Meanwhile, in a hidden stronghold beneath the mountains of Yunnan, Kai Ren activated a communication network only a handful of living souls even knew existed.
Encrypted frequencies lit up.
Within hours—they gathered.
But not just any syndicates.Not petty warlords. Not cartel heirs.No… this time it was different.
They were the names not spoken.The ones whose fingerprints didn't exist.The silent hands behind governments.
They came from the shadows of Siberian bunkers, from the velvet-cloaked chambers of Dubai, from the jungles of Myanmar, the mines of Congo, and the sea tunnels of South Africa.
Bloodline mafias. Shadow brokers. Oil ghosts. Auction kings.
They weren't invited.They were summoned.
And they came.
All for him.
He didn't sit on a throne.
He didn't offer them chairs.
There was no light in the hall—only the flicker of red flame licking cold stone walls like devils in prayer.
And in the center of it all stood Kai Ren.
Black suit.Black gloves.No face.Just that mask—etched with glowing rage, carved from the silence of death.
He said nothing of the bounty.No explanation.Not even Lisa's name.
He didn't need to.
He stepped forward, slow and lethal.
Eyes behind the mask burned like coals.
And he spoke just two words:
"Find her."
One command.
And the entire underworld obeyed.
Not out of loyalty.
Not for money.
But because they remembered.
They remembered what happened the last time someone disobeyed him:
The City of Gwangmyeong — erased in a chemical cloud.
The Burning of Valencia — when two rival families refused his truce, and both their bloodlines were hunted into extinction.
He didn't just make examples.He made myths.
And in those myths, he became something worse than death:
The Black Commandment.
The Reaper of the Nameless.The man even shadows refused to follow.