The Retired Young Mercenary Is Secretly a Billionaire-Chapter 206: Coriander???

Miles looked at the girl for a moment. Her eyes were unfocused, drifting just a little past him, confusion swimming in them like fog over still water.

"Can I help you?" he asked calmly.

The girl straightened her posture, then turned her face directly toward him, forcing confidence into her voice. "Actually, I lost my glasses here, and I cannot see properly without them. Can you help me look for them"

"Alright," Miles said. "Let me see."

He took a step back.

A sharp cracking sound echoed against the marble floor.

Miles closed his eyes.

He already knew.

The girl stiffened. "Is it.."

Miles opened his eyes and looked down. The thin frame lay crushed beneath his shoe, lenses fractured beyond saving.

"Unfortunately," he said quietly.

He bent slightly, examining the damage. "No. They cannot be used anymore."

The girl let out a slow breath.

Miles straightened and gestured toward a nearby staff member. A cleaning lady hurried over.

"I am sorry," Miles said to the girl. "I did not see them. How about I buy you a new pair"

The girl hesitated. "Umm. That. Won't"

"It is my fault," Miles continued gently. "Let me fix it."

He turned to the cleaning lady. "We have an optician in the mall, right"

The woman looked apologetic. "Boss, actually the optical store closed early today."

Miles frowned slightly. "Then how about we go somewhere else"

The girl shook her head quickly, a small smile forming. "That will not be necessary sir. It is not your fault really. I am the one who dropped them. I have multiple pairs at home anyway. I appreciate your help."

She turned around, clearly intending to leave.

"Might I ask you to wait," Miles said.

She paused.

"At least let me drop you home. It is night outside, and you cannot see properly. I know it sounds strange coming from a stranger, but I will feel relieved if I know you reached home safely."

There was a brief silence.

Then she nodded. "Then I will gladly accept."

Miles extended his hand. "Come. Take my hand."

She reached out, fingers wrapping around his wrist over the sleeve, not his palm.

They walked together toward the exit.

At the gate, his car had already been brought forward. Security handed him the keys with a respectful nod.

Miles opened the passenger door and carefully guided her inside. He closed it gently, then took his seat behind the wheel.

The engine hummed as the car moved forward.

"Which way?" Miles asked.

She gave him the address, her voice steady.

Miles turned the steering wheel smoothly, guiding the car onto the road.

Minutes passed. The city lights thinned, traffic growing sparse, the road quieter with only the occasional car passing by.

Miles broke the silence. "Odd, isn't it"

"What" she asked.

"You need glasses to see, and I stepped on them. And yet," he continued casually, "I am the one who actually needs glasses to see danger."

Before she could react, Miles lifted his right hand from the gear and caught her wrist mid motion.

A knife gleamed inches from his ribs.

He did not even look at her.

With his other hand, he calmly eased the car to a stop by the side of the road.

She tried to pull her hand back, reaching behind her waist with the other, but found nothing.

"What are you searching for?" Miles said softly.

He tilted his elbow against the steering wheel.

Another knife rested there.

The girl exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping. "How did you find out?"

Miles finally turned his head slightly, eyes sharp but calm. "Even if you wear layers of prosthetics and makeup, even if you hide your Russian accent, there are things you cannot erase."

She stayed silent.

"You smell like the one thing I hate the most," he continued. "Coriander leaves. I told you to stop wearing your grandmother's perfume, Veronika."

His grip loosened.

She leaned back against the seat, lips curling into a lazy smile. "You are boring, Ghost."

"What" Miles replied evenly. "You get caught trying to stab me, and I am boring"

She laughed softly. "Alright. You win. Miles Sterling."

Miles' eyes flickered. "How did you find me? Or my real name"

"Monica told me," Veronika said casually.

Miles pressed the brake harder than necessary.

"Is she taking your side now?" he asked.

She tilted her head. "What. Are you jealous? She is my friend too. What, are you two dating or something"

The car came to an abrupt stop.

Miles turned fully toward her. "She is my cousin. You know that."

Veronika's eyes widened. "What When did that happen"

"We found out later," Miles replied. "My mother is her father's real sister."

Veronika burst into laughter, leaning back against the seat, shaking her head. "That explains a lot."

Miles restarted the car smoothly.

"So," he said after a moment, his voice steady again. "Why are you really here"

Silence filled the car as the road stretched ahead.

The engine purred softly as Miles eased the car back onto the road. Streetlights slipped past like slow breathing stars, their glow cutting thin lines across the windshield. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Veronika broke the silence.

"Remember the person I was searching for"

Miles did not look at her. His eyes stayed on the road ahead, steady, unreadable. "You mean the person you have been chasing your whole life for revenge. Yes. I remember. Tell me how I can help"

Her fingers tightened in her lap. "His name is Artem Belov"

The car screeched to a halt.

Miles slammed the brakes, tires crying out against the asphalt. The sudden stillness felt violent. He turned his head slowly and looked at her, really looking at her, as if measuring whether the name had been spoken by mistake.

