Three years passed in the blink of an eye, and Morax had fully settled into village life.
He and Elliot lived in opposite rhythms: when Elliot went to the sea to fish, Morax would work in the fields; when Elliot tended the crops, Morax would head out to fish. Their days were plain, but peaceful and comfortable.
Over time, Morax almost forgot that he possessed elemental power—that he was a god. Of course, those lapses were only fleeting.
In those three years, Morax changed greatly. He became more mature, steadier in his actions, and far more thoughtful than before.
In the past, he had relied on his unmatched divine power and would resolve conflicts with his fists. Back then, he believed that ninety-nine percent of problems in the world could be solved through fighting.
But now it was different. After three years of living as a mortal, he leaned toward avoiding violence whenever possible.
By contrast, Elliot remained largely the same. His days passed in steady repetition, one after another. The only unshakable habit he had was drinking a pot of tea every single day—without fail, as if he couldn't live without it.
Aside from tea, he occasionally meditated, usually in the afternoons or late at night.
...
"Hurry! Hurry!!!!"
A man, covered in dirt and dust, came tumbling down a hillside and crashed at the edge of the village.
"Ning Ping!? Wasn't it your turn to keep watch today? What happened?"
A villager, shocked by the sight, rushed over.
"Run!!!! Run!!!!"
Gripping the woman's arms tightly, Ning Ping's face was twisted in terror.
"A great flood is coming!!!!"
The woman's pupils shrank to pinpoints, her whole body freezing in place.
But Ning Ping couldn't waste time on her daze. Dragging his leg—already fractured from the fall—he gritted his teeth and leapt desperately toward the village.
"Run!!!! The flood is coming!!!!"
"The flood is coming!!!"
At his words, everyone in the village froze, terror spreading across their faces as they turned to look at him.
Before long, the village chief came rushing over, leaning on his wooden staff, his face pale with anxiety.
"Chief!! Get everyone ready to evacuate!! The flood is almost here!" Ning Ping shouted as soon as he saw him.
"How big is it!?" the chief demanded.
"Huge! Far bigger than the flood from four years ago!! We can't hold it back! We need to run!! Leave now!!!"
The chief trembled, stumbling half a step back, disbelief and fear written across his face.
"Run...?"
He looked around at the village with despair. Hundreds of people lived here—men and women, young and old. Aside from a few able-bodied men, most were elderly, children, or women with little strength.
How could they possibly outrun the flood?
Every villager's face was clouded with fear and hopelessness.
BOOM!!!!!!!!
Suddenly, a thunderous crash echoed from the far side of the mountain, as if the entire peak had been struck by a colossal force.
The sound struck every heart like a heavy hammer.
The flood had already reached their mountain!
"Run, now!!!!!!"
"What are you all standing around for?! Run!!!!"
"Elders, children, and women—go! Don't bring anything with you!!!! Men who aren't afraid to die, come with me!"
Ning Ping's hysterical roar snapped everyone back to their senses.
"Quick! All women and children, head west!" the chief immediately ordered.
At once, the village erupted into frantic motion.
Many of the men rushed toward a large storage house. Inside were the sandbags they had prepared after the flood four years ago—each one heavy as stone.
The young and strong formed a line stretching from the house to the western edge of the village. Like tireless ants, they passed the sandbags hand to hand.
BOOM!!!!!!
Another deafening roar split the air as a towering wall of floodwater surged down from the mountainside.