Chapter 1313: Chapter 637: The United Kingdom, the Shit-Stirrer!
The heavy door of the meeting room was pushed open, and a wave of noise came rushing in.
A dozen ambassadors stood up almost simultaneously, their eyes fixed on Victor as he walked in. Some had expressions of respect, some looked calm, while others were visibly excited!!
The Colombian Ambassador, Ulysses Mendoza, had bloodshot eyes and was breathing heavily, like a bull ready to charge.
“Mr. Leader!” Ambassador Mendoza’s voice was hoarse and piercing, leading the charge. “Medellin! An entire city! Where did it disappear overnight? You must give us an explanation immediately! This is an outright humanitarian disaster! It’s… it’s national terrorism!” He was so agitated he leaned forward, almost across the long table.
Victor walked to the head seat with a blank expression and sat down, with Casare and President Lunacharsky flanking him.
He frowned, “Where did Medellin go? Isn’t Medellin still in Colombia City? Where could it go? Could I have just made it disappear?”
Ambassador Mendoza almost spat blood upon hearing this; he knew the other party was being deliberately obtuse.
“Sit down!”
“Shouting in front of me, don’t you have any manners?” Victor rebuked, looking fiercely at him. Ambassador Mendoza shuddered and suddenly came to his senses, realizing that the man before him…
was not a good person!
But Mendoza, nevertheless, stiffened.
His face turned ugly, his lips trembled violently, and tears actually welled up in his eyes?
Casare’s mind stirred, this guy…
He’s damn acting!!!
“An entire city! Millions of compatriots! Possibly lost!! If this isn’t a disaster, what is? Victor! Is this a planned genocide by your people?!” His voice carried desperation.
“Damnit,” Casare slammed the table fiercely, causing papers to jump up from the tabletop with a thunderous noise.
He stood abruptly, pointed at Mendoza, and began to curse: “What slander are you spewing!!! Who told you Medellin is gone? Produce evidence; if you can’t, I’ll damn leave your mouth here today!”
“Forgot whose aid stabilized your situation? Forgot whose supplies saved your disaster victims? If not for the Supreme Leader, the Medellin drug cartel would have reached Bogota already, did a dog eat your gratitude?!”
“I see you all know only how to take, not how to give back!”
“You, you, you, without us, could you still be an ambassador?”
Casare’s fighting prowess was indeed admirable.
The entire meeting room fell into dead silence.
Victor’s face darkened completely, his icy gaze sweeping across the room, finally landing heavily on Mendoza. His voice was low, “Enough, Ambassador Mendoza, drop the performance, just tell us what you want?”
The oppressive silence was broken.
The British Ambassador, George Cavendish, cleared his throat, his posture elegant yet undeniably firm: “Supreme Leader, speculation is pointless. To clarify the truth and appease international anxiety, we unanimously believe an independent review team comprised of Allied representatives must be dispatched immediately to Medellin’s original site for on-ground investigation. This is the only way to understand the facts and avoid misjudgment.”
Victor’s gaze slowly moved to Cavendish’s face, “Oh?”
“An independent review team? On-ground investigation?” He repeated, his mouth curling into a mocking smile, sizing up his interlocutor.
“Mr. Cavendish,” Victor’s voice cut through any potential noise, “you, or should I say, your so-called unanimous belief of the only way? His body leaned slightly forward, showing unabashed sarcasm in his tone.
“Let me think, when was the last time you were so unanimous? Oh, right, it was on Dunkirk’s beach, waiting for your American ‘cousins’ to come and fish out your stragglers?”
George Cavendish’s expression instantly froze!
What the heck…
This was insulting mothers, slapping faces.
“Investigation?” Victor’s voice suddenly heightened, “Investigate what? Investigate if Mexico has the ability to make a city disappear? Or investigate how rich your imagination is?”
He slammed the table again, this time heavier and louder than Casare’s earlier one, making the thick solid wood tabletop seem to groan, while papers and cups jumped up together.
“Listen!” Victor’s sharp gaze swept across the room, standing up abruptly and pointing at them, “No one! No one can threaten Mexico! No one can dictate to Mexico, demanding we open our doors, letting you inspect our land like a zoo; this is impossible!
His voice was powerful: “What happened in Medellin concerns us more than anyone, but the matter requires time to be clarified, the truth needs time to emerge! Your duty is to wait! Wait for our official, authoritative notifications, rather than sitting here, using your speculations and so-called international concerns to make unfounded accusations and pressure me! Mexico!
The more these words were listened to, the more off they sounded, resembling muddy waters, the British instinctively wanted to continue speaking, but saw Victor leaning back into his chair, “So, drop your independent review team nonsense, your request is denied, now, sit down, shut up, don’t force me to hit you.”
What Victor said made the British turn pale; this was basically a direct insult.
After Cavendish sat down, he glanced at the Colombians; Ambassador Mendoza’s lips moved as if he wanted to still articulate a few accusations, reclaim some face, or stir up emotions a bit more.