Chapter 496
Reasonable Violence Strikes the Black Market!
“Hooh— please take this sweetly, Brother!”
The glass shattered, and a black man flew through the broken window.
Falcon, caught selling seven guns (but without wings), screamed and fell straight down.
“GHAAAAAACK-!”
– Crack! Crunch! Smash!
A mace, wrapped in a white light rush, smashed the floating guns to pieces and set its sights on the next victim like a bloodthirsty hunting dog.
As some thugs, seizing the moment of chaos, opened the back door to escape, the ground, which should have been solid, transformed into a squishy swamp that grabbed at their ankles.
“Help! Someone help me! Ugh…!”
“Glub glub…!”
Screams pierced the alley, mingling with slurping sounds from someone drinking tea.
“Hey, hey! Over there! Help me!”
“Hey! I said help me ahhhhh…!”
“…….”
With an expression of utter cluelessness about the world, the magician elegantly tilted her teacup.
A sword with strange patterns leaned against the wall, and a uniquely shaped empty vial rolled beside her daintily swaying feet.
– BOOM!
An explosion occurred.
Flames devoured an entire floor of the warehouse, greedily consuming the mountains of ammunition and weapons stored inside.
The sounds of heated bullets going off and the Magic Imaging Equipment bursting echoed clearly from the outside.
“…….”
I lost my words in the dizzying spectacle.
The relentless clicking of cameras from the gathered press and Jake’s voice were completely drowned out in my ears.
“Manager….”
“…Ah.”
I rolled my eyes back, unaware my body was tipping backward.
“…This, sigh… hell, pearl…”
Anyone would do. Please.
I just wanted someone to kill me right now.
Episode 18 – Man Club
In a world gone mad, if anyone manages to keep their sanity, are they the normal ones, or the crazy ones?
There’s one thing I can be absolutely sure of.
That sober person is bound to be surrounded by lunatics.
My situation was exactly like that.
*
“Why are they treating me like this?”
Three hundred kilometers east of the capital of the Jamria Federation, in Churukushi.
The unusual commotion occurring at the eastern command of the government army grabbed the attention of passersby.
“I told you to be careful countless times. We even made a promise last time, that you wouldn’t cause any more trouble!”
The well-groomed man drew attention wherever he went.
Unlike the beige combat uniforms of the Kien Army received twenty years ago (A-class standard—produced in the 70s) or the forest camouflage clothes brought cheap by the local merchants (water-repellent basic equipped + wartime spoils as optional), his desert tricolor combat uniform looked as if it had just come off the assembly line.
Isn’t there something like that?
The envious gazes from people on joint training missions directed at the well-equipped and bulky Americans. The desert tricolor combat uniform looked just like that in the eyes of the Jamria Federation government army, who were clad in shabby battle gear.
Of course, the vast majority of the federation troops had no particular thoughts.
They simply found it novel that a haughty white man was throwing a tantrum.
At that moment, a descendant of European imperialists was present.
“Why are you shouting?”
“Am I not supposed to shout!?”
Camila Lowell. A magical girl born into a British bourgeois family.
Her antics were ridiculous, but she was by no means an ordinary person either.
In England, where the class system still openly exists, it would require at least middle-class status to produce politicians, bureaucrats, journalists, and court lawyers (there are two kinds of lawyers in England) to the extent that she had even interned with the British intelligence agency after getting into Cambridge on her own merits. So, it could be said she was definitely an odd one (technically, she was a young one indeed).
The problem was her innate rebellious nature.
“What did we do wrong? Nobody died, right?!”
The arsonist, Camila Lowell, who had set the warehouse ablaze (identical crimes multiple times), raised an eyebrow and retorted. She had an attitude that was obnoxiously proud, let alone shameless.
“Twenty-seven days without an incident and you’re shouting over nothing. No one has died, and no one was injured here.”
“…No incidents? Are we talking about military-style no incidents here?”
“I don’t know! I haven’t served in the military. Hehe.”
As my chin trembled, just then, gentle laughter floated in, and someone naturally joined the conversation.
“Don’t be too angry, Colonel. High blood pressure isn’t good for you.”
