Chereads / codename: Seraphim / Chapter 79 - chapter 76

Chapter 79 - chapter 76

Volkov turned to him, his expression unreadable. "Subtle," he remarked dryly, though there was a faint hint of approval in his tone.

Beom didn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the broken remains of the camera. This isn't just a hideout anymore, he thought grimly. He's turned it into a trap. And he's waiting for me to fall into it.

But Beom wasn't going to play by Yaroslav's rules. Not this time. He turned to Volkov, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "Let's grab what we need and get out of here. We don't have much time."

Volkov nodded, and the two moved swiftly, gathering the equipment they would need for the mission. But as they left the room, Beom couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, that Yaroslav was always one step ahead.

In his mind, Beom made a silent promise. Yaroslav, if you're watching this… good. Watch me tear your world apart, one piece at a time.

The night air was damp as Beom and Volkov crouched by the edge of a murky canal. The faint trickle of water echoed in the stillness, their breaths mingling with the cool mist. Beom peered at the shimmering surface, his gaze sharp.

"The waterway leads directly to the mansion's underground tunnel," Volkov said, his voice low but steady. He held up a compact waterproof bag. "Everything we need is in here. Once inside, we split tasks. You get into the mansion and gather the intel. I'll stay in the tunnel and plant the charges."

Beom nodded, tightening the strap of his utility belt. "Fine. But if things go south, we abort. I'm not leaving you behind."

Volkov smirked faintly, adjusting his gear. "Touching, but unnecessary. I'm not the one storming into enemy territory. You focus on not getting yourself killed."

Beom shot him a glare but didn't argue. Instead, he turned toward the water. Without another word, they slipped into the canal, the cold biting through their clothes. The silence of the night was broken only by the faint splashes as they swam forward, navigating the narrow, darkened passage.

After a few minutes, the waterway opened into a hidden tunnel entrance, the faint glow of emergency lights flickering on the moss-covered walls. Beom hauled himself onto the ledge, dripping wet, as Volkov followed close behind.

"This is it," Volkov said, pulling out a small device from his bag. It was sleek, no larger than a deck of cards, with a holographic screen that flickered to life. "Take this." He handed it to Beom.

"What's this?" Beom asked, his brow furrowing as he studied the device.

"Thermal imaging and motion tracking," Volkov explained, adjusting the screen. "It'll let me watch your surroundings from here. If there are guards or traps, I'll guide you. Just don't wander off without my say-so."

Beom gave a short nod, slipping the device into a pocket on his tactical vest. "And you? What's your plan?"

Volkov crouched by the tunnel wall, pulling out a set of small explosive charges. "I'll secure our exit. These bombs will collapse the tunnel once we're out. No one follows us."

Beom hesitated, glancing at Volkov. "Don't get carried away. We'll need a clean escape, not a death trap."

Volkov chuckled darkly. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing. Now get moving, Beom. The clock's ticking."

Beom didn't reply, instead activating the device and heading deeper into the tunnel. The dim light barely illuminated the narrow path, the damp air thick with the scent of mildew. The device in his hand pulsed faintly, displaying the heat signatures of several moving figures up ahead.

"Two guards on the right, standing by a staircase," Volkov's voice came through the earpiece, calm and precise. "Take them out quietly."

Beom pressed his back against the wall, creeping forward. His heart pounded as he approached the guards, his movements silent and deliberate. With a swift motion, he struck, incapacitating the first guard before the second could react.

"They're down," Beom whispered into the earpiece, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Good," Volkov replied. "Keep going straight. There's another guard patrolling near the storage room. Wait until he passes before you move."

Beom followed the instructions, pausing in the shadows as a guard walked by, oblivious to his presence. He tightened his grip on his weapon, moving as soon as the coast was clear.

Meanwhile, back in the tunnel, Volkov carefully positioned the explosives along the walls, each charge meticulously placed. He glanced at his watch, calculating the time they had left.

"How's it looking up there?" he asked, his voice crackling slightly through the comms.

"Complicated," Beom muttered. "This place is crawling with guards. You sure you don't want to switch places?"

Volkov snorted. "You're better at sneaking around. I'm better at blowing things up. Stick to the plan."

Beom couldn't argue with that, though the tension in his chest didn't ease. He pressed on, the device guiding him through the maze of corridors and rooms.

Suddenly, Volkov's voice sharpened. "Stop. Guard heading your way. Hide."

