Strongest Soldier King

"Notify you immediately at the slightest sign of trouble, hahaha, that's really killing me," someone in the spacious basement of the Sam Country Embassy said while mimicking Lan Xing's words, causing laughter from many around.

The ambassador was also nearby, not stopping the laughter, but instead appearing contemplative, eyes fixed intently on the electronic screen. Beside him stood a martial arts hall officer from the embassy, about fifty years old, dressed in a well-fitted officer's uniform, exuding a sharp aura, standing straight—clearly a veteran—also staring at the electronic screen with a heavy expression.

"Your Excellency, the martial arts hall officer, what are your thoughts?" the ambassador asked quietly, suppressing the laughter of everyone. They quickly resumed typing on their keyboards, eyes glued to their screens, busy once more.

"Huaxia Country damaged nearby communication equipment and blocked our signals. This move was indeed ruthless, catching us off guard, but they certainly can't imagine we have an independent communication cable in the basement connected to a hidden radar ten kilometers away. The notion of cutting off our contact with the outside world is a joke. With our country's informatization combat capabilities, there's nothing to fear," the martial arts hall officer said seriously.

"That's not entirely accurate, caution is still needed. The Strategic Intelligence Bureau has already failed once; it must not happen again. They're asking us to cooperate fully with the operation this time. All we can do is provide equipment and venue, the specifics they must handle themselves," the ambassador whispered. "What did that bastard just say? It sounded like a string of numbers that fit a code. Could it be a password? What are they trying to do?"

"You're right, Your Excellency, it must be a password. We finally managed to intercept their communications, only to find they've switched to using passwords. These people are indeed not simple; they're one of the most formidable teams from Huaxia Country that I've seen. But so what? As long as we keep track of their position, all plots and schemes are jokes in the face of absolute strength. Considering our warriors' combat power, handling them is not a problem," the martial arts hall officer said coldly, a strong sense of confidence emerging on his face.

"You're right. They're resting now and won't act anytime soon. Bring up the real-time dynamics of the Guerrilla unit," the ambassador instructed the people behind him.

The relevant personnel immediately tapped on the keyboard, switching to a whole new screen showing a Guerrilla unit appearing to retreat in a panic. The ambassador was taken aback, looked towards the martial arts hall officer—after all, the ambassador didn't know much about combat—and the martial arts hall officer also curiously watched this scene, contemplating.

After a while, the martial arts hall officer suddenly said, "After we divided our forces, a small team went straight for the Guerrilla unit. With the team's combat power, dealing with this kind of Guerrilla unit is more than enough. Could they have discovered something? That's impossible. I suspect this Guerrilla unit is done playing and is preparing to retreat."

"That makes sense. So what should we do next?" the ambassador asked curiously.

"Our superiors only asked us to cooperate. The decision-making should be left to the Strategic Intelligence Bureau. I'm sure they've also noticed this situation. We'll wait and see what they decide to do," the martial arts hall officer replied, looking at the retreating Guerrilla unit on the electronic screen, a cold smile appearing on his stern face.

The Guerrilla unit descended from the mountain and got on about a dozen trucks, suddenly turning around and fleeing. The martial arts hall officer was shocked, his expression turning grim as he quickly said, "Immediately zoom out the map, check the direction this Guerrilla unit is heading."

It wasn't long before the satellite monitoring image zoomed out, and the martial arts hall officer discovered the Guerrilla unit was heading in the direction where Luo Zheng and others were resting. Using vehicles, they had quickly left the ambush team behind on the mountainside, and he was astonished. Suddenly realizing something, he said, "Not good, they're heading to rendezvous and concentrate forces to take down our other team."

"That makes sense. Even if our people know, they can't outrun vehicles. What should we do?" the ambassador asked in surprise.

"Forget it, send the information to the Strategic Intelligence Bureau and let them handle it," the martial arts hall officer said as the basement door opened, and three people entered. The leader was a middle-aged man of about forty-five or six, dressed in a well-tailored suit, exuding a refined aura. Behind him were a man and a woman—the man in a suit, with short hair and sharp eyes, looking very capable, and the woman with wavy long hair, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, with crimson lips exuding an allure. All three appeared to be Caucasian.

"What's the situation now?" the middle-aged leader asked coldly.

"Captain, you're here just in time," the ambassador, recognizing the director of the Strategic Intelligence Bureau's Special Action Team, greeted warmly and recounted what had happened. "Captain, you're in charge of the entire operation. What should we do next?"

"Probing? Encirclement?" the middle-aged man pondered deeply, then after a moment, his face turned serious as he said, "It seems the opponent suspects they're being monitored and is using this tactic to probe us. If we react, we'll fall into their trap, but doing nothing also falls into a trap. It's an open scheme; indeed, they're a worthy opponent."

"Captain, with our team's combat capabilities, even if the Guerrilla unit catches up, they only have five people. It's feasible to withstand for half an hour without defeat, allowing the original team meant to intercept the Guerrilla unit to hurry to support. Two teams are more than enough to handle them," the alluring woman suggested, her voice somewhat icy.

"Confidence is good, but overconfidence is arrogance. The sniper shot to death was one of this team's sniper aces, and what was the outcome? A miserable death on the battlefield. The cost of underestimating the enemy is death. Such a mistake must not happen on my watch, nor do I want to hear such a ridiculous suggestion from you again," the middle-aged team leader said coldly, eyes glued to the electronic screen, lost in thought.

After a moment, the middle-aged team leader suddenly said, "Since they want to play, want to concentrate superior forces to encircle our ambush forces from both sides, then let's play along. Immediately notify the ambush forces to advance, take a bite, and then retreat, lead these bastards by the nose. Let another team head to rendezvous quickly, and for the team already disengaged from the battlefield, have them take the documents to the local embassy as soon as possible."

"Good idea," the ambassador and the martial arts hall officer sincerely praised, using mobile warfare to exhaust the opponent across the mountains to buy time for another team. Once at the local embassy, even if caught up, a forceful attack is not possible, allowing for the safe transmission of documents.

However, after issuing the order, the team leader didn't feel any relief, instead, there was an indistinct sense of wrongness. Yet he couldn't pinpoint what it was, leading him to ponder deeply. The ambassador, confused, asked, "Captain, with us in control of the situation, you don't look well. What are you worried about? Is something off?"