Mercenary Black Mamba

Chapter 704: Chapter 64 Episode 5 Koreans in Africa

“The taxi driver is speaking French,” Kim Myung-jin wondered.

Come to think of it, traffic signs were mostly in French and so were the names of cities or politicians. St. Martin, Bordeaux, Marseille, Avant-Garde, Napoleon, etc.

For a Korean, this was hard to understand. If there were Yasukuni Street, Hirobumi Ito Crossroads, and Hirohito Expressway, the signs would get smashed and the person in charge would be a target of a witch hunt.

“Jeong, the signs are in French.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Jeong Pil-su responded without much enthusiasm.

All he could think of was Black Mamba.

“It’s strange. We were occupied for 36 years but Chad was a French colony for 76 years. They were extorted for eight decades. They must be resentful. Korea is all about erasing the colonial heritage.”

“Korea is the exception. Taiwan and Southeast Asian countries were colonized by Japan like us but they still like the country. In fact, there are many Japan sympathizers in Korea too.”

Jeong Pil-su wasn’t interested. He could only focus on the mission. He didn’t care if Chad spoke French or an alien language.

“Fuck. You don’t even need an Arabic speaker! There are many agents who studied French. Why am I, a PR representative, here? Fuck that Dae-deok guy!”

When they entered the downtown, Kim Myung-jin, looking outside the window, raged. Most signs were in French. One could get by without any problem even if one didn’t speak Arabic.

“Dae-deok sent me here after beating me up.”

Jeong Pil-su showed his evil eyes. He didn’t want to come here either.

* * *

The Wakil Store was located near the airport. The doorless taxi ran 15 minutes on Marseille Street and stopped right in front of the store’s entrance.

“Where did you come from?”

A guard holding a rifle glared at the two men who were dressed rather shabbily.

“We are from Korea.”

“Korea? The country in the East!”

The guard’s features softened and he bowed deeply. Korea was a holy land where Mu Ssang was born. Suddenly being polite, the guard guided them to the office.

“He knows Korea!”

“Our country is quite well-known these days.”

Jeong Pil-su and Kim Myung-jin marveled without knowing the true reason.

“Is it Wakil’s room? His office?” Kim Myung-jin wondered at the nameplate on the door and hurrahed as soon as he entered the room.

“It’s an air conditioner made in Korea!”

It was evident from the logo. The machine was running hot. He was moved deeply, seeing Korean merchandise in the heart of Africa.

“Huh?” Jeong Pil-su mumbled.

A mural taking up the whole wall in front of him struck his eyes. A man was walking on a backdrop of a blue lake with his hands joined behind his back. A halo burned gold around his head. The first light of dawn shone from above. A great crowd cheered on the shore.

“Why is he here?” said Jeong Pil-su in his mind.

Jeong Pil-su felt like passing out.

“He’s not Jesus...,” Kim Myung-jin wondered.

He looked at the picture several times but the man wearing a white robe was a handsome Asian man.

“Hail! Black Mamba is with us!” the guard shouted.

Jeong Pil-su’s mouth was open agape in awe and Kim Myung-jin, confused, looked at the guard.

“You should hail too. He is Mu Ssang, the master of Novatopia and a great god.”

The guard solicited with a stern face.

“God damn!”

Jeong Pil-su bowed with a deep frown and Kim Myung-jin bowed along without really understanding.

“Jeong, who is he?”

“Someone we will meet.”

“We flew across the globe to meet a cult leader?”

“Ugh!”

Jeong Pil-su hurriedly covered Kim Myung-jin’s mouth.

“Myung-jin, be mindful of what you say if you don’t want to get hurt.”

“You should wash your hand. Who is he?”

“I don’t know, either. Ordinary people like us will never understand him.”

Jeong Pil-su shook his head. He had a sudden headache. A coal-skinned giant in a military uniform entered the room. The man bowed politely to the mural and turned.

“May Allah’s grace be with you. We are Kim and Jeong from Korea.”

Kim Myung-jin flaunted his polished Arabic only to frown right away.

“I am Matanga. Are you Korean?”

The black man spoke fluent Korean.

