Chapter 219
Chapter 219
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 219
Chapter Title: Test (2)
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While Sam was preparing to bombard the warehouse, Joe chugged down a liquid condensed from life force, then extracted emotions from a test tube and cast black magic on himself.
Burning Life
Burns life force to enhance overall physical abilities
Muscle Up
Increases strength
Reflex Doping
Heightens reflexes
This much alone was average-level enhancement, but Joe didn't stop there.
In fact, this was just the warmup—the real show was about to start.
Joe created small amounts of black suit, wrapping it around his arms, legs, and torso like partial armor. Then he formed black armor to layer over his limbs and waist.
Connected seamlessly for efficient movement.
Just as Joe finished his preparations, Sam shouted.
"Firing! Get ready!"
Joe replied calmly, and Sam unleashed the bombardment black magic he'd learned from Dave.
It was just a combination of basic black magic, but the effect was tremendous—unleashing firepower beyond anything they'd imagined before.
Boom!! Kwang-kwang!! Boom!
As explosions rocked the building, Joe dashed inside with Owen, right on plan.
"I'll take upstairs! You handle the lower floor! Wipe 'em all out!"
"Got it!"
The moment he heard Owen's response, Joe concentrated black magic energy into his legs and leaped.
Thud!
The jump echoed with a thunderous boom, and the weight of his body vanished.
Powerful leg strength ignoring gravity, if only for an instant.
Mid-air, Joe swung his fist to smash through the wall and plunge inside.
Bang!!
"What the... Aaaagh!"
Joe easily shattered the explosion-weakened wall, entering and sending a cluster of gangsters flying—crashing down below the railing amid wall debris.
"Fuck! We're under attack! Enemy over there...!"
One gangster who'd sized up the situation pointed at Joe and yelled.
With that, a bunch of heavily armed thugs aimed their guns at him in unison.
Just as they'd been told—top-tier armament.
Rat-tat-tat!! Gunfire erupted.
But Joe didn't flinch.
He hadn't fully encased himself like Dave, but the black suit offered enough protection to survive a bullet or two.
And with Reflex Doping boosting his reflexes, he could predict bullet trajectories and react accordingly.
Joe grabbed a large chunk of broken wall to block the hail of bullets from the opposite railing, then hurled the cement slab he held the moment they paused to reload.
As the man-sized cement block hurtled toward them, the targeted gangster—and those nearby—panicked in chaos.
Sure enough, it was Francois that Galcia thug and his crew who were tough; the rest were just run-of-the-mill.
No, not even as good as Landa's gang. No poison or fighting spirit.
Joe glanced ahead, just as gangsters armed with submachine guns and axes climbed the stairs.
They opened fire the instant they spotted him, but Joe dodged the incoming bullets with his enhanced reflexes, dropped low, and powered his legs.
Screeech—Boom!
Just like on entry, the ground cracked as Joe closed the distance at astonishing speed.
A few months—no, weeks ago, this would've been unimaginable, but Joe had achieved it.
Closing in instantly, Joe swung his arm to swat away the axe-wielding gangster ahead, then followed with a punch to smash the shooter.
A dull thud echoed as the gunmen bent sideways too far and tumbled over the railing like dominoes.
'Has Owen made it in?'
Joe instinctively glanced at the warehouse floor below.
Good—Owen had entered without issue, swinging his black magic-clad iron club to crush the lower-floor gangsters.
Unlike his gentle nature, Owen's raw power was terrifying; each swing felled two or three at least.
Not just killed—their heads exploded or bodies crumpled.
The gruesome sight shifted the battle's momentum completely; Joe could feel it.
Some gangsters fired from afar to harass, but Owen countered by smashing crates or the floor with his club, flinging debris as counterattacks.
Accuracy wasn't great, but the power and volume made enemies cower regardless.
'Sure enough, Owen's better against small fry than me. But no Milieu guys yet—'
—Shing!!
Before the thought finished, something sharp flew at Joe.
His enhanced reflexes barely blocked it, but the force was greater than expected, deeply slashing his black armor.
Caution was needed.
Joe retreated to gain distance, then looked ahead.
A man in longsword and armor stood there.
Familiar face—from the black-and-white photo: Francois.
He'd taken some hits from Sam's attack, but his life force and emotions suggested he could still fight.
'Trained systematically, no openings in his stance. Heavy armament... that faint glow's a magic item? He's no pushover.'
Following Dave's teachings, Joe quickly analyzed his opponent's strategy and psyche. No rash charge—likely plotting something.
"Who are you? State your identity."
"You retarded? Why the fuck should I?"
Francois scowled at Joe's prickly retort.
"...Crime Fam, huh."
"Think what you want."
"Just you two... no, three?"
Francois glanced at the bombarded outer wall.
"Do whatever. You're dead soon anyway."
"Foolish choice, even after our compromise offer."
"Psycho... If you're foreign scum crawling in for cash, do the job and fuck off—instead of telling the homeowner to hand over his room?"
"Hmph... You wouldn't understand."
Cryptic words Joe couldn't parse.
But a lifetime of fighting let him sense the immediate threat.
Glancing back, he saw a plate-armored foe closing in, flail raised.
And opposite, Francois timed it perfectly to rush forward.
Pincer from front and back. But no matter.
Joe had no intention of playing fair.
Before their attacks landed, Joe focused black magic into his fist, then slammed the ground beneath his feet.
——Boom!!!
Shoddy construction—the impact rippled out, twisting support rebar and shattering the floor. Naturally, next...
...Screeeeech!
The upper floor collapsed. Not just the third—down to the second.
Gangsters resisting on the second, bypassing first and third, were crushed by the sudden ceiling collapse and plummeted to the first floor.
The deafening crash of massive planks and rebar in the enclosed warehouse assaulted everyone's ears indiscriminately.