Francesca. A public official and the current head of the Magic Tower delegation, formerly part of the Magic Tower Secretariat.
With her purple hair swaying as she appeared, she was also no ordinary character. Just her appearance was unique.
Having developed mysterious alchemical weapons that eradicated the desert monsters that had been a thorn in the side for thousands of years and provided free healing potions to tens of thousands of unofficial casualties, it raised suspicions over where she might have found a golden treasure that spat out wealth. However, her alchemical prowess was truly a masterpiece of the century.
Is it any wonder that even the haughty alchemists of the Ivory Tower praised her?
Starting with the local ministries of the Ministry of Defense on the Mauritania continent, she signed contracts with all sorts of governments, and her already soaring stocks continued to hit new highs every day.
Naturally, she was also of a certain marital age.
According to a certain journalist well-versed in entertainment news, “The moment she declared she was looking for a husband, all the men with… well, you know between their legs, started to daydream with thoughts like ‘Could I possibly have a chance…?’ and flocked like clouds to the red desert where she resides” was a praise or rather a so-called praise.
(Of course, this was a baseless claim by a relationship journalist who had neither visited Mauritania nor conducted interviews with Francesca, so it had absolutely nothing to do with the subject.)
Francesca couldn’t stop smiling.
“Is there a reason to be angry? We resolved a case safely today as well.”
“That’s right.”
A voice that exuded kindness gently affirmed her statement.
Lucia. The 59th Saint of the Cult.
That one phrase about the owner of the voice was sufficient enough explanation. There was no one on the Mauritania continent who didn’t know of the ‘blonde-haired, blue-eyed saint.’
“No one was injured, and no one died. All weapons have been recovered, and both the black market traders and buyers were arrested by the peacekeeping forces. Now, all that remains is for them to stand trial.”
As Lucia flashed her dazzling blonde hair, she blinked her eyes. Her sea-blue eyes possessed an alluring charm that offered peace to anyone who met her gaze.
However, my eyes drifted away from her to the back, specifically towards the mace strapped to her back.
“…….”
A sigh escaped me. I unfurled a crumpled stack of paper—a collection of articles I had saved.
I began to read aloud in a fatigued voice, with the underlines drawn by Pippin and Jake standing out.
“In the Jamria Federation’s eastern province of Murunga, controversy arises as residents suffered fractures and burns equivalent to eight weeks of treatment due to an excessive crackdown by a heroic party. On the 9th, a criminal organization consisting of 46 members, apprehended on charges of smuggling, illegal arms trading, and drug possession, reportedly sustained similar injuries during the arrest process.”
“…….”
“Yes. It ended safely, didn’t it? No injuries at all, right? Right?”
What on earth was going on? It seemed events after events would never cease.
Camila’s eyes rolled back, and Lucia timidly raised her hand, ready to explain yet again.
“I treated all of them.”
Flipping quickly through the pages, I grasped the next article to read.
“A criminal identified as J., who received treatment for deep lacerations on his fingers, was late to realize that foreign objects had not been removed from his skin after being stitched up at the police hospital. J. reportedly complains of persistent pain in eight areas, including his fingers, but the spokesperson for the Holy See’s Foreign Affairs Ministry has only stated they are still ascertaining the facts….”
“…….”
“Any more comments?”
“…Yes. Actually, I reopened the wound to remove the glass fragments that were missed and stitched it back up.”
I really missed a tiny piece.
Describing the shard, which was far smaller than a well-trimmed nail, Lucia glanced nervously at my face as she wrapped up her excuse regarding the medical mishap (without a license).
Subsequently, I recounted the numerous incidents and accidents caused by my companions. There were many, and they varied greatly. It was a parade of adorable little disasters.
“Assault, special assault, collective assault, etc. Ignore these as the nonsense claims of the criminal scum.”
What about threats?
As I turned to look at my companions, everyone’s gaze landed on one person.
Camila, whose blue eyes were rolling wildly and sweating profusely. Her inability to meet anyone’s eyes made her behavior suspicious. I flicked through the report filed with the local police.
