Chapter 64: The Culprit

The call ended with a soft click, but the silence that followed was anything but soft.

His face didn’t change. That was the terrifying part. No shouting. No slamming fists. Just a stillness so cold it made the air in the bedroom feel like winter steel.

Fury didn’t flash across his features—it settled there, sharp and controlled, like a blade laid carefully on a table before a slaughter.

Inside, the woman who had been laughing and teasing him only minutes ago shrank into herself. She slid closer to the wall, pulling the quilt up to her chin as if it could shield her from what he might become. She didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe too loud.

Two months.

That was how long she had been with him. Long enough to understand that the quieter he was, the more dangerous the night would be. Long enough to know when to disappear.

And right now, the man standing on the balcony was no longer just a man.

He felt like King Yama himself—judge, jury, executioner. The night wind curling in from the balcony carried a suffocating weight, thick with something darker than smoke.

Killing intent. That was the only way to describe it.

He unlocked his phone. His thumb hovered for a fraction of a second before tapping a blacked-out profile labeled: General.

The line rang once. Twice. Three times.

By the fifth ring, his jaw had tightened.

Finally, the call connected.

“General,” he said, voice low and glacial, “the operation failed. Do you know?”

Silence.

Not static. Not background noise.

Just silence.

“Just got word, X,” the voice on the other end finally replied, hoarse, like it had been dragged out of deep sleep. “Still trying to get the full details.”

“It was the Wolverine,” X said flatly. “You are not aware?”

A pause. Then, “Just learned about it. Not surprising, considering who you had kidnapped.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop another degree.

“Your connection is getting weaker, General,” X said, gaze fixed on the skyline. “Otherwise, you would’ve warned me earlier.”

Another pause. This one heavier.

“You’re being unfair,” the General replied, his tone sharpening as consciousness fully returned. “The Zuvels and the Norses are allies. And that Ares? He rivals you in power and reach. Why could he not summon the elite to pursue his daughter?”

At the mention of the name, a vein pulsed at X’s temple.

“You created over two days of distraction,” the General continued. “Word is Ares hasn’t left Obsidian Peak in forty-eight hours. Even if the operation failed, you should’ve snatched one of his prospects.”

X’s lips curved—but there was no humor in it.

“Careful with your words, General,” he murmured, half amusement, half threat. “I closed those deal with those businessmen because of my people’s exceptional skills.”

A reminder. A warning. A line in the sand.

“Right,” the General said quickly. “Let me see if there’s a mission tied to the rescue of the Ares’s princess. I’ll get back to you.”

The call disconnected.

But X didn’t move.

He stood on the balcony, city lights reflecting in his dark eyes. Below, the streets have quieted—only a few cars sliding through intersections, neon signs flickering, people laughing in places they thought were safe.

He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply. Smoke curled around him, blending with the night air.

Across the skyline stood one building taller and more imposing than the rest. Cold glass. Private floors. Guarded secrets.

Ares’s building.

X exhaled slowly, eyes locked on it.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

…

Meanwhile, at the other side of the country, dawn split the sky open in streaks of cold silver and bruised purple.

The roar came first.

Two helicopters cut through the thin mountain air, blades chopping against the wind as they descended toward a narrow airstrip carved into rock at the base of the Alta-Sierra range. Mount Ourea loomed behind it—jagged, merciless, wrapped in low-hanging mist like a crown of smoke.

The landing wasn’t smooth.

Crosswinds rolled down the mountain face in violent bursts, forcing the pilots to fight the controls. The aircraft tilted, corrected, dipped again. Dust and gravel exploded outward in spirals as the helicopters lowered in tandem—precise, deliberate, controlled chaos.

One bore military markings—matte green, armored, battle-tested.

The other gleamed darker. Sleeker.

On its side was the insignia of the Zuvel empire: a diamond-shaped obsidian rock encircled by a thin silver ring. Minimal. Expensive. Ruthless.

As the skids hit ground, soldiers in fatigues moved immediately. Boots pounded against tarmac. Rifles slung. Eyes alert.

This wasn’t a ceremonial welcome.

This was anticipation.

The doors opened.

Ares stepped down first from the civilian craft. The mountain wind tugged at his coat, but he didn’t break stride. His presence cut through the chaos like a blade through silk.

Behind him, Leonard Norse emerged from the military helicopter—older, harder, shoulders built from decades of command.

