Annulment Day: War God Unleashed

The 70-kilogram industrial gearbox slammed onto the wooden pallet in the logistics warehouse, kicking up a cloud of dust.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead. Before I could even straighten my back, Supervisor Barnes's tactical pen tapped sharply against the iron rack next to me.

"Why so slow, Arthur? Or have you gotten so used to feeding off the Vance family's trust fund that you can't even muster up this little bit of strength?"

Barnes's voice echoed through the cavernous warehouse, laced with undisguised mockery.

A few white colleagues checking inventory stopped what they were doing, exchanged glances, and let out muffled snickers.

"Just a mascot kept by the Vance family. Does he really think he's some young master?"

"I heard he's a discharged special forces soldier. Probably a deserter in the war zone, now relying on his fiancée to keep him fed. What a joke."

These slang-ridden taunts drifted over clearly.

I didn't stop moving. I just calmly turned around and hoisted the next gearbox.

The veins on the back of my hand throbbed faintly, but I suppressed my instinctual urge to react.

Three years ago, amidst the swirling yellow sands of the North African war zone, a blood-soaked Miller had gripped my hand with a deathly resolve.

He entrusted his five-year-old daughter, Lily, to me. She was his only remaining tie to this world.

To keep Lily off the radar of international arms dealers, I sought out Old Man Vance, the founder of this post-war reconstruction conglomerate.

The old man laid out a harsh condition.

I was to stay in the Vance family as a "worthless live-in son-in-law" for exactly three years.

For three years, I couldn't mobilize any armed forces, couldn't blow my cover, and couldn't fight back, no matter how much humiliation I endured.

Only if I appeared to be an absolute loser would my enemies look the other way.

For Miller's dying wish, I signed the contract.

At the bottom rung of this overseas metropolis, I became a shadow for anyone to trample on.

"What are you spacing out for? Change your clothes!"

Barnes threw a suit wrapped in a plastic bag at me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"The family is hosting a small cocktail party in Beverly Hills tonight. Miss Elena wants you there to act as a background prop. Don't be late!"

Pushing open the heavy oak doors of the Vance family estate, the pungent smell of motor oil from the warehouse was instantly replaced by the scent of expensive French perfume.

With Old Man Vance hospitalized with a severe illness, the atmosphere of this family gathering was permeated with an ill-concealed restlessness.

I had barely reached the edge of the hall when the voice of Elena's mother, Madam Eleanor, smashed into me.

"Look at this outfit. Which discount store did you dig this cheap trash out of?"

Holding a glass of champagne, Madam Eleanor looked me up and down, her eyes full of disgust.

"A failed discharged soldier who couldn't even survive on the battlefield, standing on our Persian rug in clothes like this—it's simply polluting the air."

The relatives around her chimed in in agreement.

"The old man must have really lost his mind to let someone like this into our family."

"I heard he's been working in the bottom-tier logistics warehouse for three years and hasn't even made supervisor. He's hopeless."

I lowered my eyes, looking at the thick calluses on my knuckles, and said nothing.

Getting used to silence was also part of the contract.

The crowd ahead parted slightly as Elena walked over.

She wore a silver haute couture evening gown, her makeup so flawless you couldn't pick out a single imperfection, yet her gaze was colder than the ice cubes in the glasses.

A Wall Street executive in a sharp suit smiled at me and asked her, "Elena, who might this be?"

She didn't even spare me a glance from the corner of her eye.

"An intern from the company's entry-level division. Called in temporarily just to make up the numbers."

An intern.

Three years, and in her eyes, I didn't even deserve the title of fiancé.

The executive smiled knowingly and immediately changed the subject.

Holding a glass of soda water, I retreated into the shadows at the edge of the hall like a transparent ghost.

A slightly tipsy cousin staggered past, his wine glass tilting. The dark red liquid splashed precisely onto my suit.

"Oops, sorry about that, Arthur. Didn't see someone standing here."

He threw out a half-hearted, insincere apology, drawing a burst of laughter from the surroundings.

I pulled out a tissue, casually wiped my chest, and turned toward the restroom.

Pushing open the heavy soundproof door of the restroom, the clamor outside was instantly cut off.

I turned on the faucet, letting the icy water wash away the wine stains on the back of my hand.

Raising my left hand, I tapped the edge of my custom waterproof watch four times in a specific rhythm.

A barely perceptible blue light flashed across the dial, and an encrypted channel was established instantly.

Following a faint sound of static, a voice trembling with excitement came through the bone-conduction earpiece.

"Commander! We've finally reached you!"

It was my old subordinate, "Ghost," who once controlled the intelligence network of half a continent.

"Speak," I said, looking at the remarkably average-looking man in the mirror. My voice held no inflection.

"There's something fishy about Old Man Vance's illness. Should we intervene directly?"

"Also, the brothers are just waiting for your word! As long as you authorize the unfreezing of the Swiss account assets, within three minutes, we can buy out the entire Vance group and make those who humiliated you pay!"

Ghost's tone revealed irrepressible urgency.

I turned off the faucet.

The man in the mirror had eyes as deep and dark as an ancient well.

"Denied."

"Commander!"

"The contract still has half a year." I grabbed a paper towel and slowly dried the water between my fingers. "Until the deadline arrives, no one is to make a move. Maintain cover."

Without giving him a chance to persuade me further, I cut the comms.

Some promises are heavier than life itself.

Miller's daughter had just adapted to an ordinary life. I couldn't drag her back into the center of the storm just for a moment of personal vindication.

When I walked out of the estate gates, the night wind carried a chill.

The party had dispersed, and a black Maybach was parked at the bottom of the steps.

Elena stood by the car door, seemingly waiting for me.

I stopped, maintaining a two-meter distance.

She pulled a lanyard badge from her Hermes bag and casually held it out to me.

I didn't take it. The badge fell to the ground with a crisp clatter.

"Tomorrow morning, the Global Tech Summit is being held at the Landmark Tower downtown."

Her voice held no warmth, as if she were issuing an official memo.

I glanced down at the badge on the ground.

In the position column, it read: "Internal Service Staff."

"What do you need me to do?" I asked.

"Serve tea, pour water, and do what you're supposed to do."

She pulled open the car door, paused, and looked at me out of the corner of her eye.

"Tomorrow at the summit, in front of all the media, I am going to make an important decision."

"You'd better be there on time, because that decision directly concerns our future."

She didn't elaborate, simply bending down to get into the car.

The door shut, and the engine roared to life.

The black sedan slowly drove off into the neon-lit night.

An important decision.

At a time when the group was facing a buyout and its founder was critically ill, the decision she was going to make was nothing more than shaking off a burden like me.

I bent down and picked up the gold-rimmed badge, my thumb tracing the letters printed on it.

The three-year shackle seemed to have reached the brink of shattering.

The wind picked up.

Above the metropolis, the muffled rumble of thunder faintly echoed in the distance.