Only After My Family Sold Me to an Illegal Mine Did They Learn I Was a God of War

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

The violent pounding on the door shook dust from the ceiling.

“Open up! Where’s this month’s household money? Don’t think you can play dead and dodge it!” The shrill voice pierced the thin wooden boards and stabbed my ears—my birth mother, exploding again.

I sat on the damp edge of the bed, lowered my head, and covered the little girl’s ears in my arms. Because of a congenital heart defect, her breathing was so faint it felt like a thread that could snap at any moment.

Who would’ve thought a retired commander—once in charge of a million old troops, with assets enough to buy half a city—would be curled up in a dark hole like this?

I’d taken off the uniform, returned home, stripped away all glory, only to give an adopted orphan girl the most ordinary childhood.

So in my family’s eyes, the former God of War was nothing but a penniless ex-soldier.

At my eldest brother’s auto shop, I took all the dirtiest, hardest jobs. Every day I left before dawn and came home after dark, engine oil soaking through my clothes—only to have my wages docked again and again. My brother treated his own sibling like unpaid labor, too cheap even to spare a full meal.

That idle piece of trash was worse. A degenerate who lived at the gambling table, he came digging through my pockets every few days, stealing even the small change meant to buy steamed buns.

I swallowed all of it in silence. The fists that once made enemy leaders tremble now did nothing but clench rags, wiping mud-stained tires.

No one in town dared mess with that punk anymore—because lately he’d latched onto a casino boss named Jackson.

That local snake ran both sides of the law. Even the stationed troops had to give him face.

With that backing, my gambler brother strutted around the neighborhood like a king. Even my parents started acting superior, walking with their chins up.

They had no idea that with a single order, that so-called gang boss would become a cold corpse within three minutes.

But I couldn’t move. Blood and violence would scare the angel in my arms.

After retiring, I voluntarily froze my personal accounts. Now I had to earn money like a real bottom-rung laborer.

For twelve full months, I finally scraped together enough.

I stuffed a thick wad of bills into an envelope, slid it into a hidden inner pocket, slung a faded canvas bag over my shoulder, and picked up my weak daughter, ready to head to the city hospital.

The door had barely opened when the old woman blocked the narrow hallway, slamming a palm down on the broken table.

“Where do you think you’re going? Hand over those three thousand right now!” My mother stared at my bulging pocket, greed burning in her eyes.

“Not today.” I lowered my voice, keeping it steady. “I’m taking her for bypass surgery. This money cannot be touched.”

“You’re hiding money from your own family?!” Her face flipped instantly. She pointed at my nose and screamed. “Like we’re thieves! When I gave birth to you I almost bled out and died—ungrateful little wolf, white-eyed ingrate!”

“Yo, what’s all the yelling?” A grating duck voice drifted down the stairs.

My younger brother came swaggering out, toothpick in his mouth. He glanced at the bony little body in my arms and curled his lips into a mocking sneer.

“A brat you picked up from some trash heap is going to die sooner or later. Why waste a fortune? Give me that cash, I’ll go flip it at the tables. When I win big, I’ll buy you a healthy kid.”

Boom.

A bloodthirsty killing intent surged straight into my skull. My finger bones cracked as I clenched.

For a moment, the ferocity I’d carried across battlefields—heads taken, blood spilled—nearly burst out of control.

“Say that again.”

I stared at him. My gaze was a blade.

He flinched half a step back at the pressure—then straightened up again, bold because he had a backer.

“What, you wanna hit me?” he shouted. “Touch me and see what happens! Big Brother Jackson will cripple you in minutes!”

The shrew beside him screamed and rolled on the floor, the thug provoked with impunity—demons dancing in a cramped room.

Then the treasure in my arms shrank slightly. A cold little hand grabbed my shirt.

“Daddy… don’t fight…”

A weak whisper—like a bucket of cold water that doused the inferno.

I lowered my head and looked at her pale but obedient face. The ice in my heart softened instantly.

Hold on a little longer.

I closed my eyes, drew in a breath of filthy air, and forced the fury back into my chest like sealing a lid.

As long as I got her onto that operating table, this money would save her. My only tether to this world would live.

I said nothing. I held our hope tighter, using my broad shoulder to block every filthy curse at the door.