Mercenaries, I Will Be King Chapter 1066 - 972: Breaking Up? Or Risking It All?

"Bang!"

The enal mug in White Bear's hand finally dropped to the ground, spilling the cheap liquor all over.

His rugged face was full of bewildernt and incomprehension, as if he had heard the most absurd command in the world.

"Leave? Boss! You're telling us to leave?"

White Bear's voice sounded as though he had been greatly offended, his massive fra trembling slightly from agitation.

"Take the money and go to fuckin' beaches to sunbathe? Staring at those white creamy thighs? And then what? Wait to be dragged out of bed one day and slaughtered like pigs? Or wait for those old enemies to sniff their way to our door? Boss! What are we? We're wolves! We're hyenas! Without this cesspool, without guns and blood, we're fucking nothing! Our bones would rot on those soft beaches!"

He suddenly pointed at the dark night sky outside the warehouse, "My ho is here! Next to these iron turtles! In the direction where the cannon is pointing!"

"White Bear is right!"

Hunter's voice was like a blade tempered with ice yet carried an undeniable resolve.

He sheathed the polished bright dagger back into the scabbard at his leg with a quick and decisive motion.

"Money? It's a good thing. But it can't buy life. It can't buy peace of mind. People like us, once we leave the team, leave our brothers, we're not far from death. The knife in our hand dulls, reactions slow down, we beco soone else's prey. The bonus, I can take. Leave? Only if I'm dead and carried out."

The Queen didn't look at Song Heping, just lowered her head, leisurely wiping the barrel of her modified SVD with a piece of cloth stained with gun oil.

Under the light, the cold tal glowed with a bluish sheen.

Her voice was not loud, yet it reached everyone's ears clearly: "I'm used to the feeling of pulling the trigger. Used to the sll of gunpowder. Used to... watching the target fall through the scope. Sunshine and beaches?"

A faint, almost cruel smile appeared on her lips, "Too bright, blinding. Plus, it easily tans the skin. My battlefield is here."

Klein bent down to pick up the mug White Bear dropped, wiped it carelessly on his dirty pants, and poured it full from another bottle.

The playful arrogance on his face disappeared, replaced by a solemnity that was nearly reverent: "Boss, when I started following you, I had nothing but a few pennies left in my pocket. If it weren't for you taking in, I'd have gone back ho long ago, probably living a boring life as a nine-to-five office worker."

"You led out of Illiguo's mud pit, fought all the way here. Money? It's good stuff. But following you, there's a battle to fight, revenge to take, living like a man! That's what the fuck living is about! You want to beco a rich gentleman? Counting money and playing with won every day? How is that different from being castrated?"

He raised his mug, staring fervently at Song Heping, "I'm Collins, alive as a 'Musician's man, dead as a 'Musician's ghost! I'm not going anywhere!"

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

Collins said concisely.

"I'm not going anywhere, nowhere else is worth it."

Jiang Feng didn't speak, just nodded silently, eting Song Heping's gaze with calm and firm eyes.

The aning couldn't be clearer.

That look seed to say—You're not going back to the motherland, how can I go back?

Ferrari didn't make an excited vow like the others.

He keenly sensed the deeper implications behind Song Heping's suggestion of "retirent". Those sharp eyes were fixed on Song Heping, as if trying to see through him.

The clamor in the warehouse gradually died down, leaving only the heavy breathing and the distant hum of the diesel generator.

Henry's voice broke the silence, carrying a barely perceptible tension: "Song, there's sothing off about you today."

All eyes instantly focused on Ferrari, then quickly shifted to Song Heping.

Ferrari stepped forward, eyes locked on Song Heping's: "You haven't known us reckless bunch for just one day. Better than anyone, you know people like us are more miserable leaving the guns and battlefield than dying. You also know, the company now has money, guns, and territory; it's ti to make a big impact. Yet you suddenly want us to take the money and leave?"

He slowly shook his head, voice growing heavier, "It doesn't make sense. There's only one explanation..."

He took a deep breath, speaking each word clearly: "You're about to do sothing big, and it's too big. Too dangerous. Dangerous enough that you think... it might drag us all into hell, never to return. You want us, these old brothers, to at least have a way out."

Dead silence filled the hangar.

Under the harsh white light of the searchlights, the air seed to solidify into a heavy mass of lead, pressing on everyone's chest.

White Bear's breathing turned heavy, the Queen's action of cleaning her pistol paused, Klein's roguish grin completely vanished, and Hunter's hand paused mid-air with the cup.

Everyone's gaze was nailed to Song Heping's face, waiting for his answer.

Song Heping was silent.

He picked up the bottle of Vodka, pouring himself another half mug.

The strong sll of alcohol perated the air.

