Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm Chapter 530: A Conversation Between Two Overlords—The Jackal

Continuing from the previous Chapter.

Gaddafi’s spectacle was far from over.

Having regained Arica’s recognition, he beca even more inflated—perhaps because he’d been riding high for decades.

This ti, he set his sights on France.

Gaddafi had always proclaid himself the "King of Africa," but he felt the title was sowhat hollow. As the King of Africa, shouldn’t he also unify Africa’s currency?

Not only did he entertain this idea, but he acted on it.

To be honest, there was nothing inherently wrong with his ambition. He was a power-hungry man, and unifying the wealth of Africa seed natural. But he failed to consider whether his strength was sufficient for the task.

Before World War II, most of Africa was a French colony. Even now, the primary currencies in circulation there were the franc and, later, the U.S. dollar. By 2013, the Chinese yuan had also begun circulating in Africa.

What Gaddafi was attempting was nothing short of replacing the franc and the dollar.

Of course, France wouldn’t stand for it. At the ti, France was still primarily composed of proud Gauls, untainted by external influences. These haughty Gauls would not tolerate Gaddafi’s defiance.

But Gaddafi thought, I’m not even afraid of Arica or Russia. Why would I be afraid of a re France?

Determined to make France understand his power, he orchestrated a plane crash in Nigeria.

Gaddafi was experienced in such matters.

This disaster claid the lives of 176 passengers, the majority of whom were French citizens.

Having now antagonized Britain, the U.S., France, and Russia, Gaddafi surveyed his surroundings and realized he had yet to challenge one more permanent mber of the UN Security Council—China.

So, he stirred up more trouble.

Gaddafi demanded nuclear technology from China, threatening to support Taiwan’s independence if refused. Naturally, China rejected him outright.

Unwilling to accept defeat, Gaddafi stubbornly believed that money could solve anything.

To demonstrate his sincerity, he traveled to China for the first ti, accompanied by his squad of female bodyguards.

However, his arrogance remained unchanged. He altered his flight path without authorization and arrived three hours late.

Originally, the eting was ant to discuss trade cooperation, but Gaddafi brought up nothing but nuclear weapons, completely ignoring economic matters.

Once again, China firmly rejected him: China does not sell nuclear weapons. Our nuclear arsenal exists solely for self-defense and peace, to break the monopoly and blackmail of nuclear powers.

[TL/N: What a fucking joke, what is this then? this shit was from BBC News and Washington Post.

China ’link’ to Libya nuke design

Investigators have identified China as the origin of so nuclear weapons designs found in Libya last year, the Washington Post newspaper reported.

It said the international inquiry found that Chinese designs probably supplied to Pakistan in the 1980s were sold on to Libya by Pakistani-led smugglers.

It quoted officials as saying that so of Libya’s docunts were in Chinese.

The findings raise questions as to whether similar Chinese designs were supplied to Iran and North Korea.]

This was Gaddafi—a man who never stopped talking, never stopped challenging. Whether his actions were for Libya’s benefit or not, his ultimate fate was sealed. When he was finally overthrown, not a single major power ca to his aid—not even with a re statent of support.

That is the cost of arrogance and isolation.

As the saying goes: Weakness and ignorance have never been barriers to survival—arrogance is.

Gaddafi’s sons inherited his arrogance.

Among them, one stood out—Mutassim-Billah Gaddafi.

Born in December 1977, he was 27 years old.

To compete with his older brother (Gaddafi’s second son) for Libya’s succession, he aggressively invested in various ventures, amassing wealth to build a loyal faction within the military.

In Europe, his thods were relatively mild; in Africa, they were outright brutal.

Gaddafi watched his sons compete but did not intervene. He believed that true strength arose from rivalry, forgetting the damage such internal strife inflicted on the nation.

In the original tiline, Mutassim defeated his older brother in 2007 and secured his claim to Libya’s leadership.

Unfortunately, four years later, he, his father, and his brothers were executed by NATO-backed rebels.

---

Martin obtained a phone number from a captured Libyan prisoner.

Without hesitation, he dialed it.

"Zayed? Why are you calling at this hour? It’s already 10:30 at night!"

A deep voice answered in Arabic.

Martin responded in Arabic as well: "Mutassim-Billah Gaddafi? This is Martin yers."

A mont of silence. Then, a chuckle.

"Zayed got caught, huh? And he gave you this number? How did you manage that?"

Martin said calmly, "Simple. I asked, and he answered."

"Is that so? Well, if you don’t want to tell , so be it." Mutassim clearly didn’t believe him.

Martin continued, "I don’t quite understand sothing. Just because you failed to buy a mine, you resorted to such extre asures against ? Are you really trying to make an enemy of ?"

Mutassim chuckled again. "An enemy? A powerful enemy? I must admit, I didn’t expect you to eliminate the Kurds and find so quickly. But I’m curious—what exactly do you plan to do about it?"

Martin smirked. "I hear you have a girlfriend in Italy. What’s her na again? Vanessa Hessler?"

"So what? Are you trying to use a hostage to threaten ? You’re a superstar, a billionaire—I don’t believe you’d stoop to that level." Mutassim’s voice remained casual.

But Martin detected a faint trace of unease beneath that veneer of calm.

So Zayed was right—Mutassim did care about that woman.

Martin instantly relaxed, genuinely this ti. He said, "Of course, I wouldn’t be so foolish. But tell , if international superstar and billionaire Martin yers were to pursue Miss Hessler, do you think she’d say yes?"

The other end of the line fell silent, as if the mute button had been pressed.

Martin did not hang up. He was patient.

After a long mont, a heavy breath ca through the receiver. Mutassim spoke, his voice no longer lighthearted:

"What do you want?"

A sentintal fool!

For a fleeting second, Martin almost felt a sliver of goodwill toward him.

Or perhaps Mutassim was simply afraid of losing face—especially in such a crucial mont of his power struggle.

But that montary sympathy vanished as quickly as it had co.

"Let’s et," Martin said.

"This August, I’ll be at the Venice Film Festival," Mutassim replied.

"Okay. We’ll et there. And until then—don’t cause any trouble. Do not cross my line again."

Mutassim didn’t respond. He simply hung up.

But Martin could sense the frustration and reluctant agreent in his silence. He smiled in the dark.

anwhile, on the other end of the line, in Turkey, Mutassim-Billah Gaddafi furiously smashed the disposable phone in his hand.

"Martin yers!"

His eyes flashed with a vicious light—before he quickly concealed it.