Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 953 The Mighty Man Returning from Hell
Thirty kilometers outside the capital, Butare.

In the darkness of night, the steel behemoth at the Seine National Grid hub stands silent.

About 500 meters outside the hub station, the rear doors of two vans opened.

The car door opened, and Klein jumped out, like the embodiment of the night, leading twelve mercenaries into the shadows.

The figure in the black combat uniform was almost invisible in infrared vision.

laugh--

The tranquilizer dart was fired silently, and the guard on the watchtower collapsed.

puff--

A sharp tactical dagger severed the throat, and the gushing blood was instantly absorbed by the fabric.

The surveillance lines were precisely cut, rendering the alarms ineffective.

Inside the core control room, the on-duty engineer heard a strange noise coming from outside the door and got up to go out and check it out.

As soon as I opened the door, a cold gun barrel was pressed against my forehead.

"Lie down if you want to live!"

Klein's voice was like the cold wind of Siberia.

Seconds later, as the heavy hydraulic circuit breaker was violently locked, the main cable was precisely severed by high-energy explosives.

Boom——

A blinding blue-white arc of electricity exploded in the air!

In an instant, the entire city of Butare, from the magnificent presidential palace to the sewage-filled slums, from the brightly lit foreign-owned hotels to the desolate government buildings, all light was wiped out by an invisible giant hand!

Absolute darkness engulfed the entire city like a tidal wave!
Only the scattered lights of vehicles and the faint hazard lights, like candles in a storm, illuminated countless terrified and distorted faces and desperate screams!

Almost at the same moment the lights went out, Collins slammed the scarlet button inside the Nightingale carriage.

"Black curtain! Maximum power! Full frequency band coverage!"

An invisible wave of death emanated from the consulate, sweeping across the entire radio spectrum like a nuclear shockwave.

All civilian mobile phone signals instantly dropped to zero, police radios emitted piercingly sharp shrieks, government internal lines were filled with chaotic binary noise, and even radio station signals were completely drowned out!

Butare, a city of one million people, was instantly stripped of its nerves and blood vessels of the information age, becoming a completely deaf "information island" floating on a dark ocean.

same time.

The Seine National Radio building.

The backup diesel generator emitted a muffled wheezing sound, barely illuminating the stark white lights of the core area.

The guard captain screamed frantically into the noisy communicator, but to no avail.

Panic is spreading.

puff!
puff!
puff!
puff!
The Remington sniper rifle, equipped with a high-efficiency silencer, emitted a slight, muffled sound, like tearing through thick fabric.

At almost the same second, the helmets of four sniper sentries, positioned on high ground, exploded with blood, and their bodies collapsed limply.

"action!"

The assault team leader, Hunter, spoke in a deep voice that sounded like a call from hell.

Dozens of dark figures emerged from the shadows of the wall and the sewer outlets.

boom--

At the entrance at the back of the building, an explosion ripped open the iron gate, sending it flying several meters away before crashing heavily to the ground.

Several stun grenades were thrown in.

bang——

bang——

bang——

The blinding white light and the deafening bang of the stun grenade, exceeding 170 decibels, sent several guards who had just been drawn by the explosion crashing to the ground, clutching their heads.

Soon, tear gas smoke filled the confined space...

The assault team, equipped with gas masks and four-eye night vision goggles, stormed in like demons from the abyss, employing textbook CQB tactics.

Gunfire erupted inside the building.

The precise bursts of MP5 submachine gun fire, the screams of guards, the shattering of glass, and the muffled thuds of grenades intertwined to create a symphony of death.

Resistance evaporates as quickly as dew under the sun.

"7 minutes and 42 seconds!"

The hunter glanced at the time on his watch. Next to him, a tall mercenary kicked open the last door to the broadcast control room, where the trembling anchors and technicians were huddled.

"Clear the equipment! Prepare to broadcast!"

His voice, coming through the mask, was icy cold and devoid of any human emotion.

Almost at the same moment gunfire erupted in the city, in an abandoned plantation on the outskirts of Butare.

"Hummingbird calls all units! Operation commence. Attack the designated targets and crush them!"

Jiang Feng's voice rang out like a drawn sword in the encrypted channel.

Thousands of elite troops, already brimming with bloodlust, launched a massive, tsunami-like assault from three directions on the garrison camp, which was thrown into chaos by the power outage!
call out--

Boom!

The RPG-7 rocket, trailing a scorching flame, precisely tore through the camp's fragile barbed wire and sandbag fortifications!

"Thump thump thump thump—!"

