Chapter 225: THE SHEPERD - I

“Only the guards patrolling the grounds carry weapons,” Kade reported, his tone clipped but steady. “From what I gathered through the bird-shaped drones in the short time you gave me, there’s a storage room for arms. We can expect forty to fifty assassins, five to ten helpers, and five trainers. There’s also a lab deep in the forest. No intel on that yet.” He paused, then added firmly, “We hit the weapons store first. That gives us the edge.”

He glanced at Zaley, waiting for his call.

Zaley slid his hands into his pockets, his expression unreadable. “We attack. If we win this, I’ll gift every one of you a three-bedroom flat near LZ Tech Park.”

The guards’ eyes lit up. Kade only sighed, shaking his head.

Dante, his right hand, cut in. “And if we don’t?”

“Your families will receive it,” Zaley said without hesitation.

The light in their eyes dimmed, and the men looked to the ground.

Zaley let the silence stretch before speaking again. “If you can help it, don’t kill anyone. Disarm them. Knock them down. But if it comes down to your life or theirs,” his gaze swept over the group, sharp and unyielding, “do what’s necessary. Always.”

He took a step forward, voice hardening into command. “Put yourself first. Not me. Not your boss. Just you.”

The weight of his words settled heavily in the air. The men straightened, each one knowing what was at stake.

The first shots cracked through the night. Silent bodies dropped among the trees as the snipers thinned the patrol. A hush spread for only a moment before the island seemed to wake.

Kade and Dante moved quickly, shadows against shadows, their explosives blooming orange against the weapon storehouse. Flames swallowed wood and steel, and the night air roared with sparks.

That was when the real storm came.

Figures slipped out of the forest like smoke, dozens of them, eyes glinting faintly, knives flashing in their hands. They didn’t run. They flowed. Their feet barely touched the ground, their torsos twisted at impossible angles as if bones meant nothing.

“Shit,” Dante hissed, drawing his blade as the first assassin darted close. “They move like—”

“Ghosts,” Kade finished, already meeting steel with steel.

The clash was chaos—metal ringing, grunts swallowed by the forest. Men screamed as blades carved through flesh faster than bullets could reload.

And then Zaley moved.

For the first time, the men saw their leader drop his calm façade. He slid between strikes like water, his knife meeting theirs with an uncanny rhythm. His parries weren’t learned from street fights or military training—no, they mirrored the assassins’. The twist of the wrist, the precise angles, even the strange footwork.

The killers froze for half a heartbeat as recognition flickered in their inhuman eyes.

“You fight like them,” Dante muttered, slashing an attacker off Zaley’s flank.

Zaley didn’t answer. His blade sang through the air, a mirror to their nightmare dance.

And for the first time, the assassins bled.

Another came. Zaley’s knife clashed against theirs, and his arm twisted, disarming with a brutal elegance that mirrored their own technique.

Around him, the assassins faltered, confused. His movements weren’t just effective. They were like theirs. The same rhythm. The same cruel efficiency.

Kirill’s breath hitched as he watched. The others fought desperately, but Zaley… Zaley seemed to belong to this dance of shadows. Every parry, every step, every fatal strike pulled him deeper into a world that shouldn’t have been his.

For the first time, he wasn’t sure who he had been before the memory loss… or who he was now, with this blade in his hands.

"Are you one of them?" Kirill asked him, releasing his bullets into the assassin's legs so that they wouldn't get up and fight back.

"I won't be this smart if I were one of them," Zaley answered.

"Let's leave them to Kade and his team. We have somewhere to go."

"Where?" Kirill asked him.

Zaley remembered Layla's words.

'I remember walking into the woods. I followed the cries of girls. I don't know if it's the same place. I saw computers in my dreams. A lot of them.'

Even Seline once told him about a place hidden in the woods in Delmere. The new girls were kept there. It has a lot of machines. The initial tests are done there. Once people enter that underground building, they enter a new world. No sound will come and go inside.

"Into the woods," Zaley replied.

The trees grew denser as they walked deeper into the woods, the soil damp under their boots, the air heavy with silence. Every few steps, Zaley caught the faintest echoes of something like metal clanging, muffled cries, and the hum of generators carried by the wind.

Kirill glanced at him. “You hear it too.”

Zaley only nodded, his jaw set.

They reached a clearing where the woods seemed to open around a low, forgotten building, half-swallowed by earth and moss. Concrete walls, rusted gates. No windows. It looked less like a place for children and more like a bunker built for war.

A single guard was stationed outside, leaning lazily against his rifle, smoking. As Zaley and Kirill stepped out of the shadows, they heard his voice before he saw them.

“No one can save these lambs,” the man chuckled darkly with another man. “I’ll have a good time breaking them before they’re sold.”

Zaley moved forward before Kirill could even raise his gun.

The guard startled, eyes narrowing. “Who the hell are you?”

Zaley’s voice was calm, almost serene. “I am the shepherd. I came for my lambs.”

The guards spat to the side and laughed, but the laugh broke when he saw the steel in Zaley’s eyes.

Kirill lifted his weapon in silence, covering Zaley’s flank. “You going to make this easy,” he said flatly, “or should I put you in the dirt?”

The men’s laughter faltered. They reached for their radio. Too slow. Two shots rang out, the device falling from their hand as they staggered to the ground.

Zaley stepped over him without sparing another glance.

“Open it.”

Kirill pressed the code panel beside the gate, but Zaley shook his head. “Don’t bother. They won’t leave an entrance unprotected.”

He pressed his palm against the steel, listening. Inside, he heard faint whimpers.

They must be children.

Girls.

Like his Lilly.

Like Layla and Seline used to be.

His eyes hardened.

“Stand back.”

He raised his weapon and blew the lock apart. The door creaked open, revealing a narrow stairwell that descended into blackness, lit by the dim glow of fluorescent bulbs.

The smell hit them first with stale air, antiseptic, and something sour.

They descended slowly, weapons raised. The corridor below was lined with heavy steel doors. Behind one, a child’s voice whimpered. Behind another, soft crying.

Zaley’s hand clenched around his rifle. “They kept them like cattle.”

Kirill glanced at him sideways. “You’re not shaking. You’ve done this before.”

Zaley didn’t look at him. His voice was low, haunted. “A shepherd doesn’t get to fear the wolves. He just makes sure the lambs go home.”

"You should try writing a novel."

Zaley smirked.