Chapter 1: Lava Cave

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  “This place is so damn hot. Boss, what kind of mission did you take on? Instead of a proper bodyguard job, you went for this inhuman assignment—this isn’t a place for ordinary people!”

  A young white man dressed in jungle camouflage, holding an AK-74U, complained to the middle-aged veteran by his side—showing no regard for the fact that the person he was addressing was the “BOSS” who paid his salary.

  “Scope, cut the crap. The boss has his own ways of doing things—things that we lowly soldiers aren’t meant to understand. Sure, this place is a bit hot, but it still has its ‘flavor.’ And don’t look at me—watch your step so you don’t fall into the molten lava. I’m not going to be your savior~~”

  The speaker was a Black man carrying an MP5, with a modified M14 sniper rifle equipped with an ACOG scope in hand. Although his words seemed to defend the boss, the expression on his face betrayed a sarcastic, almost mocking intent.

  Noticing the approving expressions on the faces of his fellow men, the middle-aged soldier known as “Captain” gave a resigned smile. It seemed he must explain something—or else these newcomers might just quit. After all, he himself had once been like them, and he couldn’t help but feel nostalgic.

  “Ahem!”

  Clearing his throat, the captain said, “I accepted this mission for the sake of our mercenary group. We’re just starting out—we don’t have the luxury to be picky. Besides…” He gestured with his chin toward the two figures ahead—a pair composed of an older and a younger man, who were busy confirming a route on a map. “Those two are people of considerable influence, and the payment they offered me is very generous. In the future, they could bring us endless ‘good work.’ Just bear with it a little longer—we’re almost there!”

  At this, the mercenaries’ curiosity was immediately piqued. Even those who hadn’t been interested at first began to crowd around. Scope was the first to edge in close to the captain’s face, asking curiously, “Captain, who are those two? Judging by your tone, it seems like you knew them before?”

  “Not both—I only know the older one; the young one is unfamiliar to me,” the captain replied with a bitter smile.

  “Who is he then?” the young man couldn’t keep from asking.

  “He’s with the American CIA…” the captain paused. “Deputy Director.”

  “What?!” Everyone fell silent in astonishment.

  The notion of a CIA Deputy Director was almost unfathomable to these fresh recruits. They mulled it over in their minds. “Someone with that kind of power—why hire us?” an East Asian-looking mercenary inquired.

  “Probably for personal reasons. He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask! As mercenaries, we only need to know the mission; understanding the purpose isn’t necessary—especially in his case. I don’t want to know any more.” The captain gave another bitter smile and then shifted his gaze toward the backs of the two men ahead…

  “Director, are we there yet?” the young man asked the white-haired elder, who was carefully studying a piece of paper against the map.

  “This should be it. Jack, let me check again. And don’t call me ‘Director’—call me by my name.”

  “Alright then, Uncle Brown.”

  After a while, Jack glanced around, realizing that the director probably wouldn’t find the destination by standing still. Meanwhile, he scanned the surroundings.

  They were at Cotopaxi Volcano—the world’s most active volcano. Sulfur gas permeated the air, and rivers of lava had flowed for years. Underfoot lay newly solidified magma; one misstep on the fragile crust could break it open and have molten lava surge out. Every step was a deadly trap.

  For years, Brown had made it a point to take Jack along everywhere, as if in pursuit of something. Yet he had never revealed what it was, even if it meant jeopardizing his own business. If it weren’t for the fact that Brown was the only “relative” who had visited Jack at the orphanage since childhood, Jack might have already forced the truth out of him by now.

  This time, though, Brown had gone even further. Not only had he dragged Jack into the heart of South America’s war zone, but he’d also brought him to this godforsaken place. One couldn’t help but wonder: why hire these inexperienced mercenaries when the recent chaos in the firefight with the rebel forces had already proven their ineptitude?

  “Found it! Found it!” Brown waved the paper in his hand excitedly, pointing off in a certain direction.

  Everyone gathered around and looked where Brown was pointing—and saw nothing.

  “Did he get heatstroke?” Scope muttered softly.

