Outnumbered? I'll conquer America with an unlimited number of suicide soldiers.

Chapter 65 Governor, game over (Happy New Year)

The next morning.

Mining tools and exploration equipment have been loaded onto the wagons. This team of heavily armed assassins will first meet up with the people sent by Yuan Guang, and then cross the Sierra Nevada Mountains to head to the Sierra Nevada region.

Zeng Tai had already marked the destination for them.

Carson River.

The Virginia Mountains and Davidson Mountains, where the Comstock mine is located, are still unnamed, and the only way to find the place is by this river.

"My lord, there is something I wish to say, but I am unsure whether I should."

Jian Yuan stroked his chin, looking at the map in the assassin's hand.

"explain."

Jian Yuan pointed to the map and said, "My lord, the Carson River is two hundred kilometers long. Could you be more specific? If we search inch by inch, it will take forever!"

"How would I know exactly where it is?" Zeng Tai's lips twitched. "I'm lucky if I can remember the names of the mountains and rivers near the mine, you expect me to give you precise coordinates?"

Su Song, standing to the other side, said, "We currently know that the mine is in the mountains near the river. If we search in the mountains near the middle and upper reaches, we should be able to find it."

"Since that place could become a large mine, there must be some clues. The color of the rock strata, the changes in vegetation, and the mineral sand in the stream—an experienced person can tell the difference at a glance."

The horse-drawn carriage caravan set off.

Just as Zeng Tai was about to turn back, he suddenly heard Guilliman's voice in his mind.

"My lord, something has happened."

Calistoga, north of Napa Valley.

The soil here is reddish-brown, as if it had been stained with blood.

On either side of the road carved out by the carriages lay a dilapidated vineyard. The grapevines were overturned, bearing the marks of being trampled by cavalry.

At the end of the road was a dark manor.

The fire turned everything black; the stone walls were blackened by smoke, and the wooden doors and windows had long since turned to ashes, leaving only empty holes.

In the courtyard and under the walls, you can still see bits of charred brown limbs that haven't been properly cleaned up.

The investigation team and the Napa County sheriff arrived here.

"My God, I've seen the news and know about the terrible situation here. But I never expected it to be this bad."

One of them covered his mouth and nose, his expression somewhat unpleasant.

"Sir, this has already been cleaned once."

The Napa Valley sheriff took out his bottle of liquor, took a sip, and said, "The last time my brothers and I came here, the bodies that had been burned in the fire were stuck together, and the grease was dripping into the soil. The stench and the scene were like hell."

The man's face turned pale, and he hurriedly said, "God, please stop, sir, I'm afraid I won't be able to hold back my vomiting."

"Alright, enough chit-chat, gentlemen."

Joseph Howard stopped on a flat area.

"Let's begin the investigation. Bullets, bullet holes, bloodstains—every trace that helps our investigation must be recorded."

The group immediately dispersed; some entered the castle, some inspected the walls, and some took a small hoe and began digging.

Half an hour later.

Suddenly, someone began shouting, "Gentlemen, please come over here!"

A group of investigation team members who were conducting the investigation put down what they were doing and gathered around.

"What's wrong, Mr. Michel?"

Howard led a group of people to stand behind Michelle.

That was a corner of the wall; the wooden wall had been burned by the fire, leaving only charred sections.

Michelle stood at the gap in the wall, pointing to a pile of metal that had been dug out.

"Gentlemen, please come and take a look. Something's wrong with this pile of metal."

Howard picked one up, examined it closely, and said somewhat uncertainly, "This is—a bullet casing?"

"These are the cartridge cases for metal-loaded rounds, gentlemen."

A prosecutor leaned over for a look and said, "I've seen similar bullets in Massachusetts; they were invented by a Mr. Horace Smith."

"Compared to existing lead bullets and paper-packed bullets, this thing loads quickly, has a high rate of fire, and is not afraid of moisture. It's a really good thing."

He paused, then asked疑惑地问道, "But why are there so many spent shell casings here?"

"Are the guards here just going to let the attackers stand at the breach and start firing?"

Michelle nodded and said, "That's one of the reasons I called you all here."

"Look ahead again, look at the bullet holes on the pillar."

Everyone followed his gaze and looked at the warehouse in front of them.

The warehouse ahead had also been burned down, leaving only ruins. The pillars were riddled with bullet holes, as if it had been washed by a hail of bullets.

"Such a dense array of bullet holes."

