The Retired Young Mercenary Is Secretly a Billionaire-Chapter 224: Party???

Elias shoved Kaelo aside and stepped forward.

"What is it?"

Artem moved with him.

They both looked inside the opened crate.

And froze.

Artem’s lips parted slowly.

"It... it... it’s..."

His throat tightened.

"A coffin."

Silence.

The word echoed against the white walls like a verdict.

Inside the crate lay a wooden coffin. Old, but preserved. Its surface was wrapped carefully in cloth and sealed with resin.

Artem reached forward with trembling fingers and pushed the lid open.

The smell hit them first.

Dry.

Ancient.

Inside was a mummified body.

The skin was darkened and shriveled tight against bone. The eye sockets hollow. Wrappings bound around limbs with deliberate care. Not thrown in. Not discarded.

Prepared.

Preserved.

A ritual.

A tradition.

Behind them, men shifted uneasily.

Elias rushed to another crate and tore it open.

Another coffin.

He opened it.

Another body.

He moved to the next.

Another.

Then another.

"They are everywhere..."

Rows of crates.

Rows of coffins.

An entire hall.

Not treasure.

Graves.

Artem swallowed.

"I heard it from my father..."

Kaelo snapped at him.

"What?"

Artem’s voice was barely steady.

"When people get caught in the Sylven forest... the tribals mummify them. It is their tradition."

Kaelo’s eyes widened.

"That means..."

He looked around slowly.

"That means the tribals come here often."

Elias’ face darkened.

"You mean this is..."

"Graveyard."

Miles’ calm voice cut through the hall from behind them.

The word felt heavier than the coffins themselves.

Everyone turned.

Every weapon lifted.

Elias’ gun snapped back toward Miles.

"You knew all this already."

His voice shook, half rage, half realization.

"You brought us here. What for?"

Now every barrel in the room pointed toward Miles and Maddock.

Monk’s men.

Kaelo’s men.

The remaining men of Sheikh.

Hilda’s men.

Even Basil’s followers who had survived until now.

They formed a circle.

Miles and Maddock stood at the center.

Surrounded.

Guns raised.

Fingers tight on triggers.

Maddock did not move.

Miles smiled.

Then..

He laughed.

Again.

Slow.

Controlled.

Elias’ voice rose.

"You think this is funny? Do you think we are leaving this place without treasure? We will torture you to death if we have to."

Miles tilted his head slightly.

"Leaving?"

His eyes glinted.

"Not all of you are leaving today."

He clapped once.

A single sharp sound.

And suddenly

The white walls of the facility began to shift.

Mechanical locks released with deep metallic thuds.

The outer panels of the hall split apart and folded outward like the walls of a massive container being unpacked.

The vibrations shook the marble flooring beneath their boots.

Men stumbled backward instinctively.

The walls continued unfolding outward

Revealing what had been hidden beyond them.

Light flooded in.

Real daylight.

When the dust settled

They were no longer inside a sealed vault.

They were standing at the center of a town.

A fully constructed town.

Concrete houses lined paved roads stretching outward in organized rows. Balconies with railings. Windows with glass panes. Electricity poles with wiring strung between them.

At the center stood a large fountain, water cascading smoothly from carved stone tiers into a circular basin below.

Stone benches surrounded the square.

Flower beds.

A marketplace structure at one side.

Everything is clean.

Everything was maintained.

All of it hidden beneath the forest canopy, perfectly concealed from aerial view by engineered camouflage and tree coverage.

This was not a ruin.

It was civilization.

Monk’s eyes widened slightly.

He had traveled across continents.

He had trained in cities and villages.

He had seen underground facilities and secret compounds.

But never something like this.

Artem trembled visibly.

"There is... an entire town in the forest."

Elias’ voice cracked.

"Are you kidding me?"

His eyes darted across the structures.

"How is this even possible?"

Then

Doors opened.

One by one.

Concrete doors.

Wooden doors.

Metal shutters lifted.

Figures emerged.

The tribals.

But not with bows.

Not with arrows.

They stepped into the square wearing tactical vests.

Carrying rifles.

Assault weapons.

Sniper units took positions on rooftops.

Guns pointed directly at the treasure hunters.

Precise.

Organized.

Disciplined.

No chaos.

No shouting.

Just controlled dominance.

Half moon marks are still painted across their foreheads.

White garments replaced with combat attire.

The men inside the circle began to shake.

Monk’s expression hardened.

Elias slowly lowered his gun, just an inch.

Artem whispered hoarsely,

"They... they are not dead?"

Miles stood calmly at the center of the square, sunlight illuminating his face.

And he smirked.

But then Miles’ expression hardened.

Cold.

Unforgiving.

"What?" he said quietly.

Then louder, his voice carrying across the square.

"You thought you could kill them?"

His eyes burned now.

"You think you can kill my people?"

The words were not a question.

They were a declaration.

Artem blinked, stunned.

"Your people?"

Before Miles could answer, footsteps echoed against the pavement.

Chief Zella walked forward from between the armed tribals.

Her posture was straight.

Unshaken.

The half moon mark on her forehead stood bold against her calm face.

Artem’s breath caught in his throat.

Around him, men instinctively stepped backward.

But the rifles from rooftops and windows tightened their aim.

There was nowhere to run.

Zella stopped a few steps away from Miles.

Then she bowed.

Not alone.

Every tribal in the square bowed with her.

