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of 700 meters.

These appliances contained wheels fixed at the bottom, but even so, the physical strength required to easily push aside five tons of weight could only be described as near impossible, beyond human capacity.

Kkamdung brought all these things down here every now and then despite complaining all the time. Well, its existential worth was being cast under doubt, considered in all. Besides Mussang, only Kkamdung, Samdi, and Jinsun were fully aware of the presence of all these infrastructure and emergency

rations hidden deep in here. The second basement floor could serve as storage space to keep the gold-hungry general Yamanashi food reserves, but it was originally built to ensure the safety of Mussang’s family.

The thing was, the United States of America was the reason why Mussang was so highly focused on securing his family’s safety. This was rather ironic, considering that America was an allied nation with ties to South Korea. He instinctively sensed that they would come to blows and start battling, combat

exchange, not too long from now. Even though he didn’t know whether his actual, real opponent was the American government forging ahead with the Socrates Project or a particular group that was operating, running Area 51.

There were more than a hundred reasons why America was the top power in the world, and the first reason in that lengthy list would be its military’s mobility and amphibious entry penetration capacities.

Aside from America, no other nations on Earth boasted the ability to deploy a division-strength combat force on another nation’s soil in a mere proverbial blink of an eye. That’s because America’s eleven naval carrier battle groups could roam the great oceans for thirty years straight without being

concerned about refueling, while it had constructed airforce bases in many varied parts of the globe.

South Korea was basically America’s courtyard. Without worrying about the Korean government’s interference, American soldiers could freely leave or enter the American military bases in the country. And combat personnel could be brought into Osan Air Base in around two hours from Okinawa’s Kadena

Air Base. The Seventh Fleet stationed in Japan’s Yokosuka was capable of anchoring in Pyeongtaek-hang in less than 24 hours, also.

In other words, there would be no way to fight back if Shadows and Predators infiltrated the country while Mussang and Kkamdung were in Novatopia. The second basement floor was their Maginot line meant to buy at least some leeway to take action. It might be an unfounded concem at this point, but

it wouldn’t hurt to extend some extra effort with battle preparations. *

The heavy refrigerator was pushed aside to reveal a keypad on the wall. Mussang placed both of his thumbs on the screen surface.

Beeep!

A mechanical announcement of (Confirmation Complete] rang out shrilly.

Jiii-iting-

The wall two meters in width and 300mm thickness was flung wide open. Shocking items that would have left national intelligence agents or police officers utterly flabbergasted were present before their master.

Alengthy, dark-crimson whip revealed itself among them – the weapon responsible for giving Black Mamba the nickname of the Angel of Death. It was none other than Rakshasa that gorged and feasted, drew upon the blood of a thousand men.

Mussang wordlessly stared at his alter ego, Rakshasa, his expression containing hints and shades of remorse, regret. The greatest, vilest weapon born out of the marriage between an ancient lifeform’s body segment sample and the cutting-edge technology; the unique item that only Asura could wield –

the wicked weapon that tured the human Bak Mu-ssang into a being that’s not purely human.

And like poisonous fangs of Rakshasa, the kukri knife and two milky-white daggers emanating venomous cold lethal hazard could be seen nestled within the coiled whip. The pair of daggers were the true Fang de l’abime (Fang of Abyss), crafted out of the Sarcosuchus’s lower canine teeth, and they were

termed as Chomolungma.

The pair of Chomolungma was different from other Fangs that were distributed to Bonipas and the others in that they were far more metallic in composition, production. They weighed double the weight, and their sharpness and durability effortlessly surpassed the kukri, which was considered a treasure

blade in its own right.

*

There didn’t seem to be any limit or end count to the displayed weapons of murder within the walls recesses. Two Dragnuv rifles, three MP5 sd3s, five Glocks, two Minimi miniguns, dozens of ammo boxes, five boxes of grenades, twenty sets of defensive battle gear including bulletproof and stab-proof

vests, etc… The list of weapons filling up the recess seemed more than enough to annihilate a military team stationed in a rural area, at the very least.

