Novel Name : Mercenary Black Mamba

Mercenary Black Mamba - Chapter 118

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It was disgusting. The old man before his eyes was a b*stard, who appeared out of nowhere, to hit and spit at him. Realizing that he had fallen to the point of being mocked by a clumsy old man only made him smile bitterly.
There were thousands and millions more who held a grudge against him anyway.
Even the North Korean officer had said that a fallen dragon in a stagnant river would be laughed at. He gave up fighting back and closed his mouth.
But he didn’t know the b*stard would cut his p*nis.
As a man, he was trash of the worst kind. Despite being called a butcher, he couldn’t have sliced the p*nis of any man. Women were an exception.
Looking at the red eyes that flashed in expectation of the upcoming violence made his insides flip. Now that the world had turned upside down, even a worthless human was getting on his nerves.
“Hehehe! Of course, I do. I’ve only dreamt of killing you, sir Habib, and Musta for the past five years.”
Habib wasn’t even surprised. Empty laughter came automatically.
“There are over thousands of people dreaming that impossible dream in just Southern TIbesti. You’re but one of those thousands. I don’t know how I ended up in this situation, but my name isn’t something an old man like you can dare to mention,” Habib said with derision to Ombuti.
“I see you’re still living in a fantasy. You’ll regain your senses when your brain is shattered, and your skin is torn.”
Ombuti emitted blood lust.
“Hehe, kill or let me live, do whatever you want. I won’t be bothered.”
Habib closed his eyes and pressed his back to the floor.
Ombuti felt the fight leave him. Even when fishing, the fish had to resist for one to feel the thrill at their fingertips. It was as his Wakil had said, there was no meaning in killing a dead soul’s body.
The corpses of his wife and daughter, who had been raped and killed mercilessly, flickered across his eyes. This wasn’t a rage that could be resolved with a few punches and the cutting of a p*nis. He felt conflicted. Rather, he couldn’t think of a good solution.
“Huh, Wakil!”
Ombuti was surprised. His master was someone whose presence couldn’t be felt, even when one was standing beside him.
“I’ve disturbed your sleep, Wakil.”
“No. I was awake. Are you getting ready for the Bismillah?”
“Yes. I was thinking for a moment.”
Bismillah originally meant “by the will of God.”
It was the most used word in a Muslim’s day-to-day life. Bismillah was recited, before eating or drinking water.
Bismillah had to be recited before butchering an animal or killing a sacrifice in order to avoid Hades. Some tribes in the southwestern side of the Sahara desert used Bismillah in reference to the sacrifice placed on the altar.
Habib raised his head and began to protest.
“Black Mamba, you promised me the death of a warrior with your name on the line! I want to die as a warrior.”
“You crazy b*stard, you’re the one who first went back on your promise to answer honestly. My promise had already scattered with the wind the moment you kept your mouth shut regarding the position of Abbas’ army.”
“I’ll tell you now.”
Habib was nervous.
The half-deranged Tuareg tribe’s old man looked as though he wanted to peel off his skin layer by layer. There were several ways to die. Whether it was a bullet to the head, roped to a tree, or stabbed to the heart, he didn’t fear such methods. But there was a different meaning to being tormented until death.
“Too late. I’ve left your punishment to Ombuti already.”
“That doesn’t make sense! Are you saying that a little promise is worth more than information on escaping?” Habib shouted at the top of his lungs, unbelievingly.
“Obviously. Promises are important.”
Black Mamba’s reply sounded bored to the point that it was hateful.
“Agh, what kind of human are you! You, for a lowly slave, for that slave…”
“Wakil, that b*stard’s not wrong. Don’t take your slave into consideration and gain the information you need.”
Ombuti, who was surprised, grabbed onto Black Mamba’s sleeve. His revenge was a small matter, while the team’s safety was a large matter.
“Who dares to say that Black Mamba’s slave is lowly?”
A howling that was deeper and heavier than a male lion’s roar shook the desert. Black Mamba’s eyes sent out a beam of blue light.
“Ombuti, servitude and nobility is decided by yourself. You are a warrior who places importance on trust. As the head of the family, you are risking your life for your family’s revenge. If I change my mind constantly, I’ll lose my servant’s trust. I’d give up the information and work towards the location rather than become a master without trust.”
