Mistaken Match: Marrying the Enigmatic CEO
Chapter 2376; Not Weak
The southern waters of Chanaea were alive with activity.
What had started as minor clashes between two nations had now spiraled into a global spectacle, a conflict that the entire world seemed to be holding its breath over.
War was so close, it was practically within reach.
The usual crowd of local fishermen and tourists from Chanaea and Ashdon Nation were joined today by a swarm of international reporters; all eyes trained on the volatile waters.
Across the globe, fires were already burning.
Wars were breaking out in places like Obsidian Creek and the heart of the planet. Everywhere, nations were at each other’s throats.
Yet, somehow, Chanaea and Eagle Nation had kept an uneasy peace, each side hoping other would be the first to make a move.
And now, everyone was waiting for Chanaea to act.
Would today be the day they finally made their move?
After all, Orunis had predicted it.
Chanaea would strike Ashdon Nation. Maybe yesterday, but definitely today.
But the tourists and journalists weren’t the only ones watching.
A special ship glided through the water, a ship that wasn’t quite military, but looked like it could be. It wasn’t flying any nation’s flag, but a symbol everyone knew.
The flag of the Airspace Group, recognized by anyone who had been on Dark Night Islands.
At the bow of the ship stood Gwain, his posture straight, eyes sharp. Beside him, Yosef stood, his long hair whipping in the wind, his expression a mis of light a shadow.
Both men had once lost to Emmanuel, both young and skilled in martial arts, both with a deadly potential that had earned them a place with the Airspace Group.
Under Warlord’s direct guidance, their skills had grown rapidly. Soon, they would head to Solaris Island to continue their training.
Yet there was a clear difference between them. Gwain held a higher position, earned through his stronger ties to the group, his elevated status.
Yosef? He was here only because of Gwain.
“Mr. Gwain, do you think Emmanuel will finally act today?” Yosef asked, his voice filled with curiosity.
Gwain scoffed, a flicker of disdain crossing his face.
“I’d love for Emmanuel to make that foolish move, make himself the villain for the whole world to see. But I don’t think he’s got the guts for it. And Ethan certainly doesn’t.”
Yosef let out a mocking laugh.
“Yeah, you’re right. Everyone in Chanaea knows Artemis’ people are nothing but talk. They’ll protest, they’ll condemn, but when it’s time for action, they’ll always choose diplomacy, If they just showed some spine, Chanaea would be so much more respected.”
“Exactly.” Gwain’s tone grew even colder.
“But, Ethan, with Emmanuel and Mackenzie behind him, somehow ended up as president. As far as I’m concerned, Chanaea’s already finished.”
“Not necessarily.” A voice came from behind them.
The two men turned, their eyes snapping toward the newcomer. Instantly, their posture shifted. Despite their pride, despite their aloofness, they both bowed deeply. There was no mistaking the respect they felt.
“Warlord.” They greeted in unison, their voices almost reverent, their tone heavy with acknowledgement.
“Enough with the formalities.” The Warlord said, his voice rich with authority as he waved them off, striding forward. His presence alone made the air feel thicker, more oppressive.
Behind him, a figure clad in red armor followed, every step purposeful, every movement sharp.
Gwain’s gaze flickered over the figure; he had tangled with this warrior before. A confrontation that still left a bitter taste in his mouth. Despite his own skills, he’d found himself helpless against the advanced technology the man wielded.
The Warlord let out a long, deep sigh, his face softening for a brief moment before hardening once again.
“Gwain, I get it. You hate Emmanuel, I can see that. But don’t make the mistake of underestimating him. Tactically, fine – dismiss him. But strategically? He’s one of the sharpest minds we’ve seen. His military genius is unmatched. He’s inherited the brilliance of Santiago. And don’t forget the legacy of Dawnbringer.”
Gwain’s jaw tightened. It stung – this praise was something he’d never received. From the Warlord, of all people.
Beside him, Yosef smiled. Not with mockery, but a quiet understanding. Unlike Gwain, he didn’t struggle to admit Emmanuel’s excellence. After all, if Emmanuel wasn’t as exceptional as he was, Queenie wouldn’t be so obsessed with him.
“I’m betting Emmanuel will make his move today,” the Warlord added, his tone almost reflective, eyes scanning the horizon.