‘Mussang scanned across the displayed weapons with a quizzical, casual, inquisitive glance. South Korea was not a savage, unruly, chaotic, lawless land in the manner Africa was. In fact, Korea’s public security was considered truly world-class. There weren’t all that many countries in the world where a

lone woman could walk on the street without fear or concern, late at night. All these weapons would not see the light of a day if it were not for the lingering, haunting, specters monsters of Area 51 and the Shadows.

What if he alerted the relevant authorities about the Socrates Project and the dangers posed by the monsters that had been produced, created, assembled in Area 51? It would be a royal waste, squandering of precious reserves of limited, finite time. America was the sacred church ground where Korea’s

ruling class and those with vested interests went to pray, nonetheless, considered, after all. Mussang would be branded as a communist insurgent trying to destabilize the Korean society and either get dragged to Seobinggo or imprisoned in the dreaded Cheongnyangni-dong’s no. 46.

What if he battled up against a Shadow on Korean soil? The Korean military and the police would be hell-bent, obsessed with trying to take Black Mamba down with seething, raging fury. Obviously, he’d not let that happen, but the mere possibility of such an event left him rather desolate, dejected. He

couldn’t even trust the army and the police forces of his own homeland grounds.

*

The reason for Mussang’s expedition to the basement owed mainly to the gravity, weighty clout of the names Higashi Honganji and Choi Do-shik.

He cleaned up a handful of stinky weasels to help out President Kim Gi-taek only for a pack of rabid wild dogs to appear immediately following. He could easily demolish, eliminate a gang like Pungguk with one hand, but the ninjas from Higashi Honganji and yakuzas using firearms weren’t opponents he

should dismiss lightly or underestimate callously.

Abe was merely classed as a first-grade ninja. He said that a special-grade ninja commanded ten first-grade ninjas, while an elder-grade would command ten special-grade ninjas. It was not wise to prejudge Choi Do-shik’s martial arts prowess, since he boasted the title of the Great Martial Art Teacher.

Ifa group of ninjas or an elder-level individual that Higashi Honganji took such immense pride in, were visiting the Pungguk gang, then Mussang would have no choice but to start a… round of ‘exorcism’ to clear out trash and waste substances.

The yakuza remained an issue, as well. The top three organizations including Yamaguchi-gumi had been using handguns for a long time now. Even automatic rifles turned up as weapons during the inter-gang conflicts, too. Nothing was as annoying as getting hit by bullets blindly fired by a bunch of

shabby, untrained imbeciles. The motto, oath of the foreign legion army was: ‘Lack of preparations will be paid for with blood seized for exchange in an act of vengeance.

*

Mussang seized a sleeveless reddish-brown shirt from the folds of the recesses of stored garments. This bullet- and stab-proof clothing was carefully crafted, woven out of the Bossaurus tendons and Dyneema fabric. The fabric was thin enough to roll out into a fist-sized lump but not even a .38 revolver

round or a sashimi knife could pierce through it. After putting it on, he velcroed a cuff sewed out of the same materials placed upon his wrist.

It had been a while since he had touched, sensed the kukri. This blade didn’t get much love after the entrance of the dreaded Rakshasa and Vajra. Even so, it was still a treasure weapon that even the modern smithing technology would have had a hard time trying to replicate.

Jiii-iting-!

Kukri began crying in his clutches, embrace.

“My bad. You’re too big for me to carry around in this part of the world.”

Lugging around the large kukri with the blade over one ‘ja’ long (about 30cm) in South Korea’s streets was basically asking to get arrested for the possession of illegal arms. Mussang hung up the kukri on the wall, then picked up a Fang, The performance of a weapon was certainly important, but their

portability was just as crucial, if not even more so.

