Chapter 65: The Name They Carry

Whether it was a trap or a miracle, he was willing to gamble, because Shay’s life was on the line—and the woman trapped with her.

“I’ll go with the first team.”

Ares didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The room shifted the moment he spoke.

His eyes were locked on the detailed diorama of Mount Ourea spread across the long mahogany table. The handcrafted 3D terrain—jagged cliffs, dense forest ridges, a thin river winding through and separating Mount Ourea and Mount Roca—looked almost beautiful. Deadly, but beautiful. Better than the digital map glowing on the wall.

From above, the mountain looked manageable. Calculated. Contained.

In reality, it was none of those things.

Ares studied the miniature slopes like a general surveying a battlefield. His expression was unreadable, carved from something harder than stone.

“Boss,” Jack started, clearing his throat, “why not let the army go first? You know… let them secure the site, sweep the area, neutralize whatever needs neutralizing. Then we send in a Black Hawk, swoop in like a blockbuster finale, and—”

Ares’ glare sliced through him mid-sentence.

Jack shut his mouth so fast it almost made a sound.

“Ares,” Leonard said gently, trying to ease the tension thickening the air, “your assistant has a point. Stay here with us. Monitor the operation. Lead from the command center.”

“Dad is right,” Liam added, voice steady and serious. “Mount Ourea isn’t some corporate battlefield. It’s real jungle. Mud, unstable ground, unpredictable weather. Not glass towers and smooth asphalt. You’re used to controlled environments.”

Ares turned his head slowly, giving Liam a sharp, cutting look. It was anger.

But when he spoke, it was full of respect.

“Uncle,” Ares said evenly, but there was iron beneath the calm, “have you forgotten that I am the son of a general? I didn’t grow up behind conference tables. I grew up under my father’s discipline. Under his training.”

Not the kind you list on a résumé.

The kind that leaves scars.

Leonard coughed, the sound dry in his throat.

How could he forget?

Alexander.

That stubborn, unyielding man who would rather break a bone than bend a principle.

Alexander Zuvel wasn’t just Ares’ father. He had been Leonard’s comrade-in-arms. His brother in everything but blood. They had bled in the same dirt, survived the same ambushes, dragged each other out of kill zones when the world had gone red and loud.

They had shared rations. Shared silence. Shared the kind of trust that only forms when death is a constant shadow at your shoulder.

More than once, Leonard had felt Alexander’s hand haul him back from the edge. More than once, he had returned the favor.

They had sworn that if one fell, the other would watch over his family.

Back then, young and reckless between missions, they had even made a pact about their future children—laughing over cheap liquor in a dimly lit barracks.

“A man’s name carries weight,” Alexander had said.

So they decided: their sons would carry the first letter of their own names like a banner.

Leonard kept his word. Every one of his boys bore the mark—names beginning with L, sharp and solid.

Alexander did the same.

Named after Alexander the Great, the most formidable commander of ancient Macedonia, he had chosen a name heavy with conquest and strategy. And when his firstborn arrived, he didn’t hesitate.

He named him after Ares.

God of war.

Leonard remembered the day baby Ares was placed in Alexander’s arms. The pride in his friend’s eyes had been fierce—almost prophetic.

“He won’t be weak,” Alexander had said quietly.

And he hadn’t been.

While other children learned piano and etiquette, Ares learned how to disassemble a rifle before he learned algebra. Dawn runs. Cold-water endurance drills. Strategy games instead of bedtime stories. His childhood had been measured in discipline, not indulgence.

Alexander had not raised a corporate heir.

He had raised a soldier who happened to wear a suit.

Leonard looked at the man standing before him now—the controlled posture, the steady gaze, the unmistakable command in his silence.

He had been wrong to think the jungle would swallow Ares.

Steel recognizes steel.

And Alexander’s son was forged in fire long before he ever stepped into a boardroom.

He had underestimated Ares’s resolve.

Yes, Ares was an unstoppable CEO in the city—feared in boardrooms, ruthless in negotiations—but the jungle didn’t care about stock prices. Leonard had worried Ares would slow the team down.

He was wrong.

The steel in Ares’ voice was not corporate polish. It was an inherited command.

Leonard straightened.

“Alright. Liam, assign Ares to Alpha Team. They move out immediately. Bravo Team follows fifteen minutes after, northeast.”

He paused.

“Deploy another unit from the south. We box the mountain in.”

Orders flew. Radios crackled. Boots moved.

This wasn’t a board meeting anymore.

—

When Ares stepped outside the command tent, even his own bodyguards blinked.

The man who usually wore tailored black suits and Italian leather shoes now stood in full fatigues. The fabric hugged his frame like it had been made for him. On his head sat a forest-green wool cap, low and close-fitting. Combat boots replaced polished leather.

He didn’t look like a CEO.

He looked like a commander.

Liam exhaled quietly. He hadn’t intended to join the mission, but there was no way he was letting Ares walk into that jungle alone. His father’s instruction was clear: protect him.

Jack, however, was reconsidering all his life choices.

“Bo… Boss,” he said carefully, forcing a grin that didn’t quite stick, “how about I stay here and monitor communications from HQ? You know, provide… moral support. From a safe, signal-rich environment.”

Inside, he was spiraling.

’The last time I was in a forest was in third grade. And that was a city park. With vending machines. And a bathroom.’

He glanced at the looming silhouette of Mount Ourea in the distance.

’This is not a park. This is how people end up on survival documentaries.’

Hazard pay. He deserved triple.

“Stay here,” Ares said flatly, adjusting the strap on his rifle. “You’ll only slow us down.”

Jack had never felt such overwhelming, spiritual relief.

“Copy that, sir!” he said quickly, stepping back like he’d just been pardoned from a firing squad.

Leonard’s voice came from behind them, calm but firm.

“There’s no signal in the jungle. Radios and satellite phones only.”

The humor drained from the atmosphere.

This was real.

Ahead of them, Mount Ourea waited—dark, silent, and unforgiving.

And Ares walked toward it without hesitation.

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