122: You dare! I have a gun license!

But after the brief astonishment subsided, the prevailing sentiment was overwhelming support, like a mountain roar and a sea surge.

"Thank God! Finally, we don't have to sleep with a gun under our pillows every night!"

"My son died last year in a street fight. Those damn drug dealers! Confiscate them! They must all be taken away!"

"This should have been done ages ago! Without guns, let's see how those scum can still act so arrogant!"

Ordinary citizens, who had long suffered from the proliferation of firearms, expressed their support for the policy with the most heartfelt emotions.

For them, freedom and rights were less important than simply living in peace and stability.

With this public support, the subsequent events proceeded smoothly.

The National Defense Guard, newly equipped with a full set of new gear, cooperated with local police forces.

They formed heavily armed Confiscation Teams.

Operating community by community, they conducted sweeping house-to-house searches.

"Open up! Police! Routine inspection!"

The sound of violent door-kicking became the most common noise in the western cities over the next few days.

Most citizens chose to cooperate, voluntarily handing over the various weapons hidden in their homes.

They ranged from old revolvers to AK rifles bought on the black market—a motley assortment.

Of course, there were always a few stubborn troublemakers.

"Get lost! This is my house! You have no right to enter!"

A man with a meaty face shouted through the door, clutching a loaded shotgun in his hand.

His answer was a deafening "bang."

A specialized battering ram smashed the wooden door to pieces.

Before the man could react, several dark muzzles were pointed directly at him.

"Drop your weapon! Repeat! Drop your weapon!"

The man trembled in fear, but still shouted defiantly, "How dare you! I have a gun permit! This is legal!"

"A gun permit?"

The National Defense Guard Soldier leading the team sneered.

"The only difference between that thing and toilet paper now is that it's not as soft."

"You have three seconds."

"Three."

"Two."

The cold countdown hammered into the man's heart.

The instinct for survival finally overcame his ridiculous persistence.

With a clang, he dropped the gun and raised his hands high.

Similar scenes played out in countless corners of the cities.

For those die-hards who resisted stubbornly or even dared to open fire, the Confiscation Teams' response was even more direct.

After a burst of dense gunfire, the world became quiet.

In the face of absolute military superiority, any resistance seemed pale and powerless.

In just three days.

The operation was declared over.

The results tallied made Pedro gasp sharply.

A total of over 400,000 firearms of various types were confiscated.

Over 12 million rounds of ammunition of various models were collected.

"My God... this is enough to re-arm an entire Group Army."

Pedro's hands were shaking as he looked at the statistical report.

He couldn't imagine that people in the past had lived atop such a massive powder keg.

David sat across from him, leisurely drinking coffee, unsurprised by the news.

"These things are a scourge domestically, but if they were sold abroad..."

The corner of his mouth curved slightly upward.

"They could become a considerable source of foreign exchange income."

Pedro's eyes lit up: "Sell them?"

"Of course," David nodded matter-of-factly.

"Our brothers in Africa and the Middle East are short on gear. We're essentially supporting the liberation cause of the people of Asia, Africa, and Latin America—how noble."

Pedro's mouth twitched.

He wanted to complain that David was clearly just a second-hand arms dealer, yet he spoke as if he were an internationalist fighter.

However, he wisely kept silent.

As long as the money ended up in the coffers of the Provisional Government, that was all that mattered.

"By the way, David." Pedro put down the report, his expression turning serious.

"There's a more urgent matter. Our currency, it's about to collapse."

Years of conflict and economic stagnation had caused the Bolivian Boliviano exchange rate to plummet, turning it almost into scrap paper.

"I plan to... introduce a new currency, directly pegged to the US Dollar. What do you think?"

This was Pedro's carefully considered idea.

To stabilize the economy, they first needed to stabilize the currency.

"The time is not right."

David vetoed the idea without hesitation.

"What?" Pedro was stunned.

David put down his coffee cup and tapped his fingers lightly on the tabletop.

"Mr. President, you must understand that introducing a new currency is tantamount to declaring war on all vested interests holding the old currency."

"This involves more than just a few merchants."

"Is our current rule stable?"

David looked at him, his eyes sharp.

"The National Defense Force is formidable, but they can only guarantee that the cities won't be overthrown."

"The vast countryside, those complex interest groups—do we truly control them?"

"Forcing currency reform now is like building a house on the sand. The foundation is unstable; one big wave will wash everything away."

Cold sweat beaded on Pedro's forehead.

He had focused only on solving the problem, ignoring the huge risks involved.

"Then what should we do?"

"Wait."

David uttered a single word.

"Wait until we have completely purged all opposing forces, and until our decrees can truly reach every single village."

"Wait until everyone recognizes us as the country's sole legitimate ruler."

"By that time, let alone currency reform, even if you want to peg the currency to gold, no one will dare utter a single word of dissent."

"Build the foundation first, then the house," David summarized. "You have to eat your meal one bite at a time."

Pedro let out a long breath and nodded in sincere agreement.

After concluding his conversation with Pedro, David dialed an encrypted satellite phone.

Soon, Jameson's respectful voice came through the phone.

"Boss."

"Jameson, inform our friends in the The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia," David said straightforwardly.

"They can arrange for the Chinese to receive the fifteen fierce dragon-3s they ordered."

"Understood," Jameson immediately replied. "Should the accompanying Thunder Series Missiles also be handed over?"

"Yes, the complete set. Tell Prince Sultan that this is the first step in showing our sincerity in cooperation."

"And while you're at it, let our Chinese friends see the capabilities of our company."

"Understood, Boss. I'll get right on it."

Jameson's tone was filled with excitement.

He clearly understood how crucial this transaction was for the company's strategic positioning in the Middle East.

After hanging up, Jameson didn't dare waste a moment and immediately drove toward the Royal Palace.

When Prince Sultan heard the news, his face showed unconcealed joy.

"Excellent! Mr. David is truly a partner who keeps his promises!"

The Sattar Kingdom Royal Family had been anticipating this batch of advanced fighter jets from the East for too long.

They had even begun internal discussions on whether to gradually reduce, or eventually abolish, the US Military Base within the country.

After all, cooperating with a partner who can sell you Fifth-Generation Fighter Jets and never interferes in your internal affairs...

...is clearly more comfortable than dealing with an "ally" who constantly talks about human rights and threatens sanctions at the drop of a hat.

The news quickly reached China.

Zhao Chengshun, who had been in charge of this matter, was so excited upon receiving the definite reply that he nearly jumped up and down.

Without hesitation, he immediately took the top pilots and technical team and boarded a special plane heading non-stop to the The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

A few days later.

Riyadh Air Base.

Fifteen fighter jets, painted in desert camouflage and boasting a sleek, futuristic design, landed sequentially on the runway under the shocked gaze of countless onlookers.

These aircraft were not piloted by Chinese pilots, but by David's subordinates.

That group of highly skilled Death Sworn Pilots flew directly from a secret base.