“You crazy b*stard! You and your servant are both mad!”
“Ohh, Wakil!”
Habib’s face crumpled to rot, and Ombuti’s face turned into one of reverence.
What kind of master in this world would treat his servant so highly!
Ombuti cried inwardly.
“Ombuti, bury him.”
Ombuti, who didn’t understand the meaning behind his words, asked back.
“There’s no reason to hadas your hands. I heard of something called Allah’s judgment. Something about leaving a person tied to a post in the middle of a desert. There’s no need to do that. Just bury him, but leave his head out. Let him experience the worst fear and torment until he dies.”
Chui Do Shik used to clear the grounds on a whim and buried people with the excuse of ninja training. The hopelessness and despair of being unable to move a finger were unimaginable unless suffered personally. Rather than training, it was a punishment that destroyed a person’s spirit.
There was a similar punishment called “Hom-Dai” in ancient Egypt. It was a punishment that involved burying a person alive within a coffin. “Hom-Dai” later evolved into a form of live burials.
Ombuti’s face brightened.
“Oooh, that’s a good method.”
Ombuti understood Black Mamba’s intentions. Wakil left Habib’s punishment to Allah’s will. The Sahel region was the spotted hyenas’ habitat, a breed commonly found in the area. Whether the starved hyenas were able to find Habib or not was up to Allah’s will. His owner was a fair and fearful person.
Ombuti tied Habib up and went down to the river, five yards away from camp.
“Yawm al-din[1], that scar on your forehead is the mark my wife left behind. Now, it is your turn to receive judgment.”
Habib struggled to open his eyes. His eyes, which had lost their focus, turned towards Ombuti.
He remembered. There had been a woman who resisted strongly. Unlikely a local, the woman cracked his head with a rock.
He spoke as though he was mumbling.
“You’re that woman’s husband? Maktub[2]!”
Ombuti took out a long object from his backpack.
The object glistened in the moonlight.
“Hm, isn’t that the Ocelot’s whip, which was lost?”
“Yes. It dropped near the back garden of Le Marienne hotel, which you flipped over, Wakil. I kept it for you.”
“Ha, I didn’t even think about it.”
“Unfortunately, there’s no handle, but it’s an amazing weapon. It’s good for your use, Wakil.”
“It’s not a well-intended object.”
Now that he was talking about it, it was ironic. His Kukri was a weapon that had drunk more blood than the Ocelot’s whip.
“A weapon follows its user’s will, like money. There’s no such thing as a bad weapon. It’s the human who uses it that makes it worse.”
“Hm, you’re right, but I don’t need another weapon.”
“Wakil, you’re a perfect warrior who has equipped both the close and long-range attacks. On top of that, if you gain a weapon that allows you a middle-range attack, you’ll become undefeatable.”
“Hm, I’ll think about it. Did you take out the object for that b*stard?”
“That’s correct. I’ll use your wealth just this once, Wakil.”
“Give me your permission, please.”
Ombuti was a strict servant.
“I allow you to.”
“Thank you.”
Black Mamba, who guessed Ombuti’s intention, nodded and stepped back. Ombuti was a slightly scary human.
A desperate shout rang across the desert. The surface of Ocelot’s whip was coated with pieces and dust made of diamonds. It was as though small thorns were embedded thoroughly. The whip swept past his shoulder. Clothes were ripped, causing the skin to tear and bleed.
“Agh, you f****** son of a swine!”
When the end of the whip swept past his cheek, his skin was ripped, revealing his cheekbones. Ombuti moved the whip several more times. Ocelot’s whip revealed a horrible power. With a few more swings, Habib became soaked with blood.
Ombuti rolled the whip up and stored it in his backpack.
“Wakil, I’ll store this with care. Think of a way to use it. It’s too good to give it up.”
Ombuti’s truth touched him.
They had different ethnicities and different ways of thinking, but the truth was always communicated. The old Tuareg warrior had been honest. Truth from the depths of the heart should always be received kindly.
Warmth gathered in Black Mamba’s eyes, which was looking at Ombuti. He felt happiness from gaining another family in another country. It does not matter if you are not blood-related. As long as there were truth and minds were connected, that was considered family.