Mussang concluded his preparations by adorning, casually fitting into a green-tinged navy-blue suit, and stashing the Fang blade hidden under the recess folds of his clothes.

*

According to Gyeokmongjeongji, a literary work written by a Korean philosopher ‘Dasan’ Jeong Yak-Yong, the optimal period for learning, formal education extended between the ages of twelve and sixteen. He had posited that one’s intelligence and wisdom would mature like a bamboo shoot during those

five years. For any age younger than that, one would lack sufficient sentient capacities to learn. But, from the age of seventeen onward, one’s eyes would acquire logical cognitive reasoning capacities and their stubbornness would rear its head, making it highly challenging to absorb new ideas, concepts,

paradigm shifts.

‘Mussang’s optimal period of five years was utterly ruined and destroyed by Mrs. Jang and her husband Baek-bu (big uncle). Choi Do-shik took over from there to ruin the next period of his life. If it hadn’t been for that insidious bastard, Mussang wouldn’t have to say goodbye to Hae-young, either. You

could say that Mrs Jang and his big uncle were like parasitical weeds that made his life difficult, while Choi Do-shik was chili powder dumped on his life that finally seemed to be going well, progressing smoothly.

“Hehehe! I hope I get to run into you soon, Choi Do-Shik.” Mussang muttered that while a chilling smirk spread across his visage.

Despite all the concerted efforts, there was not a single piece of news with regards to his mother’s whereabouts. Yet he stumbled onto the shocking, unforeseen news of Choi Do-Shik’s survival, instead.

They said that a good, fateful connection had gradually developed

silently while grudges came pouring out at you in intense flooding tides of fury, and this situation seemed to indicate this fully. That name, Choi Do-Shik… That was like a thorn caught deep in Mussang’s throat. He had never erased the terrible memories of that retard, and he had a feeling that there

would never be true peace for him unless he managed to exorcise, purge the undesired image of the demonic specter termed Choi Do-Shik from his psyche.

And the only way to accomplish that was to utterly destroy, eliminate that retard. A dead man couldn’t do anything or tell tales, after all.

Time was always fair, restored justice eventually. The effects of the passage of time were now working backward in reverse; while Back-bu, Mrs. Jang, and Choi Do-Shik were entering their dusky twilight years, Mussang remained to escalate upon the upward trajectory. His abilities were getting sharper

and more potent, perceptive with every passing day while Choi Do-Shik couldn’t even escape his own aging process or physical decline.

Decked out in a pair of faded jeans and a non-descript navy suit, Mussang finally emerged from the shadows of the basement. He chose to carry only one Fang dagger as his weapon this time.

*

“President Bak, are you thinking of paying a visit to that Pungguk gang?” Kim Gi-Taek hurriedly clutched, clung to Mussang’s clothes.

The latter replied, his attitude completely calm and unperturbed. “Well, we need to sort it out quickly for the sake of both Yeong-hee and Yeong-Ji, don’t you agree?”

“Regardless of that… Please be careful. They are evil vermin who’ll start stabbing you with sashimi blades if they don’t like how things are going.”

Kim Gi-Taek was visibly perturbed, disturbed. Even a superman would get fatally wounded when stabbed violently by a knife blade. He’d be too embarrassed, disgraced. to remain in Eungsim-Je if his benefactor was wounded on his behalf.

“You don’t have to worry too much, uncle. The hide around my gut is surprisingly thick in layered flabby tires, you see. You said that the one in charge is a retard named Kang Min-Seok, am I right?”

“Yes. He’s the person in charge.”

“pray that Lord Maitreya’s blessings will protect you, President Bak. Namu Amida Butsu!” Mrs. Yang offered a prayer that didn’t quite sound quite right for some reason.

Mussang smirked gently, before climbing hastily into his Citroén steering seat. “Jinsun-ah, Imma quickly head out and deal with this matter, then come home in a bit. Why don’t we have ‘yeolmu bibimbap’ and ‘samgyetang’ for tonight’s supper?”

