Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 949 Psychological Warfare

Self-support?

The impact of this word was a hundred times greater than that of "do it yourself," as if a grenade had been dropped into the room.

This is no longer a simple military operation; it is an attempt to uproot the centuries-old foundations of the two colonial powers, France and Britain, in the Seine!

It's a blatant table flip!

This is tantamount to declaring war on two of the five permanent members of the UN Security Council at the same time!

The enormous risk, like a real iceberg, instantly pressed down on everyone present.

Besides, time! In just a few months, where can they find a "proxy" who has sufficient military strength, influence, and is willing to act as their puppet?
This is simply a fantasy!

Only a madman would have such a thought!
The immense shock left everyone speechless.

Collins instinctively gripped the gun handle at his waist, his knuckles turning white.

Jiang Feng swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, his eyes fixed on the glaring red dot on the map with a complex expression.

Even the polar bear, known for its bravery, lowered its head deeply, as if trying to shrink itself into the shadows.

They had followed Song Heping through thick and thin, witnessing his ruthlessness and cunning, but this proposal still exceeded the boundaries of their imagination.

"Henry!"

Song Heping's voice rang out again, like a thunderclap.

Henry, whose name was called, shuddered violently, as if he had been jolted awake from a nightmare, and his forehead was instantly covered in cold sweat.

"I'm at...the boss..." he
His voice trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly.

“Tell Charles exactly what I said!”

Song Heping stared at him, speaking each word clearly and distinctly, like a final verdict in court.

"Not a single word is allowed to be changed!"

His gaze was sharp as a knife, carrying an undeniable air of authority: "I guarantee that after hearing this, he will immediately, without hesitation, agree to all my conditions! Including meeting according to my rules!"

"...Yes, boss!"

Henry jolted awake, as if whipped, and all his hesitation and fear were instantly suppressed.

He straightened his back, his voice hoarse with a sense of recklessness.

"I'll contact him right away!" He almost staggered as he turned and rushed toward the communications booth, as if escaping from this suffocating center of pressure.

The heavy, soundproof door closed behind Henry with a muffled thud.

The safe house fell silent once again, with only heavy breathing and the relentless ticking of the second hand.

All eyes were on the man who had sat back down at the table and was unconsciously tapping the map on the table with his fingers.

The niobium-tantalum mines on the map, symbolizing endless wealth, were circled one by one in red, like prey.

Song Heping's knuckles tapped slowly on the table. The deep, rhythmic tapping sound, in the deathly silent safe house, was like a cold heartbeat, striking the nerve endings of everyone.

Outside the window, the scorching West African sun baked the earth, and the pungent smell of burning garbage wafted from the distant slums, seeping in through the not-so-sealed gaps, mixing with the heavy smell of tobacco and sweat inside, creating an unsettling atmosphere.

Henry closed the heavy iron door of the communications compartment, isolating himself from the outside world.

He leaned against the cold metal door, breathing heavily for a few moments before barely managing to suppress the turmoil in his heart.

Has the boss gone mad?

No, Henry quickly dismissed the idea.

He had followed Song Heping for quite some time and knew well the wild fire burning in the bones of this seemingly calm man. Behind every seemingly crazy gamble lay a meticulous calculation and ruthless weighing that ordinary people could not match.

this time……

Perhaps it was the biggest gamble ever.

The chips are everyone's lifeblood, as are the "black gold" rivers flowing beneath the land of Seine.

He took a deep breath, walked to the encrypted communicator, his fingers trembling slightly from lingering tension, but he still skillfully entered the complex key.

The faint hissing sound of the current when the signal was connected sounded particularly jarring at that moment.

“Mr. Charles.” Henry’s voice, processed by the equipment, carried a hint of electronic coldness as he tried his best to maintain his composure: “I have conveyed your terms to Mr. Song.”

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the communicator before Charles's slow, deliberate English, thick with French accent, came through: "So, Mr. Henry, what did the 'ghost' say?"

His tone carried a hint of amusement and a subtle probing, along with a touch of French arrogance.

Henry's Adam's apple bobbed; the thunderous words of his boss, "Do it yourself," still seemed to echo in his ears.

He closed his eyes briefly, his words, like a red-hot branding iron, squeezed out between his teeth: "My boss said: the location and time are up to us. If you accept, he'll come to see you in person. If you don't accept..."

Henry paused for a moment, clearly hearing his heart pounding like a drum. "Then cancel the deal. We'll support our own agents, overthrow Dure, and do it ourselves."

Dead silence...

There was a long, suffocating silence on the other end of the communicator.

Henry could even picture Charles in his luxurious, carpeted office, a cigar in hand, his playful smile freezing instantly on his face.

During the French's century-long colonial period, countless "loyal dogs" were cultivated in the Seine, and Isis was just one of the stronger-looking ones.

Song Heping's meaning was naked and cruel—one more or one less makes no difference.

Without the French "diplomatic curtain," Song Heping would have taken matters into his own hands, completely overturned the game in Seine, and started afresh!

This was tantamount to slamming a heavy hammer down on the chessboard that Charles was so proud of.

