sense of loss.
—
Then, in another instant, the figure returned to the original spot.
And this time, four people were slung over his shoulder.
The figure set them down.
The man finally closed his gaping mouth.
He reached out, only managing to say a single word:
“You…”
The shadow vanished once more.
The man sighed, feeling awkward, a trace of emotion and longing in his brown eyes.
But before he could even finish feeling moved, the figure appeared again.
This time with five people on his shoulder.
The man was numb.
After that, at a pace of half a second to two seconds per trip, the figure kept bringing people from the flood.
It wasn’t until the twenty-sixth wave that the man finally seized a gap to speak.
“Wait! Hero! Stop!”
Ironhead turned around, a look of confusion beneath the helmet.
“We’re full. No more can be dropped here. There’s no room left on the slope. If you keep going, we’ll have to start stacking people like blocks. Maybe you should rest a while?”
The man gave a wry smile.
Ironhead shook his head.
“I’ll find another place. You all stay here for now. I’ll come back to move you later.”
With that, he vanished again.
“Wait…”
The man’s voice cut off, not even half a syllable escaping.
For a long time, he sighed in defeat.
“I didn’t even have time to ask my savior’s name.”
“He must be someone sent by the Lord to help with the disaster. Such a big event—someone has to care.”
The woman said hopefully.
The man snorted.
“The Lord? Hmph. Local nobles are only eager when it comes to taxes—when have they ever been eager for anything else?”
Behind them, the Little Brother stayed silent.
He sucked his finger, staring at the spot where the knight disappeared, eyes full of dreams and longing.
Just like Jon when he was young.
The night rain seeped unnoticed through the cold outer armor, soaking the shirt beneath.
It was still water.
Still cold.
Yet it froze Jon’s heart.
He shivered.
He began to miss the feeling of Lya curled up against his chest.
The flood was vast, the cold night endless.
On the back of the giant Jiang River Beast, it seemed as if he were the only one.
Magic lightened his weight, letting him walk on water.
But everywhere he looked, there was only muddy yellow water—where could he go?
Jon looked around in confusion.
Suddenly, his sharp eyes caught a small hand reaching from the surface of the river.
He darted over, gripping the cold little hand and pulled hard.
“Splash.”
What surfaced was a swollen child’s corpse.
The pale little hand slipped from his gauntlet, and the body was swept away by the current, vanishing.
Something clogged Jon’s chest.
That light, tiny hand, as if still lingering in his gauntlet—it should have been the weight of a life, carrying unfulfilled dreams, the hopes of parents.
But now, it was so light.
No stars or moon could be seen.
Clouds blanketed the sky.
Jon felt his own smallness and helplessness more keenly than ever.
He couldn’t even save a single place.
Could he still call himself a hero?
The flood gave Jon no time for self-pity.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted another living person.
They had struck a rock near the shore.
At this speed, in another instant, they would be shattered.
Without hesitation, Jon unleashed all his magic at once, entering that strange “Super Speed” state.
“My beating heart, my surging blood, all that I possess—please help me, grant me power beyond my limits!”
He murmured the spell.
Every nerve, muscle, and drop of blood dug into their deepest reserves, forced to the limit by will, exploding in a blaze of energy—a final brilliance before oblivion.
In that moment, he became like light, moving with time itself.
Everything froze before him, even the raging flood beneath his feet.
It was the power Jon had comprehended in the final battle at the Demon King’s castle.
He once thought no one could draw a sword faster than him.
But Demon King Lya had shattered that belief.
He could not lose.
So he forced himself to become faster—surpassing even his own limits.
In the end… he matched the Demon King Lya’s speed.
An unimaginable realm.
He was always grateful he had eliminated Demon King Lya early.
If Lya had been allowed to grow further, perhaps no one in the world could have stopped that demon.
As the greatest foe of his life, Jon gave Demon King Lya his deepest respect.
Even when delivering the final blow, Jon was meticulous, using the Saint’s Slash for each strike—ensuring utter destruction, leaving no chance of revival.
But he still survived (≧◡≦)