Novel Name : Mercenary Black Mamba

Mercenary Black Mamba - Chapter 287

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“This b*stard should be in a coffin.”
Black Mamba’s body bent the moment the b*stard, who had lost his knife, moved his hand toward his chest.
He moved his palm gently as though he was chasing away flies and swept past the man’s shoulders.
The sound of someone stepping on dry firewood was heard. It was the sound of bones breaking, no, the sound of bones shattering.
A pitiful cry rang. The gang member collapsed on the spot like a folding empty sack. Black Mamba didn’t care. He kicked the dropping gun up to his hands and crushed the man’s wrists with his military boots before proceeding to the ankles.
The man opened his mouth wide at the sensation of his ankle bones shattering.
“You’re too loud.”
The appreciation magnifying lens on the display case flew through the air. The palm-sized magnifying lens was shoved into his mouth.
He stopped screaming.
“Beings who escape the cycle of humanity deserve to be punished like creatures. You won’t be able to use your arms or legs for the rest of your life. Crawl around like a bug until your death, b*stard.”
The gang member was kicked right into the display case, shattering the glass. He was on display alongside the fake gold that lined the cases.
The Tokarev in Black Mamba’s hand was crushed like foam. Its gun barrel and handle shattered, while the slide and spring popped out.
The fat swindler slowly tried to sneak away.
The Tokarev barrel tore through the fat man’s ear and embedded into the wall. Surprised, the swindler froze. Black Mamba flicked the Opinel in his hand. Cold eyes followed the swindler.
The man, who’d been standing still by the door, flew. He drove himself into the furthest wall like he was drilling into it.
“If you move a single inch, I’ll drive you into the wall instead.”
The man’s eyes moved toward his knife. He nodded like mad.
“This is something good. Ombuti should like it.”
He pressed down on the folding knife and closed the blade. The Opinel was a modified version of a dagger that the Berber tribe of the Sahara had used. Opinel had increased the knife’s quality and practicality by restructuring the dagger. Opinel was rumored to have created 100 knives as a gift for his Berber friends. Opinel was the most valuable treasure to the Berber tribe. It was an item that Ombuti would like.
The other man holding the ax got to his senses and charged toward Black Mamba while screaming bizarrely. It was the final resistance by a prey consumed in fear. Like an illusion, the hand-ax that flew like an arrow toward his head was soon in Black Mamba’s hand. It was a variation of his skill—Stealing Guard of 100 Hands.
The owner of the ax didn’t even get the chance to be surprised. The ax’s blade twinkled in the light and rushed down like a meteorite on his shoulder. A few moments later, both of his arms separated from his shoulders and fell to the ground.
Following his scream, blood started flowing like a fountain. Unable to overcome the extreme pain, the owner of the ax rolled his eyeballs, revealing only the white of the eyes.
A foot decked in boot immediately flew into the man’s open mouth. His gums tore, and his teeth flew in several directions. He would only eat baby food for the rest of his life now that his entire jaw was shattered.
“I won’t cut your legs so that you can carry the other man around.”
The two African street gang members were silent like the dead. Their brains had shut down due to the immense shock. Black Mamba had given them a punishment harsher than death. If he hadn’t visited his comrades before, he’d have taken the necks of those b*stards.
“Hey, swindler!”
The owner, who had been standing frozen like a statue with his mouth wide open, screeched in surprise. Yellow liquid streamed down from between his legs and onto the concrete floor.
“Stop that b*stard from bleeding out.”
The fat swindler moved like lightning. He ripped his clothes off and bound the ax owner’s arm, but that wasn’t enough to stop the arterial bleeding. Black Mamba’s face creased. Although Black Mamba had decided not to see blood, he ended up seeing it anyway. That wasn’t a battlefield but a jewelry store. His mood had reached its lowest point.
“Make a proper deal.”
The swindler disappeared and returned like lightning. His hands trembled as he placed a gold donkey, bracelet, and a black agate misbaha on the display case.
“Ha, what the hell. This means that all the objects in the display cases are fake, right?”
Black Mamba was flabbergasted. It seemed as though he had hidden the real deal somewhere in the inner room.
“How much is it?”
“Please save me.” The fat man, whose entire face was covered in sweat, desperately shook his hand.
“You b*stard. I asked how much?”
He raised his voice. The swindler collapsed onto the floor that was covered in blood and knocked his head.
“Please, just save me.”
“This b*stard’s turning me into a robber.”
The store owner was overwhelmed with fear. He couldn’t process the transaction. Black Mamba left 30,000 francs on the display case.
“From my experience, you must have taken at least double the price. This much should be enough, right?”
