Sun WooHyun had dismantled the vigilantes and guards who initiated the rebellion and formed new security personnel. Barungo had used incentives and hypnosis to secure 50 security guards under his control. The moment he had the highly-trained armed men in check, he grew braver. Sun WooHyun had unknowingly allowed him to tear out his liver and turned him pantless. He didn’t know that a primary principle, such as a restricting system, existed to control power. That was Sun WooHyun’s ignorance and simple-minded tendencies as someone who was from the military.

  Beep beep beep—


  300 meters from the mansion, the guards’ tent buzzer rang three times.

  “Emergency! It’s sir houngan.”


  “It’s the head butler!”


  The security guards jumped out of their tents with Kalashnikovs in hand. Sun WooHyun called them security personnel, but the workers still regarded them as guards. That was because they still inflicted corporal punishment and stole money, just like before. The hatred toward them was naturally directed toward Namir.

  “We’re landing. Number two, wait for the signal.”


  “Got it. Standby at 300 meters.”


  According to the manual, the first helicopter attempted to land in the square after spinning once around the Samaria farm. It was the cotton gathering point located midway between the workers’ living quarters and the farm owner’s mansion.

  “The situation doesn’t look good.”


  Black Mamba looked at Jamal, turning away from the window. There wasn’t a need to use his dimensional sight. He could feel the bloodlust poking at him like needles.

  Clack—


  Jamal and Aishe combined their magazines. On the other hand, Ahmad, who was unfamiliar with the gun, grabbed his shamshir and darts.

  10 pairs of bloodshot eyes looked up at the landing helicopter. They belonged to the 10 emergency members who were hiding behind an abandoned woodpile. There was a pile of cotton trees stacked in its uprooted state in the corner of the square. Cotton trees were perennial plants in the tropics where there was no frost. They used sick or diseased trees as firewood.

  “Captain, let’s greet them respectfully. Won’t the head of rites do something about them if we lead them to him?”


  Toongbuktu stared up at the Gazelles in the sky at his team member’s words. Helicopters were grim reapers to foot soldiers. The guards would be wiped out from existence if the Gazelles started shooting their machine guns from the sky.

  “There’s no need to bow down to those white pigs. We’ll be done for if they notice. We’ll suppress them and take them as hostages. Let’s go.”


  10 armed people ran out from behind the pile of cotton trees and surrounded the helicopters. Three guards crouched as they approached to avoid the blade’s wind. The other seven took up a ready position. Toongbuktu banged on the door with his Kalashnikov barrel.

  “You frog b*stards, get off with your hands in the air! I’ll shoot all of you if you take your time.”


  “Huh, is this North Korea? The situation’s worse than I thought.”


  Vulgar comments poured out of the mouth of the man whose skin was as dark as coal. Black Mamba almost laughed at the hostile greeting. Chad had been part of France’s colony for a long time.

  They couldn’t greet French military soldiers in uniform, no, a French military helicopter in such a manner. Either lackey had lost control or lost his mind. Either way, it wasn’t pleasant.

  “How dare they shove a barrel into Sir Ddu-bai-buru-pa’s face.” Ahmad’s face creased.

  “What an idiot. Ahmad, get rid of that b*stard!”


  Bang—


  Ahmad kicked open the sealed air door as soon as Jamal finished talking. Aishe jumped out from the other side.

  “Agh!”


  Toongbuktu covered his nose with his hands after the door landed on his face. Ahmad, who shot out like a cannon shell, swung his shamshir.

  Whoosh—


  Toongbuktu didn’t have to worry about his squashed nose anymore. People who had their necks detached from the body wouldn’t care about a broken nose or teeth.

  The blade, which was dragged along with the sway of his upper body, turned once around his back. The second guard’s face was sliced in half.

  Crack—


  Following the line of inertia, his left elbow landed on the third guard’s temple. The guard, whose head was caved in, collapsed on the floor. It was the Circassian three consecutive attacks, which flowed like water. Ahmad, who was experienced, did not hesitate with his Circassian Mamluk movements.

  Aishe, who jumped out from the door, showed off her remarkable shooting skills. The MP5 continued shooting from a position that required one to roll on the ground like a spinner.

  Bang bang bang—


  The guards fell back like dominoes after each person received a shot.

  The sight of people being blown back or falling out of windows after being shot could only be seen in movies. When a bullet penetrated the skull, the target would only fall backward. With tremendous pressure and stimulation applied to the brain, it would suffer fatal damage. The front and back muscles of the body would contract immediately, but because of the larger back muscles, the target would fall backward. On the other hand, if the torso was shot, the target would fall forward because their abdomen would contract first.

