King Of War: Starting with Arms Dealer-Chapter 643 - 616: The Conscience of a Boss

P·B's recruitment was actually quite low-key, but you can't downplay the publicity from 'Gunfire,' the seasoned mercenary.

In addition to another 200 Tuareg people, a large number of temporary workers who jumped ship paid their own way to gather in Liberia, and then Haftar's National Army in Benghazi noticed there had been a recent uptick in dangerous individuals at the airport.

The National Army, which had not long ago driven out terrorists, suddenly became tense and even imposed a curfew.

At first, those freelance pros didn't understand what was going on, Benghazi's hotels had raised their prices, and all the lodging that could accommodate outsiders was guarded by the National Army.

If those dangerous individuals caused even slight trouble, the soldiers from the National Army would come over to mediate with force, and within two days, the incidents of armed fights in Benghazi were higher than when the terrorists were still around.

Haftar, too, was harassed by lawsuits; P·B was now Haftar's most relied-upon collaborator, and Qiao, the boss, wanted to recruit people, so he naturally provided full support.

The air routes from Tubruq hadn't opened yet, so Haftar established a special passage at Benghazi's airport.

However, those freelance guys were cautious; instead of feeling secure about the National Army's VIP passage, they tried as much as possible to disguise themselves as innocent lambs.

As a result, within two days, dozens of businessmen and several engineers arrived in Benghazi...

In the end, that bunch turned Benghazi's inns and taverns into a complete mess.

Nobody was to blame, really—it was all due to the 'enthusiasm' of the National Army, because there was another wave of guys who didn't quite fit in with them causing trouble.

Veterans who responded to 'Gunfire's' call for applicants found themselves in Benghazi facing a group of formidable 'rookies' with the aura of the military still fresh on them.

When they realized these people were there to compete with them, the tension naturally escalated.

The leading figures in the industry couldn't help but size up these 'rookies,' and soon enough, their tempers flared.

Eric's appeal on the internet was strong enough, and his screening process was extremely efficient.

A group of distinctive soldiers, recently discharged, also converged in Benghazi.

These mercenaries, fresh from communal living, managed to refrain from retaliation at the beginning, but as the provocations from the veterans grew more and more outrageous, they started to fight back.

Not understanding the rules can be quite dangerous...

If you trip me, I'll crack open your skull; if you dare insult me, I'll battle you for three hundred rounds.

Winning or losing was secondary; the goal was to come out ahead in a situation where both parties were left damaged.

Benghazi's police station had not detained so many people in just a few days in decades, and they were all troublemakers brought in by the National Army with machine guns pointed at their heads.

It's common for the local police to be corrupt, but faced with those crowded cells full of tough men, the police didn't dare reach out their hands for a bribe and instead dutifully took their statements, organizing the numerous bizarre cases of armed fighting.

The police were actually scared, too, because those criminals looked too tough to handle.

That was until a lawyer arrived at the police station with a suitcase full of cash...

Jori Amon, as P·B's lawyer, took on the task of bailing these guys out.

The Sri Lankan trio from Team C and the sniper Xiao Luo also came; their mission was to observe these individuals, to check their conditions, and to understand their dossiers.

A number of emotionally unstable individuals would be weeded out in the preliminary screening...

Of course, P·B had its own definition of 'instability,' which didn't include instigators and those who retaliated deliberately; they targeted individuals who couldn't control themselves!

Such as those with drinking problems, drug users, and thieves...

With the help of case files, Jori Amon quickly identified several targets along with Poison Wolf and others.

A few guys watched as they were 'fired' before they had even arrived, and they let out angry howls from their holding cells...

Now a big-shot lawyer in Africa, Jori Amon had the protection of Poison Wolf and others, so he wasn't afraid of the losers; he confidently spread open his suitcase on the police officer's desk, revealing neatly bundled US dollars...

One suitcase, cash totaling 3 million US dollars!

In front of many 'criminals,' Jori Amon unwrapped a stack of cash, counted out four bundles of 1,000 US dollars for four eliminated individuals.

Among these guys were two heavy drinkers, one drug user, and one thief.

Whatever their skills might have been, they were no longer important; P·B didn't need people like them.

One Eastern European giant, standing two meters tall, glowered at the cash presented before him and bellowed with bulging eyes, "What the fuck do you mean by this?"

The giant's head was throbbing with veins, scaring the nearby police officers into drawing their guns while National Army soldiers stationed outside rushed in with their weapons at the ready.

