Chapter 78 The Viper's Blame
Naga headquarters in northern Myanmar.
Victor Berg stood in front of the huge map of Indochina, his fingertips slowly sliding along the direction of the Mekong River. His gray-blue eyes reflected the dense markings on the map, as if he was examining a carefully planned chess game.
After thinking for a moment, he picked up the communicator and dialed the encrypted channel of the young master of the Song family in Laos.
Laos, Song Family Manor.
Young Master Song stared intently at the bombed-out dock on the screen, his face ashen. Three cargo ships laden with munitions had been reduced to ashes overnight in flames—this was Mo Xiaohan's revenge, and a blatant humiliation that had humiliated him in front of his father.
"Damn it!" He suddenly kicked over the mahogany coffee table in front of him. The crisp sound of shattering glass was filled with gnashing hatred. "That lunatic!"
The butler nervously handed over the vibrating encrypted communicator: "Master, the one in Europe...has replied."
Young Master Song's eyes lit up instantly. He rubbed his hands excitedly and looked at Victor on the video call. His tone was subtly flattering: "You finally contacted me! Are you going to join forces to deal with Mo Xiaohan?"
"Of course." Victor's voice was low and elegant, entwined with a subtle allure. "I heard... your father doesn't seem very happy with you lately?"
Young Master Song's expression suddenly froze. Ever since Mo Xiaohan's revenge had caused the Song family to suffer heavy losses, his position within the family had plummeted. The look in his father's eyes, which had long since lost its former indulgence, was replaced by a cold scrutiny.
"I have a way to make Mo Xiaohan suffer unbearably." A hint of laughter seeped into Victor's voice, "But I need... a little cooperation from you."
Master Song's eyes were filled with anxious flames, and he almost blurted out: "You say!"
The next morning, the Mekong River section on the Thai-Laos border.
A yacht drifted quietly in the morning mist. On the deck lay the bodies of Young Master Song and his confidants, their deaths tragic. A badge, marked by its dark river patterns, stood out in the hazy moonlight—it was the emblem of the Mohist Dark River Group.
General Song stood in front of his son's cold body, his calloused hands gently stroking the young man's pale cheek, the roughness of his fingertips rubbing against the stiff skin.
"General, it's been confirmed that the Mohist sect is responsible for the young master's death," the adjutant reported in a low voice. "The bullet model exactly matches the M24 sniper rifle registered in the Mohist arsenal."
"Mo, Xiao, Han."
The wrinkled face looked particularly gloomy in the dim light. General Song slowly raised his head, and his turbid eyes were filled with murderous intent that was almost devouring.
"Send the order." The hoarse voice was filled with determination. "First, blow up all Mohist cargo terminals on the Mekong River. Second, offer a reward of one billion Thai baht for Ruan Xingchen's head. Third—" He paused, forcing the words through his teeth, "Contact our allies in Myanmar and have them act simultaneously, a two-pronged attack."
The adjutant hesitated and said, "General, wouldn't it be too risky to go to war directly with the Mohists?"
"My son is dead!" General Song roared, "Mo Xiaohan must pay with blood!"
Victor stood in front of the window, holding a glass of amber whiskey between his fingers, a smile on the corner of his lips, but his eyes were like a frozen lake.
"Is everything arranged?" he asked softly.
The confidant behind him bowed his head and replied, "Yes, sir. The body has been handled as planned. The shell casing and ballistics are a perfect match for Mohist standard weapons. The on-site surveillance has also been replaced."
"I hope our 'friend' died with some value." Victor shook his wine glass, and the ice cubes made a crisp sound when they collided. "Mo Xiaohan...can you escape unscathed this time?"
At three o'clock in the morning, Mo Xiaohan was awakened by an emergency call from the communicator.
"Boss, something happened." A-Tai's voice was tense. "General Song's son and his confidant from Laos were killed on a yacht. There were traces of us at the scene."
Mo Xiaohan sat up suddenly, and the air pressure around him dropped sharply.
"Explain clearly."
"The murder weapon was an M24 sniper rifle, registered at the Mohist arsenal. A Dark River Group badge was also left at the scene."
Ruan Xingchen, who was beside him, was also awakened, her fingers unconsciously clenching the sheets. Mo Xiaohan noticed her nervousness and reached out to gently pinch her wrist to reassure her, but his voice was as cold as ice: "What is the Song family doing?"
"General Song has assembled his own army and is demanding you pay with blood."
Mo Xiaohan sneered and hung up the phone.
Ruan Xingchen reached out and touched his tense back, his fingertips could clearly feel the muscles expanding.
"Is someone framing me?"
"Yeah." He held her fingertips with his backhand, his voice low and calm, "But using this method... doesn't seem like the style of those old rivals."
Mo Xiaohan gazed out the window at the dark night. Beneath the thick black sky, an undercurrent seemed to surge. The chill surging in his eyes had not yet dissipated, and a larger storm had quietly gathered on the horizon, ready to erupt.
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