“Yes? Yes!”
The fat owner nodded his head back and forth like a Jack-in-the-box.
“Now that the transaction’s over, we should deal fist to fist.”
The obese being, who was hit on the cheek, flew across the room and landed in a roll. Teeth flew and landed on the ground.
“The other cheek will find it unfair if only one side gets the attention, don’t you think?”
The swindler quickly shook his hands.
A resounding impact rang from the other cheek. This time, he flew in the opposite direction and rolled around. He’d managed to withstand a slap that no other soldier had survived. He immediately kneeled and lowered his head. He was an obese person with survival instincts.
“You must have prepared yourself for death when you killed others, right?”
Black Mamba pulled out the shamshir that decorated the entrance wall. It didn’t matter much to Black Mamba whether it came with a blade or not. He didn’t consider the qisas a barbaric tradition. Life should be repaid with life and wealth with wealth. Swindlers were worthless, but that b*stard had killed. Murderers were the worst. Black Mamba couldn’t bear to see evil people living their lives happily.
“Charitable père[1], please be benevolent. I have an old mother in Pompidou, uuuuahh!”
The terrified swindler started crying. Black Mamba, who had intended to cut off his neck, hesitated. He hesitated at the word “mother.” The name “Pompidou” also played a part.
“Mother, hm.”
His heart ached every time he heard the word “mother.” His mother could be anywhere under the foreign skies. The man deserved to die, but his nationality made Black Mamba hesitate. He tapped the blade’s body with his hand. The thick metal blade broke into half.
“Live like a human, won’t you? If you live like an animal, you’ll die like an animal. I’m letting you live since you’re not even worth killing.”
The broken blade dug deep between the man’s legs, right into the floor, until it couldn’t be seen.
The gate, which was as thick as his arm, broke into two with a single kick. Black Mamba disappeared through the open doors.
The roar of his bike’s engine grew distant.
A painful groan escaped the jewelry owner’s mouth the moment the engine sounds faded. Although the terrifying being had left, he couldn’t lift his head. He felt as though the devil would return for his neck the moment he did.
Black Mamba felt bitter. His mood was ruined from the first day of his return to Chad. If he didn’t have the strength, he would have been robbed off of everything by those b*stards and turned into fish food for the creatures in the Shari River. Past or present, the land where human conditions were abandoned and the world where creatures ran about remained the same. Even the faint sound from his engine of 1,500 cubic centimeters couldn’t lift his spirits.
Perhaps a land of barbarians suits me better.
He was Asura, the king of all creatures who had defeated them with the Rakshasa.
“It’s unexpected to see such a scene in Chad.”
Black Mamba was slightly surprised by the construction site in the fourth district of Avenue Charles de Gaulle. Although the construction site’s size wasn’t much of a big deal, the fact that he could see any measurable ongoing construction in Chad was incredible.
According to Bonipas, Avenue Charles de Gaulle’s cotton production company was a project managed with France’s loan. Habré, who had received a loan of 1,000,000,000 francs, decided to use half the amount on himself and gave France 25,000 square kilometers of land in return. In Habré’s perspective, the land was useless with or without.
It was very different compared to Korea’s construction sites. There were only humans with shovels and pickaxes and a few construction vehicles on the land that reached the horizon. He sighed at the pathetic sight to the point that it was comical.
Construction work in Korea focused on speed, like a contest that could only be achieved with concentrated resources and manpower. With the completion of the Gyeongbu Expressway and the Soyanggang Dam in 1970, Korea became a construction-oriented republic. Social infrastructures such as industrial complexes, seawalls, dams, and roads rapidly expanded while the construction of apartment complexes boomed.
In the 1980s, construction companies that had gained power through domestic constructions were pushed to the Middle East like a tide in the oil boom. It was said that misfortune and opportunities came hand in hand. Opportunities only came to those who were prepared. Korea had met with two consecutive oil shock attacks but also had the fortune of becoming the Middle East’s only oil specialist team. In the background of Korea’s forgotten barley fields, an industrial force poured out their sweat and blood in the desert.
Air was money for construction companies. For someone who was used to Korea’s pali-pali culture, Black Mamba was astounded. At that rate, he wondered at which century would they be able to complete the construction. Although, that wasn’t something he should mind.
Black Mamba stared at the construction site for a little longer before heading toward his autonomous region.
“What the hell is that? Damn, what the hell?”
On top of the 30-meter tall iron construction hung a panel that introduced itself as Wakil’s Commerce Company. The sentence “May Wakil’s Commerce Company/Master’s Grace Cover Africa” was written on it.
