Chapter 609

“Stand up straight, Hassan.”

“…?”

Muhammad Saladir ad-Din, leader of a massive Islamic terrorist group, was momentarily taken aback.

Who the hell was Hassan? And whose voice had just spoken in his bedroom, where no one else should have been?

But if something this minor could make him lose his composure, he never would have risen to his current position.

Muhammad answered calmly.

“Sorry, but I’m not Hassan. I don’t know who you are, but you seem to have mistaken me for someone else.”

“I don’t think so.”

Step.

The uninvited guest emerged from the darkness, speaking flawless Arabic without a syllable out of place. When Muhammad saw the intruder’s face, he narrowed his eyes.

What the hell? Who is this strange bastard?

The man’s features were impossible to make out, but the mask covering his face was bizarre enough on its own.

It wasn’t a turban or a strip of cloth. It was made of thick red yarn, with gaping holes for his eyes and mouth.

Calling it a mask was strange enough. Muhammad had never seen a lunatic wear anything like it in the scorching desert.

“Who are you?” he asked.

The man, who appeared to be an assassin, answered.

“I’m Mami…”

“Mami?”

“No, I’m a back scratcher.”

“…?”

A filial son was one thing, and a hand was another. What the hell was a “filial son’s hand”¹ supposed to be?

One thing was certain: the man hadn’t come to practice filial piety.

“Who sent you?”

“Allah.”

“Allah?”

“Yeah. That Allah you’re always sucking off.”

Muhammad saw the corner of the man’s mouth lift through the hole in his mask.

“He told me to tell you he never ordered any of that shit, so stop interpreting the scripture however the fuck you want.”

“You insane bastard.”

“I never thought I’d live to hear a terrorist leader call me an insane bastard. What a shitty life.”

Muhammad considered when to draw the scimitar at his waist, then spoke with an air of authority.

“You fool. Do you really think you’ll get away with this?”

“Yep. I think I’ll be fine.”

“You seem eager to die. If you surrender now…”

“Yeah, I think I heard that a minute ago. Hang on.”

The man rummaged through his clothes, then pulled something from his sleeve and tossed it.

Thud. Roll…

A round object landed with a heavy thud and rolled to Muhammad’s feet.

Healthy bronze skin, like a desert warrior’s. Eyes frozen wide open. Not a drop of blood stained the cleanly severed neck.

“K-Kasim?”

“Why are you so surprised? Know him?”

“…!”

Muhammad froze solid.

Kasim was the bodyguard and assassin he trusted more than anyone.

An S-rank Hunter unknown to the world, Kasim was an Awakened assassin whose victims were too numerous to count.

He killed Kasim? So quickly and quietly that no one noticed?

Allah help me. This is real.

Fear gripped Muhammad’s entire body, and his voice trembled.

“I-I’ll give you one last chance. Leave now, and I’ll forget what happened today. There’ll be no retaliation.”

“N-No, dumbass. Why bother with all that when I can just kill you?”

“T-Then I’ll give you as much wealth as you want! Diamonds! What about diamonds?”

His ultimate diamond attack!

“Diamonds? The ones in the safe under your desk? I already took those. They were pretty.”

But it had no effect! Muhammad’s world went dark!

“Bodyguards! Bodyguarrrds! Omari! Sadat! Nasser! Where are you all?”

Muhammad had lost his composure. As he screamed their names, the intruder called along with him.

“Omari! Sadat! Nasser! Right here!”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Woohoo! Bodyguard heads acquired!”

How had all those heads come out of that narrow sleeve?

Muhammad stared in horror at the three heads that had fallen one after another. Then—

Bang!

The door, which had remained firmly shut despite the commotion in the bedroom, flew open. A huge man wearing the same kind of mask walked in.

“Is this terrorist asshole still alive?”

Blood soaked his hands. Muhammad froze like a statue, and the intruder raised a hand in greeting.

“There’s still work to do. Are you finished cleaning up?”

“More or less. The other two are downstairs looking around. By the way, can’t I take off this shitty mask? I’ve been suffocating in it.”

“No.”

“Damn it. Then at least let me smoke a cigar. My face is covered by illusion Magic anyway.”

“Why not hang your ID around your neck? Anyone with half a brain would account for illusion Magic. You’re already huge, and with your skills, smoking a cigar would practically advertise that you’re Chuck Hagel.”

Muhammad’s eyes widened as he realized something.

“C-Chuck Hagel? You bastards! You’re from the United States!”

“Gasp. How did this bastard figure that out? Chuck, there must be a spy among the U.S. leadership.”

As the intruder recoiled in surprise, Chuck Hagel put a cigar between his teeth and muttered,

“…Crazy Korean.”

“No, Chuck. Are you insane? If you say Korean here, he’ll understand us.”

“I think I’m going to lose my mind. I think I’m going to lose my mind. I think I’m going out to eat lunch…”

But Chuck Hagel wasn’t the one on the verge of losing his mind. Muhammad was.

As if the name Chuck Hagel hadn’t been enough, now he’d heard Korean.

He couldn’t help thinking of the most famous Korean in the world right now.

“J-Jin Taekyung?”

“No, I’m a back scratcher.”

“D-Don’t give me that bullshit. Who do you think you’re fooling—”

Whoosh! Slash!

