Chapter 218
Chapter 218
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 218
Chapter Title: Test (1)
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Back Port.
A small port city near Randa, much like Wineham.
The difference was that Wineham lay to the south of Randa, while Back Port sat along the northeast coast.
Ah... there was one more difference.
Wineham had thrived on its own thanks to local notable Donal Mason, but Back Port was entirely economically dependent on Randa.
Currently, Back Port's economy was propped up by small trading companies, canning firms, and seafood processing plants built with investments from Randa's capitalists.
Of course, there were honest businessmen among them, but just as naturally, there were those who weren't.
For instance, the directors of Crime Firm.
They had pooled their money for smuggling routes and factories to produce their business wares, sinking a hefty investment into Back Port.
"But that business site has been occupied by a gang."
The Crime Firm branch manager in charge of Back Port told Oliver.
Recent events had left him with dark circles under his eyes, disheveled hair, and a generally haggard look.
"What specific areas need to be recaptured?"
Oliver had already gotten the details from both Crime Firm and Forest, but he asked for confirmation anyway.
This mission wasn't his personal gig—it was a test for Fighter Crew. He couldn't afford to slack on a single detail.
Especially since he was the leader...
Personally, he doubted his own leadership chops, but that aside, he planned to give it his all.
Whether he liked it or not, this was Oliver's job and his promise.
The Back Port branch manager rose from his seat and pointed to the marked spots on the Back Port administrative map hanging on the office wall.
"Here—port zone 3, the small factory behind it, and this section of the warehouse district. Smuggling trade post and small production facilities."
It lined up perfectly with the intel Oliver had received, and the man's words rang true.
"What's the gang's deal?"
The Back Port branch manager fetched a file from the cabinet like he'd been waiting. Exhausted and worn as he looked, he handled his work with systematic precision.
"A coalition of foreign gangs."
"Foreign gangs?"
"Yes. Gangs from Galicia, Yuleit, and others. The Galicians form the core, but they started as small fry—our subcontractors for guard duty and odd jobs. Then this guy shows up, and suddenly they're baring their teeth at us."
The branch manager tapped a black-and-white photo in the file.
It showed a wild-looking man with short hair and a beard.
"Francois, from Millieu."
"What's Millieu?"
Oliver asked innocently. The Back Port branch manager blinked in surprise. This was supposed to be Randa's sharpest fixer.
"You don't know Millieu?"
"No. Could you explain?"
Flustered but mindful of the Randa branch's orders to cooperate fully with this VIP, the Back Port branch manager pressed on.
"Think of it as Galicia's Crime Firm. Only more warrior than businessman like us. They hail from bandits, robbers, and ruined nobles. Not exactly organized, but their fighting prowess is no joke."
Oliver nodded, filing away the new info. Might come in handy someday.
"One day he rolls in with his crew, blends into the Galicia gangs, rounds up their scattered small-timers into a pack. Now he's roped in other foreign gangs to bulk up even more."
"And snatched your business site."
"Yes... They're threatening to hand it back if we cede the city's prostitution racket to them. We tried sorting it ourselves at first, but... We don't have heavy manpower here, and these foreigners are vicious... Calling in from other regions risks unwanted eyes..."
The Back Port branch manager trailed off, spilling his woes at length. His plea for help was plain as day.
"Hmm... I'm just the hireling here—no pull with Crime Firm. But I could pass your words along in my mission report?"
Color returned to the haggard Back Port branch manager's face.
"Y-Yes, I'd appreciate that."
"Got it. I'll relay it."
"Thank you... Anything else on your mind?"
"Nothing."
Oliver's reply was curt. It matched word-for-word what he'd heard from Crime Firm and Forest beforehand. Time to get to work.
"So, when do you plan to move on them? We can pitch in if needed."
"Now."
"Pardon?"
"Right now. I learned ambushes work best when they're quick. And no need for backup."
"No... backup?"
"Yeah, not brushing off the offer. But it's a test of sorts, so we'd prefer handling it solo... Any issues on your end?"
Oliver glanced back as he asked.
Standing behind him with hands clasped were Jo, Sam, and Owen—the three Fighter Crew members.
They shook their heads, faces set with resolve.
"None."
"Then we're good... Branch manager, if it's no trouble, could you guide us to port zone 3?"
A few minutes later, Oliver, Jo, Sam, and Owen piled into a car with a driver and headed for Back Port's zone 3—the foreign gang's turf.