“…The masked bank robber, who covered himself with a bread bag, stated that the red-haired woman he saw on the news suddenly pointed a finger at his forehead and began chanting an incantation he had never heard before. ‘The Eye of Phase, Twilight, and Wisdom—'”
What the hell was this?
“What did you do?”
“Hehe….”
Camila began to coil up like a spring. She seemed at a loss for what to do, digging her shoe tip into the dirt.
Moving on to the next.
“Unreported use of magic in residence, violation of aviation law, property damage, trespassing… You all had quite a variety of offenses. What is this ‘violation of management laws for unregistered magical tools’?”
“Oh, that was me.”
Francesca raised her hand casually in confession. Of course, only Camila or Francesca would be using magical tools. All of Camila’s magical tools are fully registered.
When asked for specifics, she rambled off an absurd explanation.
“What? You tested new magical tools on someone?”
“Yes.”
“Why on someone?”
To this, Francesca tilted her head in confusion.
“Because I intended to use it on a person?”
“…Does the safety inspection seem non-existent to you?”
“Basic inspections were done countless times long ago. I received permission from the Magic Tower. Is there something wrong with testing magical tools like they do with military equipment in actual combat?”
“Yes. It would’ve been great if you had just consulted with the local Ministry of Defense beforehand.”
Since she recklessly slammed a non-registered magical tool into someone, the Ministry of Defense of Abas thought they were testing some new weapon and went into a complete frenzy. They called me while I was peacefully sleeping, interpreting in a rather chaotic state.
Of course, the misunderstanding was quickly cleared up.
Francesca smiled sweetly.
“Let’s move on.”
“Okay. Next is possession of unlicensed swords due to communication errors with the jurisdictional police, unauthorized use of second-class explosives, damage to public property, and arson… ah! Yes. I can accept that as well.”
If the law is a nose ring for the nose or an earring for the ear. It’s not like it’s the first time complaints have come in because Camila displayed her abilities, right? This isn’t the first time complaints have been filed by the Magic Tower either.
But.
“Speeding, crossing the central divider, driving in the wrong direction… Why on earth did you violate traffic laws!?”
As I pressed for clarification, Francesca logically presented her reasoning.
“The gang crossed over the central divider with their car. During the pursuit, we also briefly broke the law.”
Camila quickly chimed in.
“I thought the traffic enforcement devices were just for decoration!”
“It’s a badge of pride!”
I grabbed my head. Why on earth were they doing this? Did they somehow eat something wrong?
Although Camila, Lucia, and Francesca caused chaos across various nations, thankfully, they had yet to become embroiled in any legal disputes.
However, the number of complaints lodged by residents due to the explosion, gunfire, and screams—oh my, where the local police absurdly issued evacuation orders yet the idiots who didn’t run filed complaints numbered in the hundreds.
Dozens of media articles reported we had implemented excessive force, and the clueless people running around hollering, “Everyone! Look at this! Outsiders are beating up our citizens!” were an issue.
It wasn’t only the politicians causing problems.
Given the deeply rooted tribalism in the local characteristics, the elder and the village chief were older gentlemen. Naturally, they wouldn’t view the sight of haughty white people beating people favorably.
The important thing is that these ‘elderly gentlemen’ not only influence the local community but also the operation of the country. Councils like the ‘ jirga’ in Afghanistan-Pakistan typically wield tremendous influence over the government, and many bureaucrats in the Middle East and Africa similarly support the positions of their tribal elders. Mauritania is no exception.
But suddenly the Mauritanian tribal elders…
????: Huh? What are those white guys doing over there?
????: Aren’t they beating up the son of Mr. Kasam from the next village right now?
????: How dare they in our sacred territory!
????: Hah! Chase those bastards away at once!
Imagine the uproar it would cause, and you can guess what would happen.
Straight away, complaints would rain down on government officials.
Because of this, I had to climb mountains several times, bowing my head to the elders repeatedly.
Thus, I could only suppress my grievances and indignation while crying out.
“Please! At least try to look like that tattooed pig! Please, just a bit!”
“Hmm…?”
Tattooed Pig Soup with Spicy Broth. Commonly known as ‘Shamir’ Akande.
