Chapter 22
Chapter 22
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: Prince's Rebellion (2)
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The highway leading into Riyadh, the capital of Saudi Arabia.
A sandstorm swirled with clouds of thick dust.
The storm seemed ready to swallow the entire city at any moment.
In the midst of that murky visibility stood dozens of wheeled armored vehicles, lined up and speeding forward.
"Full combat readiness! Disperse rapidly the moment we enter the capital! Stay sharp to the end and stick to the plan!"
A Western man with blue eyes, clad in camouflage fatigues.
From his position as commander of the PMC—private military company—he issued orders via radio to each team leader.
"Team A advances straight to the royal palace! While Team B disables the communications hub, Team C seizes the cabinet offices!"
Static crackled from the radio, followed by the team leaders' confirmations.
"Roger."
"Okay, Captain."
"Confirmed."
Beyond the bulletproof glass at the front of the vehicle, the barren landscape of Riyadh came into view.
Lights began flickering on one by one in the forest of high-rises erected in the middle of the desert.
A short sigh escaped through the commander's clenched lower lip.
"It's unbelievable that an insane operation like this is actually underway...."
The commander pulled away from the radio. His expression was rigid as stone.
A coup. A prince's rebellion.
Not some minor African regime, but a purge of the Saudi royal family's power structure.
This blatantly impossible mission was unfolding with eerie ease, even for a veteran soldier like him.
"Captain, isn't it because Prince Bin Salman is in charge of Saudi military facilities management?"
Beside the commander sat a curly-haired man in a bulletproof vest.
The operations officer fitted a magazine into the Korean-made rifle resupplied at Jubail Port.
With a heavy metallic click, he spoke.
"From unloading supplies and refueling to passing checkpoints and the lack of reports to senior Saudi units—everything's gone smoothly."
From Jubail Port to the outskirts of the capital.
Saudi forces had unwittingly aided the PMC's advance through every military facility.
Prince Bin Salman. It was the power of the pass issued by him in his role as facilities manager.
"They had no idea they were helping our rebels... no, revolutionaries."
"No ally is better than an incompetent enemy. By the way, Captain, what do you make of an operation like this?"
"......"
The commander hesitated to answer the operations officer's question.
He pictured the face of the man who had devised this coup's core strategy.
A young East Asian man who looked young enough to be his nephew.
That confident voice echoed in his mind, as if the man had foreseen this very moment.
'...Just attach Saudi mercenary unit markings to the armored vehicles unloaded at the port. No one will stop you until you reach the capital.'
The voice was still vivid.
Bold. No, reckless. It had sounded impossible.
Even the down payment wired on the spot and the massive success fee didn't register.
'D-Day coincides with a royal event at the palace banquet hall. Make sure the Saudi king and everyone else can't escape.'
But as he listened, the plan grew more concrete.
Was he bewitched?
His explanations unfolded like drawing advance routes on a military map with a pen, turning skepticism into conviction.
And finally, the pass handed directly to him, supposedly from Prince Bin Salman.
The moment he gripped that sword of authority, the impossible plan sketched on the map became reality.
"Captain?"
"Ah, yes. This operation plan? Well...."
Gripping the pass around his neck, the commander responded to his subordinate.
Outside, twilight settled.
In the side window's reflection, he looked like a medieval soldier clutching rosary beads in prayer before battle.
Turning forward again, he exhaled deeply and asked the operations officer.
"Ever heard what Frederick the Great of Prussia said about strategists? That famous quote."
"No matter how many wars you fight, a jackass is still a jackass. It's a common saying about the importance of strategy."
"Right. Jackass.... I thought I was something of a strategist myself, but turns out I'm just a jackass. Real strategists are in a league of their own."
"Captain?"
The city's lights drew closer through the darkness.
At the capital entry checkpoint, a military policeman held a lantern, signaling for inspection.
What would that light become?
A beacon welcoming the new era?
Or a streetlamp that moths hurled themselves toward, knowing death awaited?
"Well, that young East Asian strategist might just turn the streetlamp into a beacon."
The thirty wheeled armored vehicles thundered on without slowing, as if racing in a competition.
The checkpoint loomed nearer.
Visible confusion etched the military policeman's face.
-Stop! Halt!
"Maintain top speed and plow through! No engagements—head straight to your assigned zones!"
The hulking, steel-plated armored vehicle charged, sending the policeman diving aside in terror.
A thunderous boom shook the ground.
The black-and-yellow painted wooden barricades splintered, scattering into the air.
-Boom!
"Captain! All units have entered the capital! Time: 18:45. Zero losses!"
"Keep moving! Full speed! I'll join Team A to the palace! Good luck, everyone. Out!"
Far off loomed the grand Saudi royal palace.
Next to the heart of the nation, built of white stone, stood a modern hotel.
Absorbing the armored vehicle's jolts, the commander's pulse raced.
He imagined the East Asian strategist watching the chaos from some hotel window.
* * * *
At that moment.
