CHAPTER 71: THE NEW GENRAL

Ezra sat in the quiet of his hotel room, the steam from his teacup curling faintly upward. He sipped slowly, the warmth settling in his chest, though his mind was far from calm. The man from earlier—Justin—was a shadow that refused to leave. Every instinct screamed of danger, as if he had stared into the eyes of a predator.

On the table lay his phone, with a stolen photograph of Justin on the screen. Ezra had already run every search possible, combing through networks, hidden registries, and even underworld archives—but nothing. No match. No identity.

That only confirmed his suspicion: the man was dangerous enough to erase his presence.

Ezra exhaled, set his cup down, and dialed a number he hadn’t touched in three months.

Far away, in a lavish apartment perched above the glittering city, a phone buzzed on a silk-covered nightstand. A woman stirred, her bare skin pale under the dim lamp. She frowned at the caller ID.

"...Him?" she muttered, her voice husky from sleep. "Why now... after three months?"

She slipped into a loose maxi, picked up a cigarette, and lit it with a flick. Stepping onto the balcony, the night breeze swept around her as she stared at the ocean of lights below. Finally, she answered.

"Hello... Young Master," she drawled, exhaling smoke into the night.

Ezra leaned back in his chair, resting one leg over the other, tea in hand. His tone was calm, unhurried.

"Long time, Lady Ironshade."

A low chuckle answered him. "Three months without a word, and now suddenly you call. I was starting to think you’d forgotten me."

"I don’t forget useful people," Ezra replied smoothly.

"Mm," she hummed, amusement in her voice. "So tell me, Young Master... is this a social call, or do you finally need my services again?"

Ezra’s eyes narrowed. "Straight to the point. I need information. There’s a man I met today—no records, no trace. I’ll send you his picture and the name he gave me. I want everything—where he comes from, who he works for, the threads he’s tied to. Nothing less."

Lady Ironshade flicked ash over the balcony, smirking faintly. "Bold of you to assume I can pull out ghosts from thin air. You must know digging that deep costs more than a casual favor."

Ezra sipped his tea, unbothered. "Fifty thousand golds."

The woman paused, smoke drifting from her lips. "...Quite generous."

"It’s not generosity," Ezra said flatly. "It’s urgency. You’ll get half now. The other half when you deliver. But I want speed—no excuses."

Lady Ironshade let out a low laugh. "Still as commanding as ever. You do know most men would beg before offering me coin, right? Yet here you are—treating me like a tool to be bought and used."

Ezra’s lips curved faintly. "That’s because most men want you in their bed, Cassy. I only want results."

For the first time, her teasing smile faltered. Silence stretched a moment, only the crackle of her cigarette between them.

Then she exhaled, her voice more serious. "Fine, Young Master. A deal, then. Send me the details. I’ll dig where others wouldn’t dare."

"Good," Ezra replied. "You’ll have them in a moment."

Without waiting for further pleasantries, he ended the call. A message followed instantly—Justin’s photo, his given name, and the transfer of twenty-five thousand golds.

Ezra leaned back, his silver hair catching the dim light, eyes sharp as a blade.

Someone’s aiming for me. I don’t know who... just hope it doesn’t relate to Elena—

_______________________

The elevator hummed softly as it rose through the steel heart of the fortress. Elena stood with one arm crossed, sipping her coffee in slow, measured gulps. The bitter taste did little to calm her unease. The call for an emergency assembly wasn’t a common occurrence—especially not for officers of her rank.

At her side stood Colonel Mustafa, his rigid posture contrasting with her more relaxed stance. His crisp military uniform was decorated with several service ribbons, though his face betrayed nothing but discipline.

"Colonel Mustafa," Elena finally broke the silence, her eyes still fixed on the digital floor counter, "do you know why we’ve been summoned this early?"

Mustafa’s gaze remained straight ahead. "Most likely about the appointment of the new General of the Combat Force."

Elena’s brows furrowed. "New General? What about General Li Yang? Has he not recovered yet?"

Mustafa gave a small shrug, his jaw tightening. "I don’t know." The clipped response carried a note of dismissal. He had no interest in indulging her questions further.

Elena sipped her coffee again, her mind restless. General Li... I should call him later. Something feels wrong about this.

The lift doors slid open, and they stepped out into the long steel corridor leading to the command auditorium. Security officers saluted as they passed, their boots echoing in sharp unison against the polished floor.

