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Tang Dao had come a long way from his humble beginnings, and he had no intention of stopping now. He relished the moniker of "The Lord of War," even if it came with a certain notoriety. To him, it was a badge of honor, a testament to his success in the world of international arms dealing.

As he read the headline in "World People Weekly" declaring that his most significant achievement was toppling Locke Martin, a sense of satisfaction washed over him. It was a reminder of the power he wielded, the influence he had over world events, and the wealth he had amassed.

Locke Martin, a rival arms dealer of considerable renown, had once been a formidable competitor. But Tang Dao's shrewd business acumen, his ability to adapt to changing circumstances, and his unwavering determination had allowed him to outmaneuver and eventually depose Martin from his lofty position.

For Tang Dao, every fighter, every weapon, and every deal was a means to an end. His focus was on profit, influence, and achieving his objectives. He had built a vast network of contacts, navigated the treacherous waters of international politics, and exploited the chaos of conflict zones to his advantage.

He was not just an arms dealer; he was a businessman who saw opportunities where others saw only risks. He had the ability to turn strife and turmoil into lucrative deals, and he reveled in the challenge.

In the world of arms dealing, Tang Dao was a force to be reckoned with. He was a man who had risen from obscurity to become a power player on the global stage. And as long as there were conflicts, wars, and those who sought to profit from them, Tang Dao knew that his place at the top was secure.

The world might bow down to him, or it might fear him, but one thing was certain: Tang Dao was a master of his craft, and he had no intention of relinquishing his position as the Lord of War.

The Strongest Arms Dealer

Being eavesdropped, no one is aware of it except Mister and others, and Tang Dao won't publicize it, especially considering the current peculiar situation. Sometimes, it's not that if you don't say it, others won't know. In modern society, there is no such thing as privacy, and those who acknowledge human rights and destroy them often do so in the name of national security.

In Kyiv, at the Junior Military Academy office, the atmosphere is tense with smoke lingering and a low, rumbling sound.

Medevichuk spoke first, addressing the old Pushkin seated behind the table. The latter maintained a calm demeanor like an old fox, patiently waiting for Medevichuk to finish. The room's thick air seemed to add a tearing texture to their conversation.

"Monitoring? Who? Did the KGB send someone?" Medevichuk frowned, pressing a cigarette into the ashtray. "It's unlikely. The Soviet intelligence agencies in Kyiv have been monitored by us. This doesn't align with the big brother's style. If the KGB sent people, we should be thinking about distinguishing the corpse; those barbarians don't care about you."

This harsh reality reflects the nature of institutions that establish their authority in a complex world. Whether capitalists devour the property of ordinary people or the KGB employs rough methods, the result is the same - ruthless actions in pursuit of their goals.

Old Pushkin, dissatisfied, reminded Medevichuk, "We are still Soviets."

"Yes, yes," Medevichuk hurriedly nodded outwardly, but inwardly he pondered on his readiness to betray his country. The value of the goods he handled was nearly 30 million U.S. dollars, some of which were banned. He knew of Old Pushkin's past affiliations with certain individuals, but the truth remained elusive.

Old Pushkin continued, "If it's someone else, we must not let Nicholas meet an accident on our territory. The higher authorities value him, and Admiral Bandera is mainly responsible."

At the mention of Bandera, Medevichuk's dissatisfaction became apparent. Bandera, once a colleague, had now ascended to the head of the Ukrainian logistics department, while Medevichuk, despite being the same age, remained just a major general. The power dynamics stung, but Medevichuk understood the futility of objection.

Old Pushkin, sensing Medevichuk's discontent, tried to placate him, "I know what you're thinking, but some things are not up to you and me."

After a moment, Medevichuk responded, "I understand."

Exiting the office, Medevichuk left with a dark face, unaware that Old Pushkin sat in his seat, laughing loudly. This laughter, joyous and unrealistic, echoed for nearly a minute, emphasizing his buoyant spirits.

Subsequently, Old Pushkin sipped from his teacup, spat it back into the cup, and dialed the landline. He requested a transfer to General Bandera, wanting to report the incident to him. Bandera's voice, thick and authoritative, acknowledged the call. However, the conversation turned curt, and Bandera hung up abruptly, leaving Old Pushkin irritated.

In a separate scene, Lieutenant Bobby Ken found himself in the hotel lobby, yawning, with coffee in front of him. Despite throwing the coffee on his sleepy subordinate's head, the latter remained unfazed. Trying to gather information, Bobby Ken used the walkie-talkie to instruct his teams.

"One group is safe," reported the observation group on the roof.

Bobby Ken waited for the report from the fourth group but received no response. Frowning, he sensed trouble, urgently instructing his subordinate to wake up. Rushing towards the fourth group's location, Bobby Ken discovered an empty floor, a few remaining wine bottles, and, suddenly, an explosion above him.

Dumbfounded, he witnessed the bell tower being blown up, and an urgent cry for help came through the intercom: "Boss, the hotel has been attacked!"

Chapter 154