While Adam and his team were busy making large-scale purchases at the base of the northern mountains, hundreds of miles away, General Lionel sat behind a cluttered desk in the country's capital—still engrossed in classified documents, utterly indifferent to the silver moonlight outside and even neglecting basic rest.

Unlike the ostentatious mansions of many South American warlords, Lionel's residence was stark and practical—still the old command quarters inherited from his predecessor, Commander Ren. Bloodstains from past purges lingered on the walls, faded but unmistakable. To Lionel, a desk and authority were all he needed.

A sharp knock came at the door.

"General, the banquet for the visiting American delegation is about to begin. Please prepare," said an officer respectfully as he stepped in.

"Also, Miss Lois from Metropolis is requesting your presence for another round of interviews following the event."

"Understood," Lionel replied tersely, eyes still locked on the paper in front of him.

The officer hesitated. He understood his superior's obsession. Power was everything to Lionel. His every word dictated life or death; his every decision shaped the fate of nations. Greed, lust, fear—every other human weakness had been compressed into a single, unrelenting hunger: the pursuit of control.

Still, some matters couldn't be ignored. After a moment's pause, the officer clenched his jaw and spoke more urgently.

"General, there's something you need to know. That man from the Gotham delegation—he's not who he claims to be. He's traveled north under the guise of inspecting livestock bans, but intelligence suggests he's trying to make contact with the tribes. His purpose is… questionable."

Lionel didn't even lift his head.

"I see."

The officer frowned. That wasn't the reaction he wanted. He pushed further.

"General, there's more. Overseas opposition groups have paid top dollar to bring in elite mercenaries. The intel suggests they've infiltrated the country already. Their mission is to disrupt the American inspection team and ruin our national credibility. We need to act fast."

Still no visible reaction.

"One of the mercenaries is reportedly an escapee from Alcatraz. A literal monster—no prison has held him, and he was once selected for one of the U.S. government's human experiments. If he's here, General, things could spiral out of control fast."

Finally, Lionel raised his head, his tone calm—almost bored.

"Relax, my friend. I've been aware of this situation for some time. There's no need to panic."

The officer was stunned and asked, "You knew…? Then why allow the Gotham delegation to move north? With so few guards?"

Lionel gave a thin smile and replied, "Because they were suspicious from the moment they entered the country."

He reached into a drawer and produced a fax. Grainy photos lined the page—Adam's face, his companions, and the unmistakable image of Black Mask's lieutenant, Number One.

"Look here," Lionel continued, "This man claimed to be a civilian 'godson,' yet somehow became a fully grown operative in just a few days. That kind of rapid transformation doesn't happen naturally. Facial recognition tagged him as an international enforcer with criminal ties. His reason for being here is self-evident."

The officer was speechless. He'd had no idea his superior already knew.

"But General," he asked hesitantly, "if you know he's dangerous, why not arrest him outright?"

Lionel waved him off.

"Timing," he said simply, "If we move too early, it jeopardizes the whole diplomatic mission. The Metropolis delegation is naïve. If they see us clamp down too harshly, they'll side with Gotham in a heartbeat. Better to let this little operation unfold, then strike when the leverage is ripe. We already know the tribes won't trade until the full moon. That gives us time."

The officer nodded slowly, his mind racing to keep up.

"Frankly," Lionel continued, "I'm tired of pandering to the Americans. It's time we held a few cards of our own. If Bruce Wayne and his Gotham elitists start causing problems, we'll reveal everything. The criminal records, the photos, the backdoor dealings. That's our insurance policy."

For a moment, the general's expression darkened. Gone was the diplomatic facade often seen on television—he looked now like a battlefield butcher in a general's uniform.

"Now, with these mercenaries active, our plan changes slightly," he said.

"We don't have the resources to protect every inspection group around the clock. But Adam? He chose to travel alone. He's the perfect bait."

The officer stiffened.

"Let the wolves hunt the bait," Lionel said coldly, "If he's captured, we launch a 'rescue'—earn Gotham's gratitude and remove a threat. If he's killed, we blame the opposition forces and come out clean. Either way, we gain. That's why I approved his request to move with minimal escort."

The officer stared, stunned. The strategy was as brutal as it was effective.

"Incredible, General…" he murmured, masking both admiration and fear.

And beneath his breath, he cursed Adam to be arrogant. Now he would finally get what was coming to him.

Far away, deep in the mountains, Adam had no idea of the noose tightening around him. He was busy inspecting the goods and organizing the livestock teams. At dawn, they would depart, cutting through the thick jungle trails toward the tribal trade grounds. He believed he was ahead of the game, unaware that he was being stalked by mercenaries... and manipulated by power-hungry generals.