  To their surprise, Brown had indeed heard him. He smiled at Scope, said nothing, and led the way toward the indicated spot.

  When they arrived, Jack noticed something odd. The lava crust in the area pointed out by Brown felt different from the rest—even if he couldn’t quite articulate what was off. Seeing the puzzled looks on everyone’s faces, Brown grinned, extended his finger, and, amid a chorus of gasps, pried away a large chunk of the crust, revealing a deep opening beneath. Then, handing the rock to Jack, he stepped into the opening, closely followed by the mercenary captain.

  Holding the chunk of rock, Jack finally understood the strange sensation he’d had—this piece of lava crust was long cooled, unlike the surrounding crust that had just solidified. Because the hot air (which normally warped one’s view) was absent over the opening, this chunk stood out clearly.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  “What kind of place uses such an ingenious camouflage? What’s this spot doing here? What’s inside that opening?” Everyone who had seen the rock began to wonder aloud.

  “Lights!” Brown shouted from within the opening, startling those lost in thought. The others rushed inside and switched on the emergency lights. The cave was spacious, and its walls were clearly visible. Brown’s hand was groping along one of the dark walls. Jack took the light and shone it on Brown. Brown seemed to activate something—a tremor ran through the cave, and a large stone slab on the left wall tumbled down, revealing a door. The sight startled everyone.

  The dark metal door bore an embossed carving of canine fangs. Brown appeared visibly excited. One of the mercenaries tried to touch the carving, but Brown jerked him back sharply.

  “Don’t touch it! Do you want to get us all killed? If you don’t want to die, leave it alone.”

  Then, Brown pulled a soldier’s tag from around his neck—on it was a small key. First, he flipped open the left fang on the upper part of the carving, then the corresponding lower fang. A keyhole emerged along the side where the fangs had separated. Inserting the key and giving it a twist, a small panel popped open, revealing a keypad and a square recess. Brown’s hand began to tremble slightly as he entered a string of numbers. Then, he placed the soldier tag into the recess and pressed down firmly. With a resounding “clang,” the iron door swung open. Every motion was so practiced it was as though he were simply opening the door to his own home.

  Brown pushed the heavy door open. At the entrance, he reached out and flipped a switch—much to Jack’s astonishment.

  “Electricity? In a place like this?”

  Before them lay a circular hall that appeared completely empty at first glance. The mercenary team—about a dozen men along with Brown and his nephew—found themselves uncomfortably crowded in a space whose perimeter was lined with doors. The door directly facing the passage was noticeably larger than the others, resembling a conference room.

  “Open all the doors!” Brown bellowed, startling everyone. Jack stood there, puzzled at Brown’s unusual excitement.

  “Wow, what is this…?”

  “Look, there are weapons—so many of them!”

  “Computers—the most advanced ones!”

  “Is that a hospital in there?”

  “Damn, what is all this… Robots?!”

  Each time a door swung open, there came a shout of amazement and exclamation. With every door opened, Brown’s face grew more satisfied, a look of pride washing over him.

  “Come back here—what are you doing?!” The mercenary captain’s booming voice cut through the marveling.

  Everyone flushed red and hurried back to the group. Scope was even found clutching a four-barrel Gatling gun.

  “Captain, look at all these guns! They’re all top-quality, modified pieces! On the black market, they’d fetch a fortune!”

  “Put them back. No matter how priceless they are, they still belong to someone else!” the captain admonished the youngsters, all the while stealing a furtive glance at Brown.

  Brown paid them no heed. His eyes remained fixed on the large door before him, his face flushed as he clutched his chest, as if his heart couldn’t bear his excitement. Jack rushed forward to steady him, but Brown shoved him away. Smoothing the camouflage on his body, Brown boldly pushed open the conference room door.

  Everyone was dumbfounded. They had all speculated about what lay behind the door—but judging by the expressions on their faces, none of them had expected what they saw.

  Beyond the door stood a table—a table covered entirely with an array of military blades.

