Novel Name : Mercenary Black Mamba

Mercenary Black Mamba - Chapter 63

Prev Chapter Next Chapter

The rock which he had been hiding in exploded.
The OG7 warhead of RPG7 reached 125 thousand J in the explosion. Its impact could shatter most rocks, and the aftershock blew away the remnants. Lax concealment could only result in exploding alongside the rocks and trees. Escaping was the best way.
Black Mamba, who had extracted his body, hid between two boulders he had targeted. The FROLINAT soldiers lived up to their name as guerrillas and hid very well.
Their point of concealment was between a zig-zagged crevice between the surface of the cliff two meters from the ground. It was a place no one would have found if it weren’t Black Mamba. Of course, the location couldn’t be targeted by a sniper.
Even if they hid well, there was no way to block the bullets coming from overhead. Three people ended up with holes in their heads, and the darts he threw upon landing dug into two other’s throats.
It was hard to go against an enemy who knew the terrain very well.
He could sweep away guerrillas who ran about in deserted lands like sweeping with a broom. Here, he had to find them as though he was looking for mice hiding in their holes. It required even more time and effort.
Black Mamba’s body, which had cleared five guerrillas, swayed on the spot. His ears rang.
It was the result of continuous exposure to poison and explosion. His gravity suddenly weighed two times its average. He felt as though he had tied a truck’s tire around his waist.
“That damned Russian!”
Suddenly, anger rose from within. He wished to check the shooting mechanism which had been on the bastard’s chest. Although the injury was small, the poison gnawed away at his vitality continuously. Of course, any average human would have long since crossed the Styx.
Black Mamba rubbed his body between the corpses. This was to guise himself as one of the corpses to take a breather. Although it lacked finesse, there was nothing good in pushing himself. There was still time for the moon to set, and there were still many he had to kill.
The guerrilla he had plastered himself to made gargling noises. It was the guerrilla with the dart in his neck. The fact that he had not died also meant his own stamina had decreased. It was a problem. He grabbed the handle of the dart and twisted the neck in a circle. The lungs which had been grasping for air quietened. This was the land of barbarism.
His throat burned as though it was on fire. His larynx and esophagus felt as though it was cracking.
Mucus caught on his throat like a COPD patient. He had been told that his throat would turn dry if he was poisoned, and he now realized it was true.
He had grown an immunity against poison as his body underwent changes, but his violent movements had sped up the poison’s circulation. Poison was a substance the body rejected and rebelled against. Even an overdosage of Solanine and Chaconine in a potato’s skin could destroy red blood cells and paralyze the motor neurons.
If the body’s resistance was stronger than the poison, the poison wasn’t effective any longer.
Black Mamba sat in a meditative position. The time given by the enemy’s loss of sight was golden to him.
He raised his energy, calming his flipping insides. The flow which dropped off abruptly cost him his concentration from time to time. The moment he circulated his energy, he could feel the poison’s location in his blood.
His blood and poison were boiling against each other. The poison was destroying blood cells, and to counter that, his marrows were creating even more blood.
He slowly raised the waves within his body and pushed it towards his blood veins as though he was pushing a net. The moment he pushed in the pulse, all the foreign substances gathered in one place. He pushed the contaminated blood towards the injury on his chest.
His injury had already scabbed.
It was one of the many advantages of a Paranthropus. The recovery speed was several times faster than a normal human’s. He opened the injury once more in a cross shape. The blood which poured out of him smelled sour. The blood flow stopped. It was in times like these that his fast recovery speed became a problem. He ripped open his injury again with his knife and bled out once more. The expression as he did so was no different than the times he peeled away apple skins.
Black Mamba, who pulled out the water flask from his bag, clicked his tongue. The bottom had been holed by a bullet. He threw the flask away and rummaged the corpses’. There was not a single bastard with a water bottle.
The only way to gain water was through the corpses. Black Mamba stared at the corpses. He couldn’t see them as anything more than protein.
