Chapter 35
Chapter 35
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 035
Chapter Title: Assault Operation (1)
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‘War Support System?’
War Support System
Due to you, divisions have erupted among the mafia families, and even the elves have defected.
That unfamiliar message was one thing, but the rest of the sentences were even more baffling.
‘Divisions among the mafia because of me? And the elves defected too?’
What the hell was this about?
As I tilted my head in confusion, the officer seated at the front stood up from his chair. His vaguely familiar face made me furrow my brow until the memory clicked.
‘Oh, right—the shield cop!’
It was the same officer I'd teamed up with during the Ron Dito capture op back then.
‘Name was Alex, I think?’
He met my gaze and gave a slight nod.
“Alright, let’s kick off the briefing.”
He launched right into it using the hologram projector at the center of the table, quickly summarizing the incident in Luga’s shantytown.
“It looks like Lynus, the mana drain user who led the raid, was backed by Don Valone and a few other families...”
He glanced my way as he spoke.
“According to intel from 43471, the real mastermind behind it all is the Mafia Summit Council and the Godfather, Don Carneira.”
“Source on that info?”
“The elf mercenary who attacked 43471 at the time spilled the beans. That right?”
Alex’s sudden question caught me off guard, but I nodded anyway.
“Yeah. Spot on.”
“An elf?”
A ripple of murmurs spread among the execs.
“How the hell did he crack one of those tight-lipped elf bastards?”
“What kinda magic did he even use...?”
Their stares mixed awe with a hint of fear. I blinked back at them.
‘She just spilled it all on her own without me even asking...?’
A faint tickle brushed my ear—the ancient wind spirit, now invisible again.
“Anyway, point is, this incident gives us all the justification we need—no more holding back.”
Martin Rockton, the councilor, spoke up.
“They’ve been throwing cash everywhere to grease palms, so we’ve had some pushback on hitting the Summit Council. But now we’ve got the perfect excuse. Better not waste it.”
“Mafia ops center on the upper levels and districts tight with other admin zones. Crushing them stabilizes inter-district security and builds more trust in this project.”
“Hm.”
A mustached exec grunted softly.
“But why go after a mere inmate like 43471 with such a reckless raid? What’s their angle?”
“Yeah, no sense in it.”
“Doesn’t add up for me either.”
“Doesn’t add up?”
Joseph Howard slammed the table with a scoff.
“You guys seriously believe that bullshit?”
The mustache guy and a few execs exchanged shocked glances. Joseph sneered at them.
“That’s what they thought: ‘Without the Mafia Butcher, the 8th Special District cops are powerless—nothing but paper tigers!’”
“...!!”
The execs gulped audibly.
“So they threw the first punch, thinking we’re pushovers. Got it?! How pathetic must we have looked for street-trash mafia to openly attack cops in broad daylight!”
He swallowed his rage, glaring at the silent bunch.
“Instead of reflecting on how we’ve been seen as weaker than inmates, what? ‘Just a lowly prisoner’? You idiots...”
Their faces flushed red at the slip-up.
“Easy now, Joseph.”
Rockton raised a hand to calm him.
“...It’s true the 8th District PD has been understaffed and underequipped compared to other zones. The council bears some blame for not pushing harder till now.”
The 8th PD had long been gutted to just babysit the upper-level citizens anyway.
“Starting tomorrow, gear and supplies flood in big-time. Even 141 gets fresh kit. Manpower’s the real issue, though...”
Rockton paused, then continued.
“...We’ll figure something out.”
Border situation must be worse than I thought.
‘Rumors say other districts already pulled their SWAT teams.’
Doubt they’ve got bodies to spare for the 8th.
“Back on track...”
Alex cleared his throat and resumed.
“We prioritize mafia over the Al Kimia Alliance. But not every family’s a target.”
He pulled up two faces on the hologram.
One: an old man in a red jacket. The other: a plain-looking middle-aged guy.
