Mercenary I am the king

Chapter 972 Break Up? Or Risk Your Life?
"Bang!"

The enamel mug in the polar bear's hand finally fell to the ground, spilling the cheap liquor all over the floor.

His rugged face was filled with astonishment and confusion, as if he had heard the most absurd command in the world.

"Leave? Boss! You're letting us leave?"

The polar bear's voice sounded as if it had been greatly insulted, and its massive body trembled slightly with agitation.

"Take the money, go sunbathe on the fucking beach? Look at those white, bare thighs? And then what? Wait to be dragged out of bed one day and slaughtered like a pig? Or wait for your old enemies to come knocking on your door following the scent? Boss! Who are we? We're wolves! We're hyenas! Without this muddy swamp, without guns and blood, we're nothing! Our bones will rot on those soft sandy beaches!"

He suddenly pointed to the dark night sky outside the warehouse, "My home is right here! Next to these iron turtles! In the direction the cannons are pointing!"

"The polar bear is right!"

The hunter's voice was like a blade chilled by ice, yet it carried an undeniable resolve.

He deftly and swiftly shoved the gleaming dagger back into its sheath at his side.

"Money? It's a good thing. But it can't buy life. It can't buy peace of mind either. People like us, once we leave the team, once we leave our brothers, then death is not far away. If the knife in our hand becomes dull, if our reactions become slow, we become someone else's prey. I can take the dividends. Leave? Unless I'm dead and carried out by someone else."

The Queen didn't look at Song Heping; instead, she lowered her head and slowly wiped the barrel of her modified SVD with a soft cloth dampened with gun oil.

Under the light, the cold metal gleamed with a faint blue luster.

Her voice wasn't loud, but it reached everyone's ears clearly: "I'm used to the feeling of pulling the trigger. Used to the smell of gunpowder. Used to... watching the target fall in the scope. Sunny beaches?"

A faint, almost cruel smile curved her lips. "It's too bright, dazzling. And it'll tan my skin easily. My battlefield is here."

Klein bent down to pick up the jar that the polar bear had dropped, wiped it haphazardly on his dirty pants, and then grabbed a wine bottle and filled it up.

His nonchalant expression vanished, replaced by an almost reverent seriousness: "Boss, when I first came to work for you, I only had a few coins left in my pocket. If you hadn't taken me in, I would have gone back to my hometown long ago, and I might be working a boring white-collar job now, living a mortally dull life every day."

"You're the one who led me out of that muddy pit of Iligo and fought my way here. Money? It's a good thing. But following you, there are battles to fight, revenge to settle, and living like a man! That's what it means to live! You want me to be a rich man? Counting money and playing with women all day? What's the difference between that and castrating me?"

He raised the jar, his eyes fixed intently on Song Heping. "I, Collins, was born a 'musician,' and I'll die a 'musician's ghost! I'm not going anywhere!"

"I can't live without servers and the battlefield network."

Collins's words were concise and to the point.

"I'm not going anywhere; there's no point in going anywhere else."

Jiang Feng didn't speak, but simply nodded silently, his eyes calm and firm as he met Song Heping's gaze.

The meaning couldn't be clearer.

That look seemed to say—If I can't go back to my motherland, how can I go back?

Ferrari did not make the same passionate declaration as the others.

He astutely grasped the deeper meaning behind Song Heping's proposal to "retire." His shrewd eyes were fixed on Song Heping, as if trying to see right through him.

The noise in the warehouse gradually subsided, leaving only heavy breathing and the low rumble of the diesel generator in the distance.

Henry's voice broke the silence, carrying a hint of tension: "Song, something's off about you today."

All eyes were instantly drawn to the Ferrari, then quickly turned to Song Heping.

Ferrari stepped forward, staring intently into Song Heping's eyes: "You're not new to us desperados. You know better than anyone that for people like us, leaving guns and the battlefield is worse than death. You also know that the company has money, guns, and territory—it's the perfect time to make our mark. And yet you suddenly want us to take the money and leave?"

He slowly shook his head, his tone growing increasingly serious, "This doesn't make sense. There's only one explanation..."

He took a deep breath and said, word by word, "You're going to do something big, something really big. Something really dangerous. So dangerous that you think... it might drag us all into hell, into eternal damnation. You want us old brothers to at least have a way out."

The hangar was deathly silent.

Under the stark white light of the searchlights, the air seemed to solidify into a heavy block of lead, pressing down on everyone's chest.

The polar bear's breathing became heavy, the queen's action of wiping her pistol stopped, Collins's roguish smile vanished completely, and the hunter's glass of wine, which he was about to put to his mouth, froze in front of him.

All eyes were fixed on Song Heping's face, waiting for his answer.

Song Heping remained silent.

He picked up the bottle of vodka and poured himself more than half a jug.

The strong smell of alcohol filled the air.

He didn't drink it immediately, but just watched the liquid swaying slightly in the jar and gently swirled the cup.

Time ticked by, and the pressure inside the hangar grew heavier and heavier.