Not quite as dramatic as charging armored vehicles, but in the Pyeongchang-dong mansion, an equally massive uproar echoed.
Kim Seong-hye's eyes bulged like billiard balls. Learning grim news about her only son, she collapsed into tears.
"Cheongju-ssi, what do you mean? A coup in Saudi Arabia! Then our Seo-jun!"
"Madam, please calm down and get up...."
"How can I calm down? If something happens to our Seo-jun... Seo-jun!"
In truth, the coup was as good as orchestrated by her only son, but she knew nothing of the details.
Yoo Se-na, the manager there for asset investment consultation, supported Kim Seong-hye as she spoke.
"Don't worry too much, Madam. Strategy Director Han Seo-jun... he might have known everything."
"Honey, what do you mean? Why would our Seo-jun...."
Yoo Se-na recalled the group morning meeting.
Her young boss under fire for the Iraqi military supplies procurement deal.
Even as the tide threatened to turn against their advantage, Han Seo-jun remained unflappable.
He simply tossed out one confident line, as if the solution was plain as day.
'No big deal. Just a quick business trip and it'll be sorted.'
Without hesitation, he'd booked a flight to Saudi.
So Yoo Se-na sensed it instinctively.
That business trip and this coup were linked. No—causally connected.
"It's fine, Madam. Calm down a bit, and I'll gather what info I can and report back."
"Please do.... I'll trust only in our boy."
After hugging Kim Seong-hye, Yoo Se-na left the Pyeongchang-dong residence.
Driving under streetlights, she paused at a signal.
Staring at the flashing pedestrian light, she fell into thought.
Suddenly, she remembered seeing Strategy Director Han Seo-jun off at Incheon Airport.
Just before passing through immigration, her young boss had offhandedly remarked.
'If this goes well... it might lead to something good for Manager Yoo's father too.'
"Director? What do you mean?"
'[Cocoa Bank]. They're short on seed money... Anyway, don't worry about it—just handle things here.'
The pedestrian light turned red. The vehicle light went green.
Passing Gwanghwamun Square, her eyes fell on the Ammunition Group headquarters in the middle of Cheonggyecheon.
Pressing hard on the accelerator, faint puzzle pieces began clicking together in Yoo Se-na's mind.
Teasingly, without a clear silhouette—just endless fanfare.
* * * *
Yoo Se-na wasn't the only one racing toward Ammunition Group headquarters.
At Hotel Florence in the heart of Gangnam, Director Seo Myung-hee—there for a clan gathering—heard the Saudi news and hurried to HQ.
Simultaneously, the presidents of Heavy Industries, Construction, and Shipbuilding & Marine—mid-drinking party at a room salon in Gangnam—arrived too.
Reeking of booze, though.
"What in the hell is going on!"
Seo Taehu roared before the hastily assembled executives.
The heir had just begun to sprout.
Uncertain compared to her youngest, Han Hwa-gi, but his untapped potential made him group timber.
"Local subsidiary? We must have a Saudi branch among the affiliates! Who's in charge there!"
"Uh... Heavy Industries handles our Saudi subsidiary too. Urp!"
Park Han-i, president of Heavy Industries, slurred amid his boozy stench.
He'd been drinking with the defense ministry vice minister, face flushed.
"You're boozing it up in this crisis? Some 'overall head' you are!"
"My apologies. I have no excuse... urp!"
Having played cupbearer to the high official to his limit, Park Han-i inwardly cursed the vice minister while scheming.
'That rotten old geezer will treat me like a mutt the second he retires. But... Han Seo-jun's caught in the Saudi mess.'
Muting Seo Taehu's tirade mentally—like invisible earplugs—it felt much better.
In fleeting inner peace, his mental calculator whirred.
'Right! Heavy Industries oversees the Saudi branch! Dragging feet and stonewalling could work in my favor.'
For Park Han-i, the more trouble for that bastard illegitimate young master, the better.
If he botched it big in Saudi, succession would tilt to his boss, Han Hwa-gi.
'And if a stray rebel bullet takes him out... jackpot. Total free win, in slang.'
Sketching happy circuits in his head, Park Han-i fixed on Han Hwa-gi, sternly posturing ahead.
The future Ammunition Group chairman, Han Hwa-gi, and beside him, himself as vice president.
Unable to hide his rising smirk, Park Han-i cleared his throat.
"Ahem, then I'll check through the Saudi subsidiary...."
"Hey! Park Han-i! What nonsense are you spouting!"
Seo Taehu suddenly tore into him. He'd done as told—why this lightning?
And Seong Won-sik, president of Shipbuilding & Marine, elbowing him.
"Ha, seriously. President Park, sober up already."
"What? What's going on?"
"Get a grip. Look at the TV news."
Red bold text: [Breaking News].
The screen showed Prince Bin Salman's speech, leader of the putsch.
To the prince's right—a seat for key insiders—sat someone Park Han-i never imagined, wearing a victorious smile.
"Gah! Wh-what the hell! Why's that Han Seo-jun punk there!"