The Retired Young Mercenary Is Secretly a Billionaire-Chapter 61: In the city, the stars are lost in the light.

Evening arrived gently, casting a warm golden hue over the mountains. Miles returned from the clan meeting just in time to see Hope and Asher bouncing around the spacious residence, their laughter echoing through the marble hallways. Both of them had changed into matching floral vacation clothes they found in their luggage, acting like tiny explorers on a great quest.

Miles leaned against a pillar and crossed his arms, pretending to be stern. "So, what are you two up to now?"

Hope ran toward him with her arms wide open. "Big brooo! We found a secret hallway that leads to a garden with a pond!"

Asher tugged his sleeve. "And we saw a fish! A real, fat, golden one!"

Miles crouched down, ruffled both their heads, and chuckled. "Did you two ask for permission before invading the fish kingdom?"

"Nope!" they said in unison, then burst into laughter.

They chased each other around the pillars while Miles playfully dodged their little attacks. He scooped them both up, spinning them in the air as they squealed. Elena and Daniel watched the scene from the balcony with warm smiles, sipping on herbal tea as the orange sky melted into a soft lavender.

Elena turned to Daniel. "They look so happy." frёewebnoѵēl.com

Daniel nodded. "That’s what matters, isn’t it? Peace. After everything."

Just then, a soft knock echoed from the side hallway. A neatly dressed maid entered, bowing politely. "Dinner is served, young master Miles."

Hope and Asher gasped with joy. "Dinner!" they shouted, and bolted toward the dining area, dragging Miles along with them.

The dining hall was a mix of tradition and modern comfort—wide open wooden architecture with glowing lanterns, soft silk curtains fluttering in the evening breeze, and a massive table already set for them. The aroma was unlike anything they had experienced before.

Instead of the usual pasta or lasagna, the table offered a new range of dishes—grilled river fish wrapped in lotus leaves, roasted duck glazed with mountain herbs, and a warm pumpkin broth that filled the air with hints of cinnamon and sage. There was a plate of stir-fried wild mushrooms, earthy and rich, and a delicate plum sauce chicken, served beside sticky rice in bamboo cups. A gentle waft of smoked green tea filled the background, refreshing yet grounding.

Elena inhaled deeply, visibly impressed. "I’ve never smelled anything so comforting and... serene."

Daniel cut into a piece of the herb duck and his eyebrows rose. "This is... incredible."

Hope munched on the sticky rice. "Big brooo! This rice is sweet and soft like clouds!"

Asher dipped his fish in sauce. "And the fish doesn’t smell fishy at all! It’s sooo good!"

Miles smiled. "It’s all local. Grown and cooked right here in the mountains. Everything tastes better when it’s made with care."

Just as everyone settled into the comfort of good food and warm conversation, a familiar voice drifted from the hallway.

"Hope I’m not too late to crash the party."

Clarissa entered, dressed in a soft lavender dress, her long hair braided to the side. She radiated grace and casual elegance, holding a wrapped basket of mountain berries.

"Hello everyone," she greeted warmly. "How’s everything going?"

The twins lit up. "Big sister Clarissa!"

Clarissa crouched down to their level. "Do you want to see something really cool?"

Hope and Asher nodded furiously.

"Then come with me."

She led the entire family down a quiet stone path through the back of the residence. The wind carried the soft chirps of mountain crickets and the faint rustling of leaves. Eventually, they arrived at a circular terrace—a hidden planetarium-style balcony with a massive domed roof that opened to the stars. At the center stood a high-powered telescope, and around it, comfortable seating arranged for stargazing.

Above, the sky was vast and clear—millions of stars blinking into view, no city lights to wash them out. The Milky Way streaked across the sky like a celestial river.

Elena gasped, placing her hand over her heart. "I haven’t seen the sky like this in decades. In the city, the stars are lost in the light."

Daniel was equally amazed. "Feels like we’ve left the world behind."

The twins stood in awe, their mouths slightly open. "Big bro... the stars are real!" Hope whispered, eyes wide. "They’re sooo many!" Asher added, pointing excitedly.

Clarissa smiled and helped them take turns looking through the telescope."That one’s Jupiter," she said softly. "And that red one is Mars."

Hope looked through the scope and squealed. "I see it! It’s like a tiny glowing marble!"

Asher took his turn. "Is that... is that the moon? So close!"

Miles leaned back against the stone railing, arms crossed, watching his family bathed in starlight, their faces glowing with joy and wonder. For once, everything felt perfect. No enemies. No burden of revenge. Just quiet, honest happiness.

Time passed unnoticed.

Eventually, the cool breeze nudged them back to the residence. The family returned, yawning and laughing, and soon settled into the soft linens of their rooms.

The lights dimmed. The quiet of the mountains surrounded them.

[FLASHBACK – FEW YEARS AGO]

Southern Province, Downtown – Nightfall

A streetlight flickered above a damp alley, its dim glow cutting across the silhouettes of five armed men circling a lone figure in black.

CRACK.

A scream echoed off the brick walls. One man dropped, his arm bent the wrong way.

The man in the center—Ghost—didn’t stop. His movements were fluid, precise. Calculated destruction.

A second thug lunged. Ghost ducked under the swing, grabbed the man by the collar and slammed his face into a rusted dumpster, leaving a smear of blood behind.

Another tried to flank him with a switchblade.

Ghost didn’t look. He pivoted, caught the wrist mid-swing, twisted, and—

SNAP.

The knife clattered to the ground. The attacker crumpled beside it.

