Chapter 83
Chapter 83
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 83
Chapter Title: Sudden Attack
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63 hours and 41 minutes later.
A low rumble.
Jeff Black, riding in the van, watched the scenery pass by outside the window.
Exotic people and clothing more modern than what the media portrayed.
Of course, he occasionally saw people in turbans or flowing white robes.
But most wore shirts and pants, making it feel less like the heart of the Middle East and more like a city in the American South or Mexico.
The three-story buildings and the trees planted here and there reinforced that impression.
“There's a decent pub nearby.”
“A pub?”
“Yes. Should we make a stop?”
Jeff looked at the man beside him, whose eyes were filled with anticipation.
He wore a bulletproof vest and combat boots, and held a loaded rifle on his lap, but this man was no soldier.
A locally hired mercenary.
Like the man behind the wheel, and like the men in the car following five meters behind theirs, this man was a mercenary.
Jeff glanced at his watch and smiled faintly.
“We have some time before the flight. Let's make a quick stop.”
“Would it be alright to have a drink?”
At that, the driver shot the man a sharp glare.
“My apologies.”
“What's the harm? We're in the city center now, so it shouldn't be a problem.”
Jeff said casually, and a simple smile spread across the man's face.
Jeff smiled back as if mirroring him, then turned his gaze back out the window.
“It's the last time, after all. It's okay to relax a little.”
Jeff muttered under his breath.
“Sir?”
The man beside him asked, but Jeff just shook his head and said it was nothing.
Meanwhile, the driver radioed the car behind them and turned the wheel sharply, heading for a nearby pub.
Click.
As he stepped out of the car, a hot, sandy wind greeted him.
“It's over there. The place with the parasols.”
The man guided them as if he knew the pub well.
Escorted by the mercenaries, Jeff walked toward the pub with the parasols.
Armed mercenaries and civilians in everyday clothes.
Among them, Jeff, dressed in a black suit, certainly stood out.
“Please, have a seat. I'll get the drinks.”
“Then I'll have something warm, anything.”
“Not something cold?”
“When you get to my age, cold drinks can be a bit much.”
“Oh, my apologies.”
The man took orders from the other mercenaries as well, but since nearly everyone wanted beer, there was nothing to memorize.
As the man headed toward the staff, Jeff clasped his hands on the table and looked up at the sky.
‘Smooth sailing.’
This job was a field survey.
It was an easy task, one that didn't even require a company agent, and indeed, it had gone off without a hitch.
All that was left was to take the flight, go through the resignation process, and pack his personal belongings.
Just as Jeff put a cigarette to his lips, feeling a tinge of regret at the impending end of his long career with the company,
KABOOOM!
The van they had just been in flipped over, spewing black smoke.
“Fuck, what was that!”
The mercenary leader sitting across from Jeff jumped to his feet, gripping his rifle,
BANG!
and collapsed onto the table, blood spraying from his head.
Dark red blood and other matter gushed from a black hole.
“Aaaaah!”
“Agh! Aaaagh!”
“It's a terrorist attack! Run!”
Chaos and screams erupted in the peaceful city center, and the stench of gunfire and the burning vehicle assaulted his nostrils.
“Get down!”
A rough hand grabbed the nape of Jeff's neck and dragged him under the table.
“Ugh!”
Panicked, Jeff still scanned his surroundings.
KABOOOM!
The second mercenary van, a short distance away, exploded in the same manner, and Jeff recognized what had caused it.
‘An RPG?’
A classic anti-tank grenade launcher.
If one of those hit a van, it would turn to scrap metal in an instant, and anyone inside would become minced meat.
The bigger problem was that the RPG had come from a different direction than the gunfire.
The meaning was clear.
They were surrounded.
Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!
“Protect the client!”
The urgent cries of the mercenaries and the sound of gunfire from all directions.
Crash! Clang!
Coffee cups and beer bottles caught in the crossfire shattered like bombs, spraying shards and liquid everywhere.
Drip, drip.
Under the table, with blood dripping down, Jeff pulled a foldable pistol from his inner pocket.
Click-clack.
He unfolded the pistol, which was the size of a power bank, and held it in his hand, but it offered little comfort.
It was, after all, a self-defense pistol.
It only held four rounds, and its small caliber made it unsuitable for lethal force.
And Jeff was not a field agent.
He was in development. His job was to battle paperwork and complex equations in a lab, not enemies on a battlefield.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat! Thud.
A mercenary collapsed in front of Jeff.
Jeff's eyes met the one intact eyeball of the mercenary, whose face was riddled with bullets, and his stomach churned.
A face like a dropped watermelon.
And it was the face of someone he had just been talking to.
This all felt like a nightmare.
But it was real, so Jeff frantically scanned for an escape route, his head and eyes darting around.
Whirrrrrr!
It was then that a chaotic noise came from above.
“A drone?”
Jeff muttered, not realizing he'd spoken aloud.
He thought it couldn't be, but when a black, tray-like drone came into view, hovering nearby like a UFO, he had no choice but to believe it.
That thing wasn't known to the public.
It was too big, too loud, and had a short flight time.
Its performance was so limited that the company was still working on improving it, yet a similar, cruder version of that drone was flying right in front of him.
‘How did terrorists get their hands on something like that?’
It was at that very moment.
Zzzing.
The lens on the drone met Jeff's gaze.
Jeff fired his pistol at the drone.
Bang, bang, CRACK!
He barely managed to hit it on the third shot.
The drone fell limply, its propellers still spinning as it bounced and skittered across the ground.
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!
Then, the gunfire stopped.
The screams of the passersby had also ceased, making him wonder if it was all over.
