Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 943 One Hundred Dollars in Five Minutes
Seeing Song Heping smash their leader's jaw with a single blow, the remaining two or three thugs were utterly terrified. As if they had seen a ghost, they screamed and jumped into the pickup truck, desperately trying to escape this terrifying place.

Song Heping's eyes were cold. He quickly raised his AKM assault rifle, roughly aimed, and fired two short bursts.

"Ta-ta! Ta-ta!"

The driver of the first pickup truck suddenly jerked his head back, a bloody splatter appeared on the windshield, and the vehicle went out of control and crashed into the earthen wall beside him.

The second pickup truck had just started moving when its rear wheel was shot out, and the truck came to a wobbly stop. The last bandit in the truck bed jumped out and tried to run away.

Song Heping walked towards the other party unhurriedly, like a hunter eyeing his pitiful prey.

When the other person ran about 100 meters away, he slowly raised his gun and fired a burst.

The running bandit was splattered with blood from his back and collapsed into the dust.

Dead silence.

The village, which had just been filled with noise and violence, was now filled only with the suppressed groans of injured villagers, the terrified cries of children, and the feeble hum of three beat-up pickup truck engines.

The smell of blood and gunpowder was so strong it was suffocating.

Song Heping threw away the AKM that had missed its target and rushed toward the low wall where Faris and his daughter were hiding.

"Brother Faris! Sayina! You didn't..."

His voice stopped abruptly.

Behind the low wall, Faris lay on the ground, his chest a glaring crimson stain, blood still gushing out.

His eyes were wide open as he stared at Song Heping running towards him. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but only blood and foam came out.

His arm was still in the position of tightly protecting Sayina behind his back.

Sayina huddled behind her father, her small body trembling like a leaf in the wind. She covered her mouth tightly to stop herself from crying out.

She stared blankly at the blood on her father's chest, then looked up at Song Heping, who was covered in blood.

Song Heping froze on the spot, staring at Faris's unfocused yet still protective eyes. A cold, rusty anger and a tremendous sense of powerlessness instantly gripped him. He knelt on one knee beside Faris, his fingers trembling as he reached for the carotid artery in his neck.

The beating has stopped.

He came late.

It was just one step too late.

Song Heping clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug deep into his palms, drawing blood.

He abruptly closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, only a cold calm remained in his eyes.

He gently closed Faris's unwilling eyes.

He stood up and walked over to Sayina.

The little girl instinctively shrank back, her big eyes filled with fear.

The man he had rescued on the riverbank earlier had just been swiftly and cleanly killed; any normal person would feel fear.

Song Heping crouched down, trying to soften his voice, though his hoarse voice was still frightening: "Saina, don't be afraid. It's me."

Hearing the familiar voice, the fear in Sayina's eyes subsided slightly, but emptiness and sadness instantly welled up inside her.

She looked at Song Heping, then at her father who was already cold on the ground, her little mouth trembled, and finally, with a "waaaah," she burst into heart-wrenching sobs, throwing herself into Song Heping's arms, which were covered in blood and dust.

Song Heping stiffened for a moment, then stretched out his arms and hugged the little girl who had just lost everything tightly.

Her cries cut into his heart like a knife.

He gently patted her back, his gaze sweeping over the village ravaged by war and atrocities, over the terrified villagers, and finally back to the crying little girl in his arms.

This is not his war.

But he got caught up in it.

He couldn't save everyone, not even the person who saved him.

But at least he could save the child.

He picked up Sayina, who was crying so hard she was almost exhausted, wrapped her tightly in his tattered robe, and let her bury her face in his shoulder to shield her from the bloody scene.

He turned to a villager: "What's the name of the armed group these people belong to?"

"The Freedom Alliance..."

The villagers seemed to be quite familiar with this armed group.

"Their hideout is located about 40 kilometers to the south, near the Bilge Gobi Desert..."

Seemingly guessing what Song Heping wanted to do, the villager quickly revealed the origins of these armed men.

"Thank you."

Song Heping nodded to the villager to express his gratitude, and then took out five hundred dollars from his pocket and handed it over.

“Do me a favor, brother. Find a spot outside the village and build a grave for Faris. Remember, you can make money, but the grave must be built.”

"I know, I definitely do!"

Five hundred dollars is a considerable sum of money in war-torn Syria.

