noctistt

They call him Ghost.
A name whispered in fear across warzones, black markets, and underworld circles.
To the world, he's a phantom—a faceless mercenary who leaves no trace but bodies in his wake.
To his enemies, he’s a death sentence.
To his brothers-in-arms in Graveyard, he’s family.

But to himself... he's a haunted man searching for a past stolen in gunfire and smoke.

After a flawless mission deep in the Eastern Province, Ghost returns to the hidden forest base he's called home for sixteen years. Yet the victory is short-lived. His foster father, the commander delivers an unexpected order:

"That was your last mission."

Now, Ghost—real name Miles Sterling—must step out of the shadows of war and into a world he’s never known. Guided only by a scarred letter, a fading memory, and the voice of a woman he hasn’t seen since the day everything was taken from him.

But war forged more than his body and name.

Behind the mask, behind the scars, Miles has another secret.
One he’s kept hidden even from his brothers in arms.
He’s not just a weapon.
He’s a ghost with a fortune—a hidden empire he built in silence, across borders and black markets, forged in strategy and blood.
A man of many names, and many shadows.

Beneath the bullets, tattoos, and silence lies a truth buried in ashes.
And Ghost is about to dig it up—one letter, one enemy, one memory at a time.

The Retired Young Mercenary Is Secretly a Billionaire

The host raised his arm, voice echoing through the vibrant arena.

"The First Match of the Succession Contest begins now!

Representing the Raijū Clan — Kano Raijin!

And from the Sylph Clan — Sora Veylen!"

Cheers erupted across the crowd as the two fighters stepped into the central stone ring.

Kano Raijin stood tall and broad-shouldered, his short, spiked hair like the aftermath of a lightning strike. His posture was grounded and explosive — his fists wrapped in black cloth, feet bare, stance loose but dangerous.

Sora Veylen, slender and composed, moved like a whisper. Dressed in a sleeveless high-collared tunic, her movements were graceful — she radiated calm like a breeze before a storm.

The crowd buzzed with whispers from different corners of the arena...

The bar was already sky-high