Mercenary Black Mamba

Chapter 401: Chapter 40 Episode 24: Ituri, Fist of Justice

Japan’s politics, economy, and power of the social elite were entwined with war criminals who had amassed wealth for the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere. They were made up of people who couldn’t forget their past when they tore through China and Russia and crushed Korea beneath their feet. While the nobility had collapsed in Korea after the war, there were still samurais holding up Japan’s elite class.

Those who were immersed in the samurai way of thinking considered Korea as nothing but their slaves. Since their slaves gained independence and lived well under a mansion’s roof right next door, eating rice for their meals, they naturally got annoyed. They took Korea’s water dispensers, blocked their farm waterways, and acted like street gangs by blocking their paddy outlets. The Korea-Japan relationship was bound to falter the more Korea advances.

There were Pro-Japanese who told the people to hate Japan, not the Japanese. That was a hilarious attempt. The Japanese were like ant workers who followed the queen ant around, drawn in by her pheromones. An article was once published in the newspaper Joseon Daily, which produced the highest number of publications, stating:

[…when Pohang Rails went into crisis, Park Tae Jun ran to Japan. He only had Japan to rely on when Gumi Rails was ignoring Pohang Rails’ crisis. The person he met there was Abe Shintaro, who helped Korea with a guilty heart his whole life… a Japanese like him who didn’t forget the past helped Korea… etc.]

If Japan was the ant colony, Korea was the frog brother. There were too many frogs jumping to random places under strange personal justice and plans. Black Mamba wanted to tear off the head of the writer of that article back then.

If Japan was a street gang, the U.S. was the mafia. They beat everyone up and demanded many things, but also gave as much. They gave a lot when they felt like it. The only reason the United States was so attached to Korea was that it was the first line of defense against the Soviet Union and China, the communist countries.

The U.S. was a country that only moved for its own profits. Unfortunately, the base of strategies for the U.S. wasn’t Korea, but Japan. If Japan was their teeth, Korea was their mouth. Before the saying of Korea being the U.S.’s King Pin came about, it had been said that the U.S. prioritized ‘securing Japan’s wheel.’

If the U.S. ever had to choose between Korea and Japan, they’d choose Japan. Korea’s main enemy was Japan. While they might be able to fight North Korea out on land, they would need missiles to affect Japan across the sea.

Jeon Du Hwan and his group gave the U.S. full rights to nuclear power and missiles in return for political support. Jeon Du Hwan’s decision to sell the country’s future and security would one day return as a large consequence in the future.

“Nimi jotto, I’m worrying about nothing again.”

Kidamba and Olonge’s incomprehensible actions called in some bad memories. While he decided not to interfere, his home country always brought forth anger and pity.

Black Mamba shook his head and climbed down the ridge. He didn’t intend to put himself between Kamuge’s group and the Pygmy tribe’s grudge. Like he told Samedi, he was only getting rid of humans who gave up being humans and turned into animals.

“Amazing!”

Black Mamba looked up at the large limbali tree. The branches that grew 100 meters above ground were far away. Its base rose 60 meters above ground, went up, and formed the first branches, and those branches extended even further to become one with the canopy.

His head automatically went back down at the old tree which should be a thousand years old. Their camp and Kidamba’s village were 500 meters apart, just enough to snipe at.

Whoosh! The army rope dragged air impact sounds across the air as it soared. The shuriken at the end of the rope wrapped once around the first branch. Black Mamba checked the rope’s tenacity and kicked off the ground. He borrowed the rope’s momentum and jumped 40 meters up into the air at once, and dug his Billion’s Water Armor into the tree bark. He shook his body using the propelling force and jumped the rest of the 20 meters. The Billion’s Water Armor prevented his army rope from digging into his skin, at a bare 2 mm wide.

A Chrysopelea paradise (flying snake) was surprised by the sudden intruder and flew off to another tree. The sight of that wingless creature swarming in an S fashion across the air was quite a sight. “Will I be able to do that?” He felt as though he could, as long as he flattened his body further.

“Wow! It’s a room.”

Black Mamba’s mouth fell open as he poked his head out of the thick clusters of branches. The countless branches entangled with parasitic plants and vines, creating a green carpet. He could see Kidamba’s village from the carpet. The distance was around 450 meters, and there were at least 70 tents arranged along the outskirts with wood and grass. There were more than five children in each Pygmy family. There was even a couple who had 15 children.

