After eleven years in the army, serving as Morris's top enforcer for nine, and surviving countless battles with at least a hundred lives taken by his hands, Monchi Xiedar had never encountered something like today.
It didn't matter whether it was ghostly haunts or divine miracles; what mattered was that his eight most elite assault troopers lay dead just like that.
They fell like iron targets in a shooting range, the one-meter kind used by novices for practice, dropping one by one, dead like wheat under the scythe.
Looking at the two bodies beside him, Monchi felt no fear in his heart, only anger.
They'd been ambushed. The enemy had been lying in wait all along, but there had to be more than just the eight people mentioned in the intelligence report.