Chapter 853: Chapter 458: Taste My Fist!!_2
Take a look—let’s see if those Heavenly Palace folks can handle Horses’ Fortune’s “Intercontinental Missile.”
Honestly, since 1945—hell, since the League of Nations in 1920—I’ve never seen soone this brazen.
Even Little Mustache had to kiss ass back in the League of Nations.
But… hey, what can you do?
The SS-25 intercontinental missiles, with a range of 13,000 kiloters, don’t even need nuclear warheads. Just the high-explosive warheads are enough to make you choke on it.
People with money…
Wouldn’t dare go all out to fight to the death.
They call this noble “gentlemanly style,” but really, it’s just being scared shitless!
Huang Chao would walk in and take one out with every cut.
“Madman!”
“xicans are madn!” muttered an African delegate sitting at the back, his eyes lighting up.
Africa has always been on the losing end of the road to independence—France, those damn bastards, suffocating all of Africa.
Whenever they see even a hint of soone trying to break away from France, they ruthlessly suppress it.
Burkina Faso’s Sankara was no different—finally about to turn things around, and then…
Europe and Arica are nothing but a pile of scum.
But what can you do…
And now, to see a xican representative standing in the middle of the United Nations hall, pointing at those old colonial powers, threatening and intimidating—it’s nothing short of a dream within a dream.
The handful of European and Arican representatives snapped back to their senses, exchanging glances, their expressions tinged with humiliation.
To think—even now, they were too scared to speak. That… was outright disgraceful.
“You’re too arrogant, Joachim. This isn’t friendly at all,” the German delegate said, frowning.
“If I weren’t arrogant, why the hell would I bother developing intercontinental missiles?” Joachim Ribbentrop chuckled, tapping his fingers on the table. “And why do you think we only have intercontinental missiles?”
The rhetorical question imdiately set imaginations running wild.
What?
Are you planning on mass destruction weapons now?
Could xico be conducting “nuclear reaction experints”?
Joachim Ribbentrop had left his words deliberately ambiguous, sending speculations spiraling.
“All we want is fairness—fairness, damn it, fairness!”
“If this world refuses to let us poor folk have a voice…”
“Then we’ll flip the damn table!”
“Don’t say we didn’t warn your lot—don’t tie yourselves too tightly to the Yanks. Just who rules North Arica? It’s not set in stone!”
He snorted, slamming xico’s naplate hard onto the table, staring lasers at the Spanish delegate.
The latter panicked, glancing around helplessly in search of support.
But then he looked at the British.
The British had their heads down…
Ever since Churchill died, they hadn’t been able to lift their heads for decades. Thatcher?
The Falklands War?
Just bullying Argentina, and even then, they nearly got turned over.
The Spaniard then looked at France…
The French? The last brave one among them dates back to Napoleon!
What could a bunch of white-flag raisers possibly say?
With no one to back them up and Joachim Ribbentrop glaring daggers, the Spanish delegate could only put on a wounded front, throwing out a bitter remark: “We will not let this slide!”
Having said that, he grabbed his naplate and retreated to the back.
The harsh words carried absolutely no weight.
The entire Spanish delegation hung their heads low—xico’s gaze had crushed their dignity.
For the first ti, this “Sea Dominator” felt truly humiliated!
Joachim Ribbentrop sat back in his seat, with France on his left and the United Kingdom on his right. Looking around, he burst into laughter, crossing his arms, staring at the United States across the way—making their scalp tingle slightly.
The conference began promptly at 10 A.M.
As Secretary-General Boutros Gali stepped in, he instantly noticed sothing was off.
Everyone seed far from happy—expressions pale and stormy.
He lacked real power and acted more like a puppet—it was obvious to anyone. Since he took office on January 1st, he’d been utterly stymied.
Nobody listened to him—it was like the entire world was perpetually at war.
The situation gave him migraines.
Forcing out a fake smile, he was just about to crack a joke when soone abruptly stood up.
“Mr. Secretary-General, I demand the expulsion of xico’s representative!”
Boutros Gali focused his gaze—well, well… here cos you, Japan’s shit-stirrer again.
He was not pleased at all, though a quick glance toward the unflinching Yanks made it clear that this little disciple had clearly co prepared.
Boutros Gali could ignore Japan, but he couldn’t afford to snub the United States.
“I agree!” South Korea’s representative chid in, even adding, “If xico is not expelled, we will cease all our activities in the United Nations.”
The lackeys all chid in.
The big boss, the United States, just sat there calmly.
Global alliances laid bare.
Just as the Secretary-General hesitated, Joachim Ribbentrop resolved the problem for him.
He grabbed a chair and hurled it straight across.
“Oh, shit!”
The Yanks, who had been staring him down, ducked with a startled curse, clutching their heads.
But while they dodged, Little Japan wasn’t so lucky—their smug expression hadn’t even faded before…
Their face got caved in on impact.
With a blood-curdling scream, blood gushed as they collapsed to the floor.
Chaos erupted in the room.
“Fuck them up!” Joachim Ribbentrop roared, waving a hand. xico’s delegation leapt over chairs, landing punch after punch on the Yanks.
Their glasses shattered instantly.
Their face flushed red as they clutched their eyes, howling in anguish.
Before becoming a commissioner, Joachim had been part of the ard forces—his fists were like bricks.
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