Mercenary Black Mamba

Chapter 128: Chapter 16, Episode 10: Sahel’s North Korean Human Weapon

 

He pulled his knife from its sheath. With a wave of his hand, he could have removed the communist’s soul from his body in one swoop. But unlike his thoughts, he could not bring his hands to do it.

“Hm, I should have just killed him.”

He clicked his tongue.

If he was going to kill him eventually, he should not have gone easy on him during the battle. It didn’t feel right to kill someone whom he had allowed to live.

The thought of killing him weighed on his conscience, but letting him go did not feel right either. Up to this point, he had never hesitated in killing anyone he had named as his enemy. Why didn’t he kill him? Why was he hesitating now?

Black Mamba looked at his hands. He had killed thousands of men with these hands, 60 men that day already, so what did it matter to kill one more?

Was it because of his teacher’s words that killing is easy, but bringing back to life is hard? No, he was just being indecisive.

There is a seed that makes a human being, human. That seed is blood. When a beast loses its maternal instincts, it reverts to living on its own. A parent and their offspring would eventually compete for food and even mate with each other.

The only creatures that establish boundaries and connections through blood are humans. Humans instinctively separate into groups. If that group becomes larger, then the flow of blood connection also grows stronger. Me, my family, relatives, neighbors, birthplace, countrymen, citizens, etc. In this way, it continues to grow.

They say that if you move to foreign lands, you will become a nationalist.

The moment you leave your own country, your identity reverts to being loyal to that country and people, and you set your boundaries according to this simple logic.

The reason Black Mamba let the communist Sun WooHyun live, was that they were in Africa. The reason he didn’t hesitate was that they were in Africa. If they had met as enemies in Korea, he would have killed him without hesitation.

That’s what it was. The reasoning behind his decision was based on his own sense of identity!

“I didn’t allow myself to trust my intuition and had arrived at a decision based on guidelines created by other people!”

Black Mamba realized that accepted guidelines and boundaries had made him fall into thinking in a particular way. If there are guidelines set, then inevitably, boundaries are created.

Boundaries separate people from one another. The dividing line results in a disconnect. It causes fights and disagreements. It is because you end up with a ‘my side vs your side’ kind of perspective.

He felt childish for trying to deny his Korean identity. He had turned away from his relationship with his family, comrades, people, and his country, thinking that he had no use for them. He believed he, as Mu Ssang, had freed himself from such futile attachments.

What had been his motivation all this time, and what had been his goal? He had lived within the smallest confines, only content to find his mother and live comfortably himself!

He had chosen to walk the path of a man and to fulfill the same requirements of any other human.

Crack… A crack appeared in his reasoning that all he had to do was to live comfortably by himself.

Black Mamba stared at Sun WooHyun splayed out on the ground. This was the person who had made him examine his own identity.

‘But why is a North Korean with FROLINAT? Is he an escapee?’

He couldn’t understand it.

Black Mamba had no interest in it. He had no reason to be interested in it. In Korea, he had been moved here and there, and after receiving the Kepi Blanc, he was busy assimilating himself into mercenary life.

Unlike South Korea, North Korea put in a lot of effort into Africa. They had built an embassy, sent out a torture team, and sold weapons at cheap prices.

In August 1980, Kim Il Sung sent his torture team to Zimbabwe. That team, on the orders of President Mugabe, created an allied 5th brigade. The 5th brigade became the sword in Mugabe’s hand.

Mugabe, in conjunction with Bokasa and Ahmin, became known as the three black communist dictators. He had marked Kim Il Sung as his role model and had wanted to become a god.

That same year, the 5th brigade, armed with North Korean weapons, was sent into what would become known as the ‘Matabele Massacre.’ These men would kill 20,000 Matabele citizens. Sun WooHyun had been a member of the torture team and had participated in the operation. The concept of communism is for everyone to live well together, but it became the kind of communism where one person lived well by killing thousands of its citizens. The Matabele Massacre was what made Sun WooHyun disillusioned with the communist mantra.

