The Imperial Hunter - Chapter 38: El Municionero (6)
Mexican drug cartel members are surprisingly devout Catholics. At least, that's what they think of themselves. They sincerely believe in their distorted, corrupted faith from the depths of their hearts. Sincerely enough to offer human sacrifices at times.
The Templar Knights Cartel (Los Caballeros Templarios Cartel) represents the pinnacle of such base fanaticism. Their core doctrine holds that divine providence operates beyond human understanding, and all events in this world are part of Almighty God's plan. Thus, their murders, robberies, drug production, and trafficking are all steps toward building Christ's kingdom under God's design.
That's why these criminals fancy themselves as knights. They invoke chivalric codes about protecting the weak and so on. Here, the "weak" means the faithful children of God—namely, the locals who don't defy them. Levying taxes in exchange for protection is the rightful prerogative of these self-anointed knights. I knew all this already.
But hearing they'd gone so far as to role-play knights in actual combat? That was new. I'd figured swords were just for ceremonies and armor only for posters.
If it were a minor threat, there'd be no need to warn us. The very mention proved something was seriously amiss in Guadalajara. It meant the Knights' forces were no joke.
But hadn't their organization failed to fully rebuild?
This fake Templar Knights Cartel had endured prolonged assaults from the Mexican regular army, resulting in the collapse of their overall structure and splintering into numerous remnants. Compared to the Sinaloa Cartel, which triumphed over the government, or Los Zetas, whose fragments remained powerful factions locked in rivalry and uneasy alliances, they were little more than rabble.
No wonder they'd sought shelter under a friendly cartel just to survive. And now these guys were striking Sinaloa? Alone, no less?
There was only one logical conclusion. A once-in-a-generation genius had emerged, swiftly reuniting the fractured groups and filling their power gaps single-handedly. With Mexico's population at 130 million, it's no shock such a prodigy might appear. That he was a cartel holy knight was just Mexico's misfortune.
I scolded Ricardo in a cold tone. "If you had that intel, you should've warned us sooner!"
"I'm just saying we should prepare for the worst. Look!"
The earlier map lay spread on the table. Ricardo eyed me while jabbing Guadalajara with his finger, then sliding it westward along the road.
"Even taking the fastest route from Guadalajara to Puerto Vallarta, it's over 300 km. How many Sinaloa checkpoints do you think are between there and here?"
"Sure, right now maybe."
By the time our loaded ship reached the port, who knew how things might change? If the sword-wielding butchers' indiscriminate massacres sparked martial-law-level chaos? If a three-way war between cartels, fake knights, and military torched the streets?
Roads would be locked down, port and airport searches intensified. If federal police or National Guard rolled in, overriding naval authority, even the admiral's guarantee would mean nothing. Deal and blueprints down the drain.
These half-fried nacho bastards...
There was a limit to spilling warnings after we'd already stepped inside. I felt the urge to deep-fry these mutts further.
With their frequencies and codes secured, the odds of getting blindsided were low. Worst case, we could turn the ship around. But given the blueprints' value, pushing through with combat made sense—assuming the port stayed open.
Oblivious to my twisted thoughts, Ricardo defended the situation again. "This isn't all bad. While those sword cultists rampage, Sinaloa's eyes and forces will fixate eastward. Guadalajara's that crucial."
A hint of murderous intent flickered in his urgent tone. Calming my violent impulses, I dragged it out until regaining full composure before agreeing verbally. "Fine. But let's make it clear."
"What?"
"Under no circumstances will our men play mercenaries. Even if fighting breaks out, we'll only use defensive force. Once the goods are offloaded at the dock, whatever happens is none of our business. Got it?"
"...That'll do."
A faint regret shadowed the supply officer's face—he clearly wanted more. Ignoring it, I stood and extended my hand.
"Then we're done here. I hope this deal satisfies both sides to the end."
"Agreed, El Municionero."
"El Municionero?"
"Not sure if you speak Spanish, but it means 'The Ammo Guy.' Anyone dealing with us Los Zetas needs a proper nickname. 'Huang' isn't your real name anyway."
I conceded simply. "True enough."
Not just the name—my face was silicone-masked too.
"We've only talked briefly, but I sense you'll make a name in Mexico someday, Huang. It'll be fun if you get famous thanks to the moniker I gave you. 'El Muni' for short works."
Famous from his nickname? I nearly winced at the supply officer's childish sentiment. My suppressed irritation bubbled up again.
And Mexico was no market I'd eagerly enter. Huge scale, sure, but too many rivals and risks. Where were CIA and DEA eyes?
El Municionero would likely be a one-off alias.
Ricardo and his wife saw us off at the entrance, just as when we'd arrived. As I nodded farewell and moved to the car, I spotted tiny organisms swarming busily amid weeds near the tires. Ants, honey-goldish brown.