A synchronized movement.

Respect.

Allegiance.

The air itself seemed to shift.

Zella straightened and walked slowly toward Artem.

Her eyes locked onto his.

Unblinking.

Artem took a step back.

"Wait... how are you even alive?" he stammered. "I destroyed the entire settlement."

Zella tilted her head slightly.

"You talk about the settlement?"

She gestured lightly around them.

"Then where are you standing?"

Artem’s eyes widened.

He looked around the town.

The concrete buildings.

The paved square.

The fountain.

The realization struck him like a blade.

The place he had bombed.

The burning fort.

The wooden walls.

The smoke.

A decoy.

Zella’s lips curved faintly.

"I thought you were not a fool. Like your father, Artem Belov."

The name hit him harder than the revelation.

Artem froze.

She knew.

His father had warned him.

Never reveal your full identity in Sylven.

Never entangle with the Half Moon.

Never let them know your bloodline.

Zella stepped closer.

"Your father was such a coward," she said softly. "He ran away hiding his face."

Artem’s jaw tightened. Rage and fear wrestled inside him.

"You know what?" Zella continued.

Artem’s chest rose rapidly.

"One of the coffins behind you," she said calmly, "contains your father’s limb."

The words pierced deeper than any bullet.

For a second, time stopped.

The square fell silent.

Artem’s mind shattered into fragments.

His father’s missing limb.

The night he returned.

The silence whenever Sylven was mentioned.

The hatred.

The shame.

"You..." Artem whispered.

His vision blurred with fury.

Without thinking

He raised his gun.

And pulled the trigger at Zella.

The shot echoed across the square.

Sharp.

Final.

Artem grinned.

So did Elias.

Several tribals immediately tightened their aim at Artem, fingers ready to return fire.

But

Zella did not fall.

She did not even flinch.

She stood there.

Smiling.

No blood.

No impact.

No bullet wound.

Nothing.

Kaelo frowned.

"Did you miss?"

Artem blinked.

He was certain his aim had been perfect.

Miles stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the pavement.

"Does your gun even shoot?" he asked calmly.

Elias’ brows snapped together.

"What?"

Artem quickly pulled out the magazine and stared at it.

His fingers trembled.

"But..."

Miles’ eyes gleamed.

"Do you not understand?"

He looked at Artem as though explaining something to a child.

"Those bullets are blank."

Artem’s mind raced.

"That’s impossible. I shot Basil with the same gun."

The words slipped out.

And the entire square froze.

Artem realized what he had just revealed.

Slowly.

Every head turned.

Basil’s men stiffened.

"What did you say?" one of them whispered.

They moved instinctively behind Miles, guns rising towards the man who said Basil was dead.

Artem swallowed.

"It means Basil is... Basil is..."

"Yes. I am alive."

The voice came from the side.

Calm.

Clear.

Basil walked into the square.

Whole.

Unharmed.

He stood strong. He looked a little wounded after that fist fight last night.

Basil’s men rushed toward him in disbelief.

"Master! You are alive!"

Basil smiled faintly.

"Did I worry you all?"

He shifted his gaze toward Elias.

"Did I worry you, Elias?"

Elias’ face darkened.

"You..."

Artem staggered slightly.

"But how?"

Miles answered instead.

"You think you can send people to my city to spy on me and I will not find out?"

His voice sharpened.

"We already knew your eyes were in Star Harbor."

He took another step forward.

"Did you really think we came here unprepared?"

Artem’s gun slipped from his fingers and hit the pavement.

The sound echoed louder than the gunshot earlier.

Elias glared at Basil.

"I treated you as a friend."

Basil laughed once.

"A friend?"

His eyes hardened.

"Your father killed my wife."

Gasps rippled through the square.

"You are no better."

Elias staggered back a half step.

"What?"

He looked between Basil and Miles.

"That means... my father’s death..."

Basil’s voice cut him off.

"He was killed by Timothy Sterling."

The name fell like thunder.

"Timothy saved my life. Saved my son’s life. From your father."

Elias’ jaw clenched.

"So you finally have the courage to speak the truth."

His face twisted with rage.

"You bastard. I will kill you. I will kill your family."

Every rifle in the square shifted instantly toward Elias.

Basil spoke evenly.

"Choose your words carefully, Elias."

He gestured slightly around them.

"Look where you are."

Elias laughed harshly despite the weapons trained on him.

"So what? Both parties are armed."

His eyes locked onto Miles.

"I do not think you want bloodshed of your people. Right, Miles Sterling?"

Miles smirked faintly.

"Party is a big word, do you not think?"

Elias narrowed his eyes.

"What?"

Miles’ gaze shifted to the Monk.

"Zhāng Yǔzé."

The name echoed clearly.

"The clan has high hopes for you."

The Monk’s expression changed instantly.

"Further involvement with treasure hunters will revoke your martial arts school license."

Miles’ voice remained calm.

"Do you wish to stain your master’s name with blood?"

The Monk’s lips curved slightly.

"I was right," he murmured.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward.

Then dropped to one knee.

His followers mirrored him immediately.

"Greetings, Young Master."

The words struck like lightning.

Another shockwave rippled through the treasure hunters.

First Basil.

Now the Monk.

Hilda’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Even she had not foreseen this.

Elias stared at Zhāng Yǔzé.

"What is the meaning of this, Monk?"

His voice cracked between anger and disbelief.

"Have you gone mad?"