He raised his Kukri and sent out a resonance. It wasn’t visible to the eye, but the blade trembled. He aligned the blade to the flask’s neck and sliced it. The aluminum fell apart helplessly. The sliced surface shone like a glass ball.
“Yes, I’m the kanma. I’ll be the animal before being a human.”
Black Mamba made a determined face before slicing the corpse’s carotid with his Kukri. His expression as he received the flowing blood in his flask was pale as though it had been painted white. The color of the corpse and the color of Black Mamba’s face was no different from one another.
Black Mamba, who was about to bring the flask of blood to his mouth, threw his knife behind him.
A sharp scream sounded.
A large bird with a knife in its body twitched on the ground. On its head was a protruding bone, and on its grey feathers was a white dot. It was a guinea fowl. It lived mainly in Tibesti, and there were many in the empty Sahel regions south of Tibesti. The curious bird had seen its end while peeking about.
Black Mamba grabbed the bird’s neck like lightning and sprinted out of his position. The guinea fowl’s scream brought about gunshots. RPG launches and bullets rained down on the position he had been in.
Black Mamba crawled between two rocks as though he was a disk. The poor guinea fowl’s neck was sliced. Blood poured out like a fountain. He closed his mouth around the bird’s neck and sucked. It was larger than a duck. There was enough in quantity.
When fresh blood went in, his parched throat opened up. His body condition recovered with the loss of his thirst and dizziness.
A figure with blood across its mouth like a cat after dining pulled out from between the rocks.
With a bloodied body, fresh blood running down his mouth, and blood dripping down his knife, it was as though the kanma had truly resurrected.
Black Mamba smiled bitterly at his state. Who could call him a human now?
He lifted his head and searched the sky. The moon had tilted slightly towards the west. It had been two hours since the battle had begun. His bullet use was much more constant compared to the average user. He had one Dragunov magazine, two Pamus magazines, and two Glock magazines.
A smile twisted around his bloodied mouth. Now that he had escaped his poisoned state, there was nothing to fear. He had cleared eight teams, a total of 40 people. There were still others who had to greet Allah.
Black Mamba’s attacks became fierce.
Black Mamba lifted himself off the ground with a strong kick and bounced out once more after using the acacia tree branch as leverage. Using the rebound of the branch, he moved 20 meters like a bird in flight.
Black Mamba, who had closed in 30 meters in an instant, landed on a boulder as light as a feather. It was a tall granite boulder around 40 meters tall. Due to the overhang 20 meters below him, he couldn’t see the guerrillas in hiding.
They, too, were tense. If he jumped down the rock he was bound to be turned into a beehive. Black Mamba struck a mantling position with his head placed below.
Mantling was a cliff climbing technique that required grasping ahold with hands to push one’s body up by force.
The reverse mantling left the head pointing downwards, climbing down and maintaining the body’s balance with hands-on holds. It was an impossible descent position with a human’s body. Black Mamba left his body’s balance to his lower body and began to descend with his body plastered against the cliff like a spider.
The moment he passed the overhang, he could see the guerrillas disguised in their ghillie suits clearly. Black Mamba clung to a hold with one hand and dangled in the air.
He broke open his Pamus the moment he released his grasp, while falling.
Three guerrilla heads exploded even before he reached the ground. In a moment of a human’s fall in gravity, the falling speed was around 50 meters per second. In a 20 meter height, it took 0.5 seconds to reach the ground. Even the great Black Mamba couldn’t shoot in a row in such a situation.
The soldier who had withstood the bullets by twisting his body opened his eyes. A large figure appeared right in front.
A strange, destructive sound resonated. It was the sound of a head being caved in by a boot.
“Ka, Kanma, Kanma!”
The remaining guerrilla stuttered with his mouth wide open. Black Mamba whirled around towards him. the surprised guerrilla threw his gun away and lifted his hands.
Black Mamba’s right hand twitched.
The unforgiving dart embedded itself deeply into his forehead. The guerrilla died with fear still displayed across his eyes.
Black Mamba disappeared. It had truly been a cold-blooded whirlwind.