Watching them eased my lingering displeasure. "Hyungnim?"
I signaled Kyung-tae, who gripped the door quizzically, to wait. Then I took in the ants' frantic, cocaine-fueled zigzags. Not one or two—a fluid chaos flowed through the brush in lines.
Could these be those crazy ants?
The White Chief had griped about the Raspberry Project's "Raspberry crazy ants" when power failed at our meetup. Said they crawled into breaker boxes causing shorts when bored. Their jagged, mad paths earned the "crazy" label.
I'd brushed it off before, but seeing them sparked an idea. I bent, scooped one up. Pinched between thumb and forefinger, it writhed like it was glowing.
Held it a moment, dropped it, hovered my index finger above like it might touch, and shook gently. Their motion shifted instantly.
Sssshhhh—I could almost hear it. A synesthetic visual shift.
The captured one had smeared alarm pheromones on my finger. Now they rampaged madder than ever, seeking to shred the enemy.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Arms crossed, Ricardo approached, unable to contain curiosity. Spotting the infamous ants, his face soured like he'd eaten shit.
"Damn it. Araceli! Call pest control!"
Pest control? Useless. With my Golden Age's Eye, I understood the Chief's terror. Unnoticed on arrival amid bigger concerns, their empire stretched from visual vanishing point to the ranch fence—a vast, three-dimensional city. Acre-scale superorganism. Billions strong, easy.
This could make a bioweapon. Infrastructure sabotage.
I filed away the sudden possibility. More investigation would tell if it was worth pursuing.
Evoking Exodus plagues, somehow. "Let's go."
As the car pulled out, Soo-yeon apologized. "Sorry, hyungnim. We missed the Guadalajara situation."
Inter-cartel disputes and power shifts were key intel. She was owning the secretary office's prep shortcomings.
I waved it off. "Forget it. Sinaloa Cartel probably blocked bad news. Getting a key outpost hit by knights is embarrassing. Mexico's government feels the same."
With global hotspots everywhere, bigger stories hogged foreign attention. Military tensions, diplomatic frictions, surging social conflicts. Humanity's growing pains in the magic age.
Above all... Mexico's cartels always act up. Not like it'll last a day or two.
After crushing the government last year-end, Sinaloa surged to reclaim 17 states from its peak, as China plague waned. Guadalajara and Jalisco—long held by southern cartel alliances—fell back to them. Templar Knights remnants were among the routed allies.
Blame southern alliance head CJNG (Jalisco New Generation Cartel)'s leadership dying to plague or army— no counterattack possible. Government handed Sinaloa a win.
"I'll gather intel on their clashes," Soo-yeon said. Handing back the borrowed notepad, I added orders.
"Set up a field command post and safehouse in Puerto Vallarta. Send a strike team. Size up to Kyung-tae. Tell support to monitor those frequencies till done. I'll get blueprint review straight from techs."
"Yes. Field post after plague-risk check."
"Good. And Kyung-tae."
"Yep."
"Go first as lead. Secure position, scout, plan. Zero losses on this delivery."
"Got it."
"I'll head there too. No variable escapes my eyes."
No objections—they knew my resolve and mage prowess. Kyung-tae called my field presence "map hack" or "ban phreak," some trendy slang.
"Speaking of, that knights' boss," Kyung-tae pivoted excitedly. "If not just nuts, guy's a real brainiac."
Smart meant grasping era shifts from Awakeners.
"Not just us think ahead. If they swing swords and automatics, we'll know."
Madness or strategy? We'd debated in strategy meets: modern war, stamina equals firepower and armor. Awakeners—beyond human limits—wield heavier guns, thicker gear. "Anti-personnel" arms struggle.
Weapons anomie. Org upgrades take time/money, so Knights' early paradigm shift lets them dominate Sinaloa short-term. Echoing Los Zetas' first-mover edge.
Longswords fit: high-power firearms cut ammo carry/consumption, so cold weapons boost endurance. Vital for guerrilla ops like theirs.
Kyung-tae grinned. "If tactical staging, wanna meet and clash. Rare chance to rack up compound interest experience."
I furrowed at the nonsense. "Cut it. Stakes too high. Play safe."
"Hyungnim, c'mon. We don't lose. Especially with you."
"..."
If truly risky, I'd bail mid-deal—but sub blueprints made quitting hard. Feudal Jesus freaks crashing with swords? Messy.
Best: let fake holy knights play elsewhere. Puerto Vallarta ranked low vs. Guadalajara.
But if Guadalajara falls, brace.
We weren't scared per Kyung-tae, but I dreaded needless fight's ripple variables. Final call: mine, on-site.