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The reason this room was considered strange was that it was located inside the hotel, with no windows, resembling a sealed chamber, yet its layout was reminiscent of a bank lobby open to the public.

The total area exceeded a hundred square meters. Below, five sets of genuine leather sofas were neatly arranged, with bottles of red wine and cigars placed on the coffee tables in the middle.

It all looked extremely high-end, like the deluxe version of a bank’s waiting area.

Directly ahead was a closed counter, with only one reception window open to the outside. You could see someone inside, giving it the appearance of a bank service window.

Before leaving, the middle-aged white man did not introduce this place to Xing Xiaolong.

Fortunately, even though this was Xing Xiaolong’s first time here, Louis had already explained the entire process to him in detail before they left the Green Zone Hospital.

Following Louis’s instructions, Xing Xiaolong walked forward and passed the letter through the window.

Inside the window sat a stunning young woman, voluptuous and blonde, but with no expression on her face. She picked up the letter, quickly read through it, and said flatly, “One gold coin, service fee.”

Xing Xiaolong handed the gold coin through the window, trying to peer inside out of curiosity.

Unfortunately, the frosted glass stopped him from seeing anything.

The blonde took the coin, placed it on a device to the right—apparently to verify its authenticity—then, still expressionless, said, “Mr. Louis Gabriel Lagos, the following information needs to be confirmed. You only need to answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

Although the blonde addressed him formally, her tone was completely indifferent.

She couldn’t have cared less!

“Everything in this place is weird. Even delivering a letter is shrouded in secrecy. The more I see, the stranger it gets...” Xing Xiaolong muttered inwardly, and replied in awkward English, “Yes.”

The simultaneous translation earpiece could translate in real time, but it couldn’t help Xing Xiaolong speak perfect English. Luckily, all he had to do was answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’

Otherwise, it would have been really difficult for him with his limited English.

Even though both his appearance and his name didn’t match the Western format, and he butchered his ‘yes,’ the blonde didn’t care in the slightest.

All that mattered to her was whether the gold coin was real or not.

“Level-A rescue mission, confirm?”

The blonde asked the first question. Xing Xiaolong had no idea what it meant, so he simply followed the rule of English conversations: if you don’t understand, just say, “YES!”

“Mission commission: two million US dollars. Once confirmed, this amount will be immediately withdrawn from your prepaid account and deposited into the Peace Hotel’s commission account. Confirm?”

“YES!”

“Rescue mission list: two rescue targets—Artillicia Leon Lagos, Caucasian female; Su Dayu, Asian female. Mission duration: two days. Additional term: permission to add one rescue team member. Confirm?”

“YES!”

“All mission details are confirmed and cannot be changed. The mission order will be posted in three minutes. You may leave. Mr. Lucas will take care of the rest.”

Without waiting for a reply, the blonde coolly shut the little service window.

Utterly aloof!

“Two million dollars for a rescue commission... I’ll never make that much in my whole life. For people in this line of work, the money really is that easy,” Xing Xiaolong thought to himself.

Xing Xiaolong clicked his tongue at how millions could change hands so casually, and withdrew from the room, filled with envy.

“Sir, please follow me. Leave the rest to me. I’ll first take you to your room to rest. When the team has assembled, I’ll bring you to meet them.”

It was the same middle-aged man in the tailcoat. He took the initiative to explain the next steps to Xing Xiaolong, then led him to an opulent hotel suite.

Inside, red wine and lunch were already set out, along with several sets of clothing to choose from.

All complimentary!

He had to admit, though the place was shrouded in mystery, the service was impeccable.

Not fond of wine and not in the mood for drinking, Xing Xiaolong wolfed down the tasteless “fish eggs,” grabbed a large steak, and devoured it.

After showering and changing into a free suit, he sat in the living room waiting for news.

He had no idea what a mission order was.

He didn’t know how the whole process worked.

He had no clue how long it would take for the team to assemble.

As the saying goes: The closer you get to home, the more apprehensive you become.