The hefty fellow sprawling on the floor, plucking weeds, turned his bright eyes toward the call.
“I? Was called?”
“I did call, but what are you doing there? Why are you pulling weeds?”
“To feed the goats. They look so cute. I need to make them plump.”
Despite his size, he was indeed very industrious and the person in the party causing the least trouble.
Again, to clarify, it’s not that he didn’t cause trouble, just that he caused ‘less’ of it.
(One-third of the ‘assaults’ claimed by the captured criminals were Akande’s doing. The rest was all due to Lucia.)
Mori 타니 대륙의 모든 골치 아픈 일들이 Phylogenetic Development이 그리도 잊을 수 없게 정의된 이름들처럼 계속 떠올랐다.
“Honestly, I still can’t believe it.”
Looking at Akande feeding the goat, I shook my head in disbelief with a vacant expression.
“To think that the one who looks like he could take down a bull with bare fists, and even appeared suspicious enough to raise eyebrows as a potential serial killer, is the most harmless person among you all.”
“You shouldn’t judge people by their appearance.”
Camila scolded me with a serious demeanor. She was right.
“That’s a fair point.”
“Camila.”
“Yes?”
“A month’s worth of snacks is confiscated.”
“…Huh!”
Startled, Camila collapsed sideways like a patient in cardiac arrest. Francesca tried to catch her but seemed to let go, startled by her weight.
“Ugh!”
Ignoring Camila, who was rolling on the floor, I called out to Camila, Lucia, and Francesca, raising my voice.
“Please! Just for a single moment! Come on!”
Stop causing trouble already!
“What kind of men’s club is this? If we beat up criminals just like that, what’s the point? Who do we intend to ruin here?”
“……”
“Probably the kind of fellows that would make Smurfs think they came to visit their friends from outside the TV, with all those blue faces and limbs!”
“……”
“If you’re going to hit someone, you should drag them somewhere out of sight for a covert beating, or at least stick to less visible, non-suspicious spots! There are plenty of spots that don’t show bruises easily, like thighs or butts!”
All three of them gasped in unison.
“…Ah.”
“…Oh.”
“…That kind of method.”
“If you don’t see yourself pulling it off without getting caught, then you shouldn’t even attempt it in the first place!”
Ugh, I’m losing my mind. What are these folks thinking? Did they collectively go insane?
After confronting that elder of Al-Kair, their brains seemed to be mush. Are we declaring a war on crime or terrorism? The type of actions they’re taking would make Duterte, Bukele, and George Bush proud.
“…Sigh.”
I sighed heavily as if the ground could swallow me whole. A bubble of rising emotion and endless despair was pushing me into an abyss.
What on earth should I do with these people? At this rate, it feels like I might receive a formal complaint.
“Tsk…. If you all got the gist of it, let’s wrap things up. I have to be on my way.”
“Where are you heading?”
“I’m off to get chastised.”
I had a meeting with government officials scheduled.
I was already tired.
“Ugh….”
With that, I let out a sigh for what felt like the hundredth time and began making my way to the local Ministry of Foreign Affairs building.
*
To be honest, I had somewhat anticipated the call from the embassy saying that “a local Ministry of Foreign Affairs official is requesting your presence.”
The inevitable had arrived.
The day of reckoning for all the postponed consequences had finally come.
As I headed to the capital, I found out who summoned me. It was the Director of the Ministry.
Wow…. The moment I heard that, I felt my world go dark.
Is today my funeral day?
I never thought I would be verbally abused by a foreign Ministry official in my life.
Of course, being an official diplomat, they wouldn’t actually curse me out, but the euphemism used by diplomats packs a quieter yet more sinister power than any martial art. Being on the receiving end of that for hours would surely leave my mind in shambles.
Moreover, the Ministry official requested that I bring not just myself, but my whole party along. It seemed the Director had things he wanted to discuss with us in person. The moment I heard that, my intuition screamed. They were really setting me up.
I turned the car around, picked up my entourage, and headed back to the capital, Ms. Umsgawa.
Worry gnawed at me as I stared out the window.
A thousand thoughts raced through my mind.
Would we be able to return alive?
