Go back in time and be a chaebol

Chapter 2581 The Sword of Justice (Third Update, Please Subscribe)

March is the hot season, with not only a lot of rain but also hot weather.

The scorching heat and rain enveloped the vast rainforest of Cardamom Mountain like a sauna. The towering trees within the rainforest intertwined their branches to form an impenetrable dome, burying everything on the ground in a dim, sweltering, and humid atmosphere.

Beneath the green dome, a layer of mist permeated the air, obscuring everything. From the air, the greenery and mist together formed this world.

Thousands of meters above the ground, a Reaper unmanned combat aerial vehicle was flying silently. The turboprop engine was not loud, and the blue-gray fuselage was almost blending into the clouds.

Over the past few months, he has played the role of an aerial reaper, equipped with laser-guided bombs and guided rockets capable of destroying any target, and even the cover of the rainforest cannot stop his killing spree.

Before it launches its attack, people on the ground are often completely unaware of this deadly threat—dense clouds obscure its form, and its height and distance muffle its engine noise. People on the ground are often in their own world, completely unaware that death is already hovering overhead.

Until the moment death arrives.

As usual, a campsite deep in the rainforest was shrouded in mist. A dozen or so low thatched huts were scattered among them, and on the surrounding open ground, a dozen soldiers in black uniforms were patrolling back and forth, their distinctive red and white checkered turbans around their necks standing out in the dim light.

Holding AK rifles, they warily scanned the surrounding dense forest, their fingers always near the trigger. At the slightest disturbance, they would immediately stop and observe their surroundings cautiously.

In the open space in the center of the campsite, several campfires were burning brightly, the orange flames leaping and casting long and short shadows of the people around them.

Some soldiers sat around the campfire, talking in hushed tones. Occasionally, some voices could be heard, but no one dared to make a loud noise or tell jokes. They were like a group of Puritans, serious and unsmiling.

They discussed their next course of action, but no one complained about the damp environment of the rainforest or the annoying mosquitoes, nor did anyone complain about the failures they had suffered. In fact, not only did they not complain, but they were also convinced that under Anka's leadership, they would achieve new victories.

At this moment, these people, full of confidence in the future, were completely unaware that their every move was being seen clearly by the "eyes" high in the sky.

The high-definition cameras on the Death drone are precisely capturing every detail of the village, and the images are transmitted in real time to the joint command center thousands of kilometers away via satellite signals.

In Bangkok, inside the command center and the drone control room, an electronic screen dominates the area in front of the operator, clearly displaying real-time footage of the campsite. The drone pilot, wearing headphones, sits with his right hand on the control stick, his eyes glued to the screen, just like any other pilot, with virtually no space around his head, awaiting instructions at any moment.

Behind him, the commander stood there, his expression serious, his eyes fixed on the screen, his hand tightly gripping the microphone. He was waiting for information from the intelligence department, a signal from the informant at the front.

"Reporting to the commander, the informant has confirmed that the target has entered the third thatched house on the north side."

The intelligence department's reply came through the phone, clear and steady.

The commander's gaze immediately fell on the inconspicuous thatched house on the screen, where those people were currently holding a meeting.

He took a deep breath and gave the order to the drone controller:

"Target confirmed. Execute Operation 'Sword of Justice'!"

"Roger! Execute 'Sword of Justice'!"

The drone operator responded immediately and pressed the launch button without hesitation.

High in the sky, the Reaper drone dipped slightly as a 200-kilogram laser-guided bomb detached from its rack and, guided by the laser, swooped down towards the target thatched house. Inside the village, soldiers gathered around the campfire continued their conversation, and patrolling soldiers remained vigilantly watching the dense forest; no one noticed the deadly aerial attack approaching.

"boom--!"

A deafening roar shattered the silence of the rainforest. The target was instantly engulfed in flames, and a massive shockwave spread outwards, blowing away the surrounding thatched huts like pieces of paper and sending sparks flying from the campfire.

The thick smoke from the explosion shot straight into the sky, rising into a fiery red cloud amidst the green and white hues.

The soldiers in the campsite were instantly thrown into chaos. Some were knocked to the ground by the shockwave, some fled in panic, and others instinctively raised their rifles, unaware of where the enemy was.

However, the attacks did not stop there.

Even before the smoke from the first explosion had dissipated, a second bomb fell from the sky, striking the very center of the campsite with pinpoint accuracy. Another deafening roar followed, followed by an even greater eruption of flames and thick smoke, instantly turning the entire campsite into an inferno. On the command center screen, the campsite was now razed to the ground, reduced to a burning wasteland.