The ZPU-4 anti-aircraft machine gun was laid flat, unleashing a deadly metal storm that riddled the barracks' outer walls with holes! Equipped with the most advanced individual soldier systems and enhanced by thermal imaging and night vision, the mercenaries launched a merciless massacre against the garrison troops who were plunged into darkness, cut off from communications, and whose command chain had collapsed.

Many soldiers, just awakened from their sleep, were knocked unconscious by flashbangs and stun grenades that burst through the doors, and were taken prisoner.

This was a brutal and efficient blitzkrieg with only one objective: to disarm the garrison troops stationed outside the capital as quickly as possible and destroy the last line of military defense for the Touré government.

At this point, all peripheral operations were in place.

The main character has finally arrived!

The central avenue leading to the presidential palace in Butare.

A long steel convoy of dozens of heavy trucks, each loaded with soldiers, suddenly drove in from outside the city and stopped on the street near the secret command post.

Song Heping, accompanied by several entourage, boarded one of the modified bulletproof vans.

Before getting into the van, Song Heping stepped on the side steps, glanced back at the convoy behind him, then at the convoy in front, and picked up the walkie-talkie: "Destination: Presidential Palace, move out!"

Bright headlights pierced the darkness, and the engine roared deafeningly as it rolled across the empty street.

The heavy machine gun on the roof of the vehicle pointed warily at the dark buildings on both sides.

Song Heping sat calmly inside the command vehicle, while several laptop screens in front of him displayed real-time updates on the bloody progress of various battlefronts.

"Team A, take control of the central intersection! Establish a circular defensive perimeter! Execute fire on any armed targets!"

"Team B, surround Police Headquarters! Five minutes to surrender! Anyone who resists will be killed on sight!"

"Team C, seize the Ministry of Defense! Take control of all archives and communication nodes! If obstructed, destroy them!"

The commands are cold, clear, and efficient.

Song Heping's soldiers were like sophisticated killing machines, efficiently executing every command.

The scattered police or desperate resistance from die-hard Toulouse encountered along the way were like a mantis trying to stop a chariot, instantly torn apart by the metal storm in the face of overwhelming firepower and tactical coordination.

The city’s main roads, transportation hubs, and core government institutions changed hands rapidly, like dominoes falling.

Panic spread among the citizens, but the strict rules of engagement restrained the mercenaries—they only eliminated military targets and kept their distance from civilians—and this cold "order" created a strange sense of "security" amidst the chaos.

The Palace of Liberty, the presidential residence of the Republic of Seine.

This magnificent neoclassical building is now a desolate island in a dark ocean.

The backup generator can only maintain weak lighting in the core area.

Inside the study, President Touré, dressed in a silk bathrobe, his hair disheveled, roared at several dead, silent telephones that only had busy signals: "Connect Lumar! Connect to the Ministry of Defense! Connect to the damned Garrison Command! Tell me! What on earth is happening outside?!"

No one responded.

Outside the window, the city was deathly silent, with sporadic explosions and dense gunfire echoing through the air, like the approaching footsteps of death.

Immediately afterwards, the roar of the engine, which came from afar and shook the earth like an earthquake, slammed into his heart like a heavy hammer!

"Your Excellency President! It's over! It's all over!"

The captain of the guard rushed in, his face covered in a mixture of sweat and blood.

"Outside...outside is full of their people! We're surrounded! At least several thousand! The presidential guard...they can't hold out much longer!"

The remaining hundred or so guards put up a desperate, symbolic resistance, clinging to the ornate Roman columns and marble steps.

"who is it?!"

"They're all mercenaries, from 'Musician's' defenses!"

"Where are the garrison troops?!"

Unable to contact them!

"Where is General Lumar?"

"We can't get in touch with them either..."

"How is that possible?! Is the phone out of battery?!"

"There's power... but the signal seems to be jammed..."

"what is going on……"

"Mr. President...this is a coup..."

Duer looked as if his bones had been removed, slumped in the high-backed chair that symbolized power, his body ice-cold.

He finally accepted reality—this was not a riot, but a premeditated and perfectly executed military coup!

The Lumar main squad was transferred away, the missing British player, the Isis family's eerie silence...

And that…

He suddenly remembered something and abruptly turned to look at the captain of the guard: "Who's in charge?!"

"It seems so...it seems so..."

The captain of the guard hesitated and stammered, but finally uttered the name: "Song Heping..."

Duer's face turned pale instantly.

That name, which should have died long ago in the flames of Mount Gelby, appeared clearly like the most vicious curse.

Song Heping!
It's him!

Only he can do it!

Just like before, when he helped the British to put him in power!
only……

He's here to bring about his downfall...

(End of this chapter)