Farming Life Starting in Africa

A hazy dust storm swept across the wilderness with a hot wind as the Paramount Marauder chugged along the gravel road. Its heavy body sent small stones clattering and rattling through the empty wasteland with a dull rumble.

Ahead lies Sammerton, a small, obscure town nestled on the US-Mexico border, so desolate it feels like stepping back into the Great Depression of the last century.

The town was surrounded by withered yellow Gobi desert grass, and there were only a few dozen houses in the small town, which surprisingly had bars and restaurants.

The armored vehicle did not see a single person along the way.

However, for the people on the bus, this place was an excellent rest stop.

Once they pass through this deserted town and drive a little further, they can leave the border control zone and return to Texas, finally getting rid of the mess on the Mexican border.

The ventilation system in the carriage slowly blew air, dispelling the dust and tension from the journey.

The two old men, Guan Yuming and Fu Longsheng, chatted idly the whole way, their painting style unusually leisurely.

Both were Vietnam War veterans, bearing the marks of their time on the battlefield, making them old comrades-in-arms with shared experiences.

Lone Wolf was the only exception. He had also fought in the Vietnam War, but as a U.S. soldier. His experience and stance were completely different from those of the two Chinese-American veterans. So he quietly sat in the corner and listened to their conversation.

Guan Yuming took a simply wrapped chocolate from his pocket and casually handed it to his daughter beside him, his gaze gentle. He then turned to Fu Longsheng and asked, "Brother, where are you from?"

"I'm from Hong Kong," Fu Longsheng replied with a smile, his tone unusually relaxed. This mission wasn't too difficult, and it was the most profitable one he had ever done in his mercenary career.

Guan Yuming's face instantly lit up with surprise, and his voice rose slightly: "What a coincidence? I'm from Hong Kong too! Which area did you used to live in?"

"Over there in Wan Chai, in the old neighborhood," Fu Longsheng replied casually.

Rosen sat to the side, listening to the two fellow villagers trying to get to know each other, and secretly found it a little funny.

He had a lingering question in his mind: was the gentle, talkative, and seemingly harmless Guan Yuming really Huang Dezhong?

Although he had no evidence to be 100% certain of the answer, Rosen was almost certain in his heart that the two people were the same person.

After all, Rosen had never heard Qian Bida mention that Guan Yuming had a twin brother.

Who would have thought that these two mortal enemies, who would fight to the death and be entangled in fate in "Chasing Shadows," would now be crammed into the same armored vehicle, leisurely chatting about trivial matters from their hometown, in an atmosphere that was unbelievably peaceful.

That's how absurd and ironic things are.

Rosen couldn't help but sigh to himself that if Fu Longsheng had stayed overseas and never returned to China, and hadn't gotten involved in domestic crimes, his fate and that of his adopted sons would most likely have been completely different.

Ultimately, people are prone to favoritism.

If Fu Longsheng spent his entire life causing trouble abroad, at most he would only harm foreigners, and readers would most likely turn a blind eye and forgive him.

After all, foreigners themselves are reducing their populations, so it doesn't matter if a few more die; it's even beneficial for wealth redistribution.

Besides, he's already quite old, and he's spent half his life wandering. He's endured enough hardship and weathered enough storms, so there's really no need to hold onto this.

When my thoughts returned, the Paramount raider had already come to a slow stop on the outskirts of the town of Sammerton.

This place is far from the main road of the town, surrounded by deserted wasteland, and you can't even see the shadow of a surveillance camera. Further ahead, you will enter the town's territory.

Everyone stood up, took off their combat gear, changed back into their civilian clothes, and got out of the car one by one. The heavy doors opened and closed with a dull thud, signaling the temporary end of this cross-border battle.

Once Guan Yuming landed and steadied himself, the first thing he did was turn to look at Luo Sen, his tone filled with a sense of unease and concern: "Xiao Luo, are you sure you can handle this car properly? Don't leave any loose ends or give anyone a clue."

Rosen waved his hand calmly, "Don't worry, Uncle Ming, there's no problem at all. I guarantee no one will be able to find this car. We can meet at the restaurant in town later, and I'll find another car to pick everyone up then."

He just needs to find a corner where no one will notice, put the damned armored vehicle directly into his capsule space, and then take out a modified Toyota Coaster from there for transportation.

While the group managed to escape and rest quietly, the scene at the US military base on the other side was completely different.

Matt Graves was lounging on the office sofa with his legs crossed, a cup of hot coffee in his hand, leisurely swaying back and forth, taking a break.

He secretly harbored a little expectation, waiting for Alejandro to bring back some surprises from the border.

He knew that his expectations were likely to be dashed and there was little hope, but people always have to keep some hope in mind, just in case a miracle happens.

Just as he was relaxing and spacing out, the office phone next to him suddenly rang without warning, the sharp ringing instantly shattering the relaxed atmosphere of the office.

Matt casually picked up the receiver and gave a perfunctory "feed." The other end of the line was devoid of warmth; a cold, deep male voice came through: "Matt Graves, did you arrange an operation in Nogalis today?"

Matt paused, glancing down at the caller ID—a completely unfamiliar number. He instantly shifted from his casual demeanor, his tone becoming wary: "Who are you?"

"I am the church." The other party's tone was flat and devoid of any emotion. "You only have one chance to ask a question, and afterwards you must answer my questions truthfully. If the answers do not satisfy me, then you can retire today."

The moment Matt heard the word "church," a chill ran down his spine, his hair stood on end, and alarm bells rang in his mind. This was the most ruthless assassin in the CIA; countless colleagues had died at his hands.

He suppressed his inner turmoil and cautiously asked, following the other party's lead, "What exactly did you mean by the action you just mentioned?"

There was a half-second silence on the other end of the phone, followed by a cold, unwavering tone: "This is your final question."

Matt's mind raced as he quickly reviewed all of today's plans.

He thought it over carefully and realized that apart from sending Alejandro to Nogalis to intercept Alarcon Diaz on his return journey, intending to use him as a breakthrough point to infiltrate Fausto Alarcon's castle, he had not arranged any other cross-border operations today.

He gritted his teeth, his tone resolute: "That's right!"

The next moment, the church's cold voice slowly rang out.