RPG and bullets poured down on the place Black Mamba had just been. The five corpses were torn into unrecognizable pieces. It was relentless targeting. It was Payne’s determination to catch the Kanma no matter the sacrifice.
The battle continued in a similar pattern.
Black Mamba swept over the scouting units, the protecting units poured in their gunfire, and Black Mamba appeared at another scouting unit.
Black Mamba was using his technique of becoming one with nature. The guerrillas unknowingly allowed the reaper to approach and were defeated without resistance.
Payze, leader of the scouts, gritted his teeth.
The bastard who had been attacked with an RPG had flown away like a bird. It was fast to the point that even their Dynamic Visual Acuity couldn’t keep up.
‘He’s truly the Kanma!’
Not even pre-made counter plans worked. The bastard appeared like the shadows and disappeared like the dust. There was no way to catch him, even by launching RPG’s and mortars.
Beep Beep Beeeeep!
Payze blew on his whistle twice shortly, and once long.
It was the signal to commit suicide attacks. The scouts each loaded their grenades.
“Hell, they have no imagination at all.”
Black Mamba, who had just wiped out another small unit of sentries, began to complain. Toys that were covered in mud darted out of the ground. They had used their brains and laid traps beforehand.
When the guerrillas ran forward, the dry mud started to fall.
The bayonet and knife flashed in the moonlight.
Black Mamba’s body flashed everywhere. No, the kukri flashed in the moonlight.
A blade of tremendous strength and momentum sliced the fragile human’s neck and chest without hesitation. The Paranthropus’ killing instinct exploded.
The Kukri passed over the necks of two other men before the sliced heads rolled to the ground. The heavy 1.2 kg Kukri sliced off the cervical spine and muscles without resistance.
The guerrillas who had been shooting left and right soon lost their necks or had their temple caved in by the Kukri’s handle. The kukri, which had swung to the right as though it was ignoring the laws of forces, appeared out the other side.
Even with a long sword, a human’s neck wasn’t easy to cut. The Joseon Dynasty had to strike a sinner’s neck several times with a heavy knife. There were records of sinner’s family bribing officials for a clean cut.
The guerrilla’s body moved forward a few steps due to inertia before falling to the ground. He fell in the exact position he had swung the bayonet forward. It ended in a horrible scene.
The guerrilla who had run at him from behind with a large sword had his neck broken with a crack by blunt force. His movements clearing the five guerrillas had flown like water.
Bang! Bang! Tatata!
Self-destructive grenades went off, and the other two corners of the three-way ambush began to shoot assisting bullets. Black Mamba kicked against the ground and flung his arms open, flying down like a bird, and landed underneath the cliff. It was Flying Display often found in martial arts.
Black Mamba’s instant transportation speed was overwhelming and was capable of moving 15 meters in an instant if combined with the Four Paced Movement. The bullets and grenades only turned the flints of rocks and pieces of wood loudly.
The length of one side of the three-way ambush was 12 meters. Black Mamba pinpointed the back of a unit’s position with a single movement. The reaper landed lightly on top of the boulder which the scouts were using as cover. The guerrillas who had been shooting meaninglessly before them had bullets lodged in the back of their heads. Five names were erased from Azrael’s list in an instant.
Black Mamba usually destroyed the brains or sliced the necks in close combat. Payze had ordered a suicide attack, but there was no point. A person who had their nerves cut instantly couldn’t explode while dead.
Even the guerrillas who had self-exploded didn’t gain anything. When they were on the verge of exploding, their brainwaves turned stronger. Their blood flow rushed raster.
Black Mamba’s sensitive senses and wavelengths saw beyond the norm. By the time they had exploded, Black Mamba had long escaped the place using the Four Paced Movement. It resulted in the decreasing energy of the attackers.
Black Mamba didn’t rush.
He approached soundlessly and sliced the neck or broke the spine like a snake. He threw a rock first to lure shots before attacking. He was one with the tree before lodging a bullet on the back of their heads.
Prev Chapter Next Chapter