"That guy with the golden hair is Azrael!"
"After him! The bastard in the hat is Azrael!"
"The one who took off his blue suit jacket is Azrael!"
"Don't get in my way, you bastards! I'm going for that 100 million East Asian dollars!"
"Damn you, that 100 million East Asian dollars is mine!"
A rising tide of clamor practically boiled over across the entire territory of the Atlantic Federation.
The reason, simple and direct enough to mobilize two-thirds of the Atlantic Federation's population, was that the East Asian Federation had officially issued a bounty for the former leader of Blue Cosmos, Azrael.
The official reward wasn't high, a mere twenty thousand East Asian dollars. After all, that's just how official channels sometimes operate.
Or perhaps, in the eyes of the East Asian Federation government, Azrael was only worth twenty thousand East Asian dollars.
Their true intentions lay elsewhere.
But this did little to dampen the enthusiasm of the East Asian populace.
With individuals chipping in here and there, they managed to push Azrael's bounty to an unprecedented height.
Strangely enough, among the donations for this 100 million East Asian dollar bounty were contributions from certain individuals who wished to remain anonymous.
What's that you say? Azrael's status was so esteemed?
How could he possibly fall so far as to have a bounty on his head, becoming a coveted prize in the eyes of the entire Atlantic Federation?
Have you never heard the saying that a phoenix that has lost its feathers is no better than a chicken?
The Atlantic Federation had committed a perfidious act, defying the world's condemnation.
They had actually backstabbed the East Asian Army just as it was on the verge of victory!
If the East Asian Federation had no reaction to this, what would that say?
Did you think this was still the era where the Atlantic Federation could slap a document in East Asia's face, make a mistake, and think nothing of it? An era where the East Asian Representative could only go home and curse his own impotence three times over?
"What's the situation outside?"
In a dilapidated and secluded corner of the Atlantic Federation, Azrael—who had once been endlessly glamorous in public, daring to point and curse at his own high-ranking military officers—asked his subordinate, who had just returned from scouting the situation.
It was plain to see that this man, who once stood above tens of thousands, was now filled with a spirit of despair and irascibility.
The despair stemmed from his loss of status, just like the current state of the Atlantic Federation.
The irascibility came from being stabbed in the back, just as the East Asian Federation had been stabbed in the back by the Atlantic Federation.
"Lord Chairman, the situation outside is very bad."
Fortunately, even a wrecked ship has a few good nails left. Azrael had navigated the worlds of business and politics for so many years; in theory, he ought to have a few die-hard loyalists.
It was only by relying on the desperate struggles of these loyalists that he had managed to escape the pursuit of countless Atlantic Federation citizens who had turned into bounty hunters.
The price, of course, was the lives of those loyalists—things Azrael considered unimportant compared to himself.
However, the attendant before him didn't seem to have much courage.
Even in the relative safety of the room, he couldn't help but lower his voice as he spoke, making it seem as if he were a thief.
"Who is the current leader of Blue Cosmos?A tiger's majesty lingers even in death. Azrael forced himself to rally his spirits, first asking about the matter that concerned him most.
"It is Vice Chairman Djibril."
The attendant answered this question quickly.
After all, this was one of the key pieces of information he had been sent out to gather.
"I knew it!"
Clenching his fists tightly, Azrael's eyes seemed ready to spit fire upon hearing the answer he had expected.
"Those bastards! Sons of whores!"
Pacing back and forth in the room, Azrael cursed filthily.
He was resentful! He was hateful!
There were many shameless people in this world, but compared to Djibril and those who had once called him brother—those who had seemed no different from sworn blood brothers who had slit a rooster's throat and burned yellow paper—all other shameless people seemed to possess a much higher moral standard.
"It was all their doing! All of it!"
Like a wild beast trapped in a cage, Azrael repeated this sentence over and over.
"So, Chairman Azrael, what exactly was it that they did?"
Suddenly, just as Azrael was muttering curses against the bastards he spoke of, a voice he knew all too well strangely echoed in the room.
"It's you!"
Whirling around, Azrael stared in utter astonishment at the man who had appeared before him, and at the fully armed soldiers behind him.
"Djibril! How did you get here?!"
"Could it be! It was you! You! You all betrayed me!"
After a moment's thought, Azrael arrived at the only possible conclusion.
His own confidants had also betrayed him!
Was it for the 100 million East Asian dollars?
Or had the bastard before him promised his men something?
Their eyes flickering, Azrael's former subordinates in the room were reluctant to meet his gaze.
"You all!"
Pointing at his men, Azrael was so furious he couldn't speak. The situation was clearly hopeless.
Ever since the East Asian Federation's Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs had arrived in the Atlantic Federation, Azrael, who had been constantly hiding, was tired.
His mind was tired, and his body was tired.
