Late September. The air carried that sharp, chilly bite that came with autumn.

A black business van rolled slowly down the streets of Southsky City.

Behind the wheel sat a burly man whose presence felt like a blade fresh from the forge—cold, sharp, and dangerous. His gaze stayed locked on the road, expression taut.

In the back seat, a young man in a long coat sat with his back straight against the cushions. His eyes were closed as if resting, but the aura he exuded was anything but calm. It rose from him naturally—vast, unyielding—enough to make most people instinctively lower their heads.

Standing before him, anyone would probably feel like nothing more than dust in the wind.

“Supreme, where to next?” the driver asked quietly. It was Marcus Shaw, though even his voice carried a hint of caution.

“Southsky City’s old district. No.28 Grace Street. The Thornton Residence,” the young man replied casually.

But deep inside, something stirred—memories, emotions—rising like a tide he couldn’t fully suppress.

“Southsky… ten years already. Wesley Thornton is finally home…”

A decade ago, he’d been just a stubborn kid with more passion than sense. With a single thought—serve, fight, protect—he’d packed his bag and walked into the army without looking back.

He hadn’t expected that one step would stretch into ten whole years.

Those years carved him from an ordinary private into a war god whose very name shook the world. Stationed in the South China Theater, he’d crushed every enemy force that dared to cross the border.

Just half a month ago, atop Tianlong Mountain, he stood alone against seven world‑class combatants… and wiped them out. The world was stunned.

Before even turning thirty, the Dahuá Empire had named him its Guardian Supreme.

Unmatched. Unrecorded in history. A legend walking.

Now he was back in Southsky—back in his hometown. By all rights it should’ve been a triumphant return.

Yet he chose no escort, no ceremony. Quiet. Unannounced. As if he were just another traveler coming home.

“I wonder how Dad and Mom are doing now…”

Wesley’s face remained calm, but beneath that still surface, emotions churned like a storm-tossed sea.

Even though he had only been adopted into the family, the two elders of the Thornton family had treated him like their own flesh and blood, and he had long regarded them as his real parents.

For ten years on the frontier, Wesley Thornton fought through storms of steel and fire, guarding the borders while thinking of them on countless sleepless nights. But he never dared to reach out.

His identity was classified at the highest level of the empire. If anyone ever targeted him, it wouldn’t just bring danger to his parents—it could put all of Dahua at risk.

He had no idea if the two elders would blame him for staying silent all those years.

The thought alone made his hands curl into tight fists.

Coming home always felt hardest, even for the man honored as the Empire’s Supreme Protector.

Marcus Shaw, who was driving, caught Wesley’s expression in the rearview mirror and let out a quiet sigh.

If not for what had happened recently, the Supreme Protector probably still wouldn’t have come back.

It was the first time he’d ever seen Wesley—the man who never flinched, who could face an avalanche without blinking—show an expression this soft, this conflicted.

It hit him harder than he expected.

The car moved through several streets before turning into a narrow alley.

“This is it.”

As they passed a familiar gate, Wesley suddenly spoke.

Marcus immediately brought the car to a stop, jumped out, and quickly opened the door for him.

Wesley stepped out slowly. The moment he lifted his eyes, something in his gaze gentled.

Ten years away, and yet almost nothing had changed. It was still exactly how it had been when he’d left home.

Only he was no longer the boy who walked out back then.

He left as a teenager. He returned with white at his temples.

Drawing in a long, steadying breath, Wesley walked up to the door.

After standing there, hesitating for far too long, he finally raised his hand and knocked.

“Knock… knock… knock…”

Wesley Thornton lifted his hand again, movements slow and gentle, but his heart was a mess of excitement and nerves. It felt like his pulse was pounding right in his ears.

“Coming, coming!”

A woman’s voice drifted out from inside.

The moment Wesley heard that voice, his whole body shook—like someone had tapped the deepest corner of his soul.

Behind him, Marcus Shaw quietly exhaled. He knew their Supreme Commander better than anyone. Out on the battlefield, Wesley was always calm, collected, unshakable. Never like this—never this tense, this human.

Creak.

The red wooden door opened just a sliver. A woman peeked out, half her face visible as she looked between Wesley and Marcus.

She looked a little past fifty, dressed plainly. Her brows carried exhaustion and worry carved in over many sleepless nights.

When Wesley’s gaze met hers, both of them froze.