“Huh!”

“What?”

The two Korean’s mouths were open agape in awe.

“Don’t be surprised. The first official language in Novatopia is Korean followed by French.”

“Ugh, that bastard!”

Kim Myung-jin resented the man who sent him here. He didn’t know what country Novatopia was, but they didn’t even need French let alone Arabic. Overcome with resentment, he shed a tear.

“Since you are Koreans, I led you here. This is where Mu Ssang stayed. Think of it as a great honor.”

“Honor my ass!” Jeong Pil-su protested.

“All cars, electronics, and clothes in Novatopia are imported from Korea. That air conditioner was also sent by Mu Ssang after he said that a Japanese air conditioner was an eyesore. I have one in my room. It works really well.”

“He must really be Mu Ssang, considering he does hate Japan,” said Jeong Pil-su inwardly.

Jeong Pil-su smirked before coming to his senses. Matanga mentioned Novatopia several times. He had seen it mentioned in CIA dossiers. He thought it was a newborn country in Africa and didn’t expect it to be mentioned by this man.

“Where is Novatopia?”

“Koreans who don’t know Novatopia? Are you really Koreans?” Matanga wondered.

“Is Mu Ssang’s hometown Jipeundari?” Jeong Pil-su asked to confirm.

“You know Jipoon Dari. You indeed are Koreans.”

Matanga’s features softened. The capital of Novatopia, Jipoon Dari, was named after Mu Ssang’s hometown, Jipeundari.

“Indeed. We are from Korea. Are you Ombuti, the owner of the Wakil Store?”

Kim Myung-jin sought to confirm. Arabic names denote all kinds of tribal and familial histories, rendering themselves long. Matanga could be Ombuti’s middle name.

“No. I am an apprentice of the fifth servant of the great Mu Ssang. I am Matanga and I am working on behalf of Ombuti, the head of servants. I am a candidate to serve.”

Matanga stretched out his chest. He was sure of pride and self-esteem.

“A servant is not a title! What is even a candidate to serve? Everything related to him is insane!” Jeong Pil-su complained internally.

He didn’t understand the weight the word “servant” carried in Novatopia.

“Where is Ombuti?”

“In his home country. He is a governor-general, ruling Novatopia on behalf of Mu Ssang.”

“He’s the governor? Then, is Mu Ssang the king?”

Jeong Pil-su felt dizzy. A mercenary, a French high official, Black Mamba, the Angel of Death, a cult leader, a king of a newborn country. The man was not even in his 30s. He was deeply confused.

“I don’t understand that Koreans don’t know the greatness of Mu Ssang. He is an avatar of Allah himself. I am not his servant yet, so I cannot even speak of him.”

Matanga stared at Kim Myung-jin with his big eyes.

“An avatar of Allah?”

Kim Myung-jin and Jeong Pil-su’s mouths were open wide in awe. Even Mohammed was Allah’s messenger and prophet. In Islam, the expression “Allah’s avatar” carried tremendous weight. Such a remark could incite wars.

“Is that picture real? He’s but a human.”

Jeong Pil-su, offended, provoked Matanga.

There was a flash of light.

“Huh!”

Jeong Pil-su flinched away. The two-foot blade was sheathed. The five buttons on Jeong Pil-su’s shirt dropped to the floor. Jeong Pil-su mindlessly stared at Matanga without even being able to protest. The swordsmanship was impeccable.

“Idiot. If you were not Koreans, you’d be beheaded now. The mural depicts the truth. Our king, on a night with a full moon, crossed the holy lake on his pet Dino’s back, surrounded by light. Then he gave us rules that later became Novatopia’s constitution. I witnessed it. Dozens of thousands of Novatopians witnessed it.”

“Huh!”

Jeong Pil-su and Kim Myung-jin were at a loss for words.

“Mu Ssang is an incarnated god, never absent. He is not an indifferent god but a kind one. Can you give up your land for millions of despaired refugees? Can you offer billions of dollars to feed them? Can you face thousands of enemies for a stranger? Can you build homes and provide jobs for the elderly, orphans, and widows?”