He felt his face burn. Only Ombuti would name a company as such and mention grace in the same breath. Wakil’s Commerce Company could be overlooked. Fortunately, it wasn’t named Ddu-bai-buru-pa Company. Ombuti was the kind of person who would name the company “Mu Ssang Company” if Black Mamba had told him his real name.
The company’s rectangular site measured 1,000 meters by 3,000 meters. Ombuti had secured nearly 1,000,000 pyungs, achieving his goal of “the bigger, the better.” The land was far too large for a relatively new company. It was the outcome of Black Mamba’s land trauma that had been triggered in Korea because of the shortage of land.
The snakehead turned once around the company’s outer fence. The long iron fence of two meters tall was a simple defense line. It had zero defense capabilities. There were five gate guards with automatic rifles in hand, a two-story brick building located at 10 o’clock from the gate, six warehouses the size of handball fields located at three o’clock from the gate, the lap time of 2.3 seconds from the fence to the two-story brick building, an ideal sniping location located on the left front of the rooftop, and the lap time of 32 seconds to suppress the internal guards. He instantly analyzed the place and envisioned an eraser process.
“Wait, what am I f****** doing?”
He flinched in surprise. Perhaps it was a habit? Perhaps it was his workaholic tendencies? When he arrived at Ombuti’s company, he immediately planned an attack and retreat route and searched for a sniping location. He was doing too many useless things. He’d delved too far into his mercenary life that he’d grown a habit of dividing the people of the world into murderers and victims of death.
The front gate of Wakil’s Commerce Company wasn’t crowded. Aside from the trucks that looked as though they’d break down and donkeys pulling carts, there was nearly no visitor. About 95 percent of Chad’s population were farmers. It also meant that the transportation system was lacking.
Ombuti wanted to venture into production and transportation. Transportation was profitable. Africa’s flow of money had suffered due to the lack of transportation systems. Controlling the flow of produce would allow money to roll in automatically.
Ombuti wanted to provide the citizens with jobs instead of generating money. He had to work in the production field to create many jobs and become of help to the regional economy. Black Mamba had entrusted all decisions to Ombuti. That was Ombuti’s responsibility as the boss.
A guard, who was neatly dressed in a yellow-green military uniform, blocked his path. He could see a guard holding up a rifle inside the post. It was the Kalashnikov that Emil had managed to sneak away from the weapons storage.
“I came to meet the one in charge.”
“Call him boss.”
“Haha, right, I came to meet the boss.”
“Get off.”
Black Mamba meekly got off the bike. The guard’s eyes didn’t stray away from the bike. It was strange for a Chad local not to be surprised by a BMW bike of 1,500 cubic centimeters.
“Ha, this b*stard. Oi, is this the airport security station?” Black Mamba shouted.
The guard didn’t even move.
“It’s the rule.”
“Ombuti must have trained you well. I’m wakil.”
“I can’t even if you’re the wakil. ID!”
The guard acted tough, to the point that even a nail wouldn’t have drilled through. There was no room for flexibility. However, he couldn’t scold a guard who was loyal to his duties. He handed him the special military advisor ID card.
“Sbard Gulbeig? What kind of name is that?”
The guard tilted his head. The person who had given Black Mamba such an unusual pseudonym was manager Miguel from the DGSE. Sbard referred to the dark world, and Gulbeig meant “one who chased gold.” It was proof of his ill intentions since the beginning. He had almost forgotten about the name since it held no meaning to him.
“Oho, you know how to read French? Ombuti chose his workers well.”
“Hey, stop mentioning our boss’ name like that.”
The guard frowned. Black Mamba felt satisfied. It meant that the workers respected Ombuti.
“By any chance, is there a female doctor called Miss Edel here?”
“Ah, Dr. Edel! She came here several times, mentioning the arrival of a precious guest. I have no idea who this b*stard is to make her wait. Oh!”
Taken by surprise, the guard’s eyes rapidly moved up and down Black Mamba. At that moment, he remembered his boss’ order. He’d said that an important guest was visiting late at night. The guard hadn’t thought of that since it was still early.
“Could you take off your hat, please?”
The guard’s tone suddenly changed. Black Mamba took off the boonie hat that covered half of his face.
“Hey Endada, is the boss expecting an Asian guest?”
“Yeah. He said the person’s tall and built.”
The guard’s dark face quickly turned pale.
“Hey, my ID.”
The guard rushed to hand the card back.
Que tengo miedo a perderte.[2]
Perderte despues.[3]
Quiero tenerte muy cerca.[4]
A sad song played by Black Mamba’s ears.
[1] Father.
[2] I’m afraid of losing you.
[3] I’ll be scared still.
[4] I want to have you near.
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