Gaddafi and Mugabe were best friends.

Dictators click with other dictators. Gaddafi, who was inspired by Mugabe’s 5th brigade, taught him a bigger lesson.

Mugabe eventually adopted his tactics.

The Military Chief of Staff ordered General Constantino Chiwenga to create a secret alliance with Gaddafi. The alliance sent a specialist to Libya to train its defensive tactic team.

Sun WooHyun, who was becoming skeptical of Mugabe’s ambitions, elected to be transferred to Libya. Gaddafi was the same kind of dictator as Mugabe.

He was constantly thrown into battle as a member of the cleanup crew or part of the resistance. Slow to assimilate to life in Libya, he went over to the FAP army under Gaddafi as an instructor.

After experiencing an existential crisis, Sun WooHyun had to endure blood and chaos to survive for this long. His life was as difficult as that of Black Mamba.

Tubilis Sun WooHyun meeting Azrael Black Mamba! Every result has a cause.

When one is drenched in the blood of a battle, even with some stamina left over, one cannot help but feel exhausted. Black Mamba leaned on a boulder, stretched out both his legs, and nodded off to sleep.

Unless you were born a psychopath, everyone knew that fighting to the death was not only physically torturous but also psychologically draining. An intense dancer could collapse once they get off the stage. Similarly, when the horror of the battle was over, all the muscles started to relax, one by one.

Once his keen senses were able to relax, everything felt meaningless. Right next to him was a corpse with a bashed-in head and sliced neck, but he didn’t pay it any attention. It was nothing but a piece of meat.

He noticed a person crossing over the plateau, crawling toward him. Judging by the speed of his movement, he was frozen in fear.

“Is that Emil?”

“Ugh, Black!”

“Emil, over here!”

When Black Mamba called, Emil got up quickly and ran over to him. The only thought in his head was that he had to protect his partner at all costs. He quickly found cover between the rocks and began to survey his surroundings.

“It’s over. Quit wasting your time.”

Emil emerged from the rock feeling a little embarrassed. Looking at Black Mamba he noticed the small wound on his cheek.

“Black, did you get hurt?”

“Just a scratch.”

“Whew!”

Emil looked around at the scene of battle and let out a long sigh.

It was nothing short of hell. There were corpses dispersed all over the place. The ones that were shot with their brains oozing out were on the cleaner side. Necks twisted, faces broken, chests collapsed, decapitated, everywhere they looked, there was blood. He had seen this several times before but could never get used to it.

The blood-soaked rocks reflected the light of the rising sun and left a grotesque colored painting on the earth. Emil’s body shuddered. This is hell. He was the Angel of Death, an enemy’s nightmare for a reason.

“What’s that?”

Emil pointed at the unconscious body of Sun WooHyun.

“Gae reuk”

“Gae reuk! What’s that?”

“There just is something like that.”

“I’m too tired to even talk,” Black Mamba answered halfheartedly to end the conversation. He was exhausted and had no energy to explain the entire history behind the meaning.

Emil looked around.

“Where did the commander and Sergeant Mike go?”

“Pieff hasn’t returned?”

Black Mamba cocked his head in thought. Mike would be difficult to save but Pieff, who had received emergency treatment, could make a full recovery. He’d been able to make the walk to the cantonment three kilometers behind them.

“Look for them in the barracks.”

He pointed at the barracks with his chin.

“What, then?”

“It’s what you think. The two of them dug their own graves.”

Emil’s face turned white.

“Those idiots, they didn’t know their place and jumped into the battlefield of Azrael!”

Emil ran to the barracks as fast as he could. Black Mamba had a good idea what had transpired, but everything seemed a bother to him just now, so he let him go. Mike must not have been able to make it back while he was nursing Pieff, or maybe he was just feeling guilty.

“They were stupid until the very end!”