Beom ducked into a dark alcove, holding his breath as a guard passed mere inches away. His fingers tightened around his weapon, every muscle in his body tense until the footsteps faded.

"You're clear," Volkov said. "Move fast. You're almost there."

Beom exhaled, his heart pounding in his ears. "You better not blow this tunnel before I'm out."

"No promises," Volkov teased, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"All clear. Now move," Volkov's voice buzzed in Beom's ear, low and firm.

Beom didn't hesitate. He hurriedly made his way down the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps soft but deliberate. The mansion was a maze, its hallways twisting and branching like the arteries of some living beast. His pulse quickened with every turn as he glanced over his shoulder, the weight of the mission pressing down on him.

"I need to find that secret passage Yaroslav and I passed before getting out," Beom thought, his mind racing. He clenched his fists as he walked, remembering the last time he was here—only two weeks ago, back when Yaroslav had been Sasha, his partner, the man he had trusted. That trust now felt like a cruel joke, and the thought of it burned in Beom's chest. He shook it off. Focus was paramount.

The muffled chatter of guards echoed faintly down the hallways. Beom moved faster, passing door after door, each one looking identical to the last. The mansion's opulence was overwhelming—ornate chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, and rich tapestries lined the walls. Everything was designed to intimidate, to remind anyone who entered of the Vyshnevsky family's power.

Then the commotion started.

"There's an intruder! There's an intruder!" one of the guards shouted. Beom's breath hitched as the urgency of the situation sunk in. He ducked into a shadowy alcove, listening as heavy boots stomped past him. His heart thundered in his chest, but he didn't move. Timing was critical. Once the footsteps receded, he slipped out and continued on his path.

Finally, he reached the office. Beom's eyes darted around as he entered the room, his senses on high alert. It looked just as unremarkable as it had before—wood-paneled walls, a large mahogany desk, shelves crammed with books and knickknacks. It was the kind of room that was designed to deceive, to look mundane and unimportant. Beom wasn't fooled. He knew better.

"This has to be it," he thought, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He began his search immediately, moving to the desk. He rifled through the drawers, yanking them open one by one. Papers, pens, and other office supplies spilled out, but nothing substantial. His frustration grew with each passing second.

"Come on... where is it?" Beom muttered under his breath. He moved to the bookshelves next, running his fingers along the spines of the old tomes. His eyes scanned the titles, looking for anything that stood out. His hand stopped abruptly on a section of the shelf that felt slightly off. He pushed and pulled at the books, and then—there it was.

A small, almost imperceptible button nestled between the rows of books.

Beom's heart leapt as he pressed it. There was a low mechanical hum, and then the bookshelf began to slide apart, one half shifting left and the other right. A hidden door revealed itself behind the shelves. Beom stared at it for a moment, his pulse racing. "So it wasn't just my imagination last time," he thought grimly.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room beyond was eerily quiet. The air was cool, and the faint hum of electricity filled the space. The lights were still on, illuminating the sterile, almost clinical environment. Beom's eyes scanned the room. It was completely bare—a stark contrast to the lavish décor of the mansion. The walls were painted a dull gray, designs on the walls, the floor was cold.

"Nothing... It's just an empty room," he muttered, feeling the sting of disappointment. He moved deeper into the space, checking the corners and running his hands along the walls. Nothing seemed out of place, but his gut told him there was more here than met the eye.

As he prepared to leave, his eyes drifted to the light switch near the door. An idea sparked in his mind. What if the room wasn't meant to be seen in the light?

He flicked off the lights, plunging the room into darkness. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as his eyes adjusted, his breath caught in his throat.

The walls glowed faintly in the darkness, lines and shapes etched across every surface. Beom's jaw dropped as he took a step back, his eyes sweeping across the room. Blueprints. The entire room—walls, ceiling, and even parts of the floor—was covered in intricate blueprints. The designs were overwhelming, layers upon layers of complex schematics that seemed to connect in ways Beom couldn't immediately grasp.

"This must be the Seraphim..." Beom muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible as his eyes widened.

His mind raced as he tried to take it all in. Some of the blueprints detailed parts of the mansion, but others were unrecognizable. Was this a master plan? A weapon? Beom's fists clenched as realization dawned on him. "They've been hiding it right here... all along."

"Yaroslav, you son of a bitch," he muttered, his voice low but laced with venom. "You thought you could hide this forever?"

His fists tightened at his sides as he took a deep breath. This was it. The turning point. Everything he needed was right here. But he couldn't linger. The guards would be closing in soon, and Volkov was waiting.