Commander in Chief Larclevius

Chapter 1

December 19, 17:45. Location: Mount Everest.  

Damn it. Betrayed. My wounds haven't healed, but pain is irrelevant now. I glance back through my scope—mercenaries, fully equipped, closing in. And I have nothing but a pistol with one magazine and a knife. My clothes barely fend off the cold. 

I need to find the coordinates sent to me. Still 900 meters north. With every step higher, the temperature drops, oxygen thins. No time for hesitation. I check my watch—time to move. Training has made me efficient; my pace remains steady despite my condition.  

An icy bridge ahead. I scan the surroundings. Seems safe. Crossing quickly, I set my first trap. A glance behind—enemies are gaining ground. I push forward.  

Climbing now. My hands split open, blood mixing with the frost. Dehydration creeps in. No water. No life. Just skeletal remains—whether animal or human, it doesn't matter. The altitude works in my favor. No helicopters. No heavy machinery. The air density prevents it.  

Still 300 meters north. My legs feel numb. I barely register my own body, but my iron breathing technique—years in the making—keeps me functional. The ground turns slick beneath me. These shoes are useless in this terrain. No shelter in sight.  

150 meters left. I pull out my scope—mercenaries are deploying military drones. New threat. The plan must change.  

Shelter. I need to find a cave. Searching through the scope… northeast, 60 meters away. I force myself into a run. My wounds reopen, agony flaring, but I refuse to stop. I will not die before eliminating **Black Hawk**.  

Ten meters left—another frozen bridge. Below, two corpses. I tread carefully and cross.  

A ”backpack” —luck, for once. I grab it and push into the cave. Darkness. My breaths steady. Examining my surroundings as I step forward—then, a sound.  

Knife drawn.  

A “snow leopard” emerges from the shadows, golden eyes locked on me—predator to predator.  

No hesitation.  

I lunge. The blade flashes in the dim light. A snarl—muscles coil—but I’m already inside its reach. A clean, brutal slash to the throat. The beast staggers, convulsing, then collapses.  

I exhale. Steady. Unshaken.  

I search the backpack—medical aid. Finally, something useful. Quickly, I seal my wounds.  

The cave remains silent, except for the storm howling outside. The snow leopard’s body lies before me, no longer a hunter—just necessity.  

With precision, I slice through its belly, stripping its hide. The warmth lingers, but it won’t last. I fashion a crude cloak, fastening it with sinew. Survival demands purpose, not beauty.  

Meat comes next. Thick slabs stripped clean, placed near a firepit I carve into the stone. Soon, flames lick the raw flesh, the scent of charred fat curling through the cavern. I eat slowly, methodically.  

I “will” endure.  

---  

“Enemy camp spotted”.

Thirty soldiers—fully equipped. Their formation works to my advantage. “Divide and eliminate.”  

Knife in hand, I recall my name once: “Silent Beast.”

Six approach the cave. Perfect. Hidden in the shadows, I strike as they enter—blade cutting left, right, up, down. Precise. Silent. Efficient.  

With new equipment, I “disguise myself” as one of them. A silencer allows me to approach the main camp. Three more intercept—before they finish their sentence, I shoot them between the eyes.  

Inside their shelter—eleven sleeping. They never wake.  

The last wave enters, just as my trap detonates. The explosion leaves only debris and silence.  

Time to move. “30 meters” to the coordinates.  

Five mercenaries catch me off guard. Weapons raised. “Code?”

The one behind me starts a countdown.  

“Alpha H1.”

They lower their weapons. That instant, I fire—five shots, five bodies drop.  

One carried a ”necklace with the true code”. 

Convenient.  

I reach the final “cave”, examining footprints. Mercenaries were here. Hesitation lingers—but this is my last chance. I enter.  

Two “big men” block my way. Before I raise my M416, one kicks it aside. I drop to a knee and fire my pistol twice—clean headshots.  

Only a ”laptop” and ”landing gear” remain.  

I turn it on. “Face ID grants access.” A single message:  

"We can’t get out. You need to make it down. A helicopter will wait from 14:00 to 15:00.

“All or nothing.”

Taking the landing gear, I step outside—another **squad approaches**. No engagement. I hide. As they enter the cave, I escape.  

The highest “edge” nearby—perfect for the dive.  

13:00. Time is critical. I inspect the gear. All functional.  

I “jump”—the “mercenaries open fire”—bullets tear through the air.  

Somehow, I make it through.  

“The helicopter is waiting.” 

A final descent. The ground rushes toward me. “Landing successful.”

Then—a sharp pain.  

“Shot.”

I stagger into the helicopter, rescue team securing me.  

Darkness pulls me under.