Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 1135 Honors
The next afternoon.

At the appointed time, a black Mercedes-Benz S600 Pullman armored sedan pulled up to the villa's entrance precisely and silently.

Song Heping changed into a brand-new desert-colored digital camouflage combat uniform and shaved his beard.

The cook also tried his best to tidy himself up and put on his best casual clothes.

The car drove smoothly out of the manor and merged into the sparse traffic of Damascus in the afternoon.

Through the dark bulletproof car window, Song Heping silently observed this ancient city with a history of four thousand years.

In Damascus in 2014, an extremely complex and indescribable emotion permeated the air.

Pedestrians and vehicles still moved about the streets, some shops stubbornly remained open for business, and a few elderly people could be seen sitting outside cafes in the old town, slowly smoking hookahs, trying to maintain the fragile appearance of the leisurely life before the war.

But none of this can mask the profound trauma of war—the ubiquitous military checkpoints, fortifications built with sandbags and steel plates, and the weariness, tension, and fatalistic numbness on the faces of passersby that are hard to conceal.

The portrait of President Hafez on the large posters on the street, with the artist depicting his eyes as firm and powerful, attempts to convey confidence in victory to the bewildered public.

The car passed through a high-end community with lush greenery and tight security, and finally entered a huge courtyard guarded by multiple heavy steel checkpoints and a large number of soldiers.

This is the true heart of power in the Republic of Syria—the presidential residence.

After undergoing a security check that was several times more stringent and complicated than airport security, and even having soldiers using handheld chemical detectors to take samples from the vehicle, it was finally allowed to proceed and slowly drive into the internal parking lot.

The scene in the parking lot made Song Heping's gaze involuntarily sharpen slightly.

This place is practically a mini-luxury car show: the latest Mercedes-Benz S-Class security vehicle, Lexus LX570, Rolls-Royce Phantom, Bentley Mulsanne, Porsche Cayenne Turbo...

Various top-of-the-line luxury cars, each worth a fortune, were parked quietly in their designated parking spaces, like docile wild beasts.

This contrasts starkly with the country outside the window—a country ravaged by war, economically collapsed, impoverished, and with countless civilians displaced—creating a bizarre, jarring, and even suffocating scene.

A sense of unease welled up in Song Heping's heart.

This is a stark microcosm of the Silja regime.

A ruling group, centered around a small elite of the Alawite sect and controlling the vast majority of the country's wealth, leads a broken nation mired in sectarian feuds, external interference, and misery.

Hafez I, the "strongman father" who came from poverty but came to power through a military coup, ruled the country for thirty years with an iron fist and secret police, deeply binding the interests of his family and factions to the state apparatus and creating a vast military and commercial complex.

His son, Hafiz, the successor who was forced to abandon medicine for politics, inherited this huge, heavy, and extremely unjust legacy.

It was this enormous wealth gap, political oppression, and deep-seated sectarian conflicts that provided fertile ground for external intervention, ultimately igniting a bloody civil war that swept the nation and claimed the lives of hundreds of thousands.

A presidential guard officer with a high rank, wearing shoulder insignia, led the two men through an empty corridor with a blank expression.

The marble floor was so shiny it reflected your image, and the sound of footsteps echoed through it.

They were led into a side hall that was decorated in a solemn and elegant manner.

The Syrian flag and the presidential flag stood in the most prominent position, with scarlet carpets and dark wood paneling, all exuding a sense of formality of national power.

Soon after, the side door opened, and President Hafez al-Assad walked in, surrounded by a group of senior officials in suits or military uniforms and his personal guards.

He looked more tired and thinner than he did on TV and in posters; his temples were gray, his eyes were baggy, and he looked worried.

Just like the legend.

Song Heping felt that this person was not like a professional politician, but more like a slightly refined professional.

Of course, this is related to his background.

He originally studied ophthalmology in London with the ideal of helping people and saving lives, and his life plan was to become an excellent doctor after graduation.

Perhaps he never intended to take over this country in turmoil.

But fate played a cruel joke on him.

His older brother, who was favored by his father and groomed to be his successor, died unexpectedly in a bizarre car accident. His father then urgently recalled him from England and hastily pushed him to the pinnacle of power, where he underwent a series of rigorous political and military training.

A successor who was forced to give up the scalpel and take up the scepter, and who was not favored by all sides, has shown unexpected resilience in this storm that swept the country and almost tore the country to pieces. He did not choose to flee at the first moment after the outbreak of civil war, and has now miraculously maintained a firm grip on the overall situation in the core western region. This in itself is a miracle.

The awarding ceremony was brief but solemn.

President Hafez personally pinned a heavy gold star medal—the "Hero of Celia" medal, inlaid with dazzling rubies and gold—on Song Heping's chest from a velvet cushion held by his attendants.