Matanga’s eyes shone and his voice was full of honesty and reverence toward the mural that he gazed at as if it was a genuine divine artifact.

There was silence.

“Huh.”

Jeong Pil-su and Kim Myung-jin shook their heads. This man was a fine fanatic. They really risked getting beheaded if they ever mentioned how petty and toxic Mu Ssang was toward them in Korea.

“Mu Ssang said, life is unfair but the given time is fair. Don’t waste your time hating and resenting someone. Spend your time for yourself. If you don’t seek, you won’t gain anything.”

“Long live Mu Ssang! That’s why we are here too.”

Kim Myung-jin quickly humored him with the same enthusiasm and tone.

“How did you find this place?”

“We had an address on the parcel you sent to Korea.”

“You really are from Mu Ssang’s hometown!” Matanga marveled.

They were unwashed and dirty but had the courage and resolve.

“Why are you here?”

“We got a call from Mu Ssang. We came here to answer him in person.”

“How reverent! Long live Mu Ssang!” Matanga shouted with his hands up in the air.

These guests flew across the planet to answer Mu Ssang’s question. He suddenly felt a sense of friendship toward these two men who came from a country on a continent on the other side of the planet.

“Tell me if you need help. I will help you as a candidate for the aristocracy.”

“What is he saying, Myung-jin?”

“He says he is a candidate for the aristocracy.”

“Yes. Being a servant of Mu Ssang is like being an aristocrat in Novatopia. What do you need help with?”

“We need transportation.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No. The call came from Zaire.”

“Do you know how to go to Zaire?”

“No.”

“Do you know what it’s like there?”

“No.”

Jeong Pil-su felt embarrassed. If Matanga didn’t speak Korean, he could pretend to know by nodding along but that was not feasible since the man spoke fluent Korean and could discern subtle cues that would hint at the men’s ignorance.

“You are unprepared. I heard Koreans are smart but you don’t seem to be.”

That was a roundabout way to say they are stupid. Jeong Pil-su and Kim Myung-jin’s faces were flushed red. The two dumb Koreans could not say anything but stare at the man.

“Mu Ssang is in the jungle of Ituri, where missiles and rockets rain down and beasts and bugs thrive. In Ituri, there are thousands of soldiers, rebels, and agents and daily casualties number hundreds. Mu Ssang, merciful as he is, didn’t want any Novatopian to be sacrificed. He only went there with one servant.”

Jeong Pil-su and Kim Myung-jin’s faces paled.

“Jeong, we are done for.”

“We were done when he crossed paths with that man. I left a will in Korea because I expected this.”

Jeong Pil-su resented his boss, Lee Dae-deok, for making him deal with Black Mamba. Now, he was heading toward his grave.

“You can only get to Mambasa from N’Djamena by air. The nearest airport to Mambasa is 2,700 kilometers from here. It’s 465 kilometers from the airport to Mambasa but with the winding road, the actual travel distance is 1,100 kilometers. There is no transportation there. You’ll have to walk.”

“Huh!”

“What?”

The two men gasped. Two thousand and seven hundred kilometers was twice the distance between Seoul and Tokyo. And they had to walk 465 kilometers through the jungle. It was like a death sentence.

“Matanga, there had to be some other way. How could we survive such a journey?”

“Does Mu Ssang really need you?”

“He does. That’s why he called us. He needed us,” Jeong Pil-su insisted.

Without Matanga’s help, he was going to be buried in Africa before he could meet Mu Ssang.

“Ongore!”

“Yes, sir!”

A young black man, still with boyish features, entered the room. He was Ongore, the young man Ombuti saved in Ituri.

“Glad to meet you. I am Ongore. It’s an honor to meet you,” the young man greeted them politely.

He seemed to be properly educated.

“Bring Zulu here.”

A moment later, a black man even more broad-shouldered than Matanga appeared. He was the young man whose body Mu Ssang reconstructed right before he could turn into a zombie at the Samaria farm in Doba.

“Huh?”

Jeong Pil-su and Kim Myung-jin were overwhelmed by his two-meter height, bloodshot eyes, arms as thick as their legs, and energy that could easily subdue a bull. There was no ordinary human around here.

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