Gwain snorted, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. Jealousy flashed in his eyes.
“Then let’s see what happens. Chanaea will be branded the aggressor. The world will turn on them. When that happens, we’ll strike back, and we’ll be the righteous ones.”
The Warlord’s smile faded, his gaze turning cool and calculating. He saw Gwain’s martial prowess, no question.
But he also saw the limits. Gwain’s vision was too narrow, his thinking too shallow.
He lacked the depth of insight that could take him further, much further.
Hell, even Yosef had more to offer than Gwain in that department.
“Here they came,” Yosef said suddenly, pointing out across the water.
A line of fishing boats appeared, their sails billowing in the wind.
The boats were packed with dark-skinned men, muscular, hardened men from Ashdon Nation.
“Ashdon Nation’s here!” someone shouted, their voice full of anger.
“They’re trespassing in our waters again!” another voice roared.
“Damnit, they’re stealing our resources! Get the hell out!”
Chanaea fishermen, who’d been minding their own business on the water, now shouted back, their voices rising in fury.
The two groups clashed, arguments spilling over into heated confrontation.
On the sidelines, international reporters stayed frozen, too frightened to start filming, let alone report on the situation.
The only ones recording the chaos were the Chanaean fishermen, their makeshift cameras capturing every moment.
“Get the hell out of here! This is our Chanaean waters! We fish here, and no one’s stopping us!”
“Ha! You’re all talk! You Chanaeans are weak! You won’t do anything!”
The Ashdon Nation invaders grew bolder, strutting through the waters like they owned the place.
They paid no mind to the Chanaean fishermen’s protest and began taking fish right from their nets.
“Damnit, we’ll fight them!” one of the fishermen yelled, fists tightening with rage.
Chanaea’s fishermen were a proud bundh. Without a second thought, they surged forward, ready to defend their waters. But the moment they clashed, it was clear; these weren’t just ordinary fishermen.
The Ashdon men moved like they had been trained for combat. Fast, fluid and dangerous.
The skirmish escalated quickly, and then it happened, a massive, heavily modified ship appeared. With a deafening crash, it slammed into a Chanaean fishing boat, sinking it in seconds.
In under half an hour, the Chanaean fishermen were on the ground, battered, bleeding, their pride shattered.
One of the Ashdon men, standing over a fallen fisherman, grinned maliciously and stomped on his wound.
“Haha! You Chanaeans are just hollow tin! All talk about your strength, but when it’s time to fight, you fold like cowards!” he jeered.
“You Chanaeans are Pathetic.” Another Ashdon man laughed, his voice full of contempt. “Weak and Laughable!”
The Chanaean fishermen seethed with rage, some so furious they looked ready to collapse from the sheer force of their anger.
Meanwhile, the international media began to film. The cameras captured the Ashdon men celeberating, their victory broadcast the world.
And once again, Chanaea was painted as weak, unable to defend on its own shores.
Then, a series of horn blasts shattered the tense silence.
Hoooonk! Hoooonk! Hoooonk!
From the depths of Chanaea waters, several massive coast guard ships appeared, their towering forms cutting through the sea like beasts. The horns blared again, shaking the very air with their raw power.
The Ashdon Nation’s arrogance vanished, replaced by fear. The international reporters, once so bold, went silent, their cameras now hesitant, their confidence slipping away.
A booming voice echoed across the water, filling the air with authority.
“All ships illegally entering Chanaean waters, leave immediately! Refuse, and we’ll have to do something very surprising!”
The voice was so loud, it pierced the distance, carrying across the entire sea.
It wasn’t the voice of some ordinary man; it was the voice of a legend. The Dragon Marshal Emmanuel.
Behind him, the soldiers stood like a wall of steel, their sheer presence making the Ashdon invaders shrink back.
The Ashdon fishermen froze, terror flashing across their faces.
“Who the hell are those people?”
“Three!” the voice commanded, unwavering.
“Two!”
“One!”
“And since you didn’t leave when told…” The voice grew colder, merciless. “You get a surprise. Open fire!”
Without another word, the command was given.
The repose was swift, no hesitation, Only the roar of battle to follow.
These people trampled all over Chaneasn, and they thought they could get away with it.
Never.
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