Heroes Are But a Thought Away from Salvation

Most of the cleanup work fell to Jiang Xiaoci and her team.

Mike didn't have much to do, which left him with ample time to observe the changes among the city's survivors.

Even confined to his room, Mike could connect with the talent units deployed across different teams. Through their perspectives, he monitored the remnants of Jinling.

Recently, Mike had discovered a new trick: the ability to connect to multiple viewpoints simultaneously. Ever since he replicated Chen Dafei's superhuman physical attributes, his stamina and endurance had skyrocketed, enhancing his skills to unprecedented levels.

Now, he no longer needed to sit on the couch to stabilize his balance. He could stand by the window, gazing at the pitch-black night sky, while simultaneously hearing and seeing the sights and sounds captured by teams scattered across the city.

They said the darkest hour came before dawn—a suffocating darkness, thick as ink, blanketing the entire city. The sky, devoid of stars, pressed heavily on every corner of the urban sprawl.

Yet, even in the dimmest hour, faint lights flickered.

Standing by the window, Mike didn't just see the bright lights of his own neighborhood; he noticed distant glimmers across the city. Survivors had started venturing out, their lights like scattered stars piercing the night.

Then, faintly, he heard it—a song.

It wasn't coming from his neighborhood. It came from the perspective of a military transport team stationed in the eastern district.

The convoy, laden with supplies and guarded by dozens of heavily armed soldiers, rumbled down dark streets. As they passed a lit residential area, a child's voice began to sing.

One by one, windows opened, silhouettes appeared, and people stood by, watching the convoy pass.

The child's voice, delicate yet powerful, carried through the air. Soon, others in the neighborhood joined in, their voices rising in unison.

Mike recognized the song immediately.

"Arise! Ye who refuse to be slaves!

With our flesh and blood, let us build a new Great Wall!"

It was the national anthem.

The convoy slowed, and the soldiers inside lifted their heads, some puzzled, others moved. Though many of the soldiers couldn't understand the lyrics, Mike could.

As the vehicles approached, the song grew louder, resonating through the streets. The Anthem of the March of the Volunteers echoed with a strength that defied the darkness, carried by voices of men, women, and children alike.

The song was a rallying cry, filled with unyielding determination, like steel clashing with steel.

It spread.

Block by block, the anthem reached more ears, and more voices joined the growing chorus. Soon, the entire city seemed to be singing.

Mike didn't need his skills to hear it anymore; the anthem was everywhere. Standing by the window, he felt the music reverberate through the city as dawn broke on the horizon.

A crimson ray of light pierced the night, washing over the city as the sun rose. The long night was finally over.

The convoy came to a halt.

New orders had arrived from Jiang Xiaoci:

"Slow down. Distribute supplies along the streets."

Jiang had changed the original relief plan. Instead of processing supplies centrally, she decided to hand them out directly, starting with the neediest.

"We don't need to wait for the next step," she had said. "We start now. Whoever needs it, gets it."

Mike, overhearing the orders, didn't object. There was no reason to.

Even if Jiang had ulterior motives, her actions undeniably benefited the people.

Standing in silence, Mike reflected on what he had just witnessed.

He had always known his SSS-grade talent made him powerful, but for the first time, he felt something else: gratitude.

"If I hadn't gained these abilities," he murmured, "I'd just be one of the ordinary survivors."

There were no chosen ones in this world, no destined heroes. Just ordinary people—and heroes born from them.

Mike recalled the countless apocalyptic novels he had devoured before the world ended. Like many, he had fantasized about being one of those protagonists—strong, decisive, surrounded by power and beauty.

But now, he questioned it all.

If he hadn't been the protagonist, would he have wanted the heroes of those stories by his side? Heroes who pursued power and self-interest, treating others as disposable pawns?

"If I were the one being oppressed," Mike whispered, "would I still admire them?"

He clenched his fists.

"There are no chosen ones. No gods. Only the people."

The words weren't new. He'd heard them countless times in the old world, dismissing them as hollow rhetoric. But now, standing in a broken city with dawn breaking, he finally understood their meaning.

The red faith—born from struggle, tested by fire—wasn't something to be mocked or dismissed. It was a beacon, a belief forged in the hearts of ordinary people.

Mike chuckled, shaking his head.

"I've ascended, haven't I?" he muttered.

But this time, he didn't mind.

Because now, he had clarity.

"I might not be the protagonist of this apocalypse, but I'll do something worth remembering. Something I can be proud of."

Breathing deeply, Mike turned from the window, determination burning in his eyes.

This wasn't about consolidating power or saving himself. It wasn't even about rebuilding the city.

It was about saving lives. Restoring order.

Leaving a legacy.

"I'll need help," he admitted. Jiang Xiaoci's administrative prowess would be essential, and he needed her to understand his vision.

He contacted her immediately, laying out his plans and goals.

Jiang listened patiently, even as she continued her work. "Sir, we've always been working toward that," she replied gently.

Mike hesitated. "No, Xiaoci. I mean doing it for the people—not to make me stronger, not for appearances, but because it's the right thing to do."

Jiang paused, then smiled. "I understand, sir. And I stand by you, always."

She added, almost playfully, "But tell me, my dear sir… does this mean you're ready to step into the spotlight?"

4o