This spot doubled as a fishing pier and smuggling lane, bustling every morning by all accounts. But night made it feel downright spooky.
Swoosh...
The car eased to a stop.
Oliver stepped out, Jo and the others right behind.
The Back Port branch manager—who'd doubled as driver—eyed Oliver worriedly.
"You sure it's fine to charge in like this?"
"Yeah. Not a hit-and-run—the goal's wipeout. No need to wait. We'll make our own way back."
The branch manager was at a loss for words at Oliver's unflappable tone.
Four guys against a gang numbering over a hundred.
But his shock wasn't unwarranted. He was small-time, operating mostly in this podunk town.
If anything, Randa was the odd one out.
City pacts meant superhumans packing tank and artillery firepower were a dime a dozen there.
Hell of a madhouse. But a hell of a city too.
"A-Alright."
"Oh, right. Police or whatever—no sweat?"
"Nah, forget about it. Randa backed me dosing them good... Tonight's worry-free."
Oliver nodded his thanks for the escort. The branch manager wished them luck and drove off the way they'd come.
Once the taillights faded, Oliver scanned the port warehouses.
Ordinary-looking on the outside, but this one oversaw all of Crime Firm's Back Port operations.
Small mercy: no stolen goods or production here, so damage wasn't a big deal.
Oliver asked.
"How many you count?"
"Roughly eighty. Few mana users in the mix."
Jo answered for the group, eyes narrowed. Smooth as silk.
Perfect.
In training Fighter Crew, Oliver hadn't skimped on eyes beyond straight combat.
No raw power, but honing them let you read emotions, headcounts, positions—versatile as hell. Most folks overlooked it.
So he'd drilled the basics of extraction and fighting into Fighter Crew, then focused on eyes.
Forcing emotions in if they stalled.
Jo, Sam, and Owen had theirs beefed up decently. Risky business, sure.
"Sam? Owen?"
"Same count."
"Ditto, Dave."
Oliver tuned his own eyes sharper.
Jo nailed it—eighty-odd emotions, mana users prominent among them.
One atop the warehouse screamed "boss."
"Branch manager called Francois a top-tier mana user. Where's he at, Sam?"
Sam pointed dead at the warehouse roof, zero hesitation. Pure faith in his sight.
"Right there. Biggest life force and mana."
"Agreed. Enemies mapped. Time to roll... Y'all know it's a test, so I'll sit out the fight best I can. Your show."
Jo and the rest nodded. Not a gripe in sight.
Oliver had spelled it out before and after the brief—plenty of warning. They were locked in.
If anything, grateful for his hand-holding... Even if training meant eating fists.
Oliver gave the signal. Sam bolted first.
Fire-affinity specialist, he'd dueled Oliver's barrages daily—black magic now a standalone art, not mere gun candy.
As if to prove it, Sam smoothly extracted emotions and slapped Targeting on the hotspots swarming with bodies. Masterful execution.
Oliver's custom black magic. Sam hadn't gotten it at first, but once the whys and hows clicked, no one drilled harder. Made it his own.
A black magic that greased hits...
Deadly in the right hands.
Black light emotions misted into waves, surging to their marks.
Dartboards bloomed on the building's outer walls.
Sam conjured Wrath Boom—not Oliver-quick, but damn fast.
Didn't stop there—overlaid Black Javelin and hurled it.
Straight at the rooftop ringleader.
Black lightning-streak fast, it nailed the target, punched through the wall, and blew.
Boom!!
Internal blast. Walls bloated like rusted cans and ruptured.
Target's emotion lingered—not dead. But life force dipped, confusion and panic flooding in. Serious hit.
Same story for the rest inside.
"Sam!"
"On it!"
Jo's yell got Sam yanking emotions two-fisted, spawning five Wrath Booms at once, capping each with Black Dart.
A hitch here and there, but worlds better than day one.
"Firing! Ready up."
Sam unleashed the rage-packed Black Darts.
Black blades carved arcs to the building as Jo and Owen buffed up—black magic each—and charged.
Boom!! Kwang!! Pop-!
Darts detonated on impact. Gangs, still clueless, scattered screaming.
Owen shouldered in, smashing the door with his massive iron club.
Jo poured Black Suit into his legs for a leap—smashed through an upper wall and in.
The real test kicked off.