"That's right, it's too dense. This is something a rifle or revolver could never produce."

Michelle's expression was serious as she slowly said, "This must be caused by a brand new high-rate-of-fire weapon."

"A force that possesses this weapon and uses metal-loaded ammunition extensively is very likely to have its own weapons factory."

A prosecutor standing nearby nodded and said, "I just went inside the castle to investigate and found that, in addition to the corners of the walls, there were also obvious signs of explosives in the basement."

"With such a large amount of explosives, unless they purchased them separately from gun shops in different counties and cities, they must have their own factory."

Howard said, "Gentlemen, this is good news. Where there's a factory, there are traces; where there's production, there are records. This means we're one step closer to the truth."

"I will immediately contact my colleagues in the party and ask them to send people to investigate the registered weapons companies, and focus on investigating weapons companies that meet the above two conditions."

"We received word from Sacramento that the U.S. political party has sent people to investigate weapons companies in San Francisco."

"And they specifically instructed us to pay attention to the type of bullets and whether high-rate-of-fire weapons were present?"

Zeng Tai stroked his chin. "These conditions look like they're targeting us."

"Our lord, this is targeting us."

Guilliman shrugged and said, "Humphrey has already inquired. The American Party and the Democratic Party have reached a temporary reconciliation and decided to first resolve the escalating murder cases in Northern California and the issue of the Indians in Southern California."

Zeng Tai clicked his tongue: "They can actually reconcile? I thought all these things would be enough to make them fight to the death."

"Political creatures have no concept of 'fight to the death,' they are only loyal to their own interests."

Guilliman said, "What's happening is already definitely affecting the approval ratings of both parties. For the sake of voters' votes, even if they are mortal enemies, they can shake hands and make peace."

Zeng Tai sneered and said, "You can shake hands and make peace with your father's killer? I'd like to try that."

Hosea.

He contacted Joseph, who worked at the San Francisco Police Department.

"My lord, please give your orders."

"The guy from the American party who came to investigate, if he came on horseback, he made it look like the horse went out of control, and if he came by boat, he made it look like he fell into the water."

In short, I don't want to see any white people running into the factory, or even just loitering outside the factory, understand?

'

Hosea said, "Yes."

After receiving a positive reply, Zeng Tai then contacted Leon.

"Leon, do you have anyone in Sacramento who is openly a Democrat or an American?"

Alameda County, Northern California.

Leon kicked the corpse blocking his way aside and pushed open the door.

On the table inside the door was half a piece of flesh that had been skinned, gutted, and decapitated.

The yellow fat and clearly defined muscle fibers indicate what kind of creature this meat belongs to.

"Damn it, I knew it! Why did these bastards dare to attack us? They've gone mad from eating sheep!"

Leon looked disgusted and didn't even have the desire to go inside and search the place thoroughly.

He took out the matches he carried with him, lit the kindling, and left the place without hesitation.

Flames rose and gradually devoured all evil.

Leon had just mounted his horse when he received a message from Zeng Tai.

"My lord? A member of a political party in Sacramento?"

He recalled for a moment and replied respectfully, "There is one, a member of the American Party."

"Yes, okay, I understand."

San Francisco, 3 p.m.

William Harrison jumped off the stagecoach and stretched his stiff legs.

He was a sharp-looking man in his early thirties with a short beard and piercing eyes, and a Colt revolver tucked into his waistband.

"We still have plenty of time. Let's go to a nearby brothel and find a woman with big breasts and a big butt. We can investigate tomorrow."

He stretched, a somewhat lewd smile spreading across his face.

After determining the direction, he headed towards the dock area.

There are many brothels and taverns there.

The streets were bustling with cars and people, including white people, Chinese people, and a few Mexicans.

"There are more and more larvae in San Francisco."

He spat and walked across the street. "Once Mr. Johnson is elected governor, I will definitely persuade him to pass legislation to drive all the barbarians out of America!"

Just then, a passing freight wagon at the intersection suddenly changed direction.

The two horses pulling the carriage, startled by something, neighed and charged forward. Despite the coachman's best efforts to control them, they crashed straight into Harrison.

Harrison reacted quickly.

He lunged to the side, trying to avoid being hit by the horse.

But the horse managed to stop with the help of the coachman, and the heavy carriage behind it swung to one side due to inertia, which was exactly the direction Harrison lunged in.

With a loud bang.

The train carriage overturned, burying people under the cargo.

"My God!" someone on the roadside exclaimed.