  It was an old-fashioned table, studded with military knives of all kinds. Some were standard issue from various national armed forces; others appeared to be homemade. There were three or four hundred in total, crowding the long, narrow table, and every knife hung a soldier’s tag. The tags bore no names—only the same canine fang emblem as on the exterior door. Some of the blades were rusted, yet most looked as if they were brand new, gleaming with a cold shine. The table itself showed many years of wear, its surface pitted and worn.

  Two particular knives caught the eye. One was an enormous, blood-red, oddly shaped trench knife with a hand guard. The other was a strangely shaped trident-like dagger, pinned to a diary. The diary was an antique, with a weathered leather cover in patches of black and red; it clearly was very old, its pages yellowed with age.

  Brown, trembling, ran his hand along the edge of the table. He circled around it, softly reciting a list of names that only Jack could clearly hear: “Big Bear. Fast Machine. Big Buck, Little Buck. Knight. Beauty. Little Cat. Fast Blade…” Finally, he stopped before the two most prominent knives. Facing an M9 combat knife wedged between them, he spoke, “Captain. I’m back. The trigger is back.” Tears welled up as his voice trailed off.

  For a long while, Brown wept. Jack and the other mercenaries began to notice that the ground beneath them was trembling, the shaking growing stronger by the minute. Their faces turned ashen—they all understood what this meant: the volcano was about to erupt.

  “Uncle Brown, what’s going on? What is this place? How did you know about it? Who told you? And what’s with that table? What about the captain? I want an explanation!” Jack wiped the mud from his face, ruffled the black hair atop his head, and spat out a mouthful of muddy water as he demanded answers.

  Brown ignored him and only asked, “Where’s the diary?”

  “We almost died in there, and you’re still fixated on that diary. If you don’t tell me, I’m going to toss it down the mountain!” Jack shouted in anger.

  “Keep it—it’s your father’s!”

  With that, Jack stood frozen.

  Jack had grown up in an orphanage. No one had ever told him who his father was; only Brown had ever come to see him. Jack had once inquired about his origins, but Brown had merely said it was at the request of a friend who had died in battle—and he himself didn’t really know. Over time, Jack had given up on learning more. Now, in this moment of crisis, the sudden revelation of a diary supposedly belonging to his father was too much for him to bear.

  “This is only a minor tremor before the volcano erupts. The real eruption is still 24 hours away. Let’s go—everything will be fine,” Brown said, rising and leading the group down the mountain, with the mercenaries following close behind. Only Jack lingered, still in shock.

  “Captain, earlier it looked like this was another mercenary base—but what kind of mercenaries build their base in a place like this? You know him, so you must know which mercenary group he belongs to,” one of the men asked, his curiosity growing.

  “Some things, once ended, are best left to drift away in the wind~~” came the vague reply.

  “Since when did the boss get all poetic? It’s disgusting.”

  “Yeah—people in their fifties talking about ‘drifting away in the wind’… so cheesy!”

  “Overly dramatic and mysterious!”

  “…”

  With no clear answer forthcoming, the men began to complain in unison.

  “Back when I first met Brown, he didn’t look a day over sixty—but now I swear he must be 160 years old!” Scope said to the captain.

  “His heart is still back in that cave. The man who’s come out now is just a shell!”

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  Later, back in Manhattan at his home in the United States, Jack sat before a diary on the table and couldn’t bring himself to open it. He felt afraid—his father, judging by appearances, had been a soldier, and years of solitude had instilled in him a fear of learning about the parent he’d never known. Yet deep within, a flutter of excitement and an unyielding longing pressed against his nerves.

  Taking a deep breath to muster his courage, Jack finally opened the diary. On the very first page, the first line read:

  “I was once just an ordinary student, living an ordinary life—everything was so calm and peaceful. My days were filled with classes, chatting with friends, playing on the computer, and the occasional daydream about love. I used to dream that one day, a beautiful woman would descend from the heavens and marry me, a simple guy, for a life that was plain and beautiful. But everything changed the moment that day arrived, never to return again. I remember it clearly—it was the day before my 20th birthday. April 30, 1999. That day was so hot…”

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