“Til also prepare your favorite dish, roasted eel, Oppa.” Jinsun smiled gently, teasingly.

Back when he didn’t know any martial arts, her Oppa – Mussang – was still strong enough to annihilate the Sashimi gang, He’d never get injured by some measly gangsters, in other words.

“Oppa? Try to hold back a little, okay? I mean, it’ll be massive trouble if you accidentally finish them off, you know? Please hold back just enough to teach them a proper lesson.” Gye-soon urged Mussang with a concerned tone.

However, Yeon-soon suddenly cried out as if she was one of the victims. “Girl, what are you even on about?! You gotta make sure those bloody rapists cannot repeat their damned crimes again. Oppa? Please slash up all of their trashy trunks today.”

“Oppa, you come home with even a spot of blood on you, there’s no dinner for you, okay? Do you know how hard is to remove blood stains from clothes? We have to rub them hard enough to wear out our fingers, you know?” Gye-soon began warning Mussang next.

“Okay, okay. I got it. Man, you bunch of jokers love to nag endlessly, don’t you?”

‘Mussang shook his head in exasperation while driving off in haste.

‘When the trunk of the sedan slipped past the front gate, Kim Gi-Taek and Mrs. Yang exchanged wordless, silent glances. It seemed that the real gangsters, crooks were these five sisters. Yeong-hee sneaked back into her room while feeling a bit scared. However, she was also feeling deeply elated right

now.

*

The Citroén sedan turned right at the Manpyeong Negeori (intersection). The vehicle navigated through the complex, winding road network of 3rd Gongdan-Ro and exited at the Geumho river. The Pungguk Capital’s building was located between Nowon-dong’s 3rd industrial zone and a riverside road

where Geumho’s Hajung-do (island) could be seen parked from a distance.

This 3rd industrial zone, also known as Nowon industrial zone, was an industrial complex constructed toward the end of the ‘60s with the purpose of providing ‘home’ for all of Daegu’s most polluting, high carbon emissions factories. Around 200 textile-related and 300 mechanical equipment businesses

operated out of there, and most of them were merely small-scale operations.

The 700-or-so small businesses crowding Nowon and Bisan’s industrial complexes were the source of the Pungguk Capital’s income. In all honesty, those businesses were pushovers that allowed the gangsters to sink their fangs in and squeeze, wring them dry of all the most lavish, substantial profits.

“Big bro, it’s that building over there. That whole area around the building, about twenty thousand Pyeong, belong to Pungguk Capital.” Nupchi pointed at a lone building towering massively over the Geumho’s riverside bay.

It was a white five-story building, with five-meter-tall security walls hiding something behind the above-mentioned building construct.

“Looks like they are planning to build a proper base of operations here. Which truly benefits me.”

Mussang parked the car far away, then took a walk around the building’s premise grounds.

Du-wuuung-

His Dimensional Sight spread around like ripples. He detected twenty people inside the five-story building, its layout imprinted in his imagination. Three barracks were located beyond the security walls, with thirty people in total residing within their space.

“Thad better wrap up all loose ends well, taking the interests of older sister Mi-suk into close consideration.”

If these punks displayed even just the slightest hint of remorse, then Mussang planned to rough them up a bit and leave them alone. But he was going to completely finish off, brutalize anyone sold out to dark forces today.

‘Repay kindness ten times over, but vengeance must be a hundred times more brutally, violently recompensed!”

That was the way of the desert-dwelling tribes, and also Mussang’s despotic reign.

*

“What brings you here today?”

A security guard at the front door blocked Mussang’s path.

“Greed, money, profits, loot, obviously. You think I’m here for a vacation?”

“Ah, of course. Please step right back in.”

The security guard stepped back, stunned at Mussang’s curt, abrupt reply. Not one person coming to Punggunk Capital’s building gave off a good impression, the security guard reflected, pondered to himself.