Veronika met his gaze. "So you know him"

Miles let out a slow breath. "Do not tell me you never heard about that man all these years"

"I heard the name," she said quietly. "But I never knew he was the person I was looking for. When I finally found out, everything clicked. I started gathering intel. I cannot kill him in Russia. His people will find me before I even pull the trigger."

She swallowed. "He was in London a few days ago. When he returned, I heard he started recruiting people. From what I gathered, they needed someone to go with them to Haven. That is when I reached out to Monica. That is why I am here. She said you could help me. So tell me. What do you know"

Miles stared ahead again, hands resting loosely on the wheel. "Not only him," he said after a pause. "There are several criminals from different countries are coming to Haven"

Her eyes narrowed. "For what"

Miles turned the key slightly, restarting the engine. The car rolled forward once more, smooth and controlled, as if nothing heavy had just been said.

"For a trip," he replied calmly.

"What trip"

A faint smile touched his lips, the kind that never reached his eyes. "A trip to hell"

Veronika studied his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the quiet certainty in the way he drove, like the road itself owed him obedience. After a long moment, she spoke.

"I want in"

Miles shook his head slightly. "Are you sure It is going to be very dangerous"

"You know I am not going to leave this chance," she said without hesitation.

"I cannot take you into danger," he replied. "Not this one"

Her voice hardened. "I am going"

Miles exhaled, a sound caught somewhere between resignation and acceptance. "Alright," he said finally. "Then you came at the perfect time"

Her lips curved into a small, fierce smile. "So," she asked softly, eyes gleaming in the dim light, "what are you planning"

The car disappeared into the night, carrying secrets heavier than the silence around them.

….

Artem Belov was a man who wore two faces with the same ease he wore his tailored suits.

To the public, he was a respected regional politician in Moscow. A patriot in speeches, a benefactor in photographs, a man who shook hands with factory workers and promised stability to pensioners. His approval ratings in his area were absurdly high, built on carefully distributed favors, fear disguised as loyalty, and money that never appeared on any public ledger.

Behind closed doors, Artem Belov was something else entirely.

He controlled smuggling routes that stretched from the Baltic ports to the Black Sea. Weapons vanished from military inventories and resurfaced in foreign conflicts under his signature prices. Human trafficking rings passed through his territory untouched, provided their payments arrived on time. Journalists who dug too deeply suffered accidents. Businessmen who refused his partnerships lost licenses, warehouses, or families. Entire neighborhoods knew his name but never spoke it aloud.

Blood had followed him for decades, quietly, efficiently.

And deeper still, beneath politics and mafia, Artem Belov was a treasure hunter.

Not a romantic explorer, not a historian. A predator who believed the world still hid things worth killing for. He had joined the hunters years ago, drawn by whispers of an inheritance older than nations, a vault that could rewrite power itself. The Sylven Forest was no myth to him. It was a destination.

Moscow lay frozen outside his residence, the city lights reflected faintly on thick glass windows. Artem stood alone in his private study, phone in his hand, staring at a set of images displayed on the screen.

And on every forehead, the same mark.

A half moon, painted in red.

His jaw tightened. His fingers curled slowly around the phone.

"So it is real," he murmured.

The Rồng Gang. The Lưỡi Gang. Two organizations that had never crossed paths, never shared enemies, never competed. Both were erased on the same day. Same signature. Same precision.

Artem lifted the phone and dialed a number he had memorized long ago, one he rarely used.

It rang once.

Then a voice answered, old, calm, weighted with years of secrets.

"Hello"

Artem did not bother with greetings. "Are you looking at this"

There was a pause on the other end. A long one.

"I am," the old man finally said.

Artem raised the phone slightly, the glow reflecting in his cold eyes. "The half blood moon. I thought you were just telling me a story"

"It is not," the old man replied. "It is a symbol of protection for them"

Artem frowned. "For them"

"For the forest," the old man said quietly. "For the people who belong to it"

A chill crept up Artem's spine. He looked again at the images, at the mark that felt less like a threat and more like a warning.

"Be careful in the Sylven Forest," the old man continued. "Do not let them find you"

Artem's voice hardened. "You think I am careless"

"I think you are ambitious," the old man replied. "And ambition makes noise"

Artem exhaled sharply through his nose. "If they ever find out"

"If they ever find out you are my son," the old man interrupted, his tone suddenly grave, "that will be a disaster"

Artem turned away from the window, the weight of the words settling heavily in his chest.

"That forest is their home," the old man went on. "They will always have the upper hand there. No army, no money, no title can change that"

For the first time, doubt flickered in Artem Belov's eyes.

"I will be careful," he said at last.

"I hope so," the old man replied. "For both our sakes"

The call ended.

Artem lowered the phone slowly and stared once more at the half blood moon glowing on the screen. Somewhere far away, beyond cities and borders, the Sylven Forest waited.

And for the first time in years, Artem Belov felt something unfamiliar.

Fear.