135 Ruling Hell (Second Update!)

Li Changjiang never considered himself a particularly noble person, let alone a saint.

However, even so, he was shocked to hear from Ryan that the British were actually begging him for help.

British gentlemen, whose arrogance usually blinded them to everything but the blue sky and white clouds, were asking a mercenary for help? If his ears weren't deceiving him, then Ryan must have made a mistake.

"Asking me for help? Are you sure?"

"Yes, Boss, I am certain. According to our intelligence analysis, it is highly likely the British have been attacked by Libyan militias. During the call, we could hear the sounds of AK rifles firing and the thuds of low-quality rocket explosions all around them. Besides that, there shouldn't be any other enemies in the Misrata region capable of attacking the British."

The information Ryan provided was overwhelming. Having just had his physical strength completely drained, Li Changjiang’s reactions felt a bit sluggish, but that did not hinder his judgment.

If that was the case, it was indeed plausible. Currently, Khamis’s government forces were engaged in a frontal battle against rebels and mercenaries. The only ones capable of attacking them would be those damned Libyan militias.

At this thought, Li Changjiang suddenly froze.

He realized that the British predicament was almost identical to the situation where the Americans had been besieged by Libyan militias earlier.

Was it really the Libyans doing this?

This was truly incredible!

What on earth were the Libyans trying to achieve?

Did they want to become the enemy of the entire Western world?

This could absolutely not be Khamis's—

Wait!

Li Changjiang quickly realized that this was definitely not Khamis’s doing. The Khamis he knew would never be so shortsighted. The only possibility was the rebels, that bastard Halide.

He was clearly trying to exacerbate the hostility of the Western world toward Khamis and the government forces behind him. The direct objective of such a move was to force Western powers to launch a military strike against Khamis’s forces, thereby dismantling the current military operation in Misrata.

"Aside from this, is there any other information?" Li Changjiang stared intensely at the doctor, always feeling that this Englishman was hiding something.

"Boss, they seem to have something you want in their hands, provided your surname is Li and you are Chinese!"

"What?"

"Fuck!"

Li Changjiang and the Russian cursed almost simultaneously.

Boom!

Ryan’s words felt like a bomb detonating in his brain, leaving Li Changjiang momentarily dazed.

Damn it!

What the hell is going on?

How could the British know such intelligence? Li Changjiang immediately grew suspicious, but upon remembering those guys were from the infamous MI6, his expression softened.

He knew the last thing he should do was speculate on what kind of intelligence the British held. He also knew clearly that he had nothing worth hiding; his only concern was whether the information the British possessed had anything to do with his father, Li Lin.

If that were the case, it would be a truly thorny issue.

He exchanged a glance with the Russian. After hesitating for a moment, he said, "Let's go. We will rendezvous with Angel and the others immediately!"

Their movements were swift. The Russian and Tank quickly gathered all of Li Changjiang’s equipment, salvaged grenades and ammunition from the rebel corpses, and began moving toward the rendezvous point in the east.

By the time they met up with Angel and the others, most of Li Changjiang’s strength had returned. Walking was basically no longer an issue, though his head remained dizzy—the aftereffects were still quite severe.

Williams and Shi Junqiang were still unconscious, having lost too much blood and suffering from prolonged starvation. Tim and Bob, however, appeared quite excited to see Li Changjiang.

The two hugged Li Changjiang tightly, with snot and tears smearing all over him.

"Thank you for saving us. If I recall correctly, I already owe you three lives."

Nearby, Angel, Tank, and the others watched the familiar scene between the three, their expressions softening for once. The tightly wound tension seemed to relax at that moment.

Perhaps this was what they had always been waiting for.

On the battlefield, aside from life and death, and the rain of bullets, there were many things they could not abandon.

Mercenary was not a noble profession. In the eyes of the media and politicians, they were profit-driven gamblers, murderers, and even thugs who disregarded life and death.

But true mercenaries were not born for this battlefield, nor were they there solely for a meager paycheck—most mercenaries weren't paid very well, after all. The real reason was that the things they cherished had always been there, never drifting away.

Friendship!

Passion!

And things just like what they were seeing now.

"Thank you, Nicholas! Hey, guys, thank you too!"

Tim thanked everyone, then finally walked up to Li Changjiang. Looking at that face—now somewhat unfamiliar yet immensely familiar—he thought, *He's changed! He looks more like a mercenary now!*

"What?" Li Changjiang asked, feeling baffled.

But Tim only smiled and said something that baffled him even more.

"Thank you, Li! I’ve said it before: you are a born warrior. Someone like you shouldn't be serving God in heaven, but ruling hell. Welcome back! This is hell!"

Just as Li Changjiang and his group relaxed, on the other side, the British, caught in the Libyan assault, were growing panicked by the sudden turn of events.

Will and the remaining dozen agents couldn't remember how many waves of attacks they had repelled in less than half an hour. Those damned Libyans were complete lunatics—worse than lunatics.

"Hell, get down!"

No sooner had they ducked their heads than two rockets tore through the last remaining barrier at the entrance, blowing the doors off. Will seized the chance to shout, and immediately, several grenades flew out from the entrance.

Boom!

Boom-boom!

The violent explosions repelled the Libyans attempting to rush in once again. Aside from leaving a field of corpses, not a single one managed to reach the perimeter of the underground command center.

If not for the narrow entrance reducing the Libyans' numerical advantage, Will believed there would be no point in holding out; they might as well just wait for death.

"Clark! Clark! Call for support, damn it!"

Inside the command center, Will’s voice seemed to serve no purpose other than to make Clark even more irritable.

Of course, the only effect was to make the agitated Clark realize there was one more thing he could do: continue begging for help.

"Hurry!"

"Damn it! Keep contacting the *Dartmouth*! Tell them if they don't provide support now, they can just come to collect our corpses! Bastards!"

"Mary! Mary! Fuck! Have those damned mercenaries replied yet?"

"No, sir! There has been no response."

"Hell! Keep contacting them! Tell them I’m willing to pay any price as long as they can help us get out of this godforsaken place!"

If he had known the Russian’s codename was "Money-Grubber," Clark would likely have regretted saying that.