The final two hesitated, hearts pounding in fear. But Ghost didn’t give them time to rethink. He surged forward. A brutal roundhouse caught one in the temple, sending him crashing into a stack of crates. The last guy turned to run—

Thud.A throwing knife hit the wall right next to his ear.

He froze. Ghost stepped close and whispered coldly.

"Pick it up. Go tell your boss what happens when you double-cross Graveyard."

The thug nodded furiously and bolted.

Ghost straightened his jacket, barely breathing hard, as he reached down to retrieve his blade.

BZZZ.His earpiece vibrated. A secure channel flashed green.

Ghost tapped it once."Talk."

Mission Control (Graveyard):"Ghost. We have a new contract. Emergency-class. Private."

Ghost glanced down at his bloodied gloves."I’m kind of in the middle of cleanup. Make it fast."

Mission Control:"This is different. Priority override. Commander Holloway himself signed it."

Ghost’s expression shifted—interest sparked."I’m listening."

The sound of rain returned as the silence stretched on. Then the voice continued.

Mission Control:"You ever hear of the Five Ancient Clans?"

Ghost chuckled, slipping his knife back into its sheath."You mean bedtime stories for martial artists with God complexes?"

Mission Control:"They’re real. Four of them are in the Southern Province. And they just got robbed."

That stopped him cold."Go on."

Mission Control:"They were here on a joint operation—escorting an envelope carrying something ancient. Something dangerous. But someone snatched it away under their noses. No witnesses. No trace."

Ghost tilted his head slightly, interest sharpening."They asking for help?"

Mission Control:"They reached out discreetly. They don’t want their clans to know they failed. Bad politics. They found us through a mutual contact. You were requested personally."

Ghost’s eyes narrowed slightly, his tone calm but loaded with intent.

"What’s in it for us?"

A brief pause. Then Mission Control’s voice came through, low and even.

"We made a deal. One that’s very profitable for Graveyard."

Ghost’s brow twitched, just a flicker of intrigue beneath his stoic expression.

"Details?"

"No clearance to disclose that over comms. You’ll be briefed once you make contact with the field operative."

Ghost exhaled through his nose—half irritation, half amusement—as he began walking toward his bike parked under a rusted steel awning. Rain fell in steady sheets, dripping from his black combat jacket and splattering into shallow puddles at his feet.

He reached into his coat, pulled out a cloth, and casually wiped the blood off his knuckles. The bodies behind him groaned in pain but didn’t dare move.

"Finesse," he muttered under his breath. "Not exactly my strongest trait."

Mission Control didn’t miss a beat.

"You’re the only one we trust not to screw this up. The Commander agrees."

Ghost mounted the matte-black bike with one smooth motion. His fingers danced over the handlebar console, activating the tactical interface.

"Send the package."

A soft chime sounded in his earpiece.

"Data en route. Visuals, target map, contact location. We need this one done clean."

He pulled his helmet down over his head, rain pelting against the visor.

"I don’t do clean," Ghost said, voice muffled now, engine humming beneath him. "But I’ll get it done."

"Just don’t make it a war."

"No promises."

The comm line went silent.

With a growl of ignition, the bike roared to life. Twin headlights cut through the misty alley as Ghost leaned forward, one hand steady on the throttle.

He whispered to himself, eyes locked on the dark city ahead.

"I don’t need luck. I need a lead."

And with a blast of speed, Ghost vanished into the storm—leaving broken bones, whispers of fear, and the Graveyard’s legend echoing through the night.

Present Day — Morning

The sky over the mountain range was still blushing gold when Miles stepped onto the stone-laid training grounds. A cool breeze drifted across the plateau, carrying the scent of pine and distant ocean air.

Below the open pavilion roof, rows of disciples were already lined up in disciplined formation — backs straight, eyes forward, arms firm at their sides. As soon as they saw him, a synchronized voice rang out like a single breath.

"Good morning, young master."

Miles gave a subtle nod in response, walking past the aligned warriors with a quiet presence that needed no words. He wore a simple training outfit, black and fitted, the fabric catching the light just enough to reveal the toned form beneath — a product of years shaped by war, loss, and survival.

At the far end of the ground, Clarissa stood waiting — arms crossed, a teasing grin tugging at her lips.

"You’re late," she said, without looking at him directly.

Miles stretched his arms back lazily, cracking his neck. "I was up early. Thought I’d let you all warm up first."

"Or you just didn’t want them to see you yawn during warmups," she smirked.

He smiled faintly, then without another word, walked to the sparring circle at the center.

Clarissa signaled to the instructors. "Resume training."

The synchronized clap of motion followed as the disciples broke into movement — some practicing forms, others partnered for technique drills. A rhythm formed — one of precision, discipline, and silent energy.

Miles took a breath, grounded his stance, and began his own routine.

His fists cut through the air with fluid precision, sharp enough to slice wind. Elbow strikes, knee pivots, controlled breathing. There was no waste in his movement — only purpose. Even the youngest disciples paused to glance his way, mesmerized by the deadly beauty of practiced violence wrapped in grace.

Clarissa leaned against a post, watching. "You still fight like the battlefield’s under your skin."

Miles didn’t answer — his eyes were focused ahead, locked in that trance every true warrior knows. His final spin kick sent a gust across the field, ending in perfect balance. He held the pose, then slowly relaxed.

Clarissa pushed off the post. "Not bad for someone pretending to be on vacation."

Miles walked toward her, brushing sweat off his brow.

"It’s not pretending if I’m trying," he said with a half-smile.

And with that, the morning began.

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