Finally, he tilted his head back and drank the spicy liquid in the jar in one gulp.

The burning sensation spread from his throat all the way to his stomach. He slammed the empty canister down heavily on the ammunition box, making a dull thud, like the sounding of a war drum.

"Yes."

Song Heping's voice rang out again, not loud, but like an undercurrent beneath the ice, containing a violent power capable of tearing everything apart.

He raised his head, the last trace of gentleness in his eyes vanished, leaving only a bone-chilling cold and an almost tangible, destructive killing intent.

"Lumaar is dead, but this isn't over. Who let that mad dog, Lumar, out of his cage? Who fed him, making him dare to bare his teeth at us?"

His gaze swept over the crowd, each word ringing out like an icicle striking steel.

"London! It's those Englishmen sitting by the Thames, drinking afternoon tea, wearing sharp suits! It's that old woman named M."

He slammed his fist on the ammunition box, making the bottles on it clang loudly: "Do they think this is the 19th century? Do they think they can do whatever they want in Africa just by flying a Union Jack? Do they think they can stab us in the back and then pretend to be innocent gentlemen? Bullshit!"

Song Heping's voice suddenly rose in pitch.

"I hate being betrayed more than anything in my life. Anyone who dares to betray me will regret it, no matter who it is."

His chest heaved violently, and a surge of rage burst forth: "You can't reason with these arrogant old Europeans who've been so proud for centuries! All they understand is the whistling of bullets! The roar of fighter jets! The sound of blood splattering on the wall!"

He paused, then continued, "Peace can only be achieved through war! Peace can only be achieved through compromise? That's a dead end! Utterly annihilated! They dare to betray me, and I'll make them remember for a lifetime what the price is! What pain is!"

His icy gaze, sharp as a blade, slowly swept across every face: "This is no longer about Sena, nor about some bullshit contract. This is a personal vendetta! It's a personal feud between me, Song Heping, and the entire British intelligence agency, and that bitch M! I want them to know that if they mess with our people and betray our company, they'd better be prepared for retaliation, and the price will be so heavy that they'll cry themselves to sleep!"

Everyone was stunned.

Song Heping wants to confront the British head-on.

but……

Although Britain is no longer the so-called "empire on which the sun never sets," its influence remains. Going against them head-on would mean another bloody conflict.

Song Heping looked around at everyone again: "So, Ferrari was right. This is a near-death experience. Take the money and leave now, I won't stop you, we're still brothers. Stay..."

A near-grossing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Then get ready, and together we'll poke a hole in the sky over London!"

His response was a brief, suffocating silence.

immediately--

"Fuck the British!"

The polar bear was the first to roar, "I've had enough of those pretentious sissies for a long time! Count me in! Let's kill them!"

"Personal grudges? Boss, your grudges are my grudges."

The hunter's voice was as cold as the Siberian permafrost. His hand had already moved from the gun handle and was now firmly gripping the barrel of his sniper rifle. "My bullets need a new home. Some people in London would be a good fit."

The Queen put down her pistol and gun oilcloth, picked up her enamel mug, filled it with vodka, and held it up to Song Heping, uttering two words from her red lips: "Settle the score."

Concise and to the point, yet filled with chilling murderous intent.

Collins chuckled and whistled loudly: "Ha! Pierce a hole in London? That's a million times more exciting than hunting bugs in Africa!"

Klein looked at everyone, shrugged, and said, "If you're going to get things done, you'll need me."

Jiang Feng remained silent, but stepped forward, picked up the wine bottle, and refilled the empty jar that Song Heping had placed on the ammunition box.

Actions speak louder than words.

Ferrari slapped his thigh: "Damn it! Let's do it! No amount of money can buy this! Song, what do you suggest? Should we just storm London and kidnap that old witch, or should we first kill off all her little bastards (referring to the intelligence station and agents) she's keeping outside? Just say the word! The company's purse strings are all yours!"

Looking at his brothers, who were now like unsheathed blades, fueled by the flames of revenge, Song Heping's last trace of hesitation vanished completely.

He took the full jar from Jiang Feng and held it high.

Under the stark white searchlight, the murky liquid of vodka swayed slightly in his hand, reflecting a cold light.

"Fine! Since none of them are leaving, let those arrogant British learn their lesson in blood! Remember that the 'Musician' defenses are not to be trifled with! Remember our rule—a blood debt must be repaid in blood. We lost more than two hundred men this time, so they will pay with the lives of more than two hundred British men!"

"eye for eye!"

The harsh roars coalesced into a violent wave of sound, like countless enraged wolves howling under the moonlight.

The enamel mugs collided violently again, vodka splashing everywhere, like the blood of a pledge of allegiance, splattered on the cold, hard cement floor.

A relentless, dark revenge against the heart of Great Britain has officially begun its bloody prelude in the remote African wilderness, in this steel nest filled with the smells of engine oil, gunpowder, and cheap alcohol.

(End of this chapter)