The Mightiest Tycoon

4. The Northern Confederate Army

The dimly lit street corner did not see the arrival of the mighty Northern Confederate army.

All that arrived was a red taxi covered in mud.

The taxi driver cursed as he collected the fare, then kicked the three poorly dressed passengers off the car. He sped off, splashing mud all over them, whether intentionally or unintentionally.

But the three passengers remained unmoved, simply lining up in a row at the entrance of the stairwell.

"Where are the five thousand elite Northern Confederate troops?" Harold stubbed out his cigarette and asked coldly. "Where is Mr. Longhorn, the young marshal of Northern Confederate?"

Although he already knew Richards was bragging, for a moment, Harold hoped that Richards wasn't.

Which American man didn't admire the Northern Confederate Army? Who doesn't want to meet Longhorn, the young marshal of Northern Confederate? That was a living legend.

But looking at those three oddly shaped people downstairs, who among them looked like Longhorn? They were not even as good-looking as Richards!

"The one at the front is Commander Longhorn, the young marshal of Northern Confederate." Richards pointed to the short man downstairs who was less than 1.7 meters tall.

"Are you sure?" A fierce glint flashed in Harold's eyes. Even now, this kid is still lying?

“Of course, I’ve known him for ten years. I wouldn’t mistake him even if he were ashes. Although he’s not tall, barely 1.7 meters with shoes on, in the Northern Confederate Army, his overall combat strength is second only to Richards Smiths, the Soul of Northern Confederate. He is undoubtedly the number two.” Richards raised an eyebrow. Ignoring Harold's impending outburst, Richards recounted as if reciting a familiar story: "Speaking of which, he also had a nickname in Northern Confederate that perfectly suited his status."

Regardless of whether Harold was interested or not, Richards blurted out: "Shorty General".

Harold's face was extremely gloomy, feeling that his intelligence had been insulted.

Just as he was about to order his eager underlings downstairs to come up, Richards waved his hand and said, "Come on! Let me introduce you to these legendary figures from Northern Confederate. You're lucky to have gotten in my good graces. Normally, you wouldn't be qualified to greet them."

Harold hesitated for a moment, then followed Richards downstairs.

Going down there would make things easier and avoid disturbing Hannah's peace and quietness.

As soon as they stepped out of the building, Richards strode forward: "Didn't your deputy just call to say that all 5,000 elite troops from Northern Confederate were coming to my wedding? Why are only you lot here?"

These words seemed to be asked on behalf of Harold, but Harold watched coldly, appreciating Richards's clumsy acting skills.

“Well, if all five thousand people come, it'll cause too much of a commotion. The higher-ups in community won't be able to sit still.” The short man seemed very nervous when he answered Richards; his body was even trembling slightly. But his eyes were fixed on Richards, as if afraid that he would disappear into thin air and vanish without a trace.

"Harold, did you hear that?" Richards glanced at Harold and said with a sneer. "General Longhorn is thinking about our home. If everyone comes, the community traffic might be paralyzed."

Upon hearing this, Harold put his hands in his pockets and walked forward with a gloomy face. He was 1.82 meters tall, looking down at the shorter man: "Do you know what the punishment is for impersonating an army officer?"

"What did you say?" The short man raised his eyes slightly, his dark eyes seeming to contain 100,000 volts of high voltage, which made Harold's heart tremble.

But Harold was no ordinary man. He raised his head, raised his voice, and questioned forcefully, "I said, do you fucking know how many years you get sentenced for impersonating a national hero?!"

As soon as he finished speaking, dozens of men in suits rushed over menacingly and surrounded the three of them. 

In an instant, the atmosphere became tense and hostile.

“I’m not an imposter.” The short man raised his head, and although he was short, his powerful aura easily crushed the murderous intent emanating from Harold. He spoke slowly and deliberately, his thin lips slightly parted. “My name is James Longhorn.”

"You are James Longhorn, and I am Longhorn's father!"

No sooner had Harold finished speaking than Longhorn, who was half a head shorter than him, raised his hand and slapped him. Although Harold quickly raised his arm to block, the slap was powerful and heavy, and Harold's arm slammed hard into his face!

Harold staggered a few steps, feeling his face burning and seeing stars.

The moment the slap landed, the scene erupted. A group of henchmen shouted that they wanted to cripple this arrogant, short dwarf.

Slightly dizzy, Harold coughed up blood, loosened his tie, and roared hysterically, "Even if those five thousand Northern Confederate soldiers really come tonight, I'll still kill you all!"

As they spoke, the group of guards charged towards Longhorn and his companions like tigers descending a mountain.

"Brother-in-law, calm down!" Richards quickly stopped the emotionally unstable Harold and acted as a peacemaker: "Don't be impulsive, or the consequences will be unimaginable!"

Harold's face was contorted with rage: "You want me to calm down?"

"Yes, or they'll beat you to death!" Richards said earnestly, seemingly genuinely worried about her brother-in-law's safety.

Harold was enraged and completely lost his mind: "Attack!"

Dozens of well-trained, muscular men in suits rushed forward, about to make a move, but Longhorn calmly pulled out a gun and pressed it firmly against Harold's forehead. "Do you want to die?"

The gun muzzle was as black as an abyss, exuding a strong killing intent.

With a gun pointed at their leader, the group of fierce-looking henchmen completely cowered.

"How many bullets do you have in your gun?" Harold was fearless, even using his head to brace against the muzzle of the gun, his eyes fierce. "Can you kill us all?"

Spitting out blood, even with a gun pointed at his head, Harold, hunched over like a wild beast, growled, "Kill them!"

Those desperados were completely infected by Harold; their eyes were bloodshot, and they looked like ferocious beasts.

Longhorn frowned, his temper flaring up instantly.

Richards said a lot on the phone, but to Longhorn, the subtext was: don't make a big show of it like a military parade.

At this moment, Richards advised Harold not to act impulsively, otherwise he would be beaten to death. This sounded like a threat to Harold, but it was actually a warning to Longhorn: Stop hitting my brother-in-law, or you'll have to deal with him again.

The scene seemed tense, but Longhorn kept watching Richards's expression and dared not do anything rash. Right now, this guy named Harold was getting desperate and wanted to fight him to the death. He couldn't just shoot him, could he?

"Brother, don't blame me, he forced my hand!" Longhorn turned his head and glanced at Richards, who was looking around and seemed not to want to watch the excitement. His face suddenly darkened. Just when everyone thought Longhorn was about to shoot Harold, causing a tragedy, he suddenly threw the gun to his deputy behind him and shouted in a powerful voice, "Northern Confederate Army, step forward!"

In an instant, it was as if thousands of bulldozers were operating simultaneously, causing the earth to shake violently.

The once pitch-black demolition area was now as bright as day, with countless powerful spotlights shining down.

Behind the white light stood towering figures as majestic as steel. Five thousand elite troops from the Northern Confederate, emerged from the darkness, like invisible soldiers emerging from the void!

They were the nation's sharpest weapon, the guardians of this people.

They were renowned overseas and were the world's strongest land forces.

They missed the young marshal and want to see him. Even though the young marshal had ordered them not to make a big fuss, they still wanted to hide in the shadows and say a silent goodbye.

But Harold forced these five thousand Northern Confederate soldiers out.