Chapter 229
No way
The group of police officers looked like they were holding themselves back with the thinnest thread of professionalism.
At first, they stood frozen, as if unsure whether to salute, question him, or simply stare. For a few seconds, tension lingered—not from fear anymore, but from sheer disbelief. Then, slowly, one by one, they began walking toward him.
And then the silence shattered.
"Now that I'm closer—I can recognize him!"
"It's really The Thor."
"No way..."
"Can I get a picture?"
"What are you even doing out here?"
The questions and statements overlapped and tangled into each other, becoming a flood of noise. Some tried to pull out their phones; others just stared like they were looking at a living legend. One officer, barely older than twenty, looked like he might actually cry.
Thor stood there, hands still loosely raised, and let out a deep sigh.
He didn't hide the exasperation in his expression.
I would've preferred to be low-profile, he thought bitterly, but nooo, they had to promote me for such small things.
To him, maybe. But to the rest of Hope, those weren't small things.
Thor wasn't just an Ascender or a war hero. He was Thor the Commander. That title wasn't ceremonial. It carried real weight, earned not through politics or favoritism, but through relentless service to the people—both in war and peace. His loyalty to the country was known to all, and his presence was almost mythic.
Internally, he had stabilized cities, personally intervened in disasters, dismantled corrupt infrastructure, and coordinated rescue efforts during Deadline creatures breaches. Externally, he was one of the few figures other nations actually feared—not because of raw strength, but because of what he represented.
He was the mind that had saved Hope more than once.
One of his most legendary feats—and one often exaggerated in late-night bar stories but confirmed by official records—was his defense of a crucial military base during an active war.
The enemy had come with overwhelming force: 1.2 million Ascenders.
Thor had only 800,000.
A gap of 400,000—an absurd disadvantage, even by the standards of war. Most commanders would have fallen back, tried to delay, or surrendered outright until reinforcements could arrive. But Thor didn't.
Instead, he held the line.
Not just by force, but by ingenuity. He did something no other commander had dared to do: he used the Deadline creatures.
With a combination of deceptive terrain manipulation, bait tactics, and forced migration patterns, he led small pockets of Deadline beasts directly into enemy flanks, sowing chaos and confusion. Entire enemy strategies collapsed when their rear lines were torn apart by creatures no one had expected to see. Their command structure fractured, their timing fell apart, and their formation—once unstoppable—crumbled into disarray.
That single choice allowed Thor's forces to hold out until reinforcements arrived. And by then, the tide had already turned.
Any seasoned military officer would tell you: a 400,000-man difference in Ascender forces was usually an impossible wall. And yet, Thor had scaled it. Not with brute force, but with brilliance—and with the willingness to risk everything on a strategy no one else would have attempted.
He had also stopped numerous terrorist attacks within the country—some barely making the news, others impossible to forget. One particular incident had left the nation shaken: a coordinated assault intended to collapse the entire Middle Sector of Hope.
It was meant to be a massacre. A decapitation strike that would've crippled the country's infrastructure, cut off supply chains, and buried millions beneath.
It had been a well-organized, high-level attack, and had things gone even slightly differently, the damage would've been irreversible. But Thor's actions helped turn the tide.
He wasn't the only reason the sector was saved, but his involvement had been pivotal.
That was just one of many.
He had done countless more—each one a quiet thread that wove him deeper into the mythos of Hope.
In time, the government had made full use of him. He became the spearhead of their national messaging, the face of order and heroism. Their propaganda machine—while mostly grounded in truth—still applied the usual brushstrokes of embellishment. Speeches were dramatized. Battle footage was edited for cinematic impact. Failures were ignored and victories were amplified.
But the core of it all remained real.
Thor had earned the reputation. And so, the country leaned on it.
In short, Thor had one of the best PR teams in the entire country.
His name, his face, his record—they were everywhere. Campaign posters. Interviews. Archive footage. And because of that, almost everybody in Hope knew who he was. Whether they had seen him in person or not, they knew the name. Among all the Masters in the country, Thor was definitely one of the most highly known and beloved figures.
He was not the most or greatest ascender in the country.
But in terms of visibility, familiarity, and reverence—he was among the very top.
He was the light that shone too brightly to ignore. And that light, brilliant and constant, cast long shadows.
People like Kai, and the others working in the deeper circles of Hope's defense, operated from within those shadows. It wasn't resentment—it was strategy. Thor's fame provided cover. While the world watched him, the real, hidden work happened elsewhere. It was a trade-off they had all accepted. A necessary one.
Thor had long come to terms with it.
Most of the time, people didn't even believe it was him when they saw him up close. It happened so often he barely noticed anymore. Passersby would glance, frown, double-take, and then mutter to themselves something like:
"Damn… that guy really looks like Thor. But no way, right?"
Because who in their right mind would assume a national figure—the Thor—was just casually standing in front of them, sleeves rolled, hands in his pockets, looking mildly inconvenienced?
That disbelief had become its own form of camouflage. And Thor was fine with that.
Now that they knew exactly who Thor was, the entire mood shifted.
The atmosphere shifted from one of tense caution to something closer to admiration—relief, even. A few of them looked like they still couldn't believe it, but none of them were questioning it anymore. They were more than happy to let Thor take over. After all, he wasn't just trusted—he was revered. A living legend with authority that ran deeper than any badge or chain of command.
He didn't need to ask twice.
The sergeant nodded to the officer still holding the ID. The poor man looked like he was clutching a sacred relic, staring down at it with wide, gleaming eyes. When Thor walked over and held out his hand, the officer hesitated for a second, clearly reluctant to give it back. His fingers tightened slightly, as if maybe—just maybe—Thor would let him keep it.
But Thor raised an eyebrow.
The officer gave a sheepish, almost pleading smile... then slowly returned the ID.
Thor tucked it back into his jacket with a quick motion, already shifting into a more serious stance.
"All right," he said, his tone cutting through the leftover excitement in the air. "What's the situation right now?"
Immediately, the officers gathered closer and explained everything they knew. Their words came quickly—scattered and overlapping in places—but Thor picked up the key details.
When they finished, Thor nodded once.
Then he reached into one of his inner pockets and pulled out a small black device. Thin, rectangular, with a faint blue light pulsing at the center. He held it in his palm and tapped the surface once.
A map projection blinked to life in front of him.
Thor's eyes narrowed as he studied it. He tapped and dragged his fingers, zooming in on one particular signal.
His face tightened slightly.
"IAM…" he muttered.
Then he spoke louder.
"...Might be in trouble."