CHAPTER 144: UNEXPECTED MISSION I

For a moment, the room seemed to breathe. The minister’s shoulders slumped slightly, as if the argument had drained him. Kira’s posture softened; she watched Sian with a complicated tangle of emotions. The little boy’s wooden soldier slipped from his hand, rolling across the polished floor until it stopped at Sian’s boot. The boy giggled when he noticed, then pushed it back toward him as if making an offering.

Sian smiled—small, private, the kind of smile born in tight spaces. It was joy rationed, fragile enough to wither if shown too openly. Many had judged him before, even seasoned veterans like General Lan, who could pierce beyond rumors and headlines to glimpse something human: grief, endurance, and a stubborn kind of mercy.

The old man’s voice rose with one final, deliberate sentence.

"Thank you." The words were not an order from a general, but a plea from an old soldier.

The conversation flowed like a river crashing against rocks: slowing, bending, but carrying a deep current beneath. People shifted in their seats, measuring their stances, praying silently that the outcome would favor their designs. Outside, the forest whispered—calls of distant creatures mingling with the wind through trees, life untouched by the tangled morality unfolding inside these walls.

Sian felt weary, like an old beast curling in on itself. Years of use, and then of exploitation, had left him wary of gratitude. He had not come to be rescued. He had come because decisions made about him would echo long after these faces were gone. Soothing words could not appease him. If he refused to save the world, it was not cowardice but calculation. Sometimes saving humanity meant sacrificing the self; sometimes it meant becoming a tool for the ambitions of others. He would not be that tool, unless by his own choice.

The general clasped his hands and exhaled, as if surrendering a duty he could neither perform nor accept. The minister shuffled his papers, as though arranging facts could construct a bridge where trust had yet to be built. Kira lowered her head briefly, then raised it again, her eyes glinting with a resolve Sian recognized—the gaze of a guardian preparing for battle.

With a thunderous crack, the hall doors swung open wide, flinging themselves against the walls and sending a reverberating echo throughout the chamber.

A young aide stumbled inside, cheeks flushed, clutching a sealed envelope marked with a crest Sian did not mistake—state secrets. Breathless and apologetic, he blurted out,

"General Lan—urgent report. A message from Intelligence. They—"

The entire room turned toward him as though a thread had been yanked through the fabric.

The boy froze in his play.

The minister rose so quickly his chair screeched against the floor.

Kira moved like a coiled spring released.

General Lan’s face, calm and steady moments ago, tightened into something unreadable.

The aide handed over the envelope with trembling fingers. The old warrior’s hands, patient but scarred, closed around the paper with a muted crack.

The seal broke. Inside was a single dense sheet, written in a hand Sian did not recognize. As General Lan read, the atmosphere in the hall shifted from heated debate to a chill warning of imminent danger.

His lips thinned. He did not look afraid—but something older, heavier, settled on his features: recognition.

"General?" the aide murmured, leaning closer to ensure his voice wouldn’t carry in the hushed atmosphere, his eyes darting nervously as he waited for a response.

Lan folded the paper as one folds a map that has just rewritten the course of war. He lifted his eyes to the assembly, gaze cutting through every mask.

"We have a problem," he said. Two words, sharp as a detonator.

Outside, the ancient forest maintained its indifferent rhythm, leaves whispering secrets to the wind, while the distant calls of birds provided a soundtrack to the encroaching twilight. Inside, however, the heated arguments of law and loyalty began to unravel, dissolving into an atmosphere charged with tension and raw emotion, as voices raised in frustration clashed like thunder, each echoing the harsh reality of unyielding choices. Immediate action.

The minister swallowed hard. Kira’s hand instinctively brushed the hilt of her sword.

Yes—beneath her skirt’s jade belt, the beautiful girl carried a hidden blade, longer than a dagger, closer to a sword.

Sian felt the tightening coil of choice around him. Between the old man’s last words and the reply demanded of him, he realized the debate over duty and freedom had been postponed.

Someone moved to shut the doors. Another already clutched the comms device.

The general slid the envelope into his breast pocket. When he spoke again, his voice bore the weight of a man who had lived through a thousand small deaths.

"Our informants discovered a paramilitary facility in the western desert region of the state," he said, his tone hardening as he glanced at Sian. "The man Intelligence suspects—the Silent Killer, the one responsible for the Prime Minister’s abduction—was sighted there. He wasn’t present before, but today... he arrived. Our men request authorization to deploy a special unit. The situation reeks of suspicion."

A final strand of sunlight stretched across the table, fragile as held breath. The little wooden soldier lay by Sian’s boot, its paint cracked, arms frozen mid-march. His pulse quickened. He set his palms on his thighs, grounding himself in the rhythm that had carried him through fire and battle. He swore he would choose freely. Yet as the general spoke, as the others were drawn back into duty, Sian felt something older than obligation stir inside him—the frail human need to be seen when making a choice.

He watched the general. Watched Kira. Watched the minister’s eyes dart between politics and panic. For the first time in years, he felt not only the solitude that wrapped around him but also the quiet pull of a life turning into a center point.

"At last," General Lan said, voice grave, "we have a thread. Cooperation between the military, national security, and Intelligence cannot be wasted."

He clenched his fist around the folded letter.

"Lan Qisheng—you will lead the team. National Security will dispatch its own squad to follow your command. Work together—for the country."

Lan Qisheng rose and saluted his grandfather, his acceptance clear, his loyalty ringing like a struck bell.

Sian scowled. He had wanted nothing more than to return home, to a night of final, dreamless sleep. He had said he would not save the world. He had said he would not interfere. But sometimes, a single moment redrew the map, in ways no one foresaw.

If the Silent Killer was truly there, no ordinary means could stop him. Not kill him. Not contain him. And Sian knew—he could not let Qisheng march into that battlefield alone.

While aides barked orders and the minister tried to stitch together something like a plan, Sian stood. In the square of light, he was neither weapon, nor martyr, nor prize. He was simply a man deciding—whether to stand with those who demanded too much, or remain what he had always been: alone.

General Lan turned his gaze on him. There was no plea, no request for help—only the look of a man who had learned to read what others could not. His eyes seemed to say, simply: Choose. Choose your path.

Sian gave the faintest nod. He felt the outer world’s terrible demand pressing in. He also felt the sharp descent of something personal—a folded, dangerous memory tugging at his consciousness. He would not be forced. But neither could he pretend indifference in the face of this new threat.

The hall was an island of decision. Beyond its walls, a message threatened to alter everything. The old arguments of duty and choice were suspended, caught between past counsel and a newly forged reality.

Sian turned to Lan Qisheng, who was preparing to leave for headquarters to assemble his squad.

"I’ll go with you," he said. "I may not be part of the army, but I doubt you’ll refuse such a fine addition, will you?" His eyes flicked toward General Lan as he spoke the last part.

The general gave a gruff, half-stifled cough.

Of course. He deserved that scathing look—after all, he had deliberately placed his grandson in this fight, knowing full well Sian would not let him face it alone.

"That’s fine. You can join the team with Lan Qisheng," Lan said, voice heavy with reluctant concession. "I can make you part of the team without anyone questioning it." The shame of using his own blood as bait to draw Sian still pressed upon him.

But Sian did not care much for the old man’s guilt. He glanced at Kira without a word. She stepped beside him within seconds, a bright smile on her lips. Perhaps she recalled the days of raids and purges with her squad, with her captain. Nostalgia shone in her eyes.

But sharper, clearer than her smile—was the gleam of her sword.

To Be Continued...