Ultimate Choice System: I Became The Richest!

Up ahead, another assassin had stationed himself at the top of the grand staircase, a suppressed rifle aimed downward. His role was obvious—overwatch.

If anyone tried to escape, he’d take them out before they even hit the front door.

Noah exhaled softly.

Not happening.

He crouched low, moving up the staircase without touching a single step. His body stayed pressed against the banister, his balance inhumanly perfect.

The assassin didn’t notice.

His focus was straight ahead, unaware that death was approaching from below.

Noah reached the final step.

In one fluid motion, he grabbed the man’s ankle and yanked.

The assassin stumbled backwards in shock, his rifle swinging wildly—

Before he could even regain balance, Noah was already on top of him.

A single, brutal strike to the throat.

The man gasped, his windpipe collapsing.

Noah grabbed the back of his head and slammed it down against the wooden railing.

A sickening CRACK.

Blood splattered.

Two down.

Three left.

The third assassin was rifling through a desk, clearly looking for intel.

His focus was so locked on his task that he didn’t notice the slight shift in air pressure behind him.

Noah was already inside the room.

He didn’t hesitate.

A single suppressed PFFT.

The bullet entered the base of the man’s skull.

He never knew what hit him.

Three down.

Two left.

This one was different.

He was nervous.

He whispered into his comm, his voice strained.

“Status check.”

Silence.

His pulse spiked.

“No.1 Over.” One voice responded slightly late, but no one else did.

He turned a corner—

Noah was right there.

The assassin jerked back in shock, raising his rifle—

Too slow.

Noah’s knife sliced across his throat.

A choked gurgle left his lips, his rifle slipping from his grip. His body hit the floor, spasming for a few seconds before going still.

Four down.

One left.

“The leader is left…” Noah muttered with a serious expression on his face.

…

The moment he lost contact with his team, he knew.

The mission was over.

And not in the way most operations failed—no, this was something else. This wasn’t a retreat because of unexpected resistance or a failed breach.

This was a massacre.

His men were wiped out too quickly. Too efficiently. They were good—high-level operatives, trained in assassinations and stealth warfare. But the way they had gone silent—no gunfire, no comms, nothing—meant one thing.

They hadn’t been outgunned.

They’d been hunted.

And now, he was the last one left.

His instincts screamed at him. Run.

Live today, kill tomorrow.

The mission had failed, but there was always another opportunity. Always a way to come back stronger, better prepared. Another target. Another contract.

If he lived.

He moved fast, but not recklessly.

Not yet.

The assassins had a contingency plan. If something went wrong, if extraction became impossible, they were to fall back to a designated rendezvous point deep in the jungle—north of the estate.

There, a secondary escape team waited, ready to extract anyone left standing. Your journey continues on My Virtual Library Empire

That’s my only chance.

He slipped through the corridors, his steps silent, his body moving like a shadow. He avoided the open spaces, used the dark corners, listened for any signs of movement.

Nothing.

No sound.

No pursuit.

And that terrified him even more.

No way I just lost a whole team, and the enemy isn’t even looking for me.

That meant one of two things.

Either they thought he was already dead…

Or—

They already knew where he was.

The thought sent a chill through his bones.

He clenched his jaw and kept moving.

One step at a time. No mistakes.

The assassin didn’t rush into the open.

He wasn’t stupid.

He approached the estate exit carefully, pausing at the last doorway. His eyes scanned the tree line ahead, his ears straining for any sound that didn’t belong.

Nothing.

He took another moment, steadying his breath, before he slipped into the night.

Darkness wrapped around him. The dense jungle swallowed all sound except for the rustling of leaves and the occasional distant hoot of an owl.

His boots pressed lightly against the soil as he moved, his training ensuring his steps made almost no sound. Each step calculated. Each movement purposeful.

Still, his instincts wouldn’t calm.

Something was wrong.

But he couldn’t place what.

He was alone. He should have felt safe.

He didn’t.

And then—

CRACK.

A gunshot whizzed past him, slicing through the air with a deafening whip.

A hot, searing pain exploded through the side of his head—his ear.

He staggered, his vision lurching as his equilibrium snapped.

He hit the ground hard, rolling into the dirt before his instincts kicked in.

He scrambled behind a jagged rock, heart pounding, breath heavy.

His fingers shot up to the side of his head, touching wet warmth.

Blood.

His ear was gone.

His hands trembled slightly as he clutched the wound, but he forced his breathing to slow. Forced himself to think.

The shot came from behind.

How?

He had checked. He had been careful.

How had someone gotten the drop on him?

He peered over the rock, scanning the trees, looking for his attacker.

Nothing.

No movement.

No sign of an enemy.

But he knew someone was there.

Someone who had been following him.

Like a shadow.

A chill crawled up his spine.

This wasn’t normal.

Who the hell am I up against?

His teeth clenched.

He had faced killers before. He had fought special ops before.

But this wasn’t a soldier hunting him.

This wasn’t a man.

It was something else.

He wiped the blood from his face, his jaw tight.

The jungle was silent again.

No footsteps. No sounds.

But he knew.

He’s here.

And the only thing worse than hearing your hunter…

Was not hearing him at all.

Riner clenched his teeth, forcing his hand to stay steady as he dug into his tactical pouch, pulling out a small first-aid kit.

His ear was gone. Blood still trickled down his neck, soaking into the fabric of his gear. His balance was shot, his depth perception thrown into chaos. But he wasn’t dead yet.

He wasn’t going to die here.

With quick, practiced movements, he grabbed a coagulant patch, slamming it onto the raw wound, hissing as the burn kicked in. His fingers moved automatically, wrapping a bandage around his head to slow the bleeding, stuffing a small piece of fabric near his ruined ear to help with his equilibrium.

His breath was shallow, but controlled. He had been in bad spots before. This was just another job.

Except…

This wasn’t just another opponent.

I don’t know what the hell I’m up against… but I need to move. Now.

Riner didn’t hesitate. Fighting was a death sentence.

He needed to escape.

His fingers yanked a smoke grenade from his belt, pulled the pin with his teeth, and tossed it at his feet.

PFFT!

A thick, choking cloud of gray smoke erupted around him, swallowing him in a dense fog. The jungle trees blurred into shapeless shadows, the cool night air replaced by the chemical sting of the smoke.

He didn’t wait to see if it worked.

His legs exploded into motion.

He sprinted, pushing through the pain, his body screaming at him with every step. He had to reach the rendezvous point.

The escape squad would be waiting at the north side, just a few hundred meters away.