The command room was vast, its ceiling arched with reinforced plating, screens flickering with tactical data and maps of border regions. The atmosphere was heavy, thick with expectation. Only Majors and Colonels had been summoned here; no lower ranks were present. That alone was unusual.

Elena and Mustafa took their seats among the rows of high-backed chairs, the hum of whispered conversations filling the air. Everyone was waiting for answers.

Moments later, the massive steel doors at the front slid open with a hydraulic hiss. A hush fell instantly across the room as Marshal Chu Kuangren entered.

The Marshal’s presence was commanding. Clad in immaculate white and gold uniform, his insignia gleamed beneath the harsh lights. His face was weathered with years of battle, but his eyes—sharp, unwavering—held the authority of a man who stood at the peak. Every officer in the room instinctively straightened in their seats.

Chu Kuangren strode to the central podium and rested his hands on either side, surveying the assembly before speaking in his deep, steady voice.

"Officers of the Combat Corps. I will keep this brief. General Li Yang has suffered critical injuries during his last deployment. He requires a minimum of two months’ rest and rehabilitation."

A murmur rippled through the room. General Li Yang was not only respected—he was revered. The news struck hard.

Marshal Kuangren’s tone hardened, silencing the whispers. "In the meantime, command of the Combat Force cannot be left vacant. A temporary replacement has been appointed."

Before anyone could question further, the rear doors opened again.

A man stepped in.

He was broad-shouldered, towering above most, his presence filling the room with raw weight. An overcoat hung heavily from his frame, brushing against the massive sword strapped across his back. His boots struck the floor like war drums, each step deliberate.

In one motion, every officer in the auditorium stood and saluted. The air crackled with formality—every officer except Marshal Chu Kuangren himself, who remained seated, arms folded, eyes narrowing slightly as he observed.

The man reached the podium, removed his gloves, and placed them casually aside. His gaze swept the room with thinly veiled arrogance, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"I am Sergei Valastovich," he announced, his voice booming with confidence. "I will be serving as General of the Combat Corps until General Li returns. Consider this your new chain of command."

He let the words hang, as if daring someone to challenge him.

"I’m also going to train you while I’m here," he continued, amusement glinting in his eyes. "So listen carefully. From today, all soldiers on leave are to return immediately. Vacations are canceled. No exceptions. Even personal matters. Got it?"

He tapped the podium once for emphasis, his grin widening. "Send the message to your teams. I expect everyone back within twenty-four hours."

From her seat, Elena lowered her coffee cup with a controlled clink against the armrest, her jaw tightening. Her thoughts were venomous. Arrogant bastard. Who does he think he is?

But outwardly, she remained composed, her eyes hooded as if bored.

Sergei glanced around, clearly relishing the mix of obedience and unease. "Good. Moving on to another matter."

He unfolded a sheet of paper from his coat, though his eyes hardly needed it.

"I’ve reviewed the reports of your recent campaigns. Among the units, two stand out—the teams led by Colonel Mirella and Colonel Mustafa. Both of you command the most effective forces under our banner."

Both officers stiffened at the recognition, though they remained silent.

Sergei leaned forward, his smirk returning. "Tomorrow morning, I want both of you in my office. Bring along your best Major. I’ll be reviewing your unit’s capabilities personally. Don’t disappoint me."

He slammed the paper down flat against the podium. "That will be all. Dismissed."

With that, he turned to Marshal Chu Kuangren. The two exchanged a brief, hushed conversation—inaudible to the rest. Whatever was said, the Marshal’s expression remained unreadable.

Moments later, Sergei swept out of the room, his heavy steps echoing until the steel doors shut behind him.

The auditorium buzzed instantly with low whispers, tension breaking like a dam. Officers glanced at each other, uncertainty clear in their eyes.

Elena leaned slightly forward, tapping the shoulder of Colonel Mirella, who sat in front of her.

"General or not," she muttered under her breath, "don’t bring me with you tomorrow."

Mirella turned halfway, a small amused smile tugging at her lips. "He said best, Elena. Sorry—can’t do that."

Elena forced a polite smile, but her hand tightened around her cup until her knuckles whitened.

The assembly slowly began to disperse, officers filing out under the watchful gaze of guards. Outside the auditorium, the fortress corridors buzzed with hurried footsteps as orders were already being relayed to units across the city.