Jori Amon gestured to the National Army soldiers who wanted to swing into action to hold off, wiped his cheek and glasses with a white handkerchief, tossed away the handkerchief, and handed over the 1,000 dollars again with a smile, saying, "Sir, thank you for participating in P·B's selection, but you are not suited for P·B.

```

This $1,000 isn't an insult; it's a small token of our appreciation for you.

For the next three days, no matter where you want to go, we can arrange your plane ticket. You can use this money to have some fun in Benghazi or take it back with you.

Our boss needs people with self-control and a basic sense of honor!"

Upon hearing this, the burly man roared and grabbed Jori Amon by the collar, lifting him up, and snarled through bared teeth, "You motherfucker are insulting me…"

Jori Amon held back Poison Scorpion, who was drawing his knife, and patted the burly man's hands, saying, "Sir, I think there's been a misunderstanding. I didn't mean to insult you. I was just telling you P·B's recruitment conditions so you wouldn't make a futile trip.

You're very strong, and you might also be an excellent soldier, but drinking excessively is not acceptable.

P·B isn't looking for cannon fodder. We have to be responsible for all our comrades. Ask anyone around you, who would want to partner up with a heavy drinker on the battlefield?

If you really yearn to join P·B, I would suggest you try quitting drinking and try again later.

I can give you my business card. As long as you succeed, you can call me anytime. P·B's doors are always open to outstanding soldiers."

The burly man glared at the composed Jori Amon and, after a dozen seconds, his gaze dimmed, and he let go, hiding his slightly trembling left hand behind him. With a bitter tone, he said, "People like you just don't understand.

For people like us, alcohol is the cheapest painkiller..."

Jori Amon straightened his collar and nodded, "I understand. I've had my own experiences with excessive drinking, but not due to physical injury...

It's a pity you're not with P·B. Otherwise, you would have access to the most comprehensive medical treatment and rehabilitation if you were injured. Even if you couldn't continue fighting, you could still maintain a relatively stable life."

As he spoke, Jori Amon neatly tucked the $1,000 into the burly man's pocket and then said earnestly, "Sir, P·B respects all brave soldiers!

If you still have hopes for the future, I suggest you try quitting drinking and come back to try again.

Once you secure a contract, you can apply for medical assistance.

P·B believes in a sense of honor, believes in camaraderie, and we won't give up on any of our own!"

After finishing, Jori Amon patted the burly man on the arm, took out $10,000, and handed it to the police, smiling, "This is their bail. We're likely to have more people coming in the next few days, so we can proceed in the same way."

Seeing that Jori Amon was no longer paying attention to him, the burly man clenched the cash in his pocket. After brewing his emotions for a dozen seconds, he suddenly let out a roar and stormed out of the police station...

The other three guys, also eliminated, looked at each other, shook their heads in dejected agreement, and left.

P·B was quite generous, covering round-trip expenses and even giving out a bonus of $1,000 for nothing – one couldn't find any fault with that.

Read lat𝙚st chapters at fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓ Only.

It was only then that the remaining people realized that the 'selection' had already begun!

And Jori Amon's words weren't just for the burly man to hear, but for all of them.

'Sense of honor' – the simplest yet the most difficult...

Those mercenaries running errands in the underworld had not heard this term for who knows how long.

When they had no choice but to pick up a gun and risk their lives, they put their sense of honor aside...

Now that they suddenly heard someone talk about a sense of honor, the bunch felt somewhat uncomfortable, yet there was also a sliver of anticipation.

Nobody is born a mad dog. If given the chance, who wouldn't want to be respected, who wouldn't want to derive satisfaction from their work?

An aging mercenary with some white in his beard suddenly raised his hand and called out, "Sir, what kind of work would we have to do if we joined P·B?"

Jori Amon knew what this guy wanted to ask. An old-timer with his edges worn off probably didn't think a mercenary group needed soldiers with a sense of honor – probably his sharpest retort...

Looking at the old mercenary's peculiar expression, Jori Amon said with a smile, "You are mercenaries, so of course, your job is to fight with guns!

However, as our boss puts it, P·B's soldiers are responsible for fighting against evil!"

The old mercenary was taken aback for a moment, then shook his head and said with a wry smile, "Then who decides what's 'just' and 'evil'?"

Jori Amon spread his hands and said, "We usually depend on the boss's conscience to decide that!"

As he spoke, Jori Amon straightened his clothes, pointed to the lion badge on his suit lapel, and said, "I've served P·B for two years, and I can tell you with certainty, our boss's conscience has never disappointed us.

P·B's soldiers are still fierce and might still clash with a harmonious society.

But every single thing we do with the boss, every fight we take on, has never made us feel any guilt.

We draw glory from every achievement!"

```