127: Chapter 127 The Road Sign Hanging on the Wall

The smell of gunpowder smoke dissipated quickly, replaced by a nauseating stench of blood and charred flesh.

A few vultures were already circling overhead, waiting for the two-legged beasts below to leave so they could descend and enjoy this hearty buffet.

Chen Mo walked slowly through the pile of corpses like a scavenger.

He stopped from time to time, reaching out to rummage through the corpses that looked like the leaders.

To onlookers, this was just looting, or perhaps some peculiar, deviant hobby.

But only Chen Mo could see the points of light that others could not.

[Contacting target... Extraction complete.]

[Acquired skill: Spanish (Mastery).]

[Acquired item: Los Zetas Drug Trafficking Network Map (Texas Branch).]

[Acquired status fragment: Primary Stamina * 3.]

The things given by that skull-faced leader were not bad.

A complex stream of linguistic information flooded his mind, and Chen Mo opened his mouth, a few authentic Mexican slang phrases dancing on the tip of his tongue.

That map was an unexpected bonus.

It clearly marked twelve secret warehouses and three tunnel entrances that these drug traffickers had along the border.

This was money.

"Hum—hum—"

The roar of helicopters came from the distance.

Two Black Hawk helicopters painted with the National Guard insignia swept by at low altitude, the immense wind pressure kicking up dust from the ground.

Following closely, a dozen police cars with sirens blaring, like a flock of late-arriving crows, blocked the exit of the valley.

"Hands up, drop your weapons!"

The voice from the loudspeaker was full of tension.

Dozens of fully armed National Guard soldiers jumped off the trucks, their guns aimed at the Legacy Defense mercenaries on this side.

The atmosphere froze instantly.

One-Eyed Dragon, Old Dog, and the others did not lower their guns, but subconsciously looked at Chen Mo.

As long as the boss gave a single look, they would dare to trade fire with the regular army.

After all, they had just gotten into the rhythm of killing, and the adrenaline had not yet worn off.

"Relax, everyone."

Chen Mo brushed the dust off his hands, took out a document holder from his pocket, and strode toward the cordon.

A middle-aged man with the rank of Colonel walked over with a dark face.

He looked at the limbs and severed arms all over the ground, especially the few heads that were being sawed off by the mercenaries, and the corners of his eyes twitched wildly.

"I am Colonel Johnson of the Third Regiment of the National Guard." The Colonel's hand remained pressed on his holster.

"You had better give me a reasonable explanation, or I will arrest all of you for massacre."

"Massacre?"

Chen Mo smiled and handed over the document in his hand, "Officer, this is called self-defense."

"Self-defense?" Johnson glanced at the pickup trucks in the distance that had been beaten into scrap metal, "You call mortars and Gatling guns self-defense?"

"According to Texas law, when private property is subjected to illegal armed invasion and the opposing party possesses lethal weapons, the owner has the right to use any means to counterattack."

Chen Mo pointed toward the oil wells behind him, "Miss Rockefeller is right there. These drug traffickers attempted to kidnap a legal American taxpayer and attacked vital energy facilities. My employees simply made the necessary response."

Jack Martin ran over at the right moment and handed over a tablet.

"This is the drone footage of the entire process, Officer." Chen Mo tapped the screen, "You can clearly see that they fired first, and we even suffered an RPG attack."

The footage had, of course, been edited.

The Los Zetas men did indeed fire, but that was wild shooting after being stunned by that round of mortar fire.

As for the RPG, that was a dud fired by Old Dog himself; anyway, there was no proof now that they were dead.

Johnson looked at the video, his face livid.

He certainly knew who these people were.

That was Los Zetas, a group of lunatics who had given the Border Patrol a headache for ten years.

"And, Colonel." Chen Mo leaned in a little closer and whispered in that fluent Spanish he had just learned.

"These people were let in by McLean. Are you sure you want to offend the Rockefeller Family for that old guy who is about to be finished?"

Johnson's pupils constricted sharply.

He glanced at Chen Mo, then at the Humvee in the distance that was hanging the Legacy Defense sign.

