The Veteran’s Bloody Revenge

“Quick, Caesar, onto the ship! Now!”

The woman’s voice was hoarse and urgent. She shoved Caesar Julius toward a cargo ship about to leave port with all her remaining strength. Her hair was plastered messily against her pale cheeks, her clothes in disarray, her bare feet cut and bleeding from the rough wooden dock—but she had no time to care about that now.

“Mom! I won’t go! I’m staying with you!” Caesar cried out, his small hand gripping her wrist tightly. She was his only anchor.

“Listen to me!” For the first time, she spoke to him with such harshness, though tears welled in her eyes. She forcefully pried his fingers loose and shoved him into the broad arms of a sailor. “Take him away! Never come back! Please!”

She pressed a cold ancient coin into Caesar’s hand, then used the last of her strength to push him into the darkness of the hold.

“Caesar, never come back. Never seek revenge. That man… he has a black star on his left shoulder. You can’t afford to cross him.”

“Mom—!”

Caesar was dragged away by the sailor, struggling and looking back. The last image left to him was his mother being pinned down by several men in suits.

On the plane, Caesar jolted awake from the dream, nearly smashing his head against the seatback in front of him.

He was drenched in cold sweat, the back of his shirt sticking to his skin. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

That dream again.

Ten full years. He had lost count of how many times he’d dreamt it.

The scene never changed. His mother’s face, the blood, the disappearing figure—all exactly the same, like a recording playing on loop.

The lights of the city below began to appear faintly.

He closed his eyes and ran through the past ten years in his mind.

Ten years ago, he was framed and targeted by a powerful family. Those people wanted his life.

To protect him, his parents had fought desperately to put him on that departing cargo ship, just to let him live.

He thought that if he left, his parents would be safe. That was why he had never dared to come back—because he was afraid of dragging his family into more trouble.

The cargo ship dumped him at a small port in South America. He spent nearly two years wandering the streets, fighting stray dogs for scraps. In the slums, he learned the first lesson:

Being weak was itself a crime.

He lied about his age, joined the Foreign Legion by hook or by crook, later entered the navy, and finally became a member of the special forces. He thought that if he became strong enough, his father would have time to maneuver, and his mother would survive.

Until three months ago, while on a mission in Somalia, he received an encrypted email.

There was only one photo in the email. The background showed a fireplace mantel.

And on that mantel, two objects were displayed.

The severed heads of his father and mother.

A line was attached to the email: Here’s my surprise for you. Don’t they look familiar?

Instantly, rage and grief flooded Caesar’s mind.

He stared at that photo for a long time, surrounded by the dust and gunpowder of the battlefield.

After returning to base, he submitted his resignation. His commander tried to keep him, but he didn’t stay.

The plane began its descent. The cabin broadcast calmly announced for passengers to fasten their seatbelts.

The lights outside grew denser. The silhouette of Silverlight City gradually emerged against the black night sky. The buildings he had known since childhood now looked like rows of tombstones.

Caesar pulled down the window shade and took out the ancient coin from his bag. Ten years. The edges of the coin had been polished smooth by his fingers.

He tucked the coin back into his bag and leaned against the seat, his gaze fixed somewhere ahead.

His mother had told him to live. He had lived.

She had told him never to come back. He had come back.

This time, he had returned to find the truth behind his parents’ deaths, to find the person behind that email, to find the root cause that had driven his father to the brink. And those who had framed him back then—he would drag every single one of them out.

Meanwhile, on the other side, the mafia family Julius was holding an emergency family meeting.

The current family head, Khalil Julius, looked deeply troubled: “If we don’t pick someone by tomorrow, the Julius family will cease to exist in Silverlight City.”

“Back when Augustus made that marriage arrangement with the Adams family, the Adams’ daughter was only three years old. Now the Adams family is forcing us to fulfill the contract—but who could have known it would be a death sentence?”

“How about sending Phillip?” one brother suggested.

Phillip was Khalil’s eldest son, the right age.

“Absolutely not. Phillip’s career is taking off. He’s courting the Rockefeller family’s daughter and is about to succeed. At such a critical moment, how can we ruin his bright future?” Khalil’s wife jumped out in opposition.

Khalil said gravely: “Right. Whether the Julius family can climb back to second-tier status all depends on Phillip.”

“My child is only fifteen, too young to go.”

“I have a daughter.”

“My son is already married. If the Adams family’s daughter is willing to be a mistress, that might work.”

“Haha.”

“Ha. Do you dare to ask?” Khalil sneered at his brother.

The man shut up awkwardly.

The flag of the Republic of Arcadia represented the nation’s foundation.

Forty-eight stars covered the entire flag.

The nine in the front row shone the brightest.

These were the nine top families of the Republic of Arcadia.

The Adams family was one of those nine stars. A top-tier family.

Crushing a small family like the Julius was like crushing an ant.

Facing pressure from the Adams family, refusing would be digging their own grave.

But the demand was simply too outrageous.

Living in Adams Manor after marriage was one thing—but the bride was a vegetative patient!

Viya Adams of the Adams family had become a vegetative patient after an accident last year. Somehow they had found a Mayan shaman who claimed that through a substitution spell, if Viya’s husband became the vegetative patient, Viya would gradually wake up.

Who would dare become her husband now?

So even though Viya was rumored to be a stunning beauty, no one dared be tempted.

Wealth and glory were minor concerns.

Having the life to enjoy them was what mattered.

But the Adams family was overwhelmingly powerful. If a person wasn’t delivered by tomorrow, Viya’s father threatened to make the Silverlight City Julius family disappear entirely!

“It’s all Augustus’s fault for making that marriage arrangement with the Adams family. He’s dead, and still dragging us down. Now the Adams family is forcing us to fulfill the contract on his behalf. What are we going to do?”

Everyone cursed and complained.

Just as everyone was worrying about this matter, the butler walked in.

“Sir, Mr. Caesar Julius has returned.”

“Caesar?”

“Which Caesar?”

The butler explained: “Augustus’s son, the one sent to the military ten years ago.”

Everyone finally remembered who he was.

“Oh, Augustus’s son. That kid’s still alive?!”

“Ten years ago Augustus sent him to the navy. Who would have thought that after ten years, not only is he not dead, but he’s come back. Is he here to ruin the Julius family again?”

The family was filled with disgust.

“Tell him to get lost. If it weren’t for him, the Julius family wouldn’t have fallen to this state.” Khalil gritted his teeth. “He dares come back!”

“Wait, honey, isn’t that Caesar the very person who was originally betrothed to the Adams family?” Khalil’s wife reminded him.

Everyone’s eyes lit up.

“Right. By the rules, he’s still a member of the Julius family.”

“Exactly. A piece of trash like him should be the one to die!”

Everyone agreed unanimously.

“Die?”

An icy voice suddenly echoed through the conference room.

Everyone froze simultaneously.

The conference room door was pushed open.

A young man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his black coat billowing. His gaze slowly swept from left to right across every face present.

Khalil instinctively stood up: “You—”

Caesar did not look at him.

He lowered his head to glance at the ancient coin in his palm, then raised his head, a faint smile curving his lips.

The smile was very faint, yet it made the temperature in the entire conference room plummet to freezing.

“The ones who should die… are you.”