Then, another one was placed on the cook's chest.

He delivered a brief address, his voice steady and powerful, praising the two men for their "extraordinary courage, outstanding skills, and selfless friendship with the people of Silia" during the nation's most perilous time, calling them "true friends and heroes that Silia will never forget."

"Gentlemen, please come to my private office. I would like to speak with you before the dinner."

After the ceremony, President Hafez extended an invitation.

In the hallway leading to the office, an assistant hurried over and whispered a few words in the president's ear.

President Hafez frowned rapidly, a fleeting hint of annoyance crossing his face, but he quickly regained his composure and gave Song Heping and his companion an apologetic look: "I'm very sorry, gentlemen, but I have an urgent international call that I need to handle immediately. It involves an emergency on the northern front. Please wait here for a moment, I'll be right back."

After saying that, he followed his assistant and quickly walked towards the nearby secure communications room.

Song Heping and the cook stood quietly in the corridor covered with a magnificent Isfahan carpet, waiting.

Just then, a beautifully carved walnut door opened a crack, and a handsome boy and a slightly younger girl with big, bright eyes curiously peeked out, cautiously observing the two unfamiliar guests who seemed to carry the air of war.

Both children were dressed in clean and tidy Western-style casual clothes, with clear eyes and a shyness and politeness that came from good upbringing.

The boy seemed to have mustered his courage and asked Song Heping softly in fluent English, "Excuse me, sir, are you from China?"

Song Heping was somewhat surprised. Encountering a child in this palace at the heart of power was already unexpected, but this question was even more surprising.

He nodded and replied in English, "Yes, I am."
The girl's eyes lit up immediately, seemingly pleased that her guess had been confirmed. She whispered something to her brother, then timidly said in English, "Our father said that China is a great and very safe country. We are going to study in Beijing very soon!" This time, Song Heping was genuinely surprised.

It dawned on him.

These two children are probably Hafiz's children.

Sending underage children to study in a foreign country thousands of miles away during a time of war likely reflects a father's anxieties, helplessness, and extreme desire for absolute safety.

This is a proactive plan based on the worst-case scenario, and it is the most instinctive choice for parents in chaotic times.

"Beijing is a very good city, very safe. You will like it there."
Song Heping's voice softened unconsciously, and he added in Chinese, "Welcome."

The two children smiled shyly but happily when they heard Chinese.

Song Heping was filled with mixed emotions, a complex feeling welling up inside him.

Nothing can bring her children a deeper sense of security and dignity than a stable, peaceful, and powerful motherland.

No matter where you are or what dangers you face, having a prosperous and strong motherland that can protect its citizens is the greatest source of confidence.

At that moment, he felt a more concrete and profound sense of identity and value in his past military career.

As they were talking, President Hafez returned, his face still bearing the somber look of someone dealing with an emergency. But when he saw his children, his eyes softened instantly, and a gentle smile, truly befitting a father, appeared on his face.

He spoke a few words to the children in Arabic, probably telling them not to disturb the guests. The two children nodded obediently, glanced at Song Heping one last time with curiosity, and gently closed the door.

“My children are full of curiosity and longing for the University of Tokyo.”

The president offered a brief explanation tinged with a subtle warmth and helplessness, before quickly regaining his composure and leading Song Heping and the cook into his spacious, grand office, filled with books and maps.

Inside the office, heavy mahogany bookshelves are filled with books in various languages, ranging from medical monographs to political history.

A large military map of Syria and its surrounding area hangs on the wall, covered with dense symbols.

After taking his seat, President Hafez's fatigue became even more apparent. He rubbed his temples and, without much diplomatic pleasantries or small talk, went straight to the point, his tone heavy and frank:
“Mr. Song, Colonel Yevgeny, you are true heroes of our country and people, providing us with immeasurable help in our most critical moment. Celia will forever remember this kindness. But…”

He changed the subject, his voice becoming even lower.

"The current situation remains extremely dire, even reaching a new and dangerous juncture. Thanks to your valiant efforts, the situation in Khaybaib in the south and Dehok in the east has temporarily stabilized. But in Idlib in the north…"

He stood up, walked to the map, and pointed to a large area in the north.

"...HTS and other terrorist groups gathered there like a plague. They received a constant stream of funding and weapons from the outside, and their offensives came one after another. Our elite troops were bleeding and sacrificing their lives there. Every day, heroic soldiers died, and the defense line was under tremendous pressure."

He turned around and looked at Song Heping and the other man with a heavy gaze, even revealing a hint of almost helpless anxiety.

