Chapter Sixty-Two: Worldwide Manhunt

The triumphant cheers still echoed in the command center of the "Shadow Bureau." Yet Xiao Ran had already turned away, returning to her command seat. The war was not over. The judgment had only just begun.

She transmitted the GPS coordinates, marked by a flashing red point and just received from Lin Feng, along with a comprehensive, thousand-page report—months in the making by the entire task force—detailing every crime committed by Anderson and his organization, "Orion Capital," across the globe. Through the highest-level encrypted red channel, she sent it directly to Interpol headquarters in Lyon, France.

The subject line of the message contained only two words—

[Request Execution: “Ouroboros” Red Notice]

...

Almost at the very instant the email was sent—

France. Lyon. In the heart of Interpol’s headquarters, an alarm of the highest order suddenly blared!

"Received an A-level 'Red Notice' execution request from member state China! Target: Anderson von Kleist! Codename: Ouroboros!"

"Evidence chain integrity: 100%! Associated cases: 17 transnational financial crimes, 3 cyber-terror attacks..."

"Approval granted! ‘Ouroboros’ Red Notice, now in effect! Broadcasting to all 194 member countries!"

In a flash, a global net of justice and order was cast wide.

At the same moment.

In a certain country, not far from Anderson’s hideout, at a secret military base disguised as a civilian airport. Under the shroud of night, several black-painted, unmarked Black Hawk assault helicopters began to wind up their massive rotors, stirring up gusts of icy wind.

Teams of Interpol Special Response Unit (IRT) elites—wearing quad-lens night vision goggles, armed with HK416 rifles, and equipped to the teeth—climbed aboard the helicopters with several plainclothes Chinese national security field agents, their eyes as sharp as blades, all expressionless.

To the ends of the earth. No matter how far, justice will be served!

...

Half an hour later.

At the impregnable safehouse atop the city’s highest building.

Anderson sat alone, spirit shattered, before a patch of dried coffee stains—the last vestige of his broken dignity. His crushing psychological defeat rendered his expensive bespoke suit almost comical. The elegance and composure he once prided himself on had vanished, leaving only the empty shell of a failed man.

Suddenly—

A thunderous explosion, enough to rupture eardrums!

The door, made from special alloy and claimed to withstand a direct hit from an RPG, was ripped inward by precisely placed cutting charges!

Through swirling smoke and dust, more than a dozen heavily armed commandos burst in, like avenging demons from the underworld, sweeping the room in perfect formation.

Countless red laser dots, harbingers of death, instantly locked onto Anderson’s brow, chest, and every vital spot.

"Don’t move! Freeze!"

The cold, emotionless command rang out in English, echoing through the room.

Yet, faced with these descending “gods of war,” Anderson showed no fear or panic. He slowly raised his head and, staring into the muzzles of their guns, a twisted smile of relief played at his lips.

He raised his hands, choosing the only dignity left to him—surrender.

...

Inside an interrogation room hastily converted from the safehouse’s wine cellar.

Anderson, wrists and ankles bound by electromagnetic shackles, sat on a cold metal chair. Before him, the screen of a military-grade encrypted laptop flickered to life, revealing Xiao Ran’s face—still icy, but now bearing the authority of a victor.

This was the final, and only, direct confrontation between two commanders.

"Anderson," Xiao Ran’s voice was sharp and clear, even across thousands of miles, "you lost."

At her words, Anderson chuckled low. His laughter held no trace of a defeated man’s despair; instead, it brimmed with endless, chilling contempt.

"Lost?"

"No, no, no... My beautiful commander, I have not lost."

He slowly lifted his head, deep blue eyes burning with a fanatical, eerie light.

"You have only won against the me on the chessboard—a regional executor of the ‘Ouroboros’ plan."

"Do you truly believe this war is over?"

He leaned closer to the camera, whispering in a voice only the two of them could hear, seductive and venomous as the devil’s whisper—a name that sent Xiao Ran’s heart, still savoring victory, plunging into a frozen abyss.