  Tatatatang—


  The helicopters’ bodies reverberated.

  “How dare those b*stards!”


  Jamal, who had been carefully scanning the scene, jumped out. He turned once in the air as though he was tumbling and landed right on a mound like a spider. It was the kind of movements that a cat would cry over.

  Bang—


  A loud noise followed. Blood started splattering from the mansion’s rooftop when the muzzle started firing from 400 meters away. It was the machine gunner who had been aiming for the helicopter. The assistant gunner fell into the trench below, head-first, as soon as the gunner was hit.

  “Idiotic b*stard!” Jamal said, smiling in satisfaction.

  Bang—


  The 50-caliber Barrett bullet revealed its undefeatable strength. The 60-centimeters sandbag exploded below, and the assistant gunner collapsed where he was.

  “Ahhh! It’s the devil!”


  The workers, who had been loitering around, threw down their axes and ran. Their surroundings grew silent after a single display of strength.

  Jamal slung the fuming Barrett on his shoulder and turned to look at Black Mamba. He looked exactly like a child waiting for praise.

  “Ugh, they’re so straightforward.”


  Black Mamba shook his head. A small group had gone to face Allah for a single reason, which was shoving a barrel in his face. He found it ridiculous. The people, who had acted like cats with bells, turned into wildcats in the next second.

  It wasn’t that surprising, however. Their experiences alone gave Ahmad the title of the Circassian Mamluk, father of all assassins, Jamal the title of the attack unit leader of the ANO, an evil terrorist organization, and Aishe, who grew up as a guerrilla since she was 13 years old by the eastern mountains of Turkey, the title of the Kurd warrior. They were later known to be part of the Seven Hojang, the seven-member guards of Ddu-bai-buru-pa.

  Whoosh—


  The second helicopter, which was about to land, raised its height.

  “Stop descent. Number two, warning. Warning.”


  The pilot in the first helicopter shouted into the transmitter a little too late.

  “Advisor, should we wipe them all out with the chain gun?”


  Vooom—


  The pilot increased the number of rotor turns. At any moment, he was about to shoot down with a machine gun.

  “Don’t interfere. You’re a soldier, and you’re planning to kill the civilians? I’ll resolve personal matters privately. Hold off from descending!”


  Why weren’t there a single ordinary person around him? Black Mamba didn’t realize that his resonance waves and his desire to fight had affected those around him.

  When Black Mamba got off the helicopter, Ahmad and Jamal immediately guarded him, both on his right and left sides.

  Boom—


  His dimensional sight spread instantly.

  “Ho, look at them!”


  100s of people had gathered. He could feel their evil intentions and their guardedness around him, which he had only ever felt on the battlefield. The situation was unusual.

  “The Gorgon would have been perfect.”


  It wasn’t the kind of situation that could be resolved with a conversation anyway. An overwhelming frightful visual was required to break their spirits and decrease the kill count. The steel rope attached to the Gazelle’s lower plate used for transporting goods caught his attention. The steel rope of 20 meters in length and a diameter of 10 millimeters also came with a three-kilogram hook on its end. It was a good enough substitute for the Rakshasa.

  He sliced off 10 meters of the steel rope with his Vajra and stretched out his right hand toward the first helicopter’s pilot, sending a departure signal. The helicopter, which had been waiting for his orders, took off immediately.

  He looked down at the steel rope in his hands. He vividly remembered the moment when he had used the Gorgon in Kaparja Valley’s underground room. The bodies that were diced and the weapons that were crushed by the Gorgon in its cycloid movement—even the simplest weapons ended up as mass destruction in his hands. Coincidentally, he now had to see blood again.

  Jamal, Ahmad, and Aishe’s eyes grew wide. Ddu-bai-buru-pa was holding onto the winch that had been attached to the helicopter. Why was that heavy object in their master’s hand? Black Mamba ignored their curious gazes.

  “Jamal, the farm is under the control of an unknown power. There’s a high possibility that our family member, the lackey, is suppressed.”


  “We must ensure Mr. Lackey’s safety before they use him as a shield. I believe Ahmad will be the perfect person for this.”


  “Leave it to me, sir.” Ahmad looked at Black Mamba with twinkling eyes.

