Farming Life Starting in Africa

With a click, he gently pressed the clasp to open the pocket watch-style badge.

The outer ring of the shell is half decorated with a regular five-pointed star pattern, while the other half is engraved with a classic Latin phrase: Quod Debitum Sanguine—a debt must be repaid in blood.

At the very end of the inscription, a strikingly conspicuous number is engraved: 731.

Inside the badge are two smooth, flat silver discs without any writing. On one of the discs, there is a clear and large blood-red fingerprint, indicating that the blood pact has been activated but has not yet ended.

Upon seeing the number, Rosen's eyes narrowed sharply, his eyelids squinted slightly, and his mind was instantly filled with a turbulent mix of emotions.

For the Chinese people, this number represents hatred etched in blood.

This blood pact is the most valuable and rare token of credit in the underworld, truly priceless and unavailable.

Once made, it is valid for life, and the debt must be repaid until death; there is no room for regret.

Rosen also thought of the plot of John Wick 2.

John Wick wanted to retire and live a peaceful life.

He took on an "impossible mission" that no one else could accomplish, just to earn the right to retire freely.

The mission was accomplished entirely thanks to Santino using the resources of his entire family.

It was because of this debt of gratitude that John personally signed a blood pact, becoming a debtor, and was ultimately forced back into the underworld by a contract, leading to the all-out chase in the second part.

As Rosen's fingertips traced the three numbers on the badge, his smile grew even warmer: "This thing is that powerful? Then I can have Shimazu Koji assassinate that Japanese chieftain for me, no problem, right?"

He didn't plan to go to Japan either; this seemingly valuable blood pact was actually quite useless to him.

But those two simple words, "Japanese chieftain," caused Tojo Hidetoshi and the other two to change their expressions instantly, their eyes filled with anger and fear.

Throughout the world, mainstream circles in Europe and America respectfully refer to Japanese monarchs as the Japanese Emperor. Only the Chinese use the term "Japanese chieftain," a term that carries a century of contempt and disdain.

Hidetoshi Tojo lowered his head, narrowed his eyelids, and quickly calculated something.

This eccentric white man in front of me, using such a highly targeted and derogatory term, is most likely an anti-Japanese element. This matter is unlikely to end well.

The two henchmen beside him were terrified, trembling like leaves, and didn't even have the courage to look up at each other, let alone resist or struggle.

After a long silence, Hidetoshi Tojo finally suppressed his anger and replied in a low voice, "No, that won't do. The Continental Hotel is directly managed and controlled by the High Table Council. They have an ironclad rule that absolutely no one can assassinate any sitting political figures from any country. That's a red line that no one can cross."

"Then there's no use for me keeping this."

Rosen said it was useless, but he showed no intention of returning the badge, casually stuffing it into his pocket.

Seeing this, Hidetoshi Tojo's heart sank to the bottom, and his last glimmer of hope was shattered. His voice was hoarse, with a hint of determination: "Since that's the case... then I'll atone for my mistake with a single finger."

After saying that, he bent down and reached out to pick up the tactical knife next to Suzuki Morishi's severed finger.

Hidetoshi Tojo looked up at Lawson and realized that Lawson wasn't paying attention to him, so he quietly tossed his phone into the bushes.

The blade was gleaming and clean, without a single drop of blood on it. It shone coldly in the sunlight, its sharpness sending chills down one's spine.

From Hidetoshi Tojo's perspective, Rosen's gun seemed to be lowered, not constantly pointed at his head.

Hidetoshi Tojo glanced down at the ground, then secretly looked up to estimate the distance between himself and Rosen. His mind raced, and a ruthless thought of killing him instantly arose in his heart.

The next second, all his muscles tensed up, and he lunged forward with explosive force, lunging at Rosen in front of him! The dagger in his hand thrust upwards with lightning speed and ruthlessness; he was desperately trying to fight his way out!

Unfortunately, Rosen reacted too quickly and couldn't take his attention away from him.

Just as Hidetoshi Tojo's body leaped forward into the air—

boom!

A gunshot ripped through the sweltering night.

Just as Hidetoshi Tojo's body was fully stretched out, his hands outstretched, gripping his sword, and he was still more than a meter away from Rosen, he suddenly froze and then collapsed heavily onto the gravel ground.

A gruesome bullet hole appeared behind his skull; the bullet had pierced through his head, entering from the back of his head and exiting through his mouth and nose.

A horrific hole the size of an infant's fist was torn open at the mouth and nose, and fine bone fragments mixed with red and white brain tissue gushed out, covering the ground in a gruesome manner.

The two remaining Japanese men were ashen-faced; on this sweltering night, they felt as if their blood had instantly frozen.

Their eyes were involuntarily fixed on the red and white substance overflowing from below their heads. They uncontrollably swallowed their saliva frantically, a strong feeling of nausea rising up, almost making them vomit on the spot.

The two were utterly terrified, frantically kowtowing and begging for mercy, kicking up clouds of dust as they stammered, "We'll shut up! We'll absolutely keep it a secret! Please, have mercy on us!"

Rosen glanced indifferently around.

Suzuki Mori, who had just severed his finger, had already fainted on the ground due to severe pain and massive blood loss.

Rosen casually raised his gun and fired another shot at his forehead.

Suzuki Mori had no chance to struggle and quietly went to meet their Amaterasu.

The last two remaining were already stiff with fear, trembling, and had no strength left to resist.

As dusk settled, Rosen gazed at the corpses strewn across the ground and murmured to himself, "Only the dead can keep secrets forever."

He put all the corpses into the capsule space, then took out a small shovel and gently turned over the sand on the ground to cover up all the remaining bloodstains and dirt. No one passing by should be able to see anything unusual.

However, this was the first time he had ever handled a corpse himself. In Africa, you can just dump a corpse on the roadside and the anal-cleansing men and vultures will thank you.

He wasn't afraid of being investigated by mainland hotels; he simply felt there was no need to attract their attention.

After all, he plans to take on some lucrative jobs at hotels in mainland China to give his employees practice.

After everything was tidied up, the moonlight gradually illuminated the earth.

Rosen turned and got into his Aston Martin DB9. The engine roared low, the wheels kicked up sand, and the sports car sped away.

Only a few small, barely noticeable mounds remained, containing only some blood, brain fluid, and broken bones.

Meanwhile, the phone screen in the nearby bushes began to flicker.