Chapter 21
Chapter 21
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: Prince's Rebellion (1)
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My interlaced hands stretched toward the chandelier on the ceiling, letting out a satisfying crack.
And then came the exaggerated groan in my ear, playful as if he were putting on a show.
“Ugh! Man, it’s been ages since I worked this hard today.”
“You’ve done well, sir. Time to catch your breath now.”
Uncle Kim Won-cheol was highly capable.
Even though it had been quite a while since he last handled fieldwork, it only took him days to analyze and organize all the data I’d requested.
This was Riyadh, the capital of Saudi Arabia—a top-tier hotel suite right next to the royal palace.
Next to the two laptops with their cooling fans whirring away lay the remnants of countless room service snacks scattered about.
“Want anything else to eat?”
“If my blood sugar’s dropping, I gotta top it up. Recommend a dessert.”
A porcelain bowl adorned with gold.
I popped open the lid with a clink and offered the contents to Uncle Kim Won-cheol.
“You’re not having the dried dates anymore? I thought they were tasty.”
“Ha! I got indigestion from those last time. Because of our Strategy Director here, who lives like he’s got nine lives.”
Grumbling pointlessly, Uncle Kim Won-cheol grabbed a chocolate macaron and stuffed it into his mouth.
He must have really soured on dried dates, as he didn’t even glance their way.
Apparently, the friendly chat with Prince Bin Salman a few days back had weighed on him.
“I ended up doubled over twice that time, you know? Once when I was ranting that Saudi’s a doomed royal family, like some theocratic throwback.”
Looking back, I had been pretty shocked then.
My choking reaction while scrambling for water had been memorable.
“The other time... Ugh, plotting a coup—or should I say, a prince’s rebellion—in someone else’s country. What were you even thinking?”
“I had conviction. Conviction in Prince Bin Salman as a man. And conviction in the nature of power itself.”
I deliberately curved my lips into a benevolent smile, like the Maitreya Buddha.
Bin Salman.
I couldn’t exactly say I’d seen this guy seize power in the future, so glossing over it was the best move.
Uncle Kim Won-cheol, seeing my smile, could only shake his head side to side.
“You’re something else. Anyway... I finished analyzing what you asked for. Wanna see it now?”
“Ah, it’s finally ready? Let’s have a look, then...”
The laptop screens that hadn’t been powered off once in days.
The fruits of our labor, etched with beads of sweat from me and Uncle Kim Won-cheol, filled my view.
Excel sheets crammed full of formulas that looked complex at a glance but were impeccably clean when you broke them down line by line.
Every number brazenly laid out on the accounting ledgers clearly pointed to the promise I’d secured from Prince Bin Salman just days ago.
- Present value of projected future revenue: 75 billion USD (approx. 90 trillion KRW)
“Whoa... This is hard to believe.”
“Heh heh heh... I thought I’d messed up my calculations at first. Turns out there was an extra zero tacked on.”
A staggering sum that could leave anyone’s jaw on the floor.
Oil nation forever, oil money forever.
“The defense sector’s set for at least the next 20 years, no sweat.”
“Even conservatively, that’s minimum 4.5 trillion KRW in annual revenue. The big shots at Korea’s Ministry of National Defense won’t dare mess with you.”
“Exactly. And it’s all in foreign currency.”
“Then... time for me to claim my reward for the labor.”
Uncle Kim Won-cheol pulled an expensive wine from the hotel fridge and uncorked it.
Fine, fair enough.
At this moment, he more than deserved to drink whatever pricey bottle he wanted.
I naturally grabbed two glasses and set them on the table.
“Kha! Oh, that hits the spot.”
After the red wine, laced with the rich aroma of oak on his nape, passed down, the balding uncle with a forehead as red as the wine spoke up.
“Man, that Bin Salman guy thinks big. Plus, the Saudi military’s internal mess worked in our favor.”
“Well, yeah. I didn’t expect it to be that much of a shitshow, though.”
The cheerful clink of glasses touching.
Savoring the toast of joy, I recalled the conversation from days ago at Prince Bin Salman’s residence.
* * * *
Saudi Arabia was a quasi-theocracy.
Not that I’d meant it that way, but looking back, the statement was 100% grounded in fact.
‘Are you sure it’s okay for Ammunition Group to oversee Saudi’s entire defense reforms? We’re just a foreign company to them, after all.’
‘You’re the one who proposed it in the first place. No point acting coy now.’
‘True enough.’
‘And I know how pathetically inept the Saudi Defense Ministry bureaucrats are.’
The Saudi military.
A Middle Eastern version of the Tang dynasty army, rotten through with corruption and devoid of expertise.
The word “incompetent” alone lacked the expressive power to capture their antics.
‘Whew...’
