A colossal torrent surged in from all directions, the terrifying sight making everyone's scalps tingle and their hearts fill with dread.
"Quick!!! Hold back the flood for our children!!!"
A man roared, snatching up a sandbag and slamming it heavily onto the ground.
He was just about to throw his body behind the bags to stop them from being swept away—ready to risk everything—when a frail figure stepped forward first, bracing itself behind the barrier.
The man's eyes went wide.
"The... Village Chief...?"
He stared in disbelief at the small, wiry old man standing firm with a resolute face, struggling to comprehend his actions.
"Young ones shouldn't be playing heroes. We old folks are still here—this isn't your place!"
Another figure stepped in beside him. Turning, the man saw another elder had taken position.
Looking around, he realized every elder of the village had moved behind the sandbags, their frail bodies forming a wall. Among them stood the kindly old grandmother who had once given Morax candy.
BOOM!!!!!!
The massive flood slammed against them. All the elders staggered half a step back under the violent impact as the icy torrent crashed into their bodies.
Their aged frames couldn't endure such force. The flood pounded against the sandbags, making them tremble uncontrollably. Yet in their wrinkled faces burned a look of unshakable resolve, a readiness to face death head-on.
"Hold it!!!"
A young man shouted, and the younger villagers stomped into position, pressing their weight against the sandbags.
With their strength added, the defense steadied again, the collapse narrowly averted.
But the flood's power was overwhelming. It took everything they had just to keep the barrier from breaking. Every person clenched their teeth, straining with all their might.
Among them stood Morax and Elliot.
They used no divine power, no strength of gods—only human bodies, pushing with all they had against the flood.
It was then Morax realized just how small and fragile humans truly were.
A flood like this—he could have stopped it with the flick of a finger. Yet now, it took every young man and elder in the village just to barely hold it back.
Glancing behind him, he saw that the village had already been swallowed whole by the raging waters. They had chosen this western position to make their stand, sacrificing their homes to buy time for the women and children.
Compared to houses, lives were far more important.
As long as people lived, the family remained. A home still existed.
Houses could be rebuilt. Fields could be replanted. But once a life was gone—it was gone forever.
"You young brats, listen to me!!!" the Village Chief bellowed, forcing the words out even as he pushed with all his strength.
Everyone heard him, but no one answered—speaking alone would waste precious energy.
"This flood will likely be the same as years past! It'll weaken soon, but after that will come a second wave, even stronger! With our strength now, we can't withstand that second wave!"
"When the water begins to weaken, you young ones run! Run as fast as you can! Leave this place to us old fools!"
"Village Chief, we—"
"Shut up! Do as I say! No one stays behind! Unless you no longer acknowledge me as your chief!"
A man had barely started to protest before the Village Chief cut him off sharply.
He had no patience for useless words like "We'll all leave together" or "We can't abandon you."
If they could all escape, who would willingly choose death?
But in this situation, it was impossible. The best they could pray for was that all the young might survive.
The chief's iron command silenced everyone. Not a single person dared to argue. All pressed their bodies forward, resisting the flood with grim determination.
After a long struggle, the Village Chief suddenly shouted, "Now!!!! Start moving from the back!! Quickly!"
The young villagers froze.
They knew the truth—the current hadn't weakened at all. It remained just as brutal and unrelenting.
"Chief, the waters haven't weakened yet!" one man cried out.
"I've lived through countless floods in my life—I know the timing! Start with the young ones at the rear. By the time you reach the front, the waters will begin to recede!"
"You old fools! We've spent our whole lives running from floods! This last time—we won't run!"
The Village Chief turned, his eyes sweeping over the friends he had grown up with, those who had shared a lifetime at his side.
"If we'd had these sandbags back then, we would've fought this damn flood long ago," said the old man beside him.
"If we weren't so old now, this flood would be nothing," another elder added firmly.