The Retired Young Mercenary Is Secretly a Billionaire

Flashback – Two Years Ago, Moscow

The cold winds of Moscow howled outside the dark, fortified compound of the Blackfield mercenary group. Inside the central chamber of the hideout, the air was tense — silent, yet heavy with the weight of fear.

Multiple screens glowed against the dark stone walls, displaying encrypted feeds, maps, and mission statuses. A black leather chair turned slowly, revealing a man draped in a dark suit and a deep maroon scarf. His fingers tapped against the steel armrest — deliberate, calculating.

Merlin.

The elusive leader of Blackfield.

He narrowed his eyes at the mission coordinator across the room."Status of the Istanbul operation?" he asked coolly, voice sharp as a blade.

The coordinator swallowed, nervous. "Mission successful, sir. Target eliminated. But..."

Merlin’s fingers stopped tapping. His gaze sharpened. "But what?"

"There’s a complication. "He hesitated. "The target was meeting someone...a young girl."

Merlin waved his hand dismissively. "Irrelevant. Collateral damage happens."

"No, sir... she wasn’t just anyone. She was Graveyard."