"You, and your country, will never win..."

"Behind me stands..."

"‘The Phantom.’"

...

Xiao Ran watched Anderson, still laughing maniacally as two commandos dragged him away, and fell into a long, weighty silence.

The joy of victory evaporated the instant the word "Phantom" was spoken.

In its place came a deeper, bone-chilling dread, as though she had glimpsed a corner of the abyss.

...

Elsewhere, in a shadowy room somewhere in the world—luxurious and classical, beyond the reach of any radar or satellite.

A gloved, ageless hand, clad in pristine silk, elegantly removed a broken black "serpent" chess piece—the symbol of “Anderson”—from a massive world map chessboard carved from pure obsidian.

Then the hand selected several new, identical black serpent pieces from a rosewood box carved with countless howling faces.

One by one, unhurriedly, the pieces were placed on the board—over Britain, Germany, Japan, and other countries.

One game had ended.

But a greater, darker game was only just beginning.

"Brother, go rest first. When I’m done, I’ll show you," Qiu’er said, taking the nanny’s hand and leaving.

Yun Jiyun, worried sick, hurried over, so anxious she hadn’t even dressed properly—her shirt still undone, one shoe missing.

The Hua Ying 4 Fund was different from the ICA Fund. This year, He Qingdong was making money for investors, and his decision to clear some positions at year-end was not merely based on market analysis. He also aimed to lock in profits, polish the numbers, and climb the rankings.

Liang Ji nodded slightly as he listened, recalling how his old homeroom teacher, Mr. Du, had once told them the reason why the Pantheon was deemed a heretical organization and wanted by the Star Alliance.

The ticket for tycoons included a luxury suite. Led by a steward, Ye Cheng settled into the king-sized bed, finally able to rest; relaxing, he collapsed onto the bed, eager for sleep.

At first glance, these figures seemed ordinary—just institutions holding yen assets—but a closer comparison revealed hidden danger.

This reasoning wasn’t entirely baseless. After mediation by the first and third uncles, a total compensation of 376 yuan was agreed upon: Xu Damao paid 276 yuan, Liu Guangtian 100 yuan.

Yu Qing thought of that princess—not knowing if she lived or died. If she was still alive, he hoped she’d never be found. In this chaotic world, without power or cunning, she’d only serve as a pawn and puppet for men like Yang Jiuhuai.

They called it cultivation, but it was still just instinctively absorbing nuclear radiation. In essence, it was a passive strengthening, and the efficiency was far too low.

Ji Siming regarded Zhong Yue with a scrutinizing gaze, as if trying to see through to his very bones. There was no doubt, Zhong Yue was extraordinary—in business, whether partner or rival, Ji Siming admired him. But as a man, Ji Siming felt an innate hostility.

Tong En wrote letters to herself, Zhong Yue, and Jerry. She never saw the other two letters, but they shared one thing in common: not a single contact detail was left. Later, she sent several emails to the sender’s address, but they vanished into the ether—no reply.

Li Luo glanced back at his friend, never expecting the smooth-talking one to choose a heavy weapon, and shook his head.

The boisterous children kept playing at home while Zhang Dawei and Melissa busied themselves with family chores—preparing meals for a big household, a task that brooked no carelessness.

Following Uncle Qiang out, Xiaoqi quietly slipped the ultrasound photo she’d been gripping into her pocket.

At that thought, Mu Xifeng turned around. Just as he did, a strange force enveloped him, and an intense suction pulled at the wisp of divine sense he’d left in the half-beast’s body.

"Last night’s banquet was a special circumstance; don’t think this clause no longer applies," Ji Xuan said, waving the agreement between them and pointing at the space separating the two.

There’s a knack to stacking salads. I just took the opportunity to study the structure of the neighboring salad tower and now have a rough idea.

Bang! The door was flung open, and the curtains billowed in the room, stirred by the domineering presence.

Wayne had felt someone shadowing him ever since the day after he left Echigo. The feeling made him suspect that Uesugi had disclosed his movements.