With a gloomy face, Potower, sitting in the suite on the fifth floor of the Rembrandt Hotel, was siping pure malt whiskey, while looking at the subordinates standing in front of him: "For a whole morning, you couldn't even find out who the seller is?"

They looked at each other with trepidation. A young black man with several obvious scars on his arms said in his arms: "The seller... is hidden very tightly! We have connected with all the brokers and powerful middlemen in the Tavi area, but they only agreed to try their best to help us find the seller, but no one can make a guarantee!"

After drinking the pure malt whiskey in one sip, Potov reaches out to take out a silver-shining scimitar from an exquisite wooden box beside him: "It seems you need to be cheerful! Come here, my child!"

The young black man who spoke like a frog staring at by a poisonous snake walked to Potovia with his legs stiff and bent his knees and stretched his arm with a few cuts in front of Potovia.

Proficiently waving the silver scimitar, Potova cut a T-shaped wound on the young man's arm without any hesitation, and then took half a cup of blood with the whiskey cup, slowly lifted it in front of him: "A good hyena can always fight the lion after being injured! Go... Go and find the seller, and bring what I want to my eyes!"

Holding the pain from the wound on his arm, the young black man on his knees stood up and walked out of the suite with all his companions...

It seemed that he had already seen Potova's style. As soon as he walked out of the suite, the young man with his arm cut immediately took out a bottle of military-grade hemostatic spray from his pocket and sprayed it on his wound without hesitation. Then he gritted his teeth and shouted: "Where can we go to find the damn seller who is unwilling to show his face? We have searched all the brokers and middlemen in the entire Tavi city, but the damn seller did not show up at all!"

Looking back at the closed door with lingering fear, another black young man whispered: "But what can we do? Potova is like this every time, wanting to make cheap transactions before everyone, or even black-fighting. In this circle, his reputation is already terrible! If it weren't for the fact that we really had nowhere to go, who would be willing to do it for him..."

Halfway through, almost all the black young men looked down at their arms covered with knife marks...

Due to serious tribal armed conflicts, several large-scale genocides have occurred in Rwanda that shocked the world. The hatred accumulated over the years has almost no one can resolve it. In order to weaken the living power of the hostile tribes, the tribal armed forces fighting each other will even deliberately cut off the arms of adult men in the hostile tribes, thereby creating a large number of disabled people and then dragging down the living environment of the other tribes.

Especially when there are some forces that have contributed to the fire, if you want to live a good life in Rwanda, you will have no other way except to join the armed forces of your own tribe!

As the leader of the tribal armed forces, Potov has long been famous. Just to show off his cruelty and corresponding execution, Potov could even use a machine gun to sieve a subordinate who suddenly entered his sight without any reason, and then throw the ball of rotten meat to feed the hyena.

Under such circumstances, every subordinate around Potov is in a strange living environment - escaping will lead to death, but living in danger...

Taking a deep breath, the black young man with his arm cut saw that the wound had slowly stopped bleeding, so he walked helplessly towards the elevator: "Go and try your luck again... Maybe that damn seller will show up before the weapons trading market opens?"

Almost as the black young men walked to the elevator door, the well-decorated elevator door suddenly opened. A hotel waiter just looked up at the black young men standing at the elevator door, and immediately smiled and reached a golden tray in front of the black young men in front of the led: "There is a note asked to present to Mr. Potova!"

Frowning in confusion, the young black man in the head reached out and grabbed the note on the golden tray without hesitation: "Who is going to hand over this note to Mr. Potova?"

Smiling and shook his head, the hotel waiter responded in a harmonious voice: "The gentleman who submitted the note will now taste whiskey in the lounge on the second floor of the hotel. If you need me to convey any information to you..."

He reached out and threw a few small denomination notes on the golden tray. The black young man waited until the waiter retreated into the elevator and closed the elevator door before he opened the note in confusion.

It is obvious that the person who wrote this note casually found a note paper from the bar of Rembrandt Hotel and wrote a string of characters and numbers on the note with an oily pen provided by the bar waiter. It seems nothing surprising. But as long as someone who has a little knowledge of the black market transaction of weapons and equipment will understand that the series of characters and numbers are factory coded information of a certain weapon.

After hesitating for a moment, the young black man who had just been cut his arm reached out and touched the self-defense pistol that was placed on his waist, and whispered to several companions: "Let's go down and take a look first, leave two people back to the room to inform Mr. Potov, and keep in touch at any time!"

He reached out and pressed the elevator button. The black young man who had just injured his arm and several companions who had also awakened his spirits all loaded the self-defense pistol he carried with him before entering the elevator, and then pinned the self-defense pistol back behind his waist.

In the black market for weapons and equipment trading, any incredible situations may occur. Among these incredible situations, the most common one is to fight for a goods that many people are determined to win. In a sense, every transaction or contact may be a premeditated ambush!

It is obviously common for such extremely dangerous scenes. The young black men who took the elevator did not go down the elevator on the second floor. Instead, they got off the elevator in the gym area on the third floor and the lobby on the first floor. After confirming that there were no eye-catching characters on these two floors, they walked from the building to the huge bar on the second floor of the hotel.

It was almost noon, and the huge bar was empty, and even the waiter standing in the bar looked listless. In front of a huge floor-to-ceiling window, a burly white young man was sitting at a table, holding a glass of champagne and shaking his wine glass boredly. Next to the burly white man, a middle-aged white man with obvious Eastern European ancestry was holding a glass of tequila and sniffing it all.

Without waiting for a few black young men under Potov to encircle the only two guests in the bar, the middle-aged white man who drank a glass of tequila had already spit out the tequila larvae soaked in the wine: "Bah... I met Mr. Potov, not a group of hyenas beside Mr. Potov!"
Chapter completed!