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

Flashback — Five Days AgoThe Snow Women Clan Base

Snowfall drifted gently outside the frosted glass panels of the dojo as the cold morning wind howled across the isolated cliffs. Inside, the air was still, silent but heavy with discipline. The wide training hall was lined with white pillars and intricate carvings of lotus and cranes — symbols of grace and silent strength.

In the center of the polished floor, Sayaka Nozomi moved with calculated precision. Her breath was calm, her form fluid, like water gliding over frozen earth.

She was practicing a technique — not flashy, not violent — but surgical.

A subtle step forward.A low, sweeping kick that flowed seamlessly into a pivot.An elbow strike angled just below where a jaw would be.Followed by a high arc of the hand, stopping inches before where a temple might lie.Each move — exact. No excess. No hesitation.

The Clan Supreme