Time passed second by second, each second feeling like an eternity.

On the other end of the communicator, Henry's back was soaked with cold sweat, clinging stickily to his shirt. He could almost hear the sound of his own blood rushing to his eardrums.

Finally, a heavy gasp came from the communicator.

Charles's voice rang out again, but his usual composed tone was gone, replaced by a cold and hard tone that came from being offended.

"Mr. Henry!"

Charles's voice was like ice: "Is your boss threatening the French Republic? What does he think Seine is? His backyard? A place to cultivate proxies? Someone he thinks he can do what he wants?"

A series of questions, tinged with condescending anger.

Henry's heart sank. Could it be that his boss had predicted this...?

wrong?

But this is a negotiation.

Negotiating with the head of DGES intelligence.

Victory or defeat often hinges on a single move.

He forced a smile, but his voice involuntarily carried the harshness instilled in him by Song Heping: "Mr. Charles, I'm just relaying the original message. The boss also said..."

He took a deep breath, as if trying to inhale Song Heping's arrogant arrogance into his lungs. "He guarantees that after you hear this, you will immediately agree to his terms."

Even he himself found it absurd to say that.

"ensure?"

Charles let out a short, sharp laugh, like metal scraping against glass. "What guarantees does he have? His worthless life, being hunted by the CIA? Or his thousands of mercenaries who sell their lives for money? You have no idea what great power politics is! Without France's recognition and protection, even if you temporarily occupy the presidential palace, you won't be able to hold on for three days! The African Union's condemnation, the United Nations' sanctions, even the International Criminal Court's (ICC) arrest warrant... Can you withstand all of that?"

Charles became more and more agitated as he spoke, his voice rising higher and higher, filled with anger at being slighted and arrogance as a permanent member of the UN Security Council.

“Tell Song Heping that without France as a ‘diplomatic backer,’ even if he seizes the niobium-tantalum mine, he’ll just be holding a hot potato, waiting to be hunted down by the whole world! Does he think the Americans will stand idly by? And the British? Will they just sit idly by?! How naive!”

Charles's words struck Henry's heart like hailstones.

Every word he uttered was a cold reality, a bottomless abyss behind Song Heping's plan.

Cold sweat trickled down Henry's forehead.

In the eyes of a veteran imperial intelligence chief like Charles, was the boss's desperate gamble really just a reckless madness?
Just as Henry was about to be overwhelmed by the immense pressure and was thinking about how to subtly convey Charles's rage, the voice on the other end of the communicator suddenly disappeared without warning.

Charles's furious roar came to an abrupt halt, as if an invisible hand had gripped his throat.

Then came a long, unsettling silence.

The only sound was the hissing of electricity, proving that the circuit was not interrupted.

Henry held his breath, his heart pounding in his throat.

A full minute later.

Charles's voice finally came again. This time, all the anger and roars disappeared, leaving only a strange, forcibly suppressed calm, a calm that was even somewhat eerie.

It's the kind of shock and reassessment a chess player feels when, in a desperate situation, they suddenly discover that their opponent has taken an unconventional approach, disrupting all their strategies.

"...location and time."

Charles's voice was low and slow, each syllable seemingly squeezed out from between his teeth, carrying a stiffness of forced composure after a setback, yet as if nothing had happened before.

"You decide everything. But it must be absolutely safe. And..."

He emphasized his words, his tone leaving no room for argument: "I'm only giving him thirty minutes. After thirty minutes, whether we reach an agreement or not, my men must withdraw. I don't want to be surrounded by the British or any internal destabilizing factors."

What a twist!

Overwhelmed with ecstasy, Henry's tense nerves snapped, and he nearly collapsed.

boss……

The bet was won!
Behind Xia Er's fierce but cowardly roar was a genuine fear of Song Heping's ability to overturn the table!
The French simply cannot afford the consequences of Seine completely slipping out of control and falling into the hands of a "madman" who is not bound by any major power.

That's riskier than working with a dangerous "ghost"!

"Understood, Mr. Charles!"

Henry's reply was tinged with the excitement of surviving a close call and a barely perceptible tremor: "I will report to the boss immediately and let you know as soon as the details are finalized!"

Communications cut off.

Henry sat in front of the cold communication equipment and let out a long sigh, wiping his forehead, which was covered in water.

He suddenly stood up, pulled open the iron door of the cubicle, and strode back to the main house.

All eyes instantly focused on him, a mixture of tension, anticipation, and fear.

"boss!"

Henry's voice was hoarse with a hint of excitement, "Charles... he agreed! We'll meet according to our rules!"

The tense atmosphere inside the safe house was suddenly released, like a fully drawn bowstring.

Everyone breathed a long sigh of relief, only then realizing that their palms were sweaty.

There was no surprise or joy on Song Heping's face.

He didn't even look up at Henry; he simply stopped tapping on the table.

He gently picked up the red pen used for marking, twirling it nimbly between his fingers as if playing with a bloodstained dagger.

"You can arrange the location and time."

Song Heping's voice was calm and even, as if the thrilling exchange from afar had never happened.

(End of this chapter)