Chapter 39: The Freelancer's Choice
Ethan walked out of the Thorne manor, his boots clicking against the marble steps with a rhythm that matched his racing thoughts. The night air of the Gilded Grove was even colder now, but he barely felt it. He needed to go home—back to the penthouse of the Golden Dragon—to digest everything Old Master Thorne had revealed. The world was far larger and more dangerous than any bank balance could suggest.
Inside the study, Thorne Sr. had explained that the National Security Bureau wasn't the only player on the board. There was another organization, equally shadow-bound and lethal, called The Wraith Wing. While the NSB handled internal martial threats and the "Unseen World" within the borders, the Wraith Wing was designed to handle foreign martial artists and international espionage involving enhanced individuals.
"You have a choice, Ethan," Thorne had told him, his voice gravelly. "One is to join the NSB as a permanent operative. You would have the highest level of state clearance, but you would be tied to the organization. Your movements would be tracked, your missions would be mandatory, and you would have very little free time."
Ethan had frowned at that. The thought of being someone else's soldier, even the state's, rubbed him the wrong way.
"The other option," Thorne continued, "is to apply as a Freelancer for both the NSB and the Wraith Wing. In this way, you are a registered asset, but you aren't chained to them. You only join missions when they specifically request your unique skills—and when you choose to accept. A freelancer might sound inferior to a permanent member to an outsider, but in reality, it is much more difficult to achieve. The tests are stricter, the requirements are higher, and they only accept those who are significantly stronger than the average operative."
Thorne Sr. had looked Ethan up and down, a spark of pride in his old eyes. "But for you? I believe you'll have no problem. You are already at the peak of the Pseudo-Body Refining Rank at twenty years old. Even among the heirs of the most affluent families in the Capital or the successors of the Hidden Lands, you would stand out like a sun among candles. There is no way they could turn you away."
Ethan knew immediately which path he would take. He wanted the freelance position. He had his own affairs to handle—Black Global Holdings was just beginning, and he had a family to protect. Most importantly, he was different from everyone else. His power didn't come from decades of meditation; it came from spending. If he was tied to a 9-to-5 military schedule, he would have nowhere to spend his quadrillions, and his growth would stagnate. To Ethan, flexibility wasn't just a luxury; it was his primary engine for evolution.
However, Old Master Thorne had dropped one more "problem" on Ethan before he left. The old man wanted Ethan to marry Tanya someday.
From Thorne Sr.'s point of view, marriage was the ultimate anchor. It was the only way to truly bind the Thorne family's destiny to Ethan's rising star. He had seen the way Tanya looked at Ethan—the curiosity, the hint of respect, and the way she hadn't looked away when his aura had filled the room.
"It would truly link us," Thorne had said, his voice soft but heavy with intent. "The Thorne blood and the McCain power. It would make you the undisputed king of the South River."
This had stumped Ethan. To be honest, he felt a flicker of disgust at the idea of a marriage founded purely on interests and political leverage. He wasn't a piece of property to be traded for stability. However, he was embarrassed to refuse the old man right away. His overall impression of the Thorne family was good; Bernie had been a loyal peer, and Thorne Sr. had just handed him a shield and a sword.
Finally, Ethan could only offer a polite excuse. "Tanya is young, and my path right now is... unstable. We should only talk about such things when the dust has settled and she is older."
Thorne Sr. was a master of reading people. He saw the flicker of dislike in Ethan's eyes and stopped insisting immediately. He believed that as long as Ethan accepted the Thorne family's favor, Ethan's character would ensure he protected them as promised. Whether he ended up with Tanya would depend on fate. After all, the old man was the one asking for a favor right now; he had the leverage of the referral, but he knew better than to push a dragon into a corner.
After Ethan's car disappeared into the darkness of the oak-lined street, Old Master Thorne sat back in his chair and picked up a secure, vintage-style rotary phone. He dialed a number that wasn't in any public directory.
"Hey, Thorne! You finally remembered to call me! I thought you'd never contact me again!" A loud, booming voice rang in Rupert's ear, vibrating with the energy of a man much younger than his years.
Rupert felt a wave of emotion. "Boss... I'm embarrassed to call you. I failed to fulfill that final mission years ago. I've felt like a ghost ever since."
"Bullsh*t!" the voice barked. "That mission failed because the intelligence was compromised from the top. It wasn't your fault, and you paid for it with your health. The Bureau did you wrong, Thorne. We all know it."
"Boss, it's been years. Let's not dig up the dead," Rupert said, his voice steadier now. "I called because I want to recommend someone for a freelance position in the NSB. Someone who wants to skip the junior ranks and go straight into the high-tier vetting."
"Who is it? Another one of your pampered South River heirs?"
"No," Rupert said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "A Pseudo-Body Refining peak master. He's twenty years old."
The line went dead silent for five full seconds.
"What? Are you sure? Rupert, if you're joking, I'll come down there and kick your ass myself. A peak master at twenty? What's his background? Is he a successor of a Hidden Land? A Prince from the Capital?"
"He's not a rich heir in the traditional sense. His background is clean—almost too clean—but he clearly has a mentor. A powerful one. I don't know who the master is yet, but the boy's aura... it's unlike anything I've felt since the Great War. I'll send you the details over the encrypted line."
"Fine! I trust your eye since you're the one recommending him. But listen, Rupert... when are you coming to the Capital? We haven't seen each other in a decade. We'll be dead if we don't get together soon."
"Boss... if I have the chance, I'll stop by," Rupert said, knowing deep down his body might not last the trip.
"Alright. I'll wait for you."
Rupert hung up and immediately dialed another number. This person was also an old man, but he didn't belong to the NSB. He was a high-ranking director in the Wraith Wing.
Rupert had secured a testing spot for the Wraith Wing years ago. During a joint mission between the two organizations that had gone south, Rupert had been seriously wounded while pulling this man out of a burning ambush. At this moment, that man was one of the most influential figures in international martial security.
Old Master Thorne had now used up his two most important life-debts—the two greatest favors he owned—just so the Thorne family could have Ethan McCain as a backup.
The NSB owed him a favor. The Wraith Wing's top brass owed him another.
These two favors were originally saved for his own descendants. He had hoped Bernie or Tanya would grow strong enough to use them to maintain the family's glory. But over the last thirty years, the second generation had been mediocre. Bernie was smart, but he wasn't a pillar. He was a branch.
Old Master Thorne health was deteriorating. His old injuries were acting up, a cold rot in his bones that told him his time was running out. He had a feeling this was his last move on the board. He was anxious to trade his past glory for the Thorne family's future stability.
Ethan was the perfect candidate. He was young, he was impossibly strong, and he had that mysterious "mentor" to keep the predators at bay. Most importantly, Ethan was grateful. Rupert wouldn't have gone this far if Ethan had been an arrogant brat; that would have only brought disaster to the Thorne house.
Rupert could predict the future with terrifying clarity: the moment he died, the surrounding forces would descend on the Thorne family like wolves on a piece of cake. Only a man like Ethan—a man who could buy a hotel for fourty billion could drive them away.
In another decade, Bernie would be experienced enough to handle things, and the family would stabilize. Until then, they needed a god to stand in their corner.
Rupert stared at the silver card on his desk, his breathing heavy. He had arranged everything in his power. He had set the stage. Now, it was up to fate—and Ethan McCain—to see if the Thorne family would maintain their glory or be swept away by the tides of the Capital.