Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 945 The Cook's Fury
That evening, at eight o'clock.

Deep within a Russian military base in Damascus, the lights of the makeshift command post were blindingly white.

Just as Song Heping settled the exhausted Sayina in a relatively quiet corner of the base's medical area, where she was cared for by a nurse who spoke Arabic, a serious-looking Russian military officer barged into their tent.

"Mr. Yevgeny (the cook's real name)!"

The staff officer saluted and spoke rapidly.

"Urgent notification. The Presidential Office has issued a direct order requiring you to immediately return to Moscow. The aircraft is already on the runway and will take off in thirty minutes."

The cook, who was wiping his beloved Makarov pistol, suddenly froze, his thick knuckles making a cracking sound as he gripped the handle.

He raised his head, and his fleshy face instantly filled with a violent, dark cloud. His eyes turned as red and dangerous as those of an enraged Siberian brown bear.

The staff officer instinctively took a half step back under his gaze.

"Summon Yi Valley!"

The cook practically spat out the name through gritted teeth, each syllable dripping with venom and deep-seated hatred.

This name represents the origin of that betrayal in Moscow, the act of backstabbing and treachery.

"Good! Very good! I'll go back and settle the score with him! A fight to the death? Let's see whose net is stronger!"

He suddenly stood up, his massive body exuding an oppressive aura, as if he were about to dismantle the command post at any moment.

"cook!"

Song Heping's deep and powerful voice was like a bucket of ice water, instantly pouring it onto the cook's boiling anger.

The cook whirled around, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Song Heping: "Song! Don't stop me this time! That old bastard almost killed us all! Killed you! Killed so many brothers! He has to pay the price! I'm going back this time to tear things apart! It's either him or me! There's no third way!"

His voice trembled slightly with excitement, carrying a resolute determination to destroy everything.

Song Heping walked up to him, very close, his eyes calm as a bottomless pool, clearly reflecting the cook's face contorted with rage.

"Calm down, cook. Look at me."

He pulled the cook aside, his voice low but with a peculiar penetrating power, like a cold steel needle piercing boiling foam.

"To tear off all pretenses? To fight to the death?"

A faint, cold smile curved Song Heping's lips, carrying an all-knowing mockery.

"I've checked Zhao Yigu's records. What makes you think you can? Your meager forces in Celia? Or your meager 'connections' in the Kremlin that you maintain with money? If you go back and overturn the table, what will you gain besides hurting yourself and dragging more of your brothers down with you? Will Zhao Yigu lose a single hair? No, he'll only be happier to label you a 'traitor' and a 'warlord,' and completely wipe you and your men out!"

The cook's facial muscles twitched violently, his chest heaved, and he gasped for breath like a bellows, but Song Heping's words were like cold steel nails, driving one into his furious brain.

If it were anyone else, the cook would probably have chopped him up long ago.

But in front of him was Song Heping.

In front of Song Heping, the cook lost his courage.

He opened his mouth, wanting to retort, but found his throat dry and unable to produce a strong sound.

"listen."

Song Heping lowered his voice even further, with a chilling calmness.

"Your president knows everything. From Celia's schemes to Zhaoyi Valley's interference, and this damned 'accident'... he knows better than anyone. Why did he choose this moment to urgently recall you? Is it punishment? No, cook, this is giving you a chance! It's also a chance for you to make amends!"

"compensate?"

The crimson in the cook's eyes faded slightly, replaced by immense confusion.

"Yes. It's about making up for what you've lost, making up for the loyalty you've given. But the prerequisite is that you have to live, and you have to be 'sensible'."

Song Heping's gaze was sharp as a knife, staring directly into the cook's confused eyes.

"Forget about Zhaoyi Valley, at least openly. Go back, like a wronged but still loyal general, to report for duty, to receive your 'new mission,' or... your new territory. Your president needs someone like you to balance those greedy parasites. A complete falling out? That's the most foolish choice. Hand everything over to him, and he'll give you a satisfactory explanation. Believe me, Cook, a fight to the death isn't the best option. You can take revenge, but not now, and not by yourself." The command post was deathly silent, save for Cook's heavy breathing and the monotonous hum of the air conditioner.

Song Heping's words were like a cold scalpel, precisely dissecting the chaotic fog and revealing the naked and cruel power logic beneath.

The cook's rage gradually faded, replaced by a deep weariness and a sense of powerlessness after being crushed by immense force.

He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug deep into his palms, and his body trembled slightly from the anger he was forcibly suppressing.

After a long while, he suddenly closed his eyes, let out a low, suppressed roar like a wounded beast, and slammed his fist on the metal table next to him!
"boom!"

With a loud crash, a large section of the sturdy metal tabletop dented instantly!

The staff officer turned pale with fright.

The cook, panting heavily, opened his eyes. The redness in his eyes had mostly faded, leaving only a bottomless weariness and a resigned coldness.

"Sokka!"

He muttered a curse under his breath, with a heavy Russian accent.

"Song...you're right. Damn it...you're right."

He shouted at the staff officer, "You can go now, I'll be at the airport on time!"

After the staff officer left, he turned to look at Song Heping with a complicated expression.

"What are you going to do next?"

Song Heping's gaze passed over the cook and landed on the outline of Damascus outside the window, shrouded in night and still filled with the smell of gunpowder. His eyes suddenly became colder than the permafrost of Siberia.

"revenge."

He uttered two words clearly, his voice not loud, but like two cold bullets piercing the air, with the echo of metal colliding.

"revenge?"

Jiang Feng appeared silently at the door, clearly having heard the last key word.

He leaned against the door frame, still with that expressionless look, but his eyes sharpened.

"Target? MI6? Or the CIA? Or... both?"

“MI6.” Song Heping’s voice was resolute. “The CIA is just a knife, and the one wielding the knife is Ms. M in London. Those who betray their promises must pay the price. Let them regret reaching their claws into Celia.”

Jiang Feng nodded: "The specific plan?"

Song Heping turned around and walked to the dusty, simple tactical map in the center of the command room. He pointed precisely at a point on the west coast of the African continent: "The Republic of Sena. The president that the British just installed, Touré."

"Overthrow him?" Jiang Feng immediately grasped the core idea.

"Yes. We have the ability to help the British get up, and we also have the ability to knock him down!"

Song Heping's gaze was cold and focused, as if he were sharpening a dagger for revenge.

"Have Henry contact the French DGSE immediately. Tell them we have a big business deal to discuss. It concerns the 'redistribution of resources' and 'regional stability' in Seine. I think they'll be very interested."

A knowing glint flashed in Jiang Feng's eyes, and without a word, he replied, "Understood. I'll take care of it right away."

He turned and walked away quickly.

As the cook watched Song Heping's straight back, as straight as a javelin in front of the map, the fire of revenge that had been forcibly suppressed seemed to have found a new outlet in his chest.

He patted Song Heping heavily on the shoulder, his voice regaining its usual gruffness, but with an added seriousness: "Song! Go for it! I still have some men in Africa! Just ask if you need anything! When I get back from Moscow, I hope to hear the good news that Ms. M is crying!"

He glanced at Song Heping one last time, gave him another bear hug, then let go, turned around, and strode away from the tent.

(End of this chapter)