A crowd gathered around and moved the goods aside.

But the people under the cargo had already lost their lives, and blood was flowing in the streets.

An hour later, in Sacramento.

Joseph Howard received a telegram.

The telegram came from San Francisco and contained only a few words: Harrison died on the spot after his carriage went out of control upon arrival in San Francisco.

"Damn it!"

He slammed the telegram on the table, his face turning ashen.

The other members of the investigation team gathered around, glanced at the telegram, and sighed.

"My God, this accident couldn't have come at such an inopportune time."

"An accident? No, I don't believe it was an accident."

Howard's expression was grim. "He was just sent to San Francisco, and before the investigation even started, he was gone."

"It's too much of a coincidence, so much so that it's as if someone killed him to prevent us from investigating."

He stood up, paced back and forth, and finally said, "Send more men over there, three this time. I refuse to believe it—"

'

He didn't finish his sentence.

Just then, a muffled gunshot rang out in the distance.

Then came a second sound, followed by screams and gasps from the crowd.

Howard suddenly pushed the window open.

Not far away, in the square in front of the state government building, people were scattering and fleeing. On the podium, a figure was slowly collapsing.

Five minutes ago.

John Bigler stood on the stage and addressed the reporters and citizens below.

"We will unite as one and face this together—"

Just then, he saw a face in the crowd.

It was a young white face, inconspicuous in the crowd.

But those eyes were indifferent and cold, devoid of any emotion.

A sudden, inexplicable chill ran through Bigler's heart.

Then he saw the white youth move.

The young white man drew a revolver from his waist, raised the muzzle, and aimed it at the podium.

Bigler's eyes widened, trying to dodge. But before he could move, a gunshot rang out.

"Bang!"

The first bullet hit him in the chest.

"Bang!"

A second bullet struck him in the head.

Bigler collapsed in a pool of blood in front of dozens of citizens and reporters.

"Assassin! Assassin!"

"Grab him!"

The crowd erupted in chaos.

Screams, shouts, and the sound of running footsteps mingled together.

Some people rushed towards the podium, while many more rushed towards the direction from which the gunshots rang out.

The assassin fired shots in all directions, trying to intimidate the people rushing towards him.

But the blood only fueled the crowd's anger.

"Fire! Fire!"

More than a dozen guns fired at the same time, bullets flying towards the assassin from all directions.

Blood blossoms bloomed, the assassin's body trembled violently a few times, and he fell heavily to the ground.

Several guards rushed forward and kicked the gun out of his hand.

The assassin's body twitched a few times, then he remained still.

"Dead?" someone asked.

A guard crouched down, checked his carotid artery, and shook his head.

"He's dead."

Someone leaned closer to look at the assassin's face, and their expression suddenly changed.

"I know him; he's a member of the American Party!"

"What?!"

"An American assassinated the governor? How is that possible?!"

"Are they crazy?!"

Amidst gasps of surprise, the news spread like wildfire.

As Joseph Howard pushed his way through the crowd, the assassin's body had already been covered with a white sheet, and the governor's body had been carried into the government building.

Some were crying, some were cursing, and some were whispering amongst themselves. The Democrats gathered together, their faces filled with shock and anger.

Hearing the whispers around him, he realized something was terribly wrong.

The fact that a member of the American Party assassinated the governor in broad daylight will undoubtedly cause the hatred between the two parties, which had just been temporarily suppressed, to erupt even more violently.

He was about to duck and squeeze through the crowd to find Jason to discuss countermeasures when he suddenly saw a familiar figure walking out of the state government building.

That's Lieutenant Governor Mike Doug.

"Fellow citizens!"

He stepped onto the platform and shouted to the chaotic crowd, "Silence! Please listen to me!"

The crowd gradually quieted down.

"Our governor, Mr. John Bigler, has just been assassinated!"

Mike Douggle roared, "And that assassin, that damned killer, is a member of the American Party!"

'

An angry shout erupted from the crowd.

"The American Party is killing people!"

"Arrest them!"

"Murderer! Executioner!"

Mike Doug raised his hand, signaling for everyone to be quiet.

"I, Mike Doug, as Lieutenant Governor of California, hereby assume the office of Governor in accordance with the U.S. Constitution!"

"And my first order is—"

1

He took a deep breath and then roared with all his might, "Arrest all American party members involved in this conspiracy, regardless of their rank or status! Send them to prison!"

I will make them pay for Mr. Bigler's death!

The crowd erupted in cheers.