Mussang pushed open the refurbished glass doors and took a step within, prompting six pairs of eyes to look intently at him in shocked bewilderment.

The interior’s layout didn’t look any different from the branches of the Korean Federation of Community Credit Cooperatives. Two female employees sat behind customer service desks, a male employee was behind them, and there was a middle-aged man who seemed to be a manager. Finally, a big guy

was standing tall with an overbearing, obnoxious attitude huddled, cowering in a gloomy, dusky corner space.

Despite wearing a security guard’s cap, his bulging, flabby, and haughtily raised lips uttered hoarsely, “I’m an yangahchi!” to anyone who dared to countenance him directly.

The service desks had acrylic panels with ‘deposit, ‘loan’, and ‘VIP’ engraved on them, A normal (?) place of business that had nothing to do with what Mussang was here to do, in other words. He scanned the interior once, before heading toward the staircase leading up to the second floor. Thudding

footsteps could be heard resounding, banging loudly behind him.

“Dear customer! Where are you going?”

Mussang ignored that and stepped onto the staircase. The big guy rapidly blocked, obstructed his path. “Customer, the first floor is where transactions take place. If you’re looking for a toilet, it’s just behind in that sectio

The big guy spoke very candidly and warmly, but his demeanor indicated quite the reverse. Mussang glanced over behind him, causing the big guy to flinch and depart, cowering, slinking away.

The huge hulk immediately began tilting his head, quizzically bewildered. He couldn’t figure out why he cowered back a moment ago. The punk before him was just a lean, scrawny young man, after all.

“You insolent son of a b*tch. A nameless, gutless cipher who has the audacity to…!” Nupchi observing the mood angrily stepped forward, but Mussang silently raised his hand to protest. Nupchi bowed and stepped back to defer in remorse. “Yessir. My apologies.”

Mussang asked the huge hulk. “Is Kang Min-Seok in the office?”

“Why d’ya wanna see him?” The huge hulk retorted rudely, clearly getting riled up, agitated, incensed. His manner of speech took on a more defiant, offended, intimidating tone, mocking tone.

“To take care of a loan.”

“Sure. Y’know what, though? You’re going off-limits, stepping out of your place, customer.”

‘What was the point of chatting to a nameless, serf cipher, anyhow? Mussang wondered, pondering to himself.

Shuffle-

Mussang brushed past the big guy like he was invisible and indignantly breezed up the stairs to ignore his insulting presence,

‘How the hell did he get past me?”

The big guy was puzzled by what happened. He made sure to block the narrow staircase with his large hulking frame, yet his opponent still somehow slinked away, escaping his grasp.

“F*ck! Young punks these days don’t know how to listen!” The big guy angrily reached out to seize hold of the tail end of Mussang’s collars.

However, the latter reached back as well; without even bothering to look. He then poked the big guy’s Jangdae-Hyeol (acupuncture point) just above the nipple area with Three Dusting Cannon Jabs. The big guy’s outstretched arm began shaking, quivering, shivering, and faltering at awkward, impossible

angles like an octopus’s slivering tentacle.

“Heok?!”

The big guy powerfully gulped, heaved his breath all the way back in. His nostrils desperately flared open to breathe, but no oxygen entered his lungs and he could only make choking, gasping noises. Getting jabbed in one’s Jangdae-Hyeol paralyzed one’s diaphragm. Leaving him like this would lead to

cyanosis, eventually causing brain death, a fatal comatose paralysis. The huge hulk suffering from the lack of oxygen began slivering pathetically, miserably away.

“You dumbass, you’re the so-called young punk these days. Stop exaggerating and lead the way, will ya?” Mussang pushed the big guy’s shoulder to turn the latter around, then slapped his myeongmun-hyeol (acupuncture point) by the base of his spine.

“Fuu-huph! Cough, cough!”

Finally able to breathe again, the big guy began coughing and wheezing desperately.