"Clean it up."

The Colonel took a step back and waved his hand.

"We received intelligence that a group of terrorists attempted to cross the border but were repelled by heroic private security forces. The National Guard is responsible for cordoning off the scene and assisting with the investigation."

The soldiers lowered their muzzles.

Chen Mo turned around and gestured to One-Eyed Dragon.

Those heads were thrown into woven bags, blood dripping down from the corners of the bags.

An hour later.

At the press conference in Midland, the camera flashes lit up the scene like broad daylight.

Ava Rockefeller was wearing a proper business suit, with just the right amount of fear and determination on her face.

"...This is a war against the United States."

She spoke into the microphone, her voice choked with emotion but powerful.

"Those drug traffickers stormed into my oil field; they wanted to kidnap me and wanted to destroy the peace of this land. If it weren't for the warriors of Legacy Defense fighting to the death, I might already be a corpse today."

The processed video was shown on the big screen at the right moment.

Along with those photos of the heads hung on the barbed wire of the border wall—of course, they were pixelated, but that bloody impact still transmitted through the screen.

Public opinion exploded instantly.

The martial spirit in the bones of Texans was thoroughly ignited.

Social media was full of comments like "Well done" and "That's what a real Texan man is."

As for whether those heads violated humanitarianism?

Come on, those were drug traffickers. In the eyes of Texans, the only good drug trafficker is a dead drug trafficker.

The spearhead quickly pointed to McLean.

Someone revealed that the Los Zetas convoy had passed through the control zone of Lone Star Energy before entering the oil field.

The labels of "traitor" and "accomplice to drug traffickers" were instantly slapped onto that old man.

Although there was no direct evidence, once the seeds of suspicion were planted, they would grow into towering trees.

That night.

In a safe house on the outskirts of Midland, a celebration was underway.

Steaks on the grill were sizzling, and crates of beer were brought up.

Those sixty-plus veterans were like it was a holiday, loudly bragging about the day's achievements.

"Quiet down."

Chen Mo walked out with a bottle of beer.

The noise disappeared instantly.

Everyone was looking at this young boss.

That look had changed; they were no longer looking at a wealthy financier, but at a wolf king.

"I don't like nonsense."

Chen Mo placed two black suitcases on the table and opened them.

They were full of cash.

"Today's bonus, double."

The cheers almost blew the roof off.

"Besides." Chen Mo raised his beer bottle, "From today on, Legacy Defense is not leaving. I am going to build a base on the border. As long as you still have guns in your hands, and as long as I still have money, Texas is ours."

"Legacy! Legacy! Legacy!"

The group of veterans roared, like a pack of wild dogs that had found a new master.

Chen Mo took a sip of beer, the icy liquid flowing down his throat, suppressing the restless heat after the slaughter.

This army could now be considered to have the surname Chen.

Just then, the phone in his pocket vibrated.

That old phone with no number.

Chen Mo walked to the balcony, looking at the dark wilderness in the distance. He answered the phone.

"Mr. Chen."

A low, elegant voice with a bit of a New York Upper East Side accent came from the other end.

"Should I call you Corpse Collector, or should I call you... the new warlord of Texas?"

Chen Mo leaned against the railing, the corners of his mouth curling into a playful arc.

He knew who this was.

The "mole" within the Rockefeller Family who had always wanted to kill Ava, but had always been hiding in the shadows.

"What you call me isn't important."

Chen Mo flicked the cigarette ash, "What's important is, if you are here to plead for McLean, then you can hang up. I have already reserved a spot for his head, right at the very top of the border wall."

"No, Mr. Chen, you have misunderstood."

The voice on the other end of the phone laughed.

"McLean is a piece of trash; I have no interest in him, but I am interested in you."

"Name your price, Mr. Chen. Whatever Ava can give you, I will give you double. Whether it's money, or... that position."

Chen Mo looked at the moon in the night sky.

"Double?" He said softly, "You seem to have gotten one thing wrong."

"What?"

"I don't work for dead people."

Chen Mo hung up the phone and rubbed his finger against the screen.

The fish had taken the bait.