The villagers didn’t look happy. He could also see some places where black ash lingered after getting burnt down and some broken houses. They looked like the locals in Sahel after the Civil War. None of the locals could be seen, but three black men were on the village outskirts holding a rifle. There were three more on the other end. This meant four were inside the village.

Kueeee! Kuek! Monkeys cried out loudly in the forest behind him. Birds flew up. Samedi had begun the human hunt.

“Loud. I should begin.”

He took out the Dragunov in his backpack and started to assemble it. How many souls had he stolen since he grabbed the Dragunov at Castello Bridge! To a mercenary, women were their second love. Their first love was their weapons. He ran a hand along the thick metal body. It was smooth like Edel’s chest. His heart also wavered.

Once he had his first target in the crosshair, the distance was automatically marked. His first target was 447km away, the same distance he approximated with his bare eyes. Ever since the new invention called a scope came around, there wasn’t a reason to estimate the distance anymore. The 15x zoom scope that the DGSE specially made was high-performance compared to the 4x zoom fixed scope.

He took off the scope and placed it in his backpack. A sniper’s attacking environment is always weak. One must always plan an attack using the worst-case scenario. If he didn’t have a scope? If it didn’t work? In the end, he could trust nothing but his own abilities.

His first targets were the three black men who were ambling along the village. The reason that he chose a long-range attack was that he wanted to feel Dragunov’s trigger and practice his three-tap shooting skill. The face of the guy with a crushed nose came into his sight. This guy’s eyes were red, too. Anything within 500 meters didn’t need to be calculated. There wasn’t any wind in the jungle since Ituri was covered by a canopy after all.

Clunk! The Dragunov spewed fire for the first time since he entered Ituri Jungle. Splatter. The flat-nosed man’s head exploded like a watermelon. The DGSE had made him a special bullet. They’d made a cross engravement on his bullet head and increased the amount of gunpowder. This was to decrease the piercing force and increase the impact.

Clunk! Clunk! Black Mamba could use his senses again and started to shoot double taps. The two black men’s heads exploded while they stared at the remains of their friend with wide eyes. Clunk, clunk, clunk! The heads of three targets on the other side of the village also exploded without fail. The visual impact wasn’t as great in a dark forest.

“Oho, they crawled out on their own. Thanks.”

Clunk, clunk, clunk! The three black men who appeared from within the village also collapsed without a sound. They were probably going to swap turns. The Angel of Death had finally appeared in Ituri Jungle.

There were 10 Damballahs in the village, according to Wallaby, whom they had captured prisoner. That meant there was one left, but no one would believe his words to the letter. Prisoners’ words were only something to be referred to. He waited 10 more minutes, but no more targets appeared.

“I guess it’s time to start the dogfight.”

He slid down the army rope. The army rope Emil gifted him had been the best-used object throughout this operation. This was why friends were the best.

Whether it was for the unknown or the belief in spells, those who committed a sin that went against heaven’s will must be punished like an animal. If a gunfight broke out in the village, the pygmies might be hurt, but there wasn’t enough time to take care of them all. Once he interfered, most who should be dead would live, and most who should be left alone would die.

Realistically, if the Damballah who came out to Kidamba’s village told headquarters of a strong enemy’s appearance, it would cause more trouble. If Kamuge changed headquarters or executed his hostages, all of this would have been for nothing. He stabled the Dragunov in his backpack and took out the MP5sd3. Black Mamba ran towards the village like the wind.

Crack! A black man collapsed onto the ground with half of his neck detached. A human’s neck is around 8kg and 60cm long, too weak to stand an attack of any stick. No human’s neck would be able to stand the kind of power that can break through the skull of an African cow. The corpses that were already on the floor weren’t in a good condition either. Their waists were torn off and most were headless.

“Why do these bastards stink so much?” Samedi tilted his head.

They stank so badly he felt like puking. Even their blood smelled foul. Samedi was carrying a titanium machete in his left hand and the Squeaker stick in his right hand. The reason why he was beating up those voodoo followers like dogs was that he didn’t want to touch them with his hands and feet. The strong impact that vibrated on his hand was also addicting.