The young villager took the US dollar bill and nodded vigorously: "I swear in the name of Allah, I will do it well."

“Let’s leave here.” Song Heping turned to Sayina, his voice low and firm, as if speaking to Sayina, but also to himself.

“Go to town and find a phone. Then, I’ll take you away from Celia.”

He didn't know what the future held, whether Utkin and the others were safe, or whether he could escape the CIA's pursuit.

But at this moment, he had only one thought in his mind: to let the little girl who had saved him but lost her father live and leave this hell.

As a mercenary leader, Song Heping had long been accustomed to life and death.

But there is still a soft spot in my heart.

Meeting is fate.

Besides, he was someone who had saved his life.

He carried Sayina into one of the still-working pickup trucks and quickly left the desolate village.

The pickup truck bumped along the dilapidated road, kicking up dust that clung to the rear of the vehicle like a yellow shroud, lingering for a long time.

Sayina huddled in the passenger seat, her small body wrapped in Song Heping's large robe, stained with gunpowder, dust, and congealed blood, with only her pale face showing.

Those once bright, clear eyes, brimming with the light of a stream, now stare blankly, their tears long since dried, leaving only endless ashes.

war……

It's not just homes that have been destroyed.

This also includes childhood...

Song Heping gripped the steering wheel with one hand, his rough knuckles turning white from the force.

With his other hand, he instinctively and with an awkward sense of protection, gently placed his hand on Sayina's thin shoulder.

With each bump, the small body would tremble uncontrollably, like a candle flame about to go out in the wind.

The glaring crimson stain on Faris's chest, the heart-wrenching cries of Sayina as she threw herself into his arms, and the villagers' terrified and numb eyes burned repeatedly in his mind.

For Song Heping, this was a suffocating ordeal.

The car drove into a fairly large town, where the traces of war were equally shocking.

Ruins and broken walls were everywhere, and few pedestrians walked the streets, their eyes wary and weary. Song Heping's sharp gaze swept across the streets and alleys, finally settling on a relatively secluded corner.

There was an inconspicuous grocery store, and a lean middle-aged man sat at the door with cloudy eyes that revealed the shrewdness of a businessman, like a vulture lurking in the shadows.

This is the black market telephone shop that Faris mentioned earlier.

Song Heping stopped the car, picked up Sayina, whose body was so light that it was almost weightless, like a feather that could be blown away by the wind at any moment.

"Wait for me here, don't make a sound, and don't look at anyone."

Song Heping's voice was low and gentle, yet still carried a rough, abrasive quality. Sayina didn't react; she simply buried her face deeper into his sweat- and blood-smelling clothes, her small hands instinctively gripping the fabric of his chest.

Song Heping carried her to the man and got straight to the point: "Use the satellite phone to make an international call."

The man's cloudy eyes swept over Song Heping's blood-stained clothes and the obviously frightened child in his arms, then he cautiously scanned his surroundings before slowly extending five withered fingers and making a "one" gesture with his other hand.

"One hundred dollars. Five minutes."

His voice was dry and hoarse, and his eyes revealed greed.

Song Heping did not hesitate at all.

He pulled a hundred dollars from his pocket and slapped it down on the greasy wooden table in front of the man.

The banknotes fell onto the table with a soft sound, which was unusually clear in the dead silence.

A hint of surprise flashed across the man's eyes; he clearly hadn't expected this slovenly-looking man to be so decisive, not even bothering to haggle over the price.

He quickly put away the money and deftly dragged a heavy black box wrapped in thick shockproof foam from under the counter.

Opening the combination lock revealed an old satellite phone.

The man skillfully pulled out the antenna, turned on the phone, and a piercing dial tone rang out in the silence.

"Number." The man spoke sparingly.

Song Heping recited a string of numbers etched deep in his mind.

That's Ferrari's satellite phone number.

The endless busy signals kept pounding on Song Heping's nerves.

Every second feels like a century.

He instinctively tightened his arms around Sayina, as if that was the only anchor point at that moment.

Sayina stirred slightly in his arms, seemingly disturbed by the continuous noise, but remained silent.

Finally, the busy tone ended, and the call was connected.

"Who?"

A voice, extremely tired, wary, and even tinged with despair, came from the other end of the microphone. It was Ferrari.

In the background, one can vaguely hear a heated argument and the static noise from the radio.

(End of this chapter)