The colonel of the garrison, a protégé raised under General Leandro Norse’s iron discipline, saluted sharply before personally escorting them toward a waiting army jeep.

Engines roared again as they drove toward the fortified base nestled against Mount Ourea’s base.

The mountain watched.

Inside the Command Center, the room smelled of steel, electronics, and stale coffee. Digital maps flickered across massive screens, red grids overlaying the mountain’s dangerous topography.

They hadn’t even removed their gloves when Ares’s cell phone vibrated.

A transmission.

He opened it.

Current location: 30 degrees southwest of Ourea Peak.

Target destination: three kilometers north. Waterfalls.

For the first time since arriving, his pulse spiked.

He dialed immediately.

But the phone was already offline.

Dead signal.

“I received another message,” Ares said, voice controlled but tight. “Coordinates. Current position and target.”

Leonard Norse didn’t react instantly. He studied the terrain map instead. “Possibility of a trap?”

“Impossible,” Ares said sharply. Too sharply. “This is an unlisted number. Only a handful of people have it.”

Logan leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing. “That nanny of yours. Sarah. Easy to fool. What if someone pressured her? Tricked her into giving it up?”

The air thickened.

Ares didn’t snap.

But his jaw hardened.

“I won’t ignore any lead,” he said.

Before anyone could respond, Liam stepped forward, tablet clutched in his hand like evidence in a trial.

“Dad. Something else.”

His voice wasn’t loud.

It was tight. The kind of tight that made seasoned men pay attention.

Ares turned first. Leonard followed a beat later.

Liam tapped the screen, pulling up a sound recording and a triangulation map. A red dot blinked over a small settlement east of the base.

“We intercepted a call,” Logan continued. “Routed through a relay tower in a village ten kilometers from here. Civilian network. Poor encryption.”

He swallowed.

“They’re saying the kidnapping victims were rescued.”

The words dropped into the command center like a stone into deep water.

Silence swallowed the room.

Even the low hum of the monitors seemed to fade.

Leonard’s eyes narrowed slightly. “By who?”

Liam hesitated.

That hesitation said more than the words.

“The army’s elite force,” he answered carefully. “The Wolverine.”

A muscle twitched in Ares’ jaw.

Across the table, Leonard and Logan exchanged a look.

Not shocked. Not confused. Measured.

The kind of look shared between men who have seen coups begin with whispers.

“I did not authorize any rescue operation yet,” General Norse said at last.

His voice wasn’t raised. It didn’t need to be.

It carried the weight of rank, decades of command, and the unspoken promise of consequences.

The room shifted.

If he hadn’t ordered it— then someone had acted without clearance.

Or someone wanted them to believe that. Which meant one of two things.

Either someone was lying.

Or someone was moving pieces on the board without permission.

Ares didn’t look at any of them.

His gaze remained fixed on the digital terrain map, where the blinking coordinate pulsed like a heartbeat in hostile territory.

Thirty degrees southwest. Three kilometers north.

Waterfalls.

Rescued by Wolverine.

The timing was too clean. Too convenient.

“They’re trying to pull us out,” Liam muttered, folding his arms. “Get us chasing smoke while they move somewhere else.”

Logan zoomed in on the intercept log. “The caller sounded local. Panicked. Said he saw military vehicles near the lower ridge road at dawn. Claimed masked soldiers escorted civilians out.”

“Did he describe insignia?” Ares asked quietly.

“No. The man said that the woman and the two children were already gone when they woke up. It was a clean job.”

Ares exhaled slowly.

His breath didn’t fog the air—but it felt like the temperature dropped anyway.

If Wolverine had moved without General Norse’s authorization, then the chain of command had been compromised.

If Wolverine hadn’t moved—

Then someone wanted them chasing ghosts.

Either scenario pointed to one truth.

“If it’s real, we lose time,” he said. “If it’s bait, we lose men.”

The mountain wind howled outside as if mocking them.

Leonard folded his hands behind his back, calculating. Decades of command moved behind his eyes.

“Send ten,” he decided finally. “Recon first.”

He paused.

“Then another ten to shadow and protect them.”

The colonel nodded once.

But his gaze never left the coordinates.

Thirty degrees southwest.

Three kilometers north.

Waterfalls.

If this was a trap, it was designed by someone who understood him.

And if it wasn’t—

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