I Inherited 5,000 Years of Family Property-Chapter 466 - 464: Legends of Our Family are Everywhere

Zhang Menglong, as an Ancient Martial Artist, was extremely sensitive to murderous intent. Although each of these soldiers carried a certain aura of killing intent, it was just a part of their demeanor.

The killing intent he had just felt from these soldiers was directed at him personally, which would not have been present if they had started with a salute by gunfire.

Zhang Menglong looked at Sartre, whose forehead was dotted with fine beads of sweat. His eyes flitted about when they met Zhang Menglong’s gaze, avoiding direct eye contact like a child who had done something wrong facing an adult’s interrogation.

Clearly, Sartre had truly intended to take action against him, but how did it turn halfway through and suddenly shift attitude?

Even the lieutenant at Sartre’s side was completely baffled. Hadn’t they agreed on kidnapping Zhang Menglong, demanding a ransom, and then disposing of him? These orders had all been passed down to his troops as well.

Sartre changing his mind at the last minute was one thing, but to then salute with gunfire, the highest ceremony in their military—what was going on?

Sartre was a military leader, and even when facing other military leaders, he never showed a hint of fear. Even once, surrounded by three leaders, he had managed to escape certain death with his absolute calm and strength.

Having followed Sartre for nearly a decade, this was the first time he’d seen Sartre display such panic and even a hint of trying to curry favor.

Even if Zhang Menglong was the richest man in the world, it would hardly justifying treating him with such an attitude, right?

"Listen up, from now on until Mr. Zhang leaves Xuli, he is the most honored guest in our troops. If anyone harbors ill intentions towards Mr. Zhang, even the slightest impoliteness, you know what kind of man I, Sartre, am!"

Sartre’s tone was full of threats, sending shivers down the spine of all the soldiers present.

"Are we supplying his warlord forces?" Zhang Menglong asked Hong Yi. Other than this, he could think of no reason why Sartre would have such a drastic change in attitude towards him.

"Mr. Zhang, in this place, your family has no industries or representatives," Hong Yi said, "After decades of war, this place has nothing but barren land. There’s nothing worth investing manpower or resources in here."

"Then why did he turn into a lapdog in a second? Just now he seemed all tough and ready to go."

"Mr. Zhang, I think I can answer that question for you," Hong Yi said with a smile, "It might have something to do with an incident from over twenty years ago."

"Twenty years ago? I wasn’t even born then, was I?"

"Yes," Hong Yi nodded, "This is also something I heard from my grandfather."

Over twenty years ago, before the war, there was a beautiful flower field in Xuli where Zhang Menglong’s parents happened to be on their honeymoon. During that time, a civil war broke out in the country of Xuli, and a sudden onslaught of war directly destroyed that flower field.

Filled with great anticipation and having prepared to take a beautiful set of wedding photos, when Zhang Xiaoyun and his party arrived, all that was left was scorched earth, and even their plane was surrounded by the warlords.

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Given Zhang Xiaoyun’s temperament, was he going to tolerate such a thing?

Seconds later, a small army of hundreds appeared on the battlefield as if descending from the heavens, clad in uniform and bearing the Clan Emblem of the Zhang Family.

Impervious to blades and bullets, unaffected by gunfire and shells, they annihilated the rebel forces in a matter of minutes, leaving none alive.

As it happened, Sartre was in that army unit at the time!

Back then, Sartre was only 15, a child soldier brainwashed by the rebel army. Because he was so young, Zhang Xiaoyun’s people did not kill him.

But the events of that day were etched deeply into his memory. Those black-clad figures who seemed to descend from the heavens to reap the wicked were like deities, even becoming a sort of childhood belief.

He could not remember the man’s name, nor the faces of any of those people. He only remembered the totem that represented the Zhang Family.

More than twenty years flew by, and Sartre went from a mere underling to the captain of a squad, eventually becoming one of the four greatest military leaders. Gradually, he had started to forget that unforgettable memory from his past.

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But when he saw the emblem on Zhang Menglong’s airplane, all his memories came flooding back in an instant.

Therefore, the moment he recognized the Clan Emblem, Sartre felt as if he had narrowly brushed past the Grim Reaper.

More than twenty years had passed, and all the weapons and equipment had advanced far beyond what they were two decades ago, but in his eyes, those people were not human, they were deities, demons; even with twenty years of progress in weaponry, he believed that if he dared to make a move against Zhang Menglong, the outcome would be the same!

"I didn’t expect to find our family’s legend in such a place!" Zhang Menglong said after hearing this part of the story. If Sartre was a war orphan from back then, it was not surprising at all that he was reacting this way now.

"General Sartre, you seem to recognize me," Zhang Menglong said on purpose.

"Mr. Zhang, may I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead."

"That pattern..." Sartre pointed at Zhang Menglong’s plane and said.

"That’s our family’s Clan Emblem."

"Indeed!" Sartre showed a look of realization, feeling relieved that he hadn’t acted on his impulse, or else he would be lying dead now, just like the soldiers from his old unit.

"When I was in my teens, I had the fortune of witnessing Mr. Zhang’s elder display their divine power, and I saw that Clan Emblem then," Sartre honestly said.

"You were thinking of attacking me a moment ago?"

Sartre trembled all over and actually knelt down right in front of all his subordinates, "Mr. Zhang, I was momentarily blinded by folly, I hope you can forgive me!"

Sartre’s subordinates’ eyes widened in disbelief.

What is going on? Is this really the same Sartre they knew? How did he turn into such a docile man?

A man in his twenties and a woman of the same age, could these two really cause any trouble at their base? Had Sartre lost his mind to drink?

But they didn’t know that someone without Sartre’s experiences could never understand his thinking; in their minds, the guns in their hands were everything.

"Forget it," Zhang Menglong said without any anger. Sartre was essentially an outlaw, it was no surprise that he could be tempted by riches, but regardless, he had pulled himself back from the edge.

Plus, Zhang Menglong was not familiar with this Xuli and might need some of his help.

"Your warning shots just saved your own life," Zhang Menglong said and proceeded towards Sartre’s car.

Sartre wiped the sweat from his forehead. Just from Zhang Menglong’s comment, he was certain that if he really had acted just now, the scene from twenty years ago would have replayed.

Immediately, Sartre followed, "Mr. Zhang, I have prepared food for you, I hope it’s to your liking..."

"No need," Zhang Menglong flatly refused. He didn’t want to stay in this place too long, "I’m here on business, and dining is unnecessary."

"If there’s anything you need, you can tell me directly. I have lived here for decades and I’m very familiar with everything in Xuli!"

"I need to procure a batch of equipment!" Zhang Menglong said bluntly, "Got any leads?"

"How much do you need?" Sartre asked. As a warlord, he dealt with weapon merchants on a daily basis, how else would he arm his troops?

"Not much," Zhang Menglong replied, "Just a few hundred airplanes, a few hundred tanks should be sufficient."

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