“Left: Don Valone. Right: the Godfather, Don Carneira—both key players in the current Mafia Summit Council.”
“Hit these two hard, render the Summit toothless?”
“Exactly.”
Alex’s rundown boiled down to this:
Wiping out every mafia family would waste time and resources we don’t have. Even if we did, our thin ranks would leave power vacuums for street gangs to fill—birthing Mafia 2.0.
So, smash the Summit’s core as an example, force its dissolution, but let lesser families linger as necessary evils.
Confine their ops to what the cops allow, stabilizing some zones in the process.
Once leashed, use them to check the Al Kimia Alliance. Smart.
“But will the mafia roll over? Heard the Summit’s bonds run deep.”
“Criminals through and through,” Joseph cut in. “They play noble, but they’re opportunists—loyal only to their cash and skins.”
“A few families already sniffing around us under the table. They’re fracturing. Nab Valone and Carneira, offer terms—they’ll bite.”
“Got it.”
“Hmm.”
Alex nodded at the convinced faces and placed his hands on the table.
“Now, the Valone family assault op overview.”
After the meeting wrapped, the execs filed out—everyone but Joseph. Rockton, who’d held me back, spoke up.
“You heard the briefing, so you know: 141 leads the charge again.”
The hologram still showed the assault layout—with 141 up front as cannon fodder, first boots on the ground.
“If you want, I could pull strings so 141 rides with Alpha Team or main force from here on.”
I got what he meant and shook my head.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“...You sure?”
“Feels awkward wedged in with the regular cops.”
I’d felt it during Ron Dito too—blending with PD didn’t sit right.
‘Plus...’
141 needed me to minimize casualties. Gut feeling.
‘Least till I get paroled—the project has to keep rolling.’
That’s how I score citizenship.
“If that’s your call, I respect it.”
He eyed me seriously.
“You’ve probably guessed, but this op’s on another level from before.”
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t just a gang sweep—retaliation for cops getting hit first gave it teeth.
“That’s why I’m doubling down.”
Rockton tapped Don Valone’s photo.
“Joseph, what’d you promise this guy for the Al Kimia sweep?”
“30 million credits.”
“30 mil, huh.”
He looked at me.
“Match that performance, and it’s not 30—I’ll wire 130 million.”
“...!!”
Councilor money. Bottomless.
“Motivated now?”
I nodded fast.
“Hell yeah.”
No need for chit-chat.
The next few days turned the cellblock into a madhouse.
Helis dumped new gear in the yard daily.
Even our op suits upgraded—better protection.
“What the—no way this is new? Insane.”
Walter tried his on, face grim. I asked,
“What’s wrong? New’s good, right?”
“Nah.”
His expression hardened.
“Means they’re shoving us into some real shit if they’re handing out top-shelf like this.”
“...”
His read nailed the assault op. I shut up.
With the gear swap, 3rd Platoon filled out with fresh inmates.
Half transfers, half newbies—like last time.
But one glance soured my mood.
“Ugh.”
Walter’s excited whisper hit my ear.
“Ooh, dark elf.”
Yeah—a dark elf woman mixed in. Ice-cold vibe, but her stunning looks had inmates and guards stealing glances.
“Air won’t feel so stale for a bit, huh?”
“Old man, I told you last time: beauties here? Bad news only.”
“Still on that?”
That’s when our eyes met—her deadpan face melting like ice cream.
“??”
“????”
But snap—back to stone-faced. Everyone blinked.
Walter muttered,
“What? Saw wrong?”
“...Yeah.”
That creepy vibe? I decided to keep my distance.
Time flew—two days later.
Assault day.
SITUATION DETECTED. SITUATION DETECTED...!
The blaring alarm sent me suiting up fast, dashing to the yard with the platoon.
“Board helis NOW! Move!”
The yard crawled with more bodies than Al Kimia.
Center: brand-new transport helis, side-mounted with massive machine guns. Walter whistled.