Ombuti dug the ground with ferocity.
Overwhelmed with happiness, he dug the ground until his hands shattered. Ombuti measured the depth of the hole and picked Habib up. The old man was strong.
“This can’t be possible. Allah, please shove these heathens and betrayer in hell,” Habib shouted with the last of his strength.
“Ha, he’s not a bit different from that Amuhd b*stard.” Black Mamba, who was watching the works with cold eyes, laughed.
“It’s a curse that was passed down since the crusade.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Allah, who loves humans, won’t be as free to listen to the pleas of this b*stard.”
Ombuti pushed the sand in the hole, smoothing the surface with his feet.
All that was left was the round head above the ground.
“In that friend’s perspective, it is resentful. Yaksa’s met Ashura, so there’s nothing to do. You should blame fortune.”
“Wakil, I didn’t know such a day would come. Thank you. I don’t know how to repay this debt.”
“Ombuti, you don’t say such things between family. I’m relieved that I can sleep more easily from today onwards.”
“Shukran. Ha-da-apdal yaoumin pi-haya-ti.”[3]
Tears streamed down from Ombuti’s eyes.
Ombuti remained awake for the entire night and searched the river at daybreak.
“Oh, Allah, Allah, you are fair and great. Wakil is also fair and great.”
Ombuti raised both of his hands up high and kneeled.
He kneeled towards the east, bowed five times, and bowed twice towards his master’s tent.
The soil where Habib had been buried was turned over. It was the marks of an animal’s paws. Blood dried around the hole. All there was left was a few pieces of clothes and pieces of thick bones. It was the remains of Sahel’s butcher, Habib. He had died in the hands of the hyenas.
Habib had been buried with just his neck out of the ground. Predators bared their teeth and roamed, but he would have been unable to raise a finger. Ombuti felt goosebumps rising across his skin, thinking of the fear and desperation Habib would have felt.
It was over.
He had returned the fear and despair that his wife and daughter would have felt from the attack. It was the perfect revenge. As the saying goes, reap what you sow.
“Hahahaaa!” Ombuti shouted at the top of his lungs.
It was a mix of anger, exaltation, and sadness. Black Mamba, who had appeared silently out of nowhere, watched the scene.
“Good, you’re not a man if you forget revenge.”
Ombuti gathered the remains and shoved them into the hole Habib was buried in. Islamic teachings refused to humiliate the dead. Black Mamba raised a headstone. He had kept his promise to Habib by giving him a marker.
The stone was engraved with the following:
[4].حبيب، مدرب القبيح من أولئك الذين تغفو هنا
On the 35th day of mission Raccoon.
The raccoon team had marched without rest for 24 hours. The distance didn’t close, as tired as their bodies were. The marching speed barely reached four kilometers per hour. It was due to the newly associated mercenaries, who were untrained.
Their decision to travel with camels had been right.
They were able to avoid FROLINAT’s traps by avoiding the road. They had only met FROLINAT’s scouts twice after leaving Paya on the third day. They also met the side effects of avoiding the local informants’ instincts.
“Ombuti, is there a reason why the FROLINAT scouts move in units of 10 people?”
“Muslims hold great importance to the number 99. Another name for Allah is 99. It is believed that all would become one by the hundredth name onwards. During the crusade, Sanpara, the hero of that time, had sworn to Allah that he would kill 100 enemies. Sanpara had killed 99 enemies before suffering a serious injury. Before he died, he used a broken piece of his bone to kill the hundredth enemy. Those beggars are imitating warrior Sanpara, sending out nine scouts with a single watch.”
“Ha, to act like a hero when there’s no trust between subordinates, they’re funny people.”
“They are an organization without the qualifications of a human as you’ve mentioned Wakil. They lack benevolence and trust, which is why they put a watcher. It’s the same for fighting units. They form units of 9, 49, and 99 members, and place one watcher for each group of nine.”
“They’ve filled the number 10, so isn’t that a slight against Allah?”
Black Mamba tilted his head.
[1] The day of judgment
[2] God willing
[3] “Thank you. It’s the best day of my life.”
[4] Dugel Habib, head of all evil, rests here. (Read from Right to Left)
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