"Hmph!"
Joe burst from the debris and charged toward Francois's position.
He couldn't see emotions clearly, but location was trackable.
"Urgh...!!"
Francois, who'd watched it unfold, shook off rubble and countered Joe's reckless charge.
Kakakak—!!
Joe channeled black magic into both arms, using his black suit and armor-clad limbs as shields to block the sword, then closed in tighter.
"......!!"
His blade ineffective, Francois panicked and fell back.
"Not what you expected, huh?"
Joe accelerated with his toes, sticking even closer.
He pulled back his elbow for a punch.
"Haat!!"
Interruption before the finisher.
To the side—a bucket-helmeted thug with an axe in one hand, shield in the other, attacking Joe.
Joe redirected his punch to smash the bucket-head, but he blocked with the shield and shoved Joe back.
Joe used the momentum to retreat and resecure distance; meanwhile, the bucket-head advanced with shield forward.
"Magic item confirmed."
Joe eyed the unscathed shield.
"Whatever. You sheep-fucking bastards...!!"
"What're you on, frog-eating shits... And your shield's facing wrong."
"?? What bullshit—"
—Bang!!!
Joe's words rang true as gunfire echoed.
Support fire from Sam outside.
Sam hadn't ditched guns just for honing black magic firepower—Dave endorsed it fully.
'Yeah, no reason to abandon guns. Enchant bullets for power, accuracy, added effects... Support allies from cover with a black mage's eyes. Endless uses.'
Sam embraced it, training with Dave—the results shining now.
Screeech... Boom!!
Joe focused black magic into his legs and charged the rattled Francois.
Whoosh... Splash!
Whoosh... Splash!
Oliver faced the night breeze, eyes forward.
Something collapsed with a rumble, then Sam, sniper rifle in hand, pulled the trigger.
Military gear from the Black Market, customized, now enhanced with black magic—it pierced walls to nail targets precisely with insane power.
"Hit."
"Yeah, saw it."
Fighting sounds resumed inside the warehouse.
Watching this, Oliver got why Landa's back alleys saw near-daily killings.
Inside was a brutal battlefield of life and death, but from afar, just fleeting noise.
Of course, if chaos spilled out, it'd change—but with conditions met, it was ignorable.
What was it? Like something from a book, but it wouldn't come to mind. Too busy lately?
'Of course, that'll end soon—'
"—Thank you, Dave."
Sam, kneeling and eyeing the building, fired his sniper and spoke abruptly.
The black-light-infused bullet streaked a faint trail through the air.
"For what?"
"The help. Truly grateful. Makes me realize again how much stronger we've gotten."
Bang!
Sam fired again. Each trigger pull, each shot, snuffed out emotions and life lights.
"Just kept my promise."
"I know. That's you, Dave. But I get how tough that is. Even if I never learned it myself. Timing's off, but thanks from the heart... And sorry for being a dick early on."
Sam meant it—no ulterior motive, pure gratitude. Like finally voicing long-held feelings.
Oliver paused, then spoke.
"...Thanks for saying so. Means a lot."
"Yeah... Looks like the fight's over."
"Yep, I see it. But per the deal, we go in on signal."
"Right."
No sooner said, massive Owen emerged, waving his iron club to signal done.
Sam disassembled his rifle, stowed it in his bottomless pouch, and headed in with Oliver.
"You okay?"
"Ah... Yeah! Fine, thanks to Dave's black magic and combat gear... Appreciate the worry."
Owen beamed with joy and respect. Oliver appreciated the fondness, but it evoked Joseph's Family days. Not bad, but uneasy.
'Whatever, this gig ends soon anyway.'
"You made it?"
Joe, lining up corpses, spoke.
Not as bloody as Owen, but splattered plenty.
"Just a graze here, no biggie."
Joe pointed to a light facial scratch.
"Tough?"
"Yeah, would've been risky back then. Explains why we couldn't handle 'em."
"Mind if I see the bodies?"
"Lined 'em up here."
Joe indicated four corpses. Three men, one woman—all burly.
"This Francois?"
Oliver pointed to one—chest caved like hit by a sledgehammer.
"Yeah. Other three his crew, looks like. Armored with cold weapons—probably Milieu too."
Oliver nodded.
"Gotta show these to the branch chief, but if you have disposal rights, Joe—could you sell 'em to me? Just in case."
"Nah."
"Ah..."
"Just take 'em."
"For real?"
"Yeah, and this too."
Joe gestured to piled armor and weapons. Longsword, axe, crossbow—not ordinary cold arms, but magic gear.
"Loot from Francois?"
"Yep. Magic stuff, but I got no eye for it. Take it, Dave."
"Black Market'd fetch a fortune."
"True, but just take it. Feels better giving you something."
Oliver got it. As training dragged on, Fighter Crew—from Sam—grew fond and grateful.
Payment in kind.
"Just kept my word—no thanks needed."
"Know that. We're just giving, so take it. Worst case, teach a few more black magics later."
Oliver pondered, then nodded. Fine by him. Teaching actually helped Oliver.
Learned fresh black magic applications from new angles.
Joe's partial black armor use, Sam's gun enhancements—novel perspectives.
Funny how teaching taught you. World was wild.
Wrapping up, Oliver drew Big Mouth from the leather case on his back.
"Big Mouth. Grab those items and all the corpses here."
The doughy blob nodded and swallowed Francois's crew, weapons, and armor as ordered.
"Our business is done, so come out if you need anything."
Oliver addressed an empty building corner.
Joe, Sam, and Owen looked puzzled, but soon the shadowy floor rippled like the night sea, and someone emerged.
"How'd you spot me?"
"Just did. Druid, what's brings you here?"
"...Our boss sent me. Invites you to dinner."