“They ain’t messing around!”
Other inmates buzzed too.
“Fuck! What’s going down?!”
“Rumors of hitting mafia for real—true?!”
“Alchemists last time, mafia now?!”
“How many died back then...!”
“Quit yapping and MOVE?!”
“4th Platoon! Over here!”
“3rd, board NOW!”
Fully geared cops herded us aboard; they radioed confirmations.
“Take off!”
Hatch slammed—craft rocketed up. Belts tight, I caught a stare and looked up.
Dark elf, pretending nothing. ‘...What’s her deal?’
She’d been eyeballing me weird since day one.
‘Paranoia?’
Roden Inspector’s voice boomed; inmates snapped to him.
Groans everywhere.
“Don Valone?”
“Valone’s the huge family right under Carneira, yeah?”
“We’re screwed...”
“Full-on war with the mafia?!”
Something streaked by—craft lurched hard.
BOOM!! KABOOM!!
“Aaaah!”
“What the—!”
Roden braced the wall, yelling over the chaos.
“Uh...”
Shaking hard, though...
“Figures.”
Another BOOM!—Walter shrugged fatalistically.
“That’s why the good gear.”
Cops ran standard checks.
As we prepped to drop—
Roden’s face hardened.
He peered out the window.
Feel the Wind
Wind upon the wind. Learn to speak with the wind, commune with it. Then you will befriend the wind. A friend never harms a friend.
“Fire or lightning mages? Whatever.”
Meanwhile, the heretic mage—skinhead etching a massive array across 3rd Street—swept back his dome.
“Just blast the helis outta the sky.”
Fall from that height? Dead meat—even for the double-element Mafia Butcher.
“Yo, mage! They’re inbound!”
“One, two, three, four helis—no kills?!”
“Military grade?!”
“Damn it, which one’s got the Butcher...!”
Skinhead smirked at the shout.
“Don’t care.”
He raised his hand.
“Blow ‘em all anyway.”
A colossal gust erupted from the array—mafia jaws dropped.
“!!”
The spirit’s intent flashed in my mind. Belt off—I yelled,
“Inspector!!”
“Open the hatch—NOW!”
“I can stop it!”
Roden’s eyes widened; he grabbed the intercom.
WHOOSH! Hatch blasted open—gale tore through.
Cops and inmates gawked as I pushed forward.
“He serious?”
The spirit’s clear reply hit me. Deep breath—no hesitation.
I leaped.
“...!!”
“Hey!!”
“Crazy bastard!”
Shocked cries faded as Sector 4 sprawled below.
Artificial whirlwind churning obvious down there.
Ominous aura swelled—storm whip-cracked toward us.
It’d sweep the convoy—and me.
Then the ancient wind appeared before me.
I recalled the skill words instinctively.
Wind upon the wind...
One who befriends the wind. Friends don’t harm friends.
‘Wind upon the wind!’
‘Ah, got it.’
Eyes wide—sky went dead silent.
‘“Friends don’t harm friends” wasn’t a metaphor...’
Literally true!
I gazed at my guardian spirit.
‘And with the ancient wind by my side...’
...No mere gale can touch me.
WHOOSH!
The gale scattered like nothing. Silence blanketed the street.
“Wh-what the...?”
Skinhead’s eyes shook at his fizzled spell.
“Impossible! Why’d my magic...!!”
He scrambled to recast—
“That’s far enough.”
My voice rang. He looked up—
Internal Energy Burst Fist
My fist plunged down, smashing him into asphalt.
CRUNCH! KABOOM!!
Street pulverized—dust cloud billowed.
Mafia froze at the carnage.
“...”
“...”
Someone gulped in the hush.
Wind cleared the dust—revealing me in black ops gear, standing alone.
Their eyes trembled.
“M-M-M-M...”
A scream pierced the air.
“IT’S THE MAFIA BUTCHER!!”