Apocalypse: becoming the hidden Ruler[English]

With a heavy sigh, Zane refastened the man’s chains. A shadow of sorrow crossed his face as he spoke again, still in Stormhold, his voice low and filled with tragic conviction.

“This is my last chance. You’ve stayed loyal. Our cause will succeed.”

The bald man burst out laughing.

Zane: “…”

......

Outside the building, Sethan relayed his psychic observations to Axel. “It’s not going well. Zane’s making Drew laugh.”

Axel gestured for silence. “Mr. Sethan, don’t lose focus. Watch everyone’s reactions.”

Sethan nodded. He realized again that when Axel was in work mode, rank and ability didn’t matter to him—he commanded like a natural leader. Sethan loved it. Saved him from doing the heavy thinking himself.

By then, Zane had already been shuffled to the second cell. Because the place was isolated and the prisoners’ psychic and Force powers were completely suppressed, nobody outside had a clue about Zane’s failed performance in the first room.

He paused before the door, pulled himself together, and stepped inside.

This cell held a woman. If the first one had left him disappointed, this second encounter made him want to cry.

“What the hell are you even talking about?” she snapped after his carefully rehearsed lines. “I told you, I’m not a spy. Jesus Christ.”

Zane repeated the routine anyway, then left the room with his face burning.

In the hallway, he cursed under his breath. Axel, you idiot. What a bullshit plan.

But professionalism kicked back in. Zane straightened, focused, and went for the leftmost room on the third floor.

Inside sat a man in his thirties with a bright, easy smile. He looked Zane up and down.

“You with the Whisper Syndicate?” he asked. Other than the food delivery guys, only Syndicate members had visited his cell these past two days.

Zane kept his mouth shut. The lights flickered, surveillance blinked out. He leaned closer. “We don’t have much time. I’m here to get you out.”

The man’s expression shifted, though his reaction was eerily similar to the bald guy earlier. Zane unshackled him, but he just sat there, shaking his head.

“I’m not a spy. I won’t go with you. Honestly, if this is your method, you’re never going to find a real one.”

His voice carried a weird kind of sympathy, as if he were giving Zane advice out of pity.

But after failing twice already, Zane wasn’t rattled. His eyes hardened. He switched to Stormhold. “If you don’t leave now, you’ll never get another chance. I don’t have time to waste—there are others counting on me!”

The man blinked but stayed put, his tone calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zane inhaled deeply, forced grief into his voice. “Joel, Jacky, Jeremiah… they’re dead. If you don’t come with me now…” His words broke off into a shudder. His eyes reddened, his whole body trembling.

The man’s eyelids twitched—just barely.

“Hold fast,” Zane pressed, his Stormhold raw with sorrow. “We’ll see our ideals through. We’ll rebuild our homeland.”

His face twitched again, harder this time.

Zane turned away, humming under his breath, voice ragged but full of a strange conviction:

“Hänschen klein ging allein\~\~\~”

The children’s song echoed through the cell like a ghost. Off-key, hoarse, yet powerful in its sheer sincerity.

The prisoner shot to his feet, his emotions breaking free. “I’ll go with you!” he cried in Stormhold.

Zane’s back was to him, his sorrowful mask shifting instantly to triumph—then hardening back into grim determination. He spun, grabbed the man’s hand, and answered in Stormhold, “Let’s go.”

It was enough. The man followed eagerly, convinced. Deep down, he had started wavering the moment Zane used Stormhold. No one should have known. If the secret ever leaked, the military wouldn’t stop here—they’d storm Everton and tear down the organization itself. Fear had kept him still… until Zane’s words about home and that cursed children’s song finally broke him. They hadn’t abandoned them after all.

He rushed out of the cell—only to see two figures waiting at the doorway, smiling wide.

One was barely twenty. He grinned. “There you go, brother.”

The prisoner froze, his blood turning to ice. Rage flared. He glanced sideways at Zane, who was grinning like a fool, eyes sparkling with mischief.

And then—bang. Sethan dropped him unconscious with a single strike.

Zane gasped, realizing the cell had been perfectly soundproofed. A bark of laughter burst out of him. “Holy shit, my acting!”

Axel and Sethan raised their thumbs in unison.

“Brilliant.”

......

After confirming the spy’s identity, Zane slipped right back into character. The sly grin vanished from his face, replaced by a heavy, solemn look — as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Sethan, watching from the side, muttered, “Is he… developing schizophrenia or something?”

Axel chuckled. “Nah. He’s just having fun.”

An hour later, three prisoners chained to the wall glared at Zane with pure hatred, their eyes burning holes into him.

“Hurensohn!”

“Verdammt!”

The curses spat out in Stormhold, sharp and venomous.

Zane only smiled faintly and answered back in perfect Stormhold, his tone polite, almost cheerful. “Thanks for the compliment.”

When it came to acting, Axel had to admit — Zane was a natural. With his awakened ability, Strange Face, it felt like the man was born for this kind of work.

“Too bad,” Axel said, smirking, “there’s still one hiding a little too well.”

Counting the young man caught earlier, they had already uncovered four spies. Sethan, unbothered, gave a faint smile, walked into another cell, and emerged leading a plump woman in her thirties.

She froze for a moment before trying to resist, but the moment her eyes landed on the four captured men outside, her expression crumbled into a look of pale, undeniable shock.

“She’s been tight-lipped,” Sethan admitted, glancing at Axel, “but her reaction gave her away completely.” He shoved her back into the corridor, then locked the other prisoners away again.

Zane frowned. “Wait, what? Why lock them back up? Aren’t we supposed to release our own people?”

Sethan shook his head. “Not yet. Too risky to leak anything right now. I’ll go report directly to General Jerome. Axel — you and your partner stay in Northern Suppression Town for the time being. Keep your mouths shut and act clueless.”

Zane’s eyes lit up. “When do we get paid? A million dollars?”

That made Sethan laugh. “You’re underestimating it. Multiply that by ten.”

Zane’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “What?!” His body actually trembled.

Even Axel raised a brow in surprise. Tens of millions? That was on par with the payout for a full C-rank mission.

Sethan left them there, chuckling, while Zane stood frozen, overwhelmed. His mind replayed the path that had led him here.

The first time he worked with Axel, he’d risen straight to the top of the Ironfang Syndicate.

The second time, he’d indirectly helped take down a Level 4 Awakener, though his cut hadn’t been much.

But this time? The rewards had doubled.

Zane clenched his fists. Whatever it took, he was sticking to Axel like glue from now on.

.....

Meanwhile, at the hotel arranged by the military, the Obsidian team was growing restless. Hours had passed. Still no sign of Axel.

“Why the hell isn’t this guy back yet?” someone muttered.

.....

Ten minutes later, inside the military’s main conference hall, six team leaders — including Leona and Xander — had gathered. Sethan was there too, though not seated at the head of the table.

“Waiting for someone?” Xander asked lightly, but before anyone could answer, the heavy doors creaked open.

A middle-aged man in battle armor walked in. A scar ran across his face like a brand, his very presence radiating battlefield experience.

“Mr. Nolan?”

Nolan gave them a curt nod and sat down beside Sethan without a word.

That alone was enough to make the room tense. Xander and the others exchanged quick, uneasy glances.

Then the doors opened again. This time, a thin, short man walked in. No weapon at his side — only a neatly arranged book under his arm. His presence was the polar opposite of Nolan’s steel-hardened aura. Scholarly. Calm.

“General Jerome!”