As the rescue time drew nearer, the thought of possibly facing a group of armed men—and perhaps needing to kill—made Xing Xiaolong increasingly anxious and tense.

To kill—those three words were something most people wouldn’t even dare to contemplate, for the very thought instinctively inspired fear.

Xing Xiaolong had never imagined himself as a killer. Even when he considered joining the army, the idea of killing someone during peacetime seemed so remote as to be impossible.

But now, killing was a real possibility before him.

What would it feel like to take a life for the first time? Would he be sickened, vomiting like in the movies, or would he fall into depression?

Xing Xiaolong didn’t know, nor did he dare to dwell on it. He forced himself to think about something else.

He remembered only one thing—

To save lives!

His mind was a jumble of thoughts, but fortunately, the middle-aged man named Lucas didn’t keep him waiting long. In less than an hour, he returned.

He led Xing Xiaolong through a hidden elevator down to a large, conference-room-like chamber in the basement.

Unlike the opulent rooms above, this space was stark, illuminated by bright lights, furnished with only simple tables and chairs—and an array of weapons and gear on the tables.

Six different rifles, over a dozen handguns, all kinds of grenades, bullets, attachments, and on the table, sniper rifles and light machine guns.

It was practically a small armory!

By the time Xing Xiaolong arrived, there were already six men and one woman in the room, all dressed in identical all-terrain camouflage, deftly sorting and preparing the weapons and gear.

Judging by their appearance, they clearly weren’t soldiers or police. His first thought was the mercenaries he’d often heard about back home. Xing Xiaolong couldn’t help but ask in clumsy English, “You... mercenaries? Are you mercenaries?”

“Mercenaries? Hahaha—”

The man standing at the front left of the round table, with a diagonal scar across his forehead, a full beard, standing over 1.85 meters tall and built even bigger than Xing Xiaolong—a white man who looked as imposing as a brown bear—burst out laughing.

Xing Xiaolong could tell this was a laugh of contempt, an instinctive rejection of any association, but he had no idea why the scarred man found the word so funny.

Was the term ‘mercenary’ really that laughable?

Xing Xiaolong couldn’t understand.

“Clack! Clack! Clack!”

The scarred man worked the bolt of the silenced HK416 a few times, set the checked rifle on the table, and pointed at a muscular Black man directly opposite him. “In your people’s terms, two years ago, he was called a Delta Force operator.”

Then he pointed to the second person across the table.

“A year ago, he was still known as an SAS elite, the pride of the U.K. See the badge on his chest? That’s the Knight’s Cross—his treasure.”

“And me...”

The bearded, scarred man took a swig from his flask and wiped the liquor from his beard. “Ten years ago, I retired from Alpha Group. Now my codename is Tiger—Tiger from Alpha.

No matter who we were before, now we have only one name: PMC. That’s our only name.

Mercenaries? Hahaha! Calling us that rabble, you’re insulting me, kid. Careful or I’ll flatten you with one punch.”

As he spoke the name ‘PMC,’ the man who called himself Tiger had a flash of fierce faith and honor in his otherwise listless eyes.

A soldier’s sense of honor!

This piqued Xing Xiaolong’s curiosity.

The scarred man was right—mercenaries were known as a band of riff-raff. Aside from the rare few forced by circumstances, most were fugitives, murderers, robbers, war criminals, and the like with nowhere else to go.

Frankly, there were no requirements to be a mercenary—anyone could do it.

Could such a group of scoundrels really possess honor and conviction?

No.

Xing Xiaolong had never believed that those without any bottom line, who brought chaos to the battlefield for money alone, could have any sense of honor or faith, let alone conviction.

Yet, this man who called himself Tiger radiated a bone-deep sense of honor and conviction.

That meant he truly was not a mercenary.

But then why weren’t these people still soldiers, yet still possessed a soldier’s beliefs? Was the PMC he spoke of really something different?

Xing Xiaolong’s curiosity was aroused.

What he didn’t know was that this accidental curiosity would lead him into a brand new world and set him on the path of his own legendary PMC life.