London, deep within the MI6 Headquarters on the bank of the Thames River, lies an operation intelligence room filled with screens.

At the center of the screen, Duer's tear-streaked and despairing face is shown as he delivers his resignation speech with a hoarse, broken voice.

The room is deathly silent, except for the low buzzing of equipment. The air seems frozen, heavy enough to suffocate.

"Damn it! What the hell is going on?!"

A middle-aged man with impeccably combed hair slams his fist on the console, causing a nearby coffee cup to jump, spilling dark brown liquid onto the pristine white sleeve.

He is the head of intelligence, Richard Ames.

His usual British indifference and superiority have vanished, leaving only shock and wrath.

"Duer, that coward! How could he just... just kneel like that?!"

In front of the main intelligence console, a young analyst's fingers fly across the keyboard, pulling up satellite maps and real-time signal analysis.

"Signal source confirmed from Sen National Television Headquarters, no editing traces. It's a live broadcast. Duer's mental state... has evidently completely collapsed. There are armed personnel controlling him."

"Armed personnel?"

Ames rushes to the screen, staring intently at the two black figures behind Duer, blurry but imposing.

"Mercenaries? Which company? Investigate! I need it pinpointed immediately! And that Isis, who's backing him?! Russians? Or those damned French?!"

"Initial analysis points to 'Musician' Defense."

The analyst speaks quickly, pulling up several blurred battlefield photos and a brief assessment report.

"As for Isis, he's a former Mining Minister, his family is quite prestigious in Sen, with deep ties to the French. His sudden rise to power is evidently orchestrated by the French side."

"French?!"

A glint of malice flashes in Ames' eyes, "Damn Gallia! They definitely meddled! Those bastards at DGSE (French External Security Agency) have been challenging us in West Africa!"

He irritably loosens his tie, pacing on the spot, "Immediately submit the intelligence to our representative at the UN! Tell them this is a blatant military coup! A brutal violation of international law and democratic principles! The 'legitimate government' of Sen has been overthrown by a bunch of profit-seeking mercenaries and their puppet! We must respond forcefully! Peacekeeping Forces! Immediately form Peacekeeping Forces to enter Sen, restore order! Protect the 'legitimate' General Lumar!"

He suddenly grabs the encrypted phone on the desk, "Prepare a report at once, I must see Lady M, she needs to know this immediately, 'Musician' Defense... 'Musician' Defense... I bet the Americans would very much want to know this information, transmit this message through the shared intelligence channels to our 'ally.'"

Ames' eyes narrow slightly, a dreadful name flashes through his mind—Song Heping.

Isn't this guy dead?

New York, UN Emergency Meeting Hall.

The atmosphere around the enormous horseshoe-shaped conference table is as heavy as lead.

"...Ladies and gentlemen, the Sen Republic is experiencing a humanitarian disaster!"

U.S. Permanent Representative to the UN, William Thornberg, his voice loud and carrying an undeniable sense of righteousness, reverberates under the dome.

Behind him, the large screen repeatedly plays carefully selected footage: burning vehicles and shops on the capital's streets, civilians crying within ruins, the sharp spire of Duer Presidential Mansion destroyed in a bombing, and the desperate broken fragment from Duer's resignation video.

"An elected, albeit controversial but striving to restore order, government has been overthrown by a cold-hearted group of mercenaries with tanks and cannons! Their leader, a 'ghost' who dares not show his true appearance, has propped up a long-exiled puppet! President Duer was forced to announce his resignation under the guns of armed personnel, it's a rape of the will of the Sen people! A blatant provocation against the principles of peace and security upheld by the international community!"

At the crucial moment, Thornberg vigorously swings his right hand, as if to smash the invisible enemy in the air.

His sharp gaze sweeps across the assembly, especially pausing for a moment on the face of the French representative.

"We cannot stand by while a sovereign nation slides into the abyss of warlord chaos! Cannot tolerate mercenaries, these modern pirates, becoming the masters of national fate! On behalf of the United States of America, I urgently call for UN authorization to immediately form a robust international peacekeeping force to enter the Sen Republic! Protect civilians, isolate conflicting parties, monitor a peaceful transfer of power, and ensure that the upcoming elections are free and fair!"

His speech brings nods of agreement from the Commonwealth nations' representatives and several staunch allies, low whispers spreading across the hall.

The French representative, Jean-Pierre Leclerc, a veteran diplomat with silver hair combed impeccably, bears a nearly arrogant calm on his face.

