All their information is here. I really put in a lot of effort this time, used almost every connection I could, and still had to make sure no one got suspicious. It was exhausting. I need to go home and catch up on some sleep. Originally, since you all came here, I wanted to play the host, but..."

"You can go. We know what we're doing."

...

After Brian Foster left, William Smith slapped the stack of printed papers in his hand and said in a deep voice, "I think you all know why I called you here. Old Harris is dead, and he died so unjustly. Old Harris was too stubborn. If he had stayed in the army back then, this wouldn't have happened. When I first heard that Old Harris was hacked to death on the street, I knew something was wrong. Normally, if he didn't kill someone else, that would already be good enough—yet he was killed in the street? No matter how you hear it, it sounds ridiculous..."

William Smith smiled, but in David Carter's eyes, the captain's smile looked twisted, sending a chill down his spine. David Carter understood how the captain felt. For soldiers, death is nothing unusual, but it depends on how you die. If you die on the battlefield, no one would say a word, but to die on the street, with no honor, no medals, and not even the killer found afterward, dragging your family down with you—for a captain who had partnered with Steven Harris for over a decade, there was no way he would let this go easily.

William Smith glanced at everyone and continued, "Normally, the law of the land should handle this, and it's not our place to interfere. But I can't swallow this. Old Harris can't die for nothing... What do you all think?"

The captain, who usually spoke to them in a commanding tone, was now almost pleading. Tiger, the most hot-headed of them all, immediately shouted, "There's nothing to discuss. I'll follow the captain."

David Carter glanced at the three who had been silent across from him. The army has its own discipline. Even someone as well-connected as Brian Foster didn't want to get involved in this, let alone the others. One wrong move and you'd end up in a military court. If it were just about brotherhood, they'd definitely get involved, but they were different. On the battlefield, they could entrust their backs to their comrades without hesitation, but honestly, their relationships were distant. The captain and the political commissar had both risen through official channels and were close, true life-and-death friends. But as for the rest of them, their backgrounds were much more complicated than the captain's. To put it bluntly, there was always an unbridgeable gap between them and the captain and Richard Harris. No matter how many merits they earned, they could never rise to the captain's position, and after leaving the service, it was impossible to become the head of the city bureau's criminal investigation department. Even for him, when he heard about Richard Harris's death, he didn't feel much—he thought more about it when he heard about Viper's death.

Seeing that no one spoke, William Smith sighed in disappointment. He understood everything David Carter was thinking. Their group was absolutely the elite of the army—phrases like "use me for the first battle, and victory is assured" fit them perfectly. Every one of them was a top expert, but honestly, as a group, they were also a monster within the army. On the battlefield, they acted recklessly, killed without hesitation, and every one of them had blood on their hands. They moved swiftly and precisely, tougher than those famous international mercenaries, and even more ruthless. The battles they participated in were all secret missions the country couldn't publicly acknowledge. Their lives were always at risk, and they had no official designation, which meant no honor—the country didn't even admit such a unit existed. He and Old Harris were better off, able to stand in the sunlight from time to time, but these men always walked in the shadows. So, what could he really expect from them?

Thinking of this, the already aging William Smith seemed to grow ten years older in an instant, the sharp, hawk-like glint in his eyes dimming.

He could risk his life for an old comrade of over ten years, but he was getting old. Without these men’s help, he didn't know if he could pull this off. John Smith, William Brooks, and Eric Clark were already married with children, now working as instructors in the army, living stable lives. With wives and children, they naturally had concerns. He couldn't let someone lose a husband or a child lose a father for the sake of an old comrade.

He turned his gaze to David Carter, hesitating inside. Although this man had followed him for over a decade, he actually didn't know much about this subordinate, nicknamed "Lawnmower" in the army. But without a doubt, when it came to ruthlessness, none of his dozens of men could compare to him. The reason he was called Lawnmower was because of his cruel and unpredictable ways—wherever he went, nothing was left alive.

He still remembered the first time this man appeared before him: he looked quiet and gentle, but his eyes glinted with a cold light, like a starving wolf, standing there sharp and exposed like an unsheathed sword. No officer could dislike having such a subordinate.