Ch 45. A Hollow Victory
last update2026-04-10 19:53:53

The metallic stench of blood spraying from Claude’s neck filled the entire living room, mixing with the lingering scent of gunpowder in the air. Eduardo stood rigid, his chest rising and falling with short, heated breaths. Thick red blood dripped from his chin, soaking into his white shirt, which was already torn in several places. At his feet, Claude the Sark, the man who had haunted his nightmares for months, was now nothing more than a lifeless heap of flesh, twitching faintly one last t
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  • Ch 150. The Price of a Memory

    The evening breeze drifted gently through Rome, sweeping across the square once known as Piazza della Mafia, now renamed Piazza del Fantasma, Ghost Square.At its center stood a monument that defied time itself.The ten-meter-tall statue, cast in black bronze, had no distinguishable face. It was only the silhouette of a man in a suit, his left hand missing one finger, gripping a grim reaper's scythe pointed toward the earth.At the foot of the monument, thousands of tiny candles lit by the citizens flickered beneath the wind, creating a sight that resembled a galaxy scattered across the asphalt that had once been soaked in blood.The golden plaque beneath it still gleamed.THE PRICE OF A MEMORY: PAID IN FULL.A young tourist turned to his guide."Why doesn't he have a face?""Because he traded it away," the guide answered with almost sacred reverence. "He gave up his face and his name so we would never have to look into the face of fear every time the sun went down."Far from the worl

  • Ch 149. Requiem (Song of Death)

    Twenty years.Long enough to turn a pile of rubble into a monument, and vengeance into history that was almost forgotten. Yet in Rome, time seemed to revolve around a single axis, a white marble gravestone atop Crystal Heights. The cemetery was no longer merely a burial ground. It had become a cathedral for those who worshiped shadows.That morning, the Roman air was remarkably clear, as though the sky had been washed clean by the night's rain. A convoy of armored black limousines climbed the hill at a measured pace, passing rows of tactical security personnel standing at attention every ten meters along the private road.Vito Eduardo stepped out of the lead vehicle.At twenty-one years old, he was no longer the little boy who played with pebbles around a gravestone. He stood nearly six foot three, dressed in a custom-tailored charcoal gray three-piece suit crafted in Milan. His hair was jet black, sharply contrasting with his pale complexion.But the most striking feature was his eye

  • Ch 148. The Legacy of the System

    Dust that had accumulated for nearly two decades swirled through the air as the soundproof steel door deep beneath Sark Tower groaned open with a piercing screech.This room did not exist on the building's official blueprints.Even Belerik, the keeper of the numbers, only dared enter once a year to make sure the ventilation system was still functioning.This was Sector Zero, the place where the Ghost's darkest secret had been sealed away behind walls lined with solid lead.Vito stood at the entrance.He had just turned twenty years old.He was taller than the average Italian man, broad-shouldered, with the solid posture forged through relentless training alongside the remnants of the Iron Guard. He wore a black suit without a tie. Thin leather gloves covered his hands, a habit he had copied from his father. His arms rested calmly at his sides.His pitch-black eyes, devoid of warmth yet as sharp as an eagle's, swept across the room.There was only a steel table.And resting in the cent

  • Ch 147. The Right Hand

    Ten years had passed since the dust settled over the Commissioner's headquarters in Rome. Yet at the top of Sark Tower, time itself seemed frozen within the endless circuitry and the glow of monitors that never went dark.The main control room had become much quieter. There were no more explosions or pounding against reinforced steel doors. Only the steady hum of server cooling systems running twenty-four hours a day to keep trillions of dollars flowing smoothly across the world.Belerik sat in his advanced electric wheelchair, now equipped with sophisticated life-support sensors attached to his increasingly frail body.His hair had turned completely white.His skin was wrinkled like aged parchment.His carbon-fiber prosthetic leg rested stiffly against the wheelchair's foot support."Look at that number blinking in red, Vito. What does it mean?" Belerik asked in a raspy voice, interrupted by heavy breaths.Beside him stood a twelve-year-old boy with perfect posture.Vito.He wore a f

  • Ch 146. The Golden Cage

    Snow fell relentlessly over Zermatt, Switzerland, until the majestic peak of the Matterhorn seemed to vanish beneath an endless sea of white fog. Atop the most isolated hill stood an ancient Gothic villa, completely renovated yet still imposing in its timeless grandeur. A thirteen-foot steel fence, charged with electricity, surrounded the estate, sealing it off from the outside world.The villa had everything: a heated swimming pool, an underground wine cellar stocked with vintage bottles from the 1940s, and furniture expensive enough to support an entire village in Italy. Yet inside the eight-hundred-square-meter mansion, the only sound was the soft clink of ice against crystal.Emily Eduardo sat before her vanity, surrounded by luxury cosmetics from Paris and bottles of Scotch whisky from Scotland. She wore a silk robe worth more than a teacher's annual salary, yet the radiant confidence of the once-proud "Parasite Queen" had long since disappeared.The face staring back at her had

  • Ch 145. A Conversation with a Ghost

    The Roman sun slowly sank beneath the western horizon, leaving behind streaks of orange that looked like burn scars across the cooling evening sky. Within the grand private mausoleum, the last traces of Emily and Chloe's hypocrisy had vanished with the dust drifting across the pavement.Now, only silence remained.The kind of silence so dense that Freya could hear the slow rhythm of her own heartbeat, as if it were dying alongside the memories buried beneath this white marble.Freya knelt beside Eduardo's headstone, a simple monument with no carved portrait. Her expensive black dress was stained with dried mud and scattered gravel, but she didn't care. Beside her, two-year-old Vito sat with his chubby little legs stretched out, happily picking up white pebbles around the grave and stacking them into uneven little piles."Easy, Vito. Don't throw them," Freya whispered.Her voice was hoarse, still raw from the fury she had unleashed on Emily earlier.Vito glanced at his mother for only

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