He gently adjusts his rimless glasses, waiting for a few moments after Thornberg's voice fades, before speaking slowly and deliberately, his voice clear and penetrating.

"Ambassador Sornberg's 'righteous indignation' is quite impressive."

Leclerc's opening statement carried a subtle hint of sarcasm, "However, to simply attribute the complex geopolitical game to 'mercenary unrest,' is it not... too hasty?"

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze turning sharp.

"Mr. Duer also, through an unrecognized 'military action' three months ago, overthrew the legitimately elected Marcus government. In that action, the streets of the capital also burned with flames, and civilians cried out just the same. At that time, certain members of the international community seemed to maintain a considerable degree of... 'understanding' and 'watchful waiting'?"

He intentionally paused to let the silent questioning ferment throughout the venue.

"In the past three months, under Mr. Duer's 'leadership,' what has happened in Sena? Economic collapse, widespread hardship among the people, rampant corruption, intensified tribal conflicts, and a worsening humanitarian crisis! These are undeniable facts! Reporters from Agence France-Presse risked their lives, venturing into the heart of Sena, bringing back shocking images!"

He signaled to his assistant, and the big screen instantly shifted: emaciated children scavenging for food in garbage piles; the ruins of burned villages; patients in hospitals dying due to lack of medicine; and screenshots of secret overseas asset reports marked with the names of Duer government officials.

These scenes starkly contrasted with the footage shown earlier by the American representative.

The faces of other representatives, who had previously felt this coup lacked legitimacy, began to change.

Visual evidence and media offensives are just like weapons, as powerful as any form of armament.

"And now!"

Leclerc's voice suddenly rose, carrying a sort of French-style fervor.

"A vigorous and promising former Minister of Mining, who has always represented the voice for peace and dignity sought by the Sena people—Mr. Isis, represents the continuation of the former legitimate government! He represents the hope of ending chaos and restoring order! He has announced plans to form an inclusive cabinet and governance team and to hold elections as soon as possible! Isn't this the opportunity for the Sena people to escape from the nightmare and embrace a new life?"

He scanned the room, his gaze finally landing back on Sornberg, his tone turning severe: "At this moment, what we ought to do is provide constructive support to the transitional government led by Mr. Isis, helping the Sena people stabilize the situation and rebuild, rather than wielding the 'peacekeeping' stick in the name of 'restoring order' to interfere in internal affairs!"

"This can only exacerbate the already fragile situation and might even be exploited by certain forces to drag Sena into the quagmire of proxy wars! France opposes any rushed, forcibly interventionist peacekeeping force plan!"

Leclerc's speech was like a stone thrown into a pond, causing the venue to erupt.

Voices of support and opposition clashed fiercely, and the representatives of several African countries, who had been leaning towards the United States, revealed hesitant expressions.

Sornberg's face turned dark; he hadn't expected France to so blatantly support this "coup," nor did he anticipate the damaging revelations about the Duer government to be so lethal.

"Procedural issue!"

Sornberg suddenly stood up, "I demand an immediate vote on the peacekeeping force authorization draft! The lives of the Sena people are at stake! We don't have time for pointless arguments here!"

"Vote?"

Leclerc let out a cold laugh, "To force a vote when the facts are unclear and there are significant differences in positions among parties is a desecration of the UN's duties! France demands an immediate initiation of independent investigation procedures to fully and objectively assess the current situation and humanitarian conditions in Sena, and to sufficiently consult with the African Union! Before this, any resolution draft is irresponsible!"

"Investigation procedures," the French know what they're doing.

Once this starts, it'll drag on for at least a year or two.

After a year or two, they'll legitimately organize the so-called 'election.' And within that time, Isis, who holds the reins of power, will have enough opportunities to win over various factions, and then the outcome won't be much different from now, right?

This tactic is understood by the major players in the room.

"Seconded!"

Several country representatives immediately voiced their support.

"Opposed!"

Sornberg and his allies countered fiercely.

The conference hall was filled with verbal gunfire, the atmosphere brimming with tension.

The draft for the authorization to form peacekeeping forces became firmly stuck amid procedural disputes and intense diplomatic confrontations, like a giant ship stranded in the shallows, unable to move.

Sornberg looked out at New York's night sky, his heart filled with anxiety.

Time, every minute and second, was allowing that mercenary leader Song Heping and the puppet president supported by the French, Isis, to take even deeper root on Sena's soil.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com