So, he straightened his clothes, trying his best to project the old aura of the military-industrial complex's spokesman and the leader of Blue Cosmos.
Walking up to the smiling Djibril, Azrael felt as if he had returned to the past.
"Hand me over to the East Asian Federation," he said with such nonchalance.
"How could we, my dear Chairman Azrael?"
"How could our Atlantic Federation do such a thing as hand you over to the East Asian Federation?"
Wagging a finger, Djibril wore an indescribably subtle expression.
"Hmm?"
On the surface, Djibril's words sounded quite hopeful, much like the Atlantic Federation in its heyday. A time when it could do wrong and the rest of the world could do nothing about it. But paired with Djibril's expression, Azrael, an old fox himself, knew exactly what his former colleagues were planning.
"Hehehe."
Azrael laughed bleakly. At this point, he knew there was no chance for him to survive.
"From start to finish, my only enemies have been the Coordinators, correct?"
"Correct."
"Attacking the East Asian Federation Army was a decision you all made together, correct?"
"Correct."
"I vehemently opposed it in the meeting, arguing that even if we were to deal with the East Asian Army, it should wait until after the war with the Coordinators was over, correct?"
"Correct?"
After asking three consecutive questions, Djibril before him calmly indicated that, seemingly, none of the blame lay with Azrael.
And yet, in the end, it had to be Azrael who took responsibility!
"Come on, then."
Spreading his arms wide, Azrael appeared unusually carefree, as if he were a martyr bravely facing death.
A flicker of light in his eyes, Djibril stared at Azrael and instinctively felt that something was wrong.
He had seen the madness of more than one or two men on their final path in his life.
Logically, a man like Azrael, who had once stood at the pinnacle only to be backstabbed and fall into the abyss, wouldn't submit so easily, would he?
Wouldn't he want revenge?
But Djibril's eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the entire situation. There was nothing out of place.
"There's nothing around, right?"
Still uneasy, Djibril endured Azrael's mocking gaze and turned to ask the soldiers behind him.
"No, sir."
A soldier, fiddling with an instrument, replied.
"I see. Send him on his way."
Having received a definitive answer, Djibril waved his hand.
Immediately, soldiers stepped forward, forcefully grabbing Azrael's hand and arranging it into a suicide posture.
Bang.
After the gunshot, Azrael, his eyes wide with unwillingness, collapsed into a pool of blood.
The Azrael of this world did not die on a battlefield in space; he died at the hands of his perfidious companions.
Compared to his death in the original timeline, perhaps this end was more fitting for him.
"Azrael is dead."
Leaving the house, Djibril stepped outside, took out his phone, and spoke to the person on the other end.
"Bring the body back and hand it over to the East Asian Federation's Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs."
The person on the other end of the line instructed.
"Understood."
Closing his phone, Djibril glanced back at Azrael's body, which was being carried out by the soldiers.
A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, but no matter what he was truly thinking, the job had to be done. In reality, for people like them, Azrael was not the most important or the most difficult figure to deal with.
"So, you drag a corpse over here and expect me to believe he was single-handedly responsible for everything?"
Inside the famous White House of the Atlantic Federation's capital, the East Asian Federation's Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs showed not a trace of a great power's magnanimity.
Publicly, in the Atlantic Federation President's Oval Office, the East Asian Vice Minister was just short of propping his feet up on the presidential desk.
But even without his feet on the desk, his two bouncing legs were enough to draw attention.
Coupled with his tone and words, as if he were scolding a dog, the eyes of many senior aides in the Oval Office were filled with murderous intent.
"Yes, yes."
Smiling, the Atlantic Federation President showed why he was the president; this magnanimity alone was a testament to his character.
His own aides looked as if they wanted to eat the East Asian Vice Minister alive, yet the man himself, the leader of a premier world power, could still manage to put on a smiling face.
"Regarding the matter of your esteemed nation's fleet being suddenly attacked by our Atlantic Federation Army just as you were about to achieve victory at Boaz Fortress..."
"Just as we informed your country in our initial communiqué, it was all due to the unilateral actions of this Coordinator spy named Azrael!"
"He instigated the defection of our fleet, which led to this misunderstanding between our two sides."
"Hah-tui!"
Before the Atlantic Federation President could finish, the East Asian Vice Minister's Adam's apple bobbed, and he spat a thick glob of phlegm directly at the President.
"You think I believe that?"
Facing the furious gazes of the Atlantic Federation aides who could no longer hold back and were about to rush forward, the East Asian Vice Minister calmly watched the Atlantic Federation President, who was now performing the act of letting the spit on his face dry on its own.
"Hahaha."
Laughing heartily to stop his aides, the Atlantic Federation President elegantly pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face, selectively ignoring the Vice Minister's rude behavior throughout the entire process.
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