He didn't drink imdiately, just watched the slightly swaying liquid in the mug, gently swirling the cup.

Ti ticked away second by second, the tension in the hangar building ever greater.

Finally, he tilted his head back and drained the spicy liquid from the jug in one gulp.

The burning sensation spread from his throat down to his stomach.

He heavily slamd the empty jug down on the ammunition box, creating a dull "thud" like the beating of a war drum.

"That's right."

Song Heping's voice sounded again, not loud, but like an undercurrent beneath the ice, containing a violent force that could tear everything apart.

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

"Lumar is dead, but this isn't over. Who let this Mad Dog Lumar out of his cage? Who fed him so he dared to bare his teeth at us?"

His gaze swept across everyone, each word striking like an ice pick on steel.

"London! It's those British by the Thas River, sipping afternoon tea in their neat suits! It's that old woman nad M."

He suddenly hamred his fist on the ammo box, making the bottles on top clatter: "Do they think it's the nineteenth century here? Think they can do whatever they want in Africa by planting the Union Jack? Think they can stab us in the dark and still play innocent gentleman? Bullshit!"

Song Heping's voice suddenly rose.

"In my life, I hate betrayal the most, whoever dares to betray , I will make them regret it, no matter who it is."

His chest heaved violently, resentnt pouring out: "Talking sense with these arrogant European bastards who have been haughty for centuries doesn't work! They only understand the whistle of bullets! Understand the roar of fighter jets! Understand the sound of blood splattering on walls!"

Pausing for a mont, he continued: "Seeking peace through war, then peace will remain! Seeking peace through compromise? Then that's a fucking dead-end! Dead without a trace! If they dare to backstab , I'll make them understand deeply what it ans to pay the price! What it ans to hurt!"

His cold gaze swept slowly across each face like the edge of a knife: "This is no longer for Sena, or for so bullshit contract. This is a personal vendetta! This is between , Song Heping, and the entire British intelligence agency, and that M bitch! I want them to know, that if they ss with our people, betray our company, they better be ready for retaliation, and the cost will be so heavy they'll wake up crying in their dreams!"

Everyone was stunned.

Song Heping really wanted to go head-to-head with the British.

But...

Even though Britain is no longer the so-called empire on which the sun never sets, its lingering prestige remains, confronting them head-on implies another storm of bloodshed.

Song Heping once again looked around at everyone: "So, Ferrari is right. This is a ten-to-one survival. If you walk away now, I won't stop you, brotherhood remains. Stay..."

His mouth twisted into an almost ferocious arc, "Then be ready, with , to punch a hole in the sky of London!"

The response was a brief, suffocating silence.

Then—

"Fuck the British!"

White Bear was the first to roar, "I've long despised those posturing fops! Count in! Let's get them!"

"Personal vendetta? Boss, your vendetta is my vendetta."

Hunter's voice was cold as the frozen soil of Siberia, his hand already moved from the gun grip and was holding his sniper rifle barrel steadily, "My bullets need a new target. So people in London are just right."

The Queen put down her pistol and gun oilcloth, picked up her enal jug, filled it with vodka, then raised it towards Song Heping, with red lips uttering two words: "Settle accounts."

Concise words, murderous intent.

Collins let out a strange laugh, whistled loudly: "Ha! Punch a hole in London? That's a thousand tis more thrilling than battling bumpkins in Africa!"

Klein looked at everyone, spread his hands and said: "If you want to act, you need ."

Jiang Feng remained silent, only stepping forward, taking a bottle, and refilling the empty jug Song Heping had placed on the ammunition box.

Action is the best answer.

Ferrari slapped his thigh: "Damn it! Let's do it! No amount of money can buy back this pride! Song, how do you want to do it? Go directly to London and tie up that old hag, or first take down her little cubs (referring to intelligence stations and agents) one by one outside? Just say the word! The company's wallet is wide open for you!"

Song Heping looked at the group of brothers in front of him, ignited by the flas of revenge, as sharp as drawn blades, and the last trace of hesitation in his eyes completely disappeared.

He took the jug Jiang Feng had filled, raised it high.

Under the ghastly spotlight, the vodka's turbid liquid swayed slightly in his hand, reflecting a cold light.

"Good! Since no one is leaving, then let those arrogant British rember today's lesson with blood! Rember 'Musician' defense cannot be ssed with! Rember our rule—blood debt must be paid in blood, this ti we lost over two hundred brothers, so they must repay with the lives of over two hundred British people!"

"Blood for blood!"

The rough roar converged into a wave of fury, like countless enraged wolves howling under the moonlit night.

The enal jugs clashed again, vodka splattered everywhere, like the blood of an oath, spilling on the cold hard concrete floor.

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