Am I really not about to get expelled from here?
Even though I’m technically a diplomat, would I have to perform a tearful show of desperation?
It wouldn’t even be surprising if the Director yelled at us. Considering how dynamically our last mishap was, would we not be greeted with a volley of rebuke instead of proper introductions?
That was highly likely to happen.
And yet, why didn’t it?
“Thank you so much. Really.”
“Huh?”
The middle-aged African-American man, the Director of the Ministry, threw off his round glasses and gave a warm smile.
Not only that, he reached out both hands to shake ours, holding each of our hands in turn as he shook them warmly.
“Thank you so much. Thanks to your efforts in blocking arms trafficking, security in the provinces has visibly improved.”
“Huh?”
“Criminals are terrified and running for cover. They fear columns of fire taller than buildings or that a Golem with tattoos will come knocking on their doors.”
“Huh?”
“Haha! You must be surprised! So were we! We didn’t think it would actually work. Honestly, we were quite skeptical about it!”
Even as he shouted incomprehensible praises, the Director’s laughter never faded. He seemed genuinely happy.
“Hahaha!”
“……”
Unaware that I was silently staring blankly into the air, he continued.
“The warlords are still stubborn, thinking, ‘Enforcement? Forget it,’ but at least minor crime organizations are lying low.”
“Why do they lay low? Because they know they’re nothing but small-fry. They’re simply holding their breath until the special enforcement period passes.”
“This temporary peace could either wrap up or lead to lasting peace. Nobody knows. But either way, arms trafficking has decreased.”
The officials at the Ministry looked extremely satisfied.
As devout followers of Al-Yabd, they were keenly messaging blessings from the Earth God.
They had even prepared a party.
“Alright, alright. We’ve organized a modest party, so please enjoy wrapping up your day. We’re treating you all as guests and benefactors, so please indulge yourselves.”
The Director guided us to a detached hall where ambassadors often gathered.
While they, as followers of Al-Yabd, couldn’t touch a drop of alcohol, they were more than happy to provide drinks for us.
How strange.
Even though Camila, Lucia, and Francesca had caused a massive ruckus, the Director made no mention of it at all.
When I discreetly asked if our group’s antics had made the government uncomfortable, he chuckled heartily and replied.
“Oh, you needn’t worry about that. The Elder Council concluded not to pursue the matter.”
“…Even in the Elder’s meeting?”
“Oh, you know about the Elder’s meeting?”
Truth be told, it wasn’t entirely without issues. The elders had come to a consensus that it wasn’t worth bringing it up. The reasoning was simple.
Akande isn’t a foreigner; he was born and raised in the Mauritania continent as a local native and a devout follower of Al-Yabd, so claiming responsibility for the others’ actions would implicate Akande as well.
In other words, the ‘We are all in this together!’ mentality, based on tribalism, kicked in, and thanks to Akande, we managed to survive.
It may not have been what he intended.
As I nodded in a daze, the Director lowered his voice slightly.
“Of course, your courtesy also played a significant role. The Elder’s meeting didn’t expect any formal apologies.”
“Ah…”
So lugging that old mule across the mountains wasn’t in vain after all.
Against the joyfully bewildered local government officials, I found the outcome to be rather—no, very absurd.
I mean… if a crackdown could truly bring about improvement, then why on earth is Africa and the Middle East in such a state?
I was at a loss for words due to sheer absurdity at that moment.
“Frederick?”
Tap tap. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see Camila standing there.
With a blank expression, she silently pointed her thumb behind her.
“Lucia and Francesca want to see you up on the roof for a bit.”
“…….”
“Follow me.”
That evening.
Among the Ministry officials, many speculated about the whereabouts of our four-person group, which hadn’t returned after more than thirty minutes.
However, it drew little interest since the towering Akande had devoured a whole camel by himself.
*
There’s a saying that good intentions allow evil to thrive.
I remembered it clearly from a film about the Nigerian civil war.
I have witnessed many evils prosper and saw how goodness held back.
It is the same even now.
“Water.”
Carefully, I filled the cup with water. Camila, munching on snacks, gulped down the water and subsequently slammed the cup back onto the table.