“You… you’re…”

Her voice trembled. Ten years had passed, her son had vanished without a trace—yet she still recognized him in one heartbeat.

“Wesley!”

Misty Patterson yanked the door fully open. Tears instantly welled in her eyes, shimmering like they’d been waiting there for years.

Her son had been gone a decade. No letters, no news. As a mother—how could she not worry? How many nights had she feared the worst?

Yet here he was. Safe. Standing in front of her.

It felt unreal, like a dream—one of those dreams she never dared hope would come true. And now joy surged through her so hard it almost hurt.

“Mom…”

Wesley found his voice shrinking, his courage evaporating. For the first time in years, he didn’t dare meet someone’s eyes.

Looking at her—older, worn down by time—guilt slammed into him like a tidal wave.

Parents raise you; you stay close. If you must leave, you leave with purpose.

And he… hadn’t been there at all.

But Wesley Thornton had been gone for ten long years. No news. No letters. Just silence—like he’d vanished off the face of the earth.

Even if it had been for the country, even if every drop of blood he shed had meaning, the guilt toward the two elders still pressed on his chest like a mountain.

“Enough, stop blaming yourself. Mom gets it.”

Misty Patterson grabbed his hand tightly, her voice trembling as she kept murmuring, “You’re home… that’s all that matters… you’re finally home…”

Wesley forced himself to calm down, the corners of his lips lifting into a smile that came straight from his heart.

“Wesley, you must’ve suffered a lot out there these years, haven’t you?”

Misty looked him over, full of distress.

“I’m doing great out there, really. Look at me—way stronger than before.” Wesley thumped his chest lightly, trying to sound relaxed.

Ten years on the battlefield had already taught him to treat life and death like passing clouds. Those years were full of grit and bitter tears—but none of that should be brought home. Home was supposed to be warm, peaceful.

“You were always the sickly one growing up. To look like this now… don’t tell me you didn’t go through hell.”

Misty sized him up, circling him twice. Joy shone in her eyes, but there was also a hint of playful reproach.

“Right… where’s Dad?”

Wesley changed the subject with a smile.

Knowing Dad’s personality, if he heard Wesley was back, he’d be over the moon. He’d definitely drag him to the chessboard for a few hundred rounds, then insist on sharing a couple of drinks at dinner.

But the moment the question left his mouth, Wesley caught the subtle shift in his mother’s expression.

His heart sank instantly.

Because from the moment he stepped through the door, he’d smelled it—an unmistakable scent of herbal medicine.

“What happened to Dad?”

Wesley Thornton’s smile froze the second he saw Misty Patterson’s tear‑streaked face. The warmth in his chest vanished like someone had poured a bucket of ice water over him.

“Your dad… he’s fine, really… just a small injury…” Misty choked out, voice trembling.

Before she could finish, Wesley had already rushed into the Thornton Residence.

The moment he stepped inside, he stopped dead.

The little courtyard was a complete mess. Flowers that Misty and his foster father always tended so carefully were now crushed and scattered everywhere, like a storm had ripped through.

The two of them loved this place. They always kept it spotless. If nothing serious had happened, it would never look like this.

Wesley forced himself forward, each step heavier than the last, until he reached the door. He pushed it open gently.

“Misty, who’s out there? Cough… cough… don’t tell me it’s those Patterson brats again?”

A frail, hoarse voice drifted out, immediately followed by another wave of painful coughing.

Standing at the edge of the courtyard, Marcus Shaw suddenly stiffened. A terrifying killing intent burst out from Wesley—sharp, cold, and suffocating.

“Supreme… what’s wrong…?” Marcus’s eyes widened, shock tearing through him. He rushed inside.

In the dim room, an older man lay on the bed. His face was bloodless, lips pale, and both legs were wrapped in layer after layer of bandages. Blood had already soaked through in faint, ugly patches.

Bang.

Wesley dropped to his knees.

Voice shaking, eyes red, he whispered, “Dad, I’ve failed you… I’ve failed both of you…”

With his strength and experience, he could see the truth at a glance.

The injuries wouldn’t kill his father—but the bones in both legs… were completely shattered.

Guilt surged up from deep inside him, twisting painfully in his chest. And beneath that guilt, something colder took shape—an icy, merciless rage.

“Dad,” Wesley asked quietly, every syllable freezing cold, “who did this?”