Allah

After Xia Jinyuan finished deploying, seven cold and hard voices sounded at the same time.

"Roger!"

"Roger!"

"Roger!"

…

The car arrived at the Andiken Auction House. As soon as it stopped, a few black men with submachine guns swept over.

They were holding very good submachine guns in their hands, but they were dressed casually. They didn't ask any questions and just pointed their guns at them. If they weren't in Mogadishu, people would have fainted from fright.

Spat parked the car stably. Without waiting for K7 and the other three to get down, he slammed the door forcefully and rushed over to shield the rest.

He said something ruthless. The black men quickly retreated and raised their hands to their foreheads to salute.

Lin Feng got out of the car and adjusted his expression. He didn't have the sharp aura of a soldier from his country anymore. He had returned to his current identity—a businessman with some status.