“Water.”
“…….”
Right after the successful crackdown on illegal arms, starting with the Jamria Federation, several governments hailed it as a satisfactory result.
The respective foreign ministries released a naive and generic statement indicating, “While it’s hard to rule out the possibility of a temporary phenomenon, we support the governments that are taking steps toward eradicating illegal arms and will do our utmost to assist where we can.”
“Water.”
But as people say, ‘A word can mean different things to different people.’
Whether the local governments sipped on skull water or kimchi soup, the determined willingness of foreign governments was of minimal significance.
What really mattered was that it gave an impression that they were winning.
And that was why…
I had become a water shuttle for Camila.
There were no information officers or defense attachés in sight. Just a bio-robot that automatically filled the cup whenever the command for ‘water’ was issued.
“…….”
With a soulless expression, I stared blankly into the air.
As Francesca passed by, she spoke to me.
“Colonel— it feels like my shoulder’s dropping.”
This time, instead of being a water shuttle, I acted as a massage machine.
My pitiful and sullen state. This was how I’ve been living lately.
What the hell.
“…Despite the little arrangement, they’re treating people like slaves.”
“You seem to have conveniently ignored the fact that you were the one who humiliated everyone in front of hundreds.”
I felt like I could hear Francesca’s blunt reprimands, but I chose to ignore them. The injustice felt too heavy.
While I struggled vocally, Lucia, who had just returned from catching an arms dealer, was the last among our group to announce her return.
“I’m back.”
“Lucia! You’re late!”
“I stopped by the refugee camp on my way back.”
“As expected, you’re busy, Saint.”
“It wasn’t that busy, really… Ah.”
As Lucia greeted Camila and Francesca in turn, she turned to me and smiled brightly.
“I’m glad to see you here. I actually need some help at this perfect timing.”
“…Huh?”
What does that even mean?
Not even registering my expression, Lucia curiously brought up an awful and disgusting chore.
“The toilet at the refugee camp is backed up. I need to get it cleared out, and when I asked the managers, they said they knew how to handle it. Could you possibly help?”
“…….”
I mulled over it, wondering if there was any escape route. I soon fell into despair.
The last time I had to clean a restroom was still haunting me.
Caught in a daze, Camila silently reached into her pocket. It turned out to be toothpaste.
“Put it under your nose. It smells terrible.”
“…Thanks a hell of a lot.”
“Hey~ don’t be so grateful. It’s nothing between us.”
“Ah, Hero should come along too.”
“…Huh?”
It felt like I had been struck by lightning, as Camila’s eyes widened. She turned to Lucia, baffled at what she had just heard.
Then Lucia explained.
On the way back, concerned locals had been murmuring, so she went to listen in and found out that a gasoline transport vehicle had overturned on the mountain incline.
As gasoline started leaking, nearby residents rushed out with rubber barrels, jerrycans, plastic bottles, and even unknown military canteens they’d picked up along the way to fill up with gasoline. Essentially, it was a case of looting.
It was the scene of a raid typical of a third-world country.
“So, trying to set fire will be nearly impossible without magic.”
“…Cough.”
Caught off guard by the sudden update, Camila stumbled, clearly in shock.
She flailed her limbs like a newborn fawn, tears dropping like chicken droppings from her eyes.
“A situation like this shouldn’t happen even in Africa….”
“Quite an eye-opener, isn’t it?”
Spilling out an incomprehensible heap of words, it felt like English but roughly resembled a rant.
Of course, whether she was swearing or not had nothing to do with me.
“Chun-sik— let’s head to work. From now on, your name isn’t Camila but Chun-sik.”
“Gyaaah….”
I grinned widely and pulled Camila along toward the work site.
As the saying goes, ‘You get what you deserve.’
For some reason, today felt like it would allow for hours of burning dung.
*
As it turns out, ‘You get what you deserve’ holds true without a doubt.
I was having a good run, I thought.
“…….”
I stared blankly into space, while Camila appeared to have lost everything.
None dared to say a word easily.
Neither I.
Nor she.
Nor the other party.
“…….”
“…….”
“…Child! What brings you to be burning dung here?”
