Chapter One Hundred Thirteen: Reigning Over Washington

Washington, United States.

Unlike New York, the hometown of the hero Kyle, the crowds gathered here for the parade had not yet reached a terrifying volume that would overwhelm the entire city.

Approaching the city center, the streets were still packed and bustling, especially around the White House Plaza, where the American leadership was about to make a public address. Outside the security perimeter of the speaker’s platform, the inner three rings were already occupied by a large number of media personnel who had secured their positions early. Beyond those, the outer rings extended endlessly, with no visible end to the sea of people.

Among the onlookers, a boy of about seven clutched a model figure of Battle Suit Kyle tightly in one hand, while nervously holding onto the pant leg of a nearby man. He asked, “Dad, did Hero Kyle really die?”

“Impossible,” the man replied with a confident smile, ruffling the boy’s short hair firmly. “Major General Kyle? He’s not going to die!”

Those around them laughed in agreement, their voices ringing with pride and conviction:

“No way a war hero like him could have fallen.”

“He’s a superhero, suppressing chaos and war. He’s like a god in our hearts.”

“Maybe, like Captain, he’s just asleep somewhere. When he wakes up, he’ll come back.”

Whenever they spoke of Kyle, smiles blossomed on their faces, radiating confidence, pride, and even a glimmer of hope.

The media beside them kept snapping photos and filming, capturing this rare sight—the first time someone’s prestige had so fully replaced that of a god, revered by millions without a single blemish.

“He’s here! He’s here!”

At the shout from the plaza, every person and media member present immediately turned their gaze toward the White House podium.

A broad-faced middle-aged man, the new president, led the way. Behind him, a group of suited parliamentarians and generals adorned with medals followed, flanked by armed soldiers as they emerged from the office building and ascended the slightly expanded speaker’s platform.

Dozens of officials and generals gathered in the rear half of the platform, their expressions solemn and grave, causing the crowd to fall into an instinctive hush.

The new president wiped the sweat from his brow, stepped forward to the microphone, and addressed the crowd and media beyond the police line with the usual politician’s tone: “Ladies and gentlemen, good afternoon!”

But his words were quickly cut off by the crowd below. “Mr. President, please skip the formalities. We’re here for one thing—the explanation and the truth: why hasn’t General Kyle returned yet?”

The president masked his embarrassment swiftly, steadied the microphone with his hand, and began, “Major General Kyle, he…”

He intended to deliver the rehearsed official statement, but barely had he started when he suddenly faltered, unable to continue.

The president met the countless hopeful and expectant eyes below. Despite his polished oratory skills, he found himself momentarily speechless.

Just then, a sudden buzzing noise from the sky startled everyone. Eyes lifted to see a new model aircraft with helicopter-like rotors slowly approaching the White House podium.

The armed soldiers and guards, initially assuming a terror attack, prepared to rush the platform to protect the leadership. But when they saw the tall figure standing in the open doorway of the helicopter, they immediately froze.

In fact, everyone below was stunned into silence, holding their breath, eyes wide as they watched the young man in battle armor poised at the helicopter door.

“It’s General Kyle…”

Someone led the call, and the once-silent Washington plaza erupted into a rousing roar of excitement.

“Our war hero has returned!”

The crowd raised their arms, tears gleaming in their eyes as they cheered. The thunderous applause spread swiftly, filling the skies above all of Washington with jubilant sounds.

Meanwhile, the once highly regarded officials on the platform now wore bitter smiles, clapping with forced enthusiasm as the helicopter drew nearer.

The helicopter hovered twenty meters above the platform, suspended in midair.

Kyle nodded once, then leapt down gracefully, gliding briefly to slow his descent before landing lightly in the center of the podium.

Clad in his black night battle suit, bearing his signature one-handed sword, he stood tall and coldly commanding the stage. Bathed in the aura of a superhero, he instantly became the most dazzling figure present—any politician or general had no choice but to lower their gaze.

Below, the thousands of civilians continued their fervent applause, the sound rolling like thunder.

“Major General Kyle, you’ve finally come back…”

The president turned, intending to offer a polite greeting, but Kyle didn’t even glance at him. Instead, he strode directly toward the gathered parliamentarians and generals.

Even the seasoned generals, hardened by countless battles, showed subtle changes in their expressions at the approach of this killing god. The parliamentarians, sheltered and pampered, turned pale.

Among them, Congressman Ivan and a few others clenched their hands nervously, struggling to suppress the urge to collapse in fear.

“Kyle,” General Chester sighed, stepping forward.

“Kyle, not as you wished, but I’ve still returned,” Kyle said coldly, halting his steps.

“No matter what you’ve been through, it’s my fault. Please, don’t harm anyone else…” Chester began, but Kyle cut him off.

“No, you’re not to blame,” Kyle sneered. “You’re just an old fool.”

General Chester was left speechless, unable to retort, his hair white and his face gaunt like that of a weary old man.

The helicopter remained hovering low. A rope was lowered from the cabin, and Fury slid down onto the platform.

Howard, upon learning of Kyle’s return, had immediately informed Fury, who then hurried to the White House plaza in Washington.

This was, of course, done with purpose.

“Fury, who did you find out about?” Kyle waved to Fury behind him, scanning the parliamentarians ahead. The assembly shuddered, unsure of what the war hero who had just returned intended to do.

“Um, that one, and that one… oh, and that one,” Fury said, stepping forward with sharp eyes, pointing out three parliamentarians, including Ivan.

The three named trembled all over. The others, unsure of the meaning, instinctively stepped back to maintain a safe distance.

Kyle nodded coldly and strode toward the three parliamentarians.

“Major General Kyle, what do you think you’re doing? Stay back!” Ivan’s eyes flickered with panic, yelling, “This is the White House plaza, in front of national representatives, generals, and the masses and media. Watch your conduct!”

Kyle sneered, then suddenly surged forward, closing the distance to Ivan. Before the armed soldiers could react, Kyle’s right fist smashed into Ivan’s lower abdomen.

‘Bang!’

With Ivan’s ordinary physique, the sheer force of that punch sent him flying like a ragdoll, rolling backward until half his body slammed into the white wall of the office building.

His body was utterly broken. Blood spilled from his mouth, eyes wide in disbelief, never imagining such a brutal and simple death.

After all his careful scheming, he never even had the chance to resist… With a resounding smack, Kyle had crushed him like a cockroach beneath a boot.