Damballahs had three people to a team. The group he beat up this time was the third team. Damballahs weren’t hard to hunt because of their strong stench. Despite the handicap of his environment – a jungle, he could smell them immediately as long as they were within 200 meters. The Yorunba Kamuge used to increase their survival rates had instead become a pheromone which called in reapers.

A black stick poked out of a miracle hurutz branch while Samedi was deep in thought 20 meters away. It was a stick of a Damballah, who had been out to pick fruits.

Bang, bang! Samedi, who sensed him a little too late, was already shot by the time he turned around.

“Ugh!”

Samedi jumped a little. Blood flowed out of his shoulder and side. He’d been shot with a 7.62mm bullet twice, but Samedi didn’t even collapse. He only staggered back three or four times.

“There’s a rat.”

Samedi charged like a rhinoceros. Bullets poured out, but Samedi, who learned fearless steps from Black Mamba, couldn’t be hit. Samedi changed directions twice before ramming the miracle hurutz with his shoulder. Bang! The tree, which was the size of his thigh, cracked.

“Aagh!”

The Damballah who had been hiding within the thick branches fell out. Crack! His stick made a semi-circle in the air. Bang! The kind of sound that comes from drumming wet clothes by the river rang out. The poor black man’s waist was folded in half.

“Aigo, it hurts. Master can’t know about this.”

Now he was going to be scolded by Wakil about how he doesn’t pay attention. Uncomfortable, Samedi looked around. He’d been too immersed in the feeling that ran up his palm from the beatings that he hadn’t noticed. Also, he was under the misconception that there were only three to a squad.

“Ugh!”

He used his strength. Only blood poured out of his shoulder and side. The bullet which had dug deep into his muscles refused to be pushed out through its cavitation. While it didn’t affect his movements, his master would notice. He tried to push out the bullets several times, but they still didn’t budge. Samedi gave up getting rid of them and continued to hunt.

“Damn bastards, I’ll beat you up like dogs.”

Samedi’s nostrils flared with sadistic anticipation. Since the gun rang, those bastards would have noticed a hunter’s presence too. The hunter only finds happiness in hunting when the prey puts up a good fight.

Samedi didn’t know the fear and pain others could go through. He knew guilt and right from wrong, but his emotions worked separately. While he was endlessly kind to a human he felt interested in, he was a psychopath who had no mercy for those he recognized as enemies. Samedi, who didn’t feel guilt or discomfort in killing others, was much more of a killing machine than Black Mamba.

Humans need to be hunters anyways to avoid being hunted. Most humans have a psychopathic tendency to considers others’ misfortune as one’s own happiness. Listening to the conversation of women gathered at a cafe would make one realize that 90% of their conversation is about someone else’s misfortune. In this case, Samedi would be more humane as he was true to his emotions.

Up close, Kidamba’s village didn’t look well. Out of the 70 houses, only 20 looked fine. Well, they were just makeshift houses that would collapse with a kick, too flimsy to be called houses anyways.

The first, second, and third tents were all empty. He only sensed someone in the fourth tent. There was rough breathing, which meant the person inside was an old man. He opened the flap and walked in. An old Pygmy man and woman who were sitting on the dirt floor leaped to their feet.

“Yi kawiwi (please let us live)!”

The old couple clung to each other as they trembled. The sight of two wrinkled humans made for a sorry scene. They were souls who were hurt by the barbaric violence.

He tried his best to convey to the old couple through body language that he wasn’t an enemy. He shook his hands desperately to tell them he wasn’t an enemy, pounded his chest, then pointed at the sky.

The old man nodded his head. This meant he understood. Black Mamba tapped on the gun, pretended as though he was shooting, and made a gesture to indicate that he was looking for more enemies. The old man pointed into the village and thrust his waist forward and back. Indeed, body language is the true world language.

“Those bastards must be raping someone.” Black Mamba’s face twisted.

“Ten?”

Black Mamba opened all of his fingers and shook them. The old man shook his head. He held up two fingers on his left hand, and one on his right, then placed them side by side.

“Woah, there’re 21 of them.”

The old man knew numbers and could express himself well. He was ten times smarter than Kidamba or Olonge.

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