Evil Dragon Crazy Soldier King

Omir didn't speak, he just kept staring at the Night Army's announcement, lost in Thoughts of Longing.

The Major quieted down a bit; he knew Omir's habits.

This General appeared gentle and polite on the surface, but when it came to war, he was ruthless and firm—definitely not someone who was cowardly or afraid.

The others also watched Omir, whether to advance or retreat, waiting for his decision.

At that moment, Omir lifted his head and took a deep breath.

"How much information do we have on the Dragon Island Night Army?"

One of the Colonels stepped forward to report loudly.

"General, the Dragon Island Night Army is a newly emerged armed force near the South Pacific; they're all fresh recruits who have never fought in a large-scale battle."

"The Great White Bear Mercenaries suffered such a huge defeat, directly related to Alang Military's missile troops and the Flying Gold Mercenary Corps in the desert."

Omir nodded, finally making his decision.

"Fine, if we're afraid of a fledgling army just out of the Thatched Cottage, we'll never be able to survive in the mercenary circle again."

He tapped the table: "Alang military won't intervene for the sake of stability."

"And the Flying Gold Mercenaries, although powerful, are not something to fear; this Dragon Island Night Army, let us end them."

He spoke as if it was as easy as deciding to kill a domesticated chicken.

Many Colonels cheered loudly.

This was Omir's habit, planning meticulously before proceeding, never speaking empty words.

Omir's words indicated he already had a comprehensive plan.

But what people didn't know was, despite his usual calm demeanor, Omir felt a sudden unease, even he didn't know where this anxiety originated.

Omir began to lay out the battle assignments.

His plan was systematic and detailed, with each step having a contingency plan and remedial measures, it was flawless.

Just then, Omir suddenly had an illusion.

It seemed the whole camp had vanished, leaving only the main base isolated.

A chill rose in Omir's heart.

He suddenly realized the sounds outside the main base had disappeared.

Bloodhand was disciplined, forbidding noise, but no matter how soldiers adhered to rules, there couldn't be complete silence.

The patrol soldier's footsteps, whispered conversations from sentries, and night-time inquiries from duty officers, combined to create the unique bustle in the barracks.

But now, inside and outside the main base, human voices had disappeared completely, dead silent except for the wind blowing past tents.

Omir stopped speaking, slowly stood up, his expression extremely serious.

The other Colonels noticed Omir's expression and bewilderedly stood up with him.

Omir suddenly shouted: "Enemy attack, prepare for battle!"

Before he finished speaking, a gray silhouette darted over.

In his hand, a flash of cold light, two figures reaching for their pistols had their throats burst with blood, their voice boxes and airways severed instantly, falling to the ground.

Omir's pistol hadn't even been drawn before a cold dagger reached his throat.

The knife gleamed, making his throat slide up and down, as if it were a bead of mercury.

Omir froze, his eyes filled with fear.

The opponent was too fast, so fast that everyone hadn't reacted yet, and Omir was already in the enemy's hands.

The enemy was a handsome young man in his twenties, with a cigarette hanging from his lips, his mouth curved gracefully.

He pressed the dagger against Omir's throat, sitting on Omir's desk with a playful disregard that was chilling.

In this base, the officers were the core leadership of the Bloodhand Mercenaries.

They were experienced, but had never seen anyone this skilled.

In the blink of an eye, the guy had barged in and ruthlessly killed two senior officers.

No one dared move because the guy was holding a Desert Eagle.

This large-caliber handgun, within fifty meters, was devastatingly lethal.

Moreover, everyone noticed a silencer on the Desert Eagle's barrel.

Meaning, the opponent could freely shoot and kill here, and the patrolling soldiers outside wouldn't hear a thing.

Omir had drawn his pistol, but the cold threat from the dagger indicated the opponent's danger.

Omir, usually calm, trembled as he held the gun: "Who are you?"

The opponent didn't answer Omir's question, lazily looked at him.

"Are you Omir? Bloodhand's highest Commander?"

Omir nodded clearly, put down his gun and raised his hands, afraid to make sudden moves to avoid misunderstanding.

The man glanced sideways at the group of senior officers, said indifferently.

"You read the Dragon Island Night Army's announcement but refused to retreat, so don't blame us for Night Army's ruthlessness."

Omir shuddered, staring at the man in fear.

"You... you're with the Night Army?"

The man chuckled: "Of course, I'll let you understand before going to hell—I am with the Night Army's Special Ops team."

Omir tried to maintain composure, tentatively asked a question.

"If I may ask, how many in the Night Army Special Ops have a fighting capacity like yours?"

Yang Fei looked at him, then said indifferently: "Not many, over ten or so."

"Over ten..."

It was as if Omir was chopped from the front, his face suddenly turned pale, eyes showing despair.

Omir had never seen such powerful warriors.

Precise killing, fierce spirit, and unbelievably strong skills.

Such a person, even alone, could decapitate the entire headquarters leadership.

Any command center infiltrated by such a person would be an absolute disaster.

And having someone like this as an instructor in a military would vastly elevate overall combat power.

In the Night Army, there are over ten such peerless fighters!

Recalling his boastful words earlier, Omir was ashamed.

The other senior officers, hearing Yang Fei's words, felt hopeless as they looked at Omir.

Some officers gripped their guns tightly.

Even if the end was death, they would absolutely not surrender their soldier's dignity to be slaughtered.

In a brief moment, over ten thoughts raced through Omir's mind, ending with a long sigh.

"I'm sorry, my brothers are innocent. If you kill me, the Bloodhand Mercenaries will dissolve automatically. Now please spare them."

Yang Fei snorted coldly: "And if I don't agree?"

Before Yang Fei finished, a stout officer, full of indignation, opened his mouth to speak.

Whoosh!

Yang Fei casually flicked, and a card flew from his sleeve, slashing the officer's voice box and throat.

The man clutched his throat, eyes wide, body fell forward, blood splattering.