Thump, thump.
But at the sound of approaching footsteps, Jeff closed his eyes.
“To face such a harsh end in my final years...”
He had a good idea of what was happening now.
These people were no mere terrorists.
They had a purpose, and for that purpose, they needed him.
‘Do they want what's in my head?’
If they knew he belonged to the company, and specifically that he was in the development department, this was a truly dangerous situation.
The thought of the company's information and technology falling into the hands of terrorists sent a chill down his spine.
Click.
So Jeff put the pistol, with its last remaining bullet, in his mouth.
WHAM! BANG!
Just before he could pull the trigger, a vicious kick knocked the gun from his hand, and the bullet flew off in the wrong direction.
At the same time, a hand grabbed a fistful of his hair,
SLAM!
and slammed his head into the ground, knocking him unconscious. They then pulled out a hood and put it over his head.
Swoosh, snap!
As blood gushed from his nose, staining the hood red, a knot was tied behind his head.
But Jeff, already unconscious, could neither hear nor feel a thing.
***
Beep!
In a vacant lot far enough away that the noise from the construction site was inaudible, Leila started the stopwatch.
Her gaze fell on Yohan and Kanghyeok, and up a flight of stairs from where they stood, a group of onlookers was huddled together.
Zzzt.
Yohan approached Kanghyeok, bringing his arms up to his temples as if protecting his head.
Yohan's hand-to-hand combat training.
The second session, at that.
Zzzt!
Drawing on his memories, Yohan closed the distance in a flash, but Kanghyeok pushed his thigh away with his foot.
“Oof.”
The moment his stance wavered, Kanghyeok shoved Yohan's shoulders.
Thump.
As Yohan fell limply, Leila stopped the stopwatch.
“Are you going to continue right away?”
Kanghyeok told Leila to wait a moment, then grabbed Yohan's hand and pulled him to his feet.
“Why did you fall just now?”
“I'm sorry.”
“That's not what I wanted to hear.”
Kanghyeok looked at Yohan's intimidated eyes and continued.
“You weren't putting any power into your body. Don't tell me you were worried I'd get hurt.”
Yohan gave a bitter smile as if to say 'of course not,' but Kanghyeok didn't crack a smile.
“Don't be arrogant. No matter what you do, you can't lay a single scratch on me.”
Yohan composed his expression and nodded.
“Yes.”
Beginners who've just started learning hand-to-hand combat, especially the soft-hearted ones, are always like this.
They worry about their trainer getting hurt because of them.
So Kanghyeok tried to erase that mindset, and it seemed to work, as the look in Yohan's eyes became a little more tolerable.
“Let's start again.”
Leila placed her thumb on the stopwatch.
Beep!
The moment the button was pressed, Yohan charged forward like a different person.
His stance was the same as before, guarding his head.
It looked like a coward's stance, but it was the one Kanghyeok had taught him—the basic form of a martial art called the 'Casey Fighting Method'.
It was an awkward stance for throwing punches or grappling, but it specialized in two things.
Head defense and attacks using the elbows.
Thud!
Yohan shoved Kanghyeok with his shoulder,
Whoosh!
and used the recoil of his hips to aim an elbow at Kanghyeok's chin.
Swish!
The weight-backed attack was threatening, but his inexperience left a large opening. Kanghyeok dodged the elbow by leaning his head back, then pushed Yohan in the stomach.
Immediately after,
Shk!
Yohan bent at the waist and tried to bring his elbow down on Kanghyeok's ankle.
Kanghyeok was impressed.
Yohan's movements were that clean and efficient.
Thwack.
Kanghyeok planted his leg on the ground as if dodging the attack and immediately spun around.
Then he kicked out, as if to push Yohan's body away.
‘He withstood that?’
It was a light kick, meant only to knock him over.
Yet Yohan endured Kanghyeok's attack and even tried to counter.
Yohan swung his elbow like an axe toward Kanghyeok's temple.
Thwack.
When Kanghyeok blocked it, he tried to uppercut him with his other arm,
Swish.
and when Kanghyeok dodged that too, he attacked his solar plexus with his knee.
Thwack.
Kanghyeok's palm pressed down on Yohan's thigh, and the next attack followed simultaneously.
Swish, thud, whoosh! Thud.
As the flurry of attacks and defenses continued, Leila loosened her grip on the stopwatch and watched Yohan.
‘Not bad?’
The attacks and defenses were happening at a rapid pace.
It would be more accurate to say that Kanghyeok was good at receiving the attacks, rather than Yohan being exceptional.
Still, Yohan's attacks were well-formed and carried power, making them decent to watch.
Leila glanced back at the others with a look that said, *You guys think so too, right?*
“Crazy... fuck.”
The onlookers were completely stunned by Yohan, who at a glance seemed to be fighting on equal footing with Kanghyeok.
Just a short while ago, Yohan had been an ordinary guy, no different from them.
Now, that same Yohan had become something completely beyond their comparison.
Something that made them think he might even be able to win a fight against a gang.
In particular, one of the onlookers—a friend of Yohan's who had once asked Kanghyeok to teach him how to fight—wore an expression of defeat, jealousy, and utter intimidation.
“Hey, let's go.”
Tap, tap.
He tapped the other guys' arms, and snapping out of their daze, they moved off to a corner.
They didn't show themselves again.
Whoosh, thwack.
Amidst it all, the attacks and defenses continued.
Leila was just thinking about stopping the watch when it happened.
Bzzzt!
Suddenly, her phone buzzed.
Taking out her phone, Leila narrowed her eyes as she looked down at the caller's name.
“William?”
The phone, displaying his name, continued to vibrate as if urging her to answer.