Prince Bin Salman let out a sigh deep enough to cave the ground.
Had I hit some trigger?
Words poured from this young reformer, who seemed to genuinely care for his country.
‘No, forget the bureaucrats—the royals are the real problem. My uncle, the intelligence chief, once told the Americans this.’
Saudi intelligence chief. Equivalent to Korea’s NIS director.
Mimicking like an impressionist, Prince Bin Salman replicated his uncle’s weary, deflated voice.
‘We don’t do operations. We don’t even know how. All we know is how to write checks.’
‘......’
I was momentarily speechless at the absurd remark that defied common sense.
No wonder Saudi, with the world’s third-highest defense spending, had such a disastrous military.
Unable to hide his frustration, Prince Bin Salman continued.
‘Sadly, I lack expertise in military affairs too. All I know is how to write checks.’
With that, he thrust his right hand forward.
His index finger, brimming with unwavering conviction, pointed straight at me.
‘But I do know how to write them properly.’
‘That alone achieves half the reform.’
Unbelievable government officials.
Tossing them more budget fish would just yield another Tang dynasty army.
Better to hire a competent cat and hand it the fish instead—even if it’s from a private defense firm on the other side of the globe.
‘Given the reality, I have no choice but to give the checks to your Ammunition Group. A pitiful country with nothing but dollars and oil.’
‘...Entrust it to us, and we’ll deliver results exceeding the amount.’
If they had dollars and oil, didn’t they already have everything? But I was in sales mode, so I didn’t nitpick.
Even now, reflecting on it, the conversation defied imagination. I set down my wine glass and spoke to Uncle Kim Won-cheol.
“Phew, better stop here. Real work’s coming up.”
“Yeah, time for us to steel ourselves. Gives me chills.”
Finishing the recollection of Prince Bin Salman, I rose from the sofa.
Uncle Kim Won-cheol, as if he hadn’t just drunk wine, gripped the reins of tension again.
Friday evening.
Five days since that meeting at the residence.
The grandfather clock in one corner of the hotel suite ticked ever closer to the appointed hour.
“Last evening prayer in 10 minutes? That’s when the PMC enters the capital?”
“That’s right. They should bite soon... Whoa! Holy shit!”
-Bang! Bang-bang!
Gunfire erupted outside the glass window.
They’d mobilized heavy weapons like grenades and machine guns too—explosions rocked the room like an earthquake in between.
Even though it was exactly on schedule and as planned, the tension of live combat hit different.
“Ugh... My heart’s gonna drop out.”
“You okay, sir? You went to a tough unit in the army...”
“Last time I heard explosives go off... 30 years ago? It’s been a while. No wonder I’m jumpy.”
“I heard some at reserve training a couple months back. Enjoy it to your heart’s content today.”
-Actual situation! Actual situation! All personnel return to base immediately! Actual situation! Actual situation!
Sirens blared with the alert, and urban combat began heating up.
Peering through the curtains below, I saw PMC troops in armored vehicles roaring toward the palace, fully armed with Ammunition Group weapons.
“The trigger’s been pulled at last.”
A painting framed by the window: the prince’s rebellion against a desert backdrop.
My hardened face reflected in the dark night’s canvas.
I reached out, wiping away the fog on the glass—and my unease with it.
No need for nerves. Everything would unfold... exactly as I willed.
“Are the broadcasts and internet down? Check now!”
First things first: communications.
If Prince Bin Salman’s faction had truly seized control amid this chaos... they’d have locked down the domestic networks for sure.
“Hold on!”
Uncle Kim Won-cheol hurriedly switched on the TV and plugged in the laptop jack.
The litmus test for the prince’s rebellion began turning crimson.
“No broadcasts at all, and internet... Wi-Fi and wired both dead. Korean carrier roaming’s out too.”
Something had clearly hit the comms infrastructure, but it wasn’t fully secured yet.
Fierce flames at the palace entrance made it hard to gauge the battle from the hotel window.
“Still holding... It should be starting any second.”
My heart raced wildly.
The clock’s ticking pendulum choked my breath.
My mind, chaotic as the scene outside, pulled the tension reins to their limit.
Then, a tiny hand burst the balloon of suspense.
The hour hand marched forward with a metallic click, precisely hitting the 7.
-Dong! Dong! Dong!
The grandfather clock tolled its crude metallic peal. At the same instant, evening prayer echoed from massive speakers outside.
-Allah is the Greatest! I bear witness there is no god but Allah!
The hymn praising God’s will wasn’t an overstatement for what changed Saudi Arabia’s throne that day.
The ritual prayer lasted over 10 minutes amid the gunfire.
In that brief span, everything I’d hoped for came true, as if by magic.
From God’s will... to man’s.