"Commander, both bombs hit their targets. The encampment has been destroyed. Mission accomplished!"

The drone operator looked at the screen and calmly reported.

The commander nodded, immediately picked up another phone, and reported to his superiors:
"Operation 'Sword of Justice' has completed its strike mission and the target has been eliminated. The effectiveness of the mission needs to be assessed by informants on-site. Currently, live footage shows that the remaining personnel at the scene are in a state of panic and are searching for survivors."

The commander then hung up the phone and looked at the screen again.

On the screen, in the campsite that had been razed to the ground, some soldiers who had miraculously survived were stumbling and searching for their comrades. Although their expressions could not be seen, their fear could still be felt from their movements.

Meanwhile, the Reaper drones hovered silently high in the sky, awaiting further instructions.

……

For journalists, working the night shift is a normal thing. As usual, Chen Liqiang unfolded his chair, then lay down fully clothed, dozing off while planning tomorrow's front page.

What will be on the front page tomorrow?
Although Chen Liqiang was not the newspaper's editor-in-chief, the editor-in-chief needed his advice.
"Your Excellency received the President of the Republic of Cambodia at the official residence..."

What do you think of this news?
With that in mind, Chen Liqiang shared his idea with Song Weilun, who was also on night shift. "Weilun, what do you think of this headline—'Turbulence Rises Again in Cambodia, Official Residence…'"

Before Chen Liqiang could finish speaking, Song Weilun said:

"Director, you know that no one cares about Zhenla at all. We don't have much contact with them."

Song Weilun, who was lying on the chair, was telling the truth. No one had paid much attention to Zhenla, except for the evacuation of Chinese citizens four years ago.

Even though the humanitarian crisis in Zhenla has been reported on television and in newspapers in recent months, so what?

They might sympathize with the people there, but on the other hand, they would also say—that's what they deserve.

The reason for this is that, in the eyes of many, their choices back then determined their later fate.

Another reason is that they are not a family, so they don't care much about each other.

"Actually, Director, I think it would be better to report on the lives of those expatriates who went to East Africa rather than their misery. While those who stayed in Zhenla were suffering from disaster, those expatriates who were evacuated from Zhenla with our help started a new life in East Africa."

Although not everyone may like to read it, it's still news from our own people.

Song Weilun's suggestion made Chen Liqiang shake his head and laugh:

"It's true that it's news about our own people, but what's the point of such news?"

Shaking his head, Chen Liqiang said with considerable emotion:
"What we need is news that can grab people's attention. Although people don't really care about Cambodia, the key to news is to attract attention..."

While Chen Liqiang was sharing his views on the news, Song Weilun lay there looking at the clock on the wall. It was 10 p.m. What news would it be if the phone rang at this time?

Car accident? Fire? Or some other emergency?
This is precisely the purpose of their night shift: to wait for breaking news, and if it's big news, to adjust the front page accordingly.

In reality, the front page of the newspaper wouldn't be finalized until midnight.

"...Your Excellency's reception of the President of the Republic of Zhenla at the official residence actually demonstrates our attitude. The government is expressing its support for the Republic of Zhenla in this way. You should know that the situation in Zhenla is very delicate right now. The Rising Dragon faction has supported their puppet, while on the other side, Chizhen has already retreated to the rainforest."

Your Excellency's reception signifies a shift in the official stance; therefore, I believe that in the near future, we are very likely to provide full assistance to Zhenla. Using it on the front page is appropriate…”

Just as he was analyzing why this news was on the front page, the phone suddenly rang. The moment the phone rang, Song Weilun sat up and answered it.

"Chang'an Times News Department"

"I have some big news for you all,"

A man's voice came from the other end of the phone.

"Oh, really? What big news is it?"

Song Weilun gave the director a wink, then pressed the speakerphone button.

"It's about Zhenla. Just a few days ago, something big happened there..."

What the man said next stunned both Song Weilun and Chen Liqiang. Chen Liqiang quickly replied:

Is what you're saying true? What evidence do you have?

"There is an envelope in your newspaper's mailbox containing a document from the Siamese intelligence agency. The document will confirm this information."

Then the phone call ended, and after that, Song Weilun ran outside and quickly returned with an envelope.

After the envelope was opened, both of their expressions changed slightly.

The online content seemed incredible to them. Some of it even exceeded their expectations.

"Is this true?"

Despite saying that, the Siamese intelligence agency logo was clearly visible on the document.

Both the photos and the documents clearly demonstrate one thing.

This is true, without a doubt.

After repeatedly verifying the authenticity of the document, Chen Liqiang suddenly smiled and said while looking at the document:

"Alright, we have tomorrow's front page."

(End of this chapter)