Secretly Married for 4 Years, He Regrets to Tears After the Divorce-Chapter 212: Let Him Go

Following Theodore Lancaster’s command, the sniper raised his rifle, aimed at Maka, and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

With a deafening CRACK, gunsmoke still drifted from the rifle’s muzzle...

On the sacrificial altar, Maka let out a stifled cry of pain. Blood gushed from his withered wrist, and the Bone Knife, a symbol of his authority, clattered to the ground.

He staggered a few steps before collapsing heavily to the ground, his murky eyes filled with incredulous fury.

The shot hadn’t killed him, yet it struck with precision, shattering the honor of the Sarankal Tribe.

"Maka!"

Chief Barton’s cry of alarm was swallowed by an even greater roar from the crowd.

After a moment of dead silence, a furious roar erupted like a volcano.

Around the sacrificial altar, the people of Sarankal—who had moments before feared the rescue team’s modern weapons—now had nothing but the fury of desecration in their eyes.

Their tribe’s honor had been trampled. Their revered Priest had been struck down on their own sacred land. This humiliation and outrage overwhelmed their fear of death.

Like a bursting dam, the crowd surged onto the sacrificial altar in an instant.

Men, women, and even half-grown children formed an impenetrable human wall with their bodies, trapping Adrian Lancaster securely in the center.

They faced the nervous rescue team members aiming their guns from the perimeter. In heavily accented but resolute voices, they shouted in unison, "We will die before we let you take Chief Tarn!"

Adrian Lancaster was stunned by the sudden turn of events.

He stared at the bronze-skinned faces before him, twisted with emotion. He saw in their eyes a primal resolve, a willingness to die together rather than yield. His heart pounded in his chest, filled with a profound sense of unease.

’Would he only be saved if every single person in Sarankal was massacred?’

"You... You’re all being so foolish."

"Let me go, and I promise you’ll all live."

"There’s no need for this. I... I never belonged here anyway."

Seeing the tribespeople’s death-defying defiance, the last shred of patience vanished from Theodore Lancaster’s face. It was replaced by a cold, hard ruthlessness—the aura of a business magnate, of absolute authority.

The time for negotiation was over. These "obstinate" savages simply didn’t understand the meaning of compromise.

In that case, to save his son, he had no choice but to give the order to slaughter them all.

"You brought this on yourselves. Don’t blame me for being cruel."

He picked up the walkie-talkie, his voice as cold as arctic ice as it transmitted clearly into every rescue team member’s ear.

"Clear all obstacles. Rescue the Young Master. Kill anyone who stands in your way."

The command was concise, direct, and devoid of any emotion.

To Theodore Lancaster, anyone or anything that stood in the way of getting his son back was simply an "obstacle" to be eliminated.

He was a father. At this moment, he felt he had no other choice.

"I, Theodore Lancaster, will bear any and all sins alone."

Sean Sterling’s expression was grave as he tried to dissuade Theodore Lancaster.

"Uncle, a massacre is too horrific. Let’s see if there’s another way."

But Theodore Lancaster’s mind was made up. "As a father, I have to do this."

"But..."

"If it were your son who was captured, you would make the same decision I have."

"..."

More gunshots rang out.

This time, they weren’t warning shots, nor were they aimed at arms and legs.

Automatic rifles spat fire, and bullets screamed toward the human wall.

The Sarankal men at the very front shuddered violently, blood pouring from their stomachs as they collapsed without a sound.

The thick stench of blood immediately filled the air.

Fear exploded through the crowd like a plague, but strangely, no one retreated.

The gaps left by the fallen were instantly filled by those behind them.

Unarmed, they could only use their own flesh and blood to block the storm of metal. Their chants turned to cries of grief and fury.

The sacrificial altar instantly became a living hell as the rescue team closed in, step by step.

Just then, the once-calm river beside them let out a low roar without any warning.

The river water churned violently, as if stirred by a giant, unseen hand, and suddenly surged, throwing up waves taller than a man.

The sky darkened in an instant. A fierce wind whipped water spray against everyone’s faces.

A massive wave crashed ashore, striking with precision at the rescue team’s formation.

Four team members at the front didn’t even have time to cry out before an irresistible force seized their legs and violently dragged them into the murky, turbulent river. They were swallowed whole by the churning water without so much as a single bubble breaking the surface.

The gunfire stopped abruptly.

Everyone—shooters and defenders alike—was stunned by the supernatural event.

Chief Barton was the first to react.

He dropped to his knees on the muddy riverbank with a thud, raising his hands to the sky. His face was a mixture of awe, terror, and ecstatic joy.

He cried out in a trembling voice, "The River God! The River God has revealed himself! Thank you, River God, for protecting Sarankal!"

Following his lead, all the people of Sarankal, even the wounded and fallen, struggled to prostrate themselves toward the river, muttering prayers and kowtowing in pious worship.

Even Maka, still lying on the sacrificial altar, struggled to lift his head and gaze at the roaring river, tears streaming from his old eyes.

"The River God has revealed himself! He is saving Sarankal and punishing the invaders! He will drag you all into the water as living sacrifices!"

Only the sounds of the wind, the water, and the Sarankal people’s prayers filled the square.

Time seemed to stand still.

Theodore Lancaster stood frozen in astonishment, his heart aching for the four team members who had lost their lives.

’Could this place really have a River God?’

A moment later, from the center of the turbulent river, a voice boomed—deep and piercing. It was as if it came from the abyss itself, striking directly at the soul of every person present.

The voice carried no human emotion, only an undeniable authority.

"Let him go!"

Silence. A deathly silence.

The people of Sarankal froze, their prayers forgotten.

For centuries, the River God had only been a legend, a focus for their rituals and hopes. No one had ever heard the River God speak.

Now, the River God’s voice was so clear, so real.

Chief Barton’s body began to tremble violently. He looked back, his gaze falling painfully on Adrian Lancaster, who was still surrounded by his people. Then he looked at the roaring river, his face a mask of profound inner conflict.

In the end, a reverence for their god, cultivated over centuries, won out.

As if drained of all strength, Barton collapsed to the ground. In a hoarse voice thick with unshed tears, he gave the order.

"Obey the River God’s will. Release Tarn."

The human wall blocking Adrian Lancaster hesitated, then slowly parted, creating a narrow path.

Confusion and resentment were written on every face, but they were overshadowed by their obedience to the River God.

Just then, Nia threw herself forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Adrian Lancaster’s waist. She buried her face in his chest and began to sob uncontrollably.

"Don’t go, Tarn... please, don’t go."

Her heart-wrenching sobs echoed across the now-silent square, filled with despair and a desperate reluctance to let him go.

"You must have misheard! The River God didn’t say anything!"