“Once Idlib, this strategic buffer zone, falls completely, allowing their main forces to advance south, the gateway to Homs will be wide open… The consequences will be catastrophic, not just a military defeat, but also a potential chain reaction of political collapse. I… am very concerned about this.”

At this moment, he seemed more like an ordinary person struggling to breathe under the weight of a heavy burden than a high and mighty president.

Song Heping winked at the cook and then said, "Mr. President, thank you for your trust and frankness. Regarding the situation on the northern front, I think you may not need to be too pessimistic."

A glimmer of hope flashed in President Hafez's eyes, like the hope of a drowning person grasping at straws, but deep-seated doubts remained.

"You really think so, Mr. Song? I admire your confidence, but I must face reality. I've received information from various parties, including some... well... not very encouraging intelligence assessments. The Kremlin's attitude still seems ambiguous, and somewhat hesitant..."

"Mr President."

Song Heping gently interrupted him: “The situation has completely changed. Since the Crimean crisis, the nature of the relationship between Russia and the West has undergone a fundamental and irreversible transformation. Sanctions and confrontation have become the new normal. Under this entirely new geostrategic landscape, Syria’s value to Russia has risen from an ‘important partner’ to a ‘core strategic pillar that absolutely cannot be lost.’ Losing Syria means that Russia will be completely expelled from the Middle East, becoming an insignificant bystander in the Mediterranean, and its southern hinterland will be directly exposed to the threat of NATO. This is a strategic disaster that the Kremlin absolutely cannot tolerate. Therefore, I believe that at the most critical moment, when interests are fundamentally threatened, the Russian military will definitely conduct a direct, large-scale, and decisive military intervention. This will not only involve airstrikes but will likely include the deployment of ground troops. This will be the turning point that completely reverses the entire situation in Syria.”

He continued by offering his well-considered advice: "At this stage, I suggest that you immediately strengthen strategic coordination and tactical cooperation with the Persian side. Utilize the vital passage we just opened at Dehok in Siria to accelerate cooperation with the Quds Force of the Revolutionary Guard. We could even plan for them to launch an offensive from the flank, such as from the border region of Iligor, against the rear supply lines and controlled areas of the 1515 and Free Army, leaving them unable to attend to both ends and effectively easing the situation."

"On the other hand, the government and military should actively begin preparations, stockpile supplies, and train troops. Once the signal of large-scale Russian intervention is confirmed, they should quickly organize a powerful force to launch a decisive strategic counterattack on the northern and eastern fronts and recover lost territory. My team and I are willing to continue to provide you with professional military advice, personnel training, and special operations assistance at every stage of this process."

President Hafez leaned forward, listening intently to Song Heping's analysis and suggestions, his furrowed brows gradually relaxing.

Song Heping's calm attitude, clear logic, and profound understanding of the international strategic landscape clearly impressed him greatly and gave him unprecedented confidence.

"but……"

He paused for a moment, seemingly processing the information, then leaned forward slightly, his tone becoming more sincere, even tinged with a hint of awkwardness.

"Mr. Song, your strategic analysis and specific suggestions are extremely valuable, giving me great inspiration and confidence. Thank you very much. I know that you and your company have taken on extremely high risks. However... please forgive my bluntness and helplessness, Celia is currently facing comprehensive difficulties. Our national economy is on the verge of collapse due to war and blockade, and our finances... are extremely depleted. I... I am afraid that the material compensation I can offer your company and you personally is very limited, and may even... may not be able to pay you the high commissions you deserve immediately and in full... This makes me feel deeply guilty."

Looking at the president before him, who was beset by internal and external troubles, Song Heping recalled the emaciated civilians and the ruined streets he had seen when he entered Damascus. At the same time, he also clearly remembered the glittering, priceless luxury cars in the parking lot.

The stark contrast stirred up a complex and indescribable emotion within him.

He suddenly smiled and said in a tone that was half-joking and half-seriously:

“Mr. President, if you don’t have enough money, that’s alright. I saw those ‘toys’ parked in your official residence’s parking lot—Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, and the like—and they look pretty good. How about… you pick a few to mortgage to me? Consider it an advance payment?”

The moment the words left his mouth, the air in the office seemed to be sucked out and completely frozen!

President Hafez's apologetic smile froze completely, and a flash of extreme astonishment, along with a hint of barely suppressed anger at being deeply hurt and offended, crossed his eyes.

The cook sitting next to Song Heping was completely stunned for two seconds before he reacted. He reached out and touched Song Heping's boots, giving him a wink as if to say, "Are you crazy?!"

He knew that Song Heping was not short of money at all, and that was clearly a joke.

But to make such a joke in this kind of situation...

Suka!

How rude!

These words are practically a slap in the face to a head of state!
　Asking for a monthly ticket!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)