Thinking about it made him even more annoyed. The average person who was asleep could not register someone disguised under the natural camouflage. Because Pieff and Mike, who had followed behind him, had dug their own graves, he had to dance with swords all night and get a scar on his face to show for it. He was not invincible, and however great his physique was, as a human, he would die if he got shot multiple times. If he had the opportunity to avoid danger, then he had to do it.

‘Mike must be dead.’

Judging by the weak energy he was picking up, it would be difficult to save him.

Black Mamba splayed himself across the rough ground. His heavy eyelids drooped with exhaustion.

For three days, he had barely slept. He had been under the strain of battle for the last six days straight. If it hadn’t been for his evolved physique, he would have died from physical exertion.

Hunger, sleep, and lust are the three animal instincts needed for survival. Hunger and sleep were instincts that one needed to stay alive, lust was to maintain the continuation of the species. An individual’s need to survive would always win over the need to maintain the continuation of a species.

One would have to be alive to bear children. Lust is something that can be resisted. Hunger can also be endured if knowing that prolonging it could cause death. But sleep is not something you can control, even if you knew you were risking your life without it.

As if he had immersed himself in hot water, his whole body relaxed.

Even if one was to become accustomed to murder, the psychological damage it inflicts is inescapable. The captain was suddenly reminded of the purpose of war. It was an easy way to trick the newly wired brain. He couldn’t help but smile.

A person’s brain is split into two spheres.

The brain, molded over the centuries by the motive of ambition, had come to a point where it justified murder to maintain survival. Later the brain further evolved during the cultural period, thus rejecting the concept of murder. The cultural, moral, and ethical portions continuously rejected murder. The psychological stress that occurs in war is due to the clash between ambition and culture. The way to avoid this clash is through sleep. Black Mamba lay on the ground and snored.

“Mon dieu c’est incroyable! ” [1]

Valboir, Centienne, Bronin, and Maxim all groaned upon witnessing the scene of the blood bath.

The corpses with their chests broken in, bodies twisted, heads exploded, and throats slit, were laid out all over the place. The captain, Belman, and Jang Shin, on the other hand, weren’t fazed at all. This was normal for the place where the Angel of Death had done battle. The issue was Black Mamba’s safety.

“It’s Black!”

Belman pointed at the blood-soaked mess.

The captain and Jang Shin jumped in surprise and ran over to him.

“Black, are you hurt?”

“Ah haha, friend!”

Jang Shin had tears streaming down his face.

“Stop it. Wakil has fallen asleep.”

Ombuti stopped Jang Shin.

“What? What kind of person sleeps after getting covered in blood?”

“Wakil is always like that.”

As always, Ombuti’s trust in Black Mamba was as deep as his devotion to his religion.

“Why are you making such a racket!”

Black Mamba opened his eyes and yelled at them.

“Ah!”

Jang Shin fell backward in surprise.

Belman ran over to Black Mamba.

“You’re OK after all,” Belman muttered in exasperation.

Other than the wound on his cheek, he didn’t have a single scratch. He was definitely not human.

“Any internal injuries?”

“No. I’m tired. Why are you waking me up.”

“Haha, I’ll be damned!”

At Black Mamba’s attitude, his comrades’ faces all looked like Pierrot.

Ombuti pulled out a new shawl and gandura from his backpack and handed it to him.

“Wakil, you look horrific.”

“Is there a market around here?”

At the unfunny joke, Ombuti smiled sheepishly.

“I borrowed them from the ones without heads.”

Bronin and Maxim got away from Ombuti as quickly as possible. Centienne stared at Ombuti like he was a monster.

“Who’s that? He’s still alive.”

The captain tapped the unconscious Sun WooHyun with his foot.

“Narochi, no jjol dda goo!”

He was still of the same race as him so he didn’t feel right calling him a snake.

How one used language depended on the environment you grew up in. For Koreans, calling Sun WooHyun a narochi would mean that he was a snake, just like the French being called frogs.

The three men stared at each other.

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“JJol dda goo? What’s that?”

“I’ll keep him alive for now.”

“I see. You’re keeping him alive for the time being?”

[1] What in the world, I can’t believe it!