  “There should be a prison facility on a farm this huge. Look for a short and ugly Asian. Avoid any conflict with the b*stards. I’ll wipe out the opposing power.”


  “Yes, sir.”


  Ahmad disappeared without a sound.

  “Jamal, do you think crops grown by farmers are rightfully theirs, or it belongs to the person who found them while passing by?”


  “Of course, it belongs to the farmers, sir,” Jamal replied to the sudden question as though it was an obvious fact.

  “A hunter-gatherer, who’s unaware of the concept of farming, discovers crops that a farmer raised. What do you think he’ll do?”


  “It’ll look like it’s a free-for-all.”


  “You’re right. To the hunter-gatherer, the farmers’ crops are no different than the deer or the fruits on the trees they caught. Do you think the farmer can convince him?”


  “If the hunter-gatherer doesn’t know the concept of farming, it’ll be hard to convince him. I understand what you’re trying to say, sir. Power is stronger than moral justification, right?”


  Black Mamba nodded at Aishe’s words.

  “There are 100s of people gathered. I feel their ill intentions and madness. From what I can sense, they’re not soldiers. They may be members of a cult. Lives are important, but lives without morals and ethics are not. There’s simply a power clash between those who are barbaric and those who are strong. I don’t like this situation either. However, the lives of my family members are more important than the lives of 100s of my adversaries. Get to cover, and kill those who’re carrying guns.”


  “Yes, sir.”


  Jamal and Aishe went to search for cover. The reason why he suddenly brought up the abbreviated version of Hobbes’ The War of All Against All to his subordinates was to reaffirm his own beliefs.

  He’d visited Samaria farm intending to take a holiday. Ombuti and Mohammad were supposed to be in charge of the farm’s maintenance and system. He was planning to encourage the lackey. Perhaps, that was Asura’s fate. Blood spattered whenever he moved.

  …wadau ooballei kadingo wangga wammba Legba ansaroom…


  Barungo’s neck jerked backward when he finished casting the long spell. His pupils disappeared, leaving just the whites of his eyes. The pa shook like a snakehead as though it had just been picked up. Barungo’s body shook violently. He was in a trance. He had connected to the lwa Damballa Wedo that he served.

  Boom—


  The happenings that went on in the square unfolded before his eyes as though it was a live broadcast. That was Damballa’s ability. He had to know the enemy before they fought. Barungo wasn’t stupid enough to believe in the emergency station guards and wait while doing nothing.

  A helicopter landed on the square where the emergency guards had gathered. His subordinates approached. A man and woman jumped out of the helicopter and moved their swords and guns. His 10 subordinates were swept away. A burly Arab jumped out with a larger gun. All of them were heathens. Another b*stard casually got off the helicopter.

  “Hm!”


  Damballa shook. A small groan escaped through his clenched jaws. The last person, whose appearance was overwhelming, didn’t seem to be human. He gathered all of his spiritual power to see his actual form.

  “Agh!” Barungo screamed.

  A light exploded the moment he tried to see his actual form. Damballa’s power jumped out of him. Barungo twisted his body as though he was mad. The connection broke. When a connection forcibly broke, the houngan’s[1] heart took a blow. Blood dripped down from Barungo’s mouth.

  “Houngan!”


  Wadanka jumped in, opening the door. Barungo relieved the shock from the forced disconnection by drinking the Vodou’s secret medicine.

  “Wadanka, a Petro[2] has appeared. The b*stard must be the guy Namir calls master.”


  Barungo’s voice trembled. The other was a presence with limitless abilities whom Namir was unswervingly loyal to. In return, the Rada[3] lwa, which he had served and received help, fled. It meant that Petro’s spiritual power was strong enough to draw Damballa Wedo out from a physical body.

  “You’re here, houngan, and there are 400 other Maroons on the farm. There are also guards armed with guns. Petro’s avatar is also a human. There’s nothing to worry about, sir.” Wadanka was calm.

  “Hm, that’s true. The guy’s bound to die by a gun or sword unless he’s a zombie. Give the mambos[4] their yorunba[5].”


  The reason behind the eerie feeling, which he felt during the Rada ceremony at dawn, was that b*stard, Petro. The b*stard was an evil spirit that wasn’t included in the top 300 ranks of spirits. If he responded poorly, his 10 years’ worth of efforts would be in vain.

  [1] The official term for the head of rites.

  [2] A rough and unforgiving spirit.

  [3] A spirit of morals and principles.

  [4] Female priests.

  [5] It is a Vodou secret drug that puts one in a trance.