In the vast desert.
A gigantic dark red camel hair tent was pitched on the sand dune.
Outside the tent, the heat was scorching, like a purgatory.
Inside the tent, there were large amounts of ice, chilling to the bone.
Hell and heaven were separated only by a tent.
And money.
Maids, wearing face coverings and revealing their navels, exuded an exotic charm as they stood by, ready to fulfill any desire of their Master.
"Ah, that's refreshing!" Mike tilted his head back and guzzled down the ice soda in his cup.
Drinking ice soda in the desert—just thinking about it was cooling.
On the table, there was also snowflake Wagyu beef, pan-fried to medium-rare on stones heated by the desert sun, accompanied by special seasonings, truly offering a unique flavor.
However, Mike's eating manners were a bit unrefined.
He directly speared an entire piece of beef, tearing, chewing, and swallowing it in large bites, his eating broadcast-like manner making one's mouth water and appetite grow.
Mike ate over a dozen palm-sized, finger-thick pieces of top-grade beef and felt about 50% full.
He was like a camel now.
One big meal could sustain him for several days of hunger.
Of course, under normal circumstances, Mike still ate three meals a day.
Chugging, chugging, chugging...
A bottle of red wine, worth tens of thousands of U.S. dollars and not always available even with money, received similar treatment to ice soda: chugging.
Sitting opposite Mike was the second prince of a small Middle East country, whose name was terribly long and difficult to pronounce, so Mike couldn't remember it.
Nor did he intend to.
The second prince was a bit ugly, so let's just call him "Second Ugly."
(Zoro showed a mocking smile at this naming ability...)
Second Ugly was trembling, sweat beading on his forehead. Behind him lay the bodies of two royal bodyguards, their blood and brain matter splattered all over him.
In that small country, royal power was supreme, and vast oil reserves lay underground, making it incredibly wealthy. The country was rich, but its people were poor, because all property, including the populace, belonged to the royal family.
Excuse me, why did the human rights warrior, the United States, remain silent?
Answer: Because it aligned with the U.S.'s interests?
To capitalists, human rights were not as appealing as money.
What do you think?
According to the laws of that country, the eldest son inherited the throne, while the second prince inherited enough wealth to squander for a lifetime.
Some people, once they have money and status, and no longer have goals to strive for, become particularly empty.
It's quite normal.
But some people try to fill that emptiness with inappropriate methods.
For example, this Second Ugly, he became a member of the High Table organization and enjoyed watching videos of assassins torturing and killing their targets.
"No, no... don't kill me! I have money!"
"I know you have money. I heard that in your country, you can just dig anywhere with a shovel and find oil." Mike said gently, "Don't be afraid, I like money too. Since we have common interests, we should be able to talk. What should we talk about? How about discussing compensation for the losses the High Table has caused me personally?"
"Good, good!" Second Ugly wiped the cold sweat from his forehead with his hand.
Normally, he would use a silk handkerchief to wipe his sweat.
And then throw it away after use.
Second Ugly breathed a sigh of relief. As long as there was something to talk about, it was fine; what he feared most was a reckless brute who would blow his brains out without a word.
Mike took out two crumpled tissues and pushed them in front of Second Ugly.
The first listed the damage done by the assassins to the supermarket's glass doors, exterior walls, and plants, totaling approximately fifteen hundred U.S. dollars. The materials didn't cost much, but labor was expensive. There were also Mike's expenses for using his nichirin blade, his possession cards, and so on.
Looking at the figure of less than one hundred thousand U.S. dollars, Second Ugly's mouth twitched, as if he wanted to curse.
The price of the beef and red wine that had just entered Mike's stomach, including the cost of transport by private jet from abroad and by helicopter to the desert, exceeded one hundred thousand U.S. dollars.
Suppressing the urge to curse, Second Ugly looked at the second tissue.
The second one had only a few words: [Mental distress compensation: One billion U.S. dollars.]
Second Ugly truly wanted to curse, to curse to his heart's content.
Mike sneered, "What, is the amount not suitable?"
Second Ugly: "No, no."
One billion U.S. dollars was no small sum for anyone, but since it wasn't coming solely from him, splitting it up made it not entirely unacceptable.
Mike: "You can try to haggle a bit, like this..."
"Like this, I can lower the amount?"
"No, like this, I'll have an excuse to shoot you."
Second Ugly: "(╥﹏╥)"
Mike stood up and patted his clothes: "Since you've agreed, I'll go persuade the next one. You won't go back on your word, will you?"
Second Ugly waved his hands repeatedly: "No! Absolutely not!"
Mike suddenly asked a maid nearby.
It was strange.
Since Mike killed Second Ugly's bodyguards, these women had shown almost no reaction. If it weren't for their heartbeats and breathing, Mike would have thought they were robots.
Mike asked one of them: "Do you speak English?"
The maid turned her head, seeking permission from Second Ugly with her eyes.
Second Ugly nodded under Mike's polite smile.
"Yes, I can converse normally," the maid replied.
"Then why are you all so... calm?" Mike asked again, "Aren't you afraid?"
The maid replied: "After being sent to the palace by our families, we became tools called 'personal maids,' not women, not even people. The Master has not given an order, and as tools, we have no right to act on our own initiative. This is the 'custom' of this country."
Phew~
It's hard to imagine, isn't it, that in this day and age, such "customs" still exist? Where are the human rights warriors?
Mike asked: "If the Master dies, do the tools also have to be buried with him?"
The maid's tone was terrifyingly calm: "Yes."
Second Ugly breathed a sigh of relief.
He felt safe.
However, without looking back, Mike shot Second Ugly in the head, and the latter died with his eyes open, his gaze filled with confused "whys."
If Mike sympathized with these maids, he shouldn't have killed him even more.
Mike took out a tissue and added "one bullet" to the compensation list.
"You all aren't really living like this, are you? How about a gamble, a gamble on how much face I have." Mike took out a business card and placed it on the table, "If the King gives me face, you will live as people. If my face isn't big enough, then I'm sorry, you will die. However, I promise, I will personally send him a bullet."
After he finished speaking, these maids showed no reaction, like tools that had shut down without a Master's command.
A helicopter was waiting for Mike behind the sand dune.
The pilot smiled and asked: "Did the negotiation go smoothly?"
Mike smiled: "Yes, very smoothly."
To make the High Table submit, he had to kill a chicken to scare the monkeys. Second Ugly was too soft-boned, unqualified as a chicken to scare the monkeys. Mike originally had no intention of killing him.
But, it wasn't like he couldn't kill him, was it?
If one chicken couldn't scare the monkeys, then he would kill a few more. If all else failed, he would simply uproot the High Table entirely.
Anyway, it wasn't very difficult, just a waste of time.
It wasn't until the helicopter disappeared over the horizon that the wooden-like maids finally moved. They prostrated themselves in the direction Mike had gone—this was the highest etiquette in that country, used for worshipping the King... and gods.
Mike was busy; after leaving the Middle East, there were many places he needed to visit: Sicily, Italy; St. Petersburg, Russia; Hokkaido, Japan; Hong Kong, China; Edinburgh, Scotland; and Marseille, Gaul.
He was truly busier than the U.S. President, but fortunately, there was the allure of a billion U.S. dollars, so he considered it a trip.