Muhammad’s jeweled turban flew off. Even the few strands of hair left on his head were cut away as if erased.

The strange man—or rather, Jin Taekyung—asked the frozen Muhammad, who had forgotten how to breathe.

“I’ll ask again. Who am I?”

“A-A back scratcher.”

“You said Jin Taekyung a moment ago.”

“I-I was mistaken. I must have mistaken you!”

“Really? Can you swear to God?”

“I-I swear by mighty Allah and the Prophet Muhammad! You’re a back scratcher!”

“How dare you swear by God and lie? I’m Jin Taekyung, you apostate bastard!”

“Gyaaaaaah!”

Muhammad, seized by terror, screamed with all his strength. But the sound vanished without ever leaving the bedroom.

A barrier of qi, formed from powerful internal energy, sealed the space without the slightest gap.

“W-Why the hell are you doing this to me?”

Muhammad was crying now. Chuck Hagel let out a quiet laugh.

“Don’t ask us. Ask the god whose name you’ve been peddling. You’ll meet him soon enough anyway.”

“…!”

“Oh. Of course, there’s something you need to do first.”

Muhammad didn’t hear Chuck Hagel’s last words. What he’d said before filled Muhammad’s mind to bursting.

Meet God? I’m going to die? Me?

Death.

Every human being thought about that word, but not Muhammad. He had always been the one who dealt death, never the one on the receiving end.

A shrill voice slipped between his trembling lips.

“T-That can’t be. It can’t.”

He had joined an armed terrorist organization as a boy. Instead of a pen, he’d held an automatic rifle; after awakening, he’d taken up a sword.

He had risen through the ranks to lead a terrorist organization, kidnapping, imprisoning, and brutally executing countless people.

Muhammad shared a name with the prophet of old. He believed himself a new prophet and leader.

But then… why?

“I-I’m under God’s protection. How could this…”

“It’s simple.”

The corners of Jin Taekyung’s mouth, which had been raised through the holes in his mask, slowly sank.

When Jin Taekyung spoke, his voice had turned cold.

“You’re a fucking lunatic who’s used God’s name to do every kind of insane shit. That’s why you’re dying.”

“…!”

“Attacking civilians. Kidnapping kids and brainwashing them. Strapping bombs to their bodies for suicide attacks… I can’t even list everything. There’s too much.”

Hack. Ptooey.

Chuck Hagel spat, and the phlegm landed thickly on Muhammad’s face. His rough voice followed, cutting into Muhammad’s ears.

“So I’ll give you one last chance. You’re a fucking terrorist bastard who’d have no right to complain if Johnson tormented you all week. But cooperate, and maybe you’ll have something to say for yourself before God.”

“W-What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t mean we’re letting you live. But you might die with a little less pain.”

“W-What the hell do you want?”

“Orders.”

“What?”

“We know you have countless branches under your command. We also know about the other armed terrorist organization at odds with you. The problem is that wiping them out one by one would never end. So give them orders.”

Hoo…

Chuck Hagel exhaled acrid cigar smoke and grinned.

“Start an all-out offensive against your enemies. Right now. Keep fighting until one side crumbles into the desert sand. Got it, you son of a bitch?”

“…!”

Facing Muhammad, whose eyes were wide with terror, Jin Taekyung pressed his hands together as if in prayer and added one more thing.

“From now on, kill each other.”

Muhammad finally understood. He had no choices left.

If he refused this final offer, all that awaited him was an agonizing, brutal death.

If I’d been a reasonably popular webnovel author, I could’ve gotten at least five episodes out of this.

Power struggles between terrorist groups large and small, political scenes, a few other ingredients thrown in for flavor—I could probably have stretched it to ten.

But I wasn’t a webnovel author, and there were plenty of terrorist groups and rebel forces we needed to deal with right away.

In short, we had to run our asses off.

Kaboom!

Boom-boom-boom!

At first, we tried to handle things quietly. But the territory was vast and there were too few of us to cover it. Before long, we started getting a warm welcome.

And the single word enemy included a hail of gunfire and artillery shells, along with Awakened who called themselves “warriors of God.”

“Kill them!”

“They’re the ones who wiped out the mujahideen!”²

“Thirty million dollars, paid immediately, to whoever captures or kills them!”

Shishshishshishk!

Dodging attacks raining down from every direction, I shouted in amazement.

“Wow, our bounty went up!”

“Shut up and dodge!”

“I think it was ten million yesterday. So this is why Luffy goes pirating!”

“Fucking shut up! Motherfuckeeer!”

“Fifty million! Let’s hit fifty million! The Grand Line is just ahead!”

Sometimes we fought pitched battles. Other times, we slipped in like thieves in the night and wiped out a terrorist group or rebel force.

And when we reached the Grand Line—no, the desert—a living treasure was waiting for us.

“Leader of the Sooni faction. Omar al-Hussein, right?”

“It’s Sunni, not Sooni.”

“What are you talking about, you bastard who looks like Jeomsoon from the land steward’s house?”³

“Bastard…!”

“Hey, kid. Spring fists taste best in spring.”

Crack!

We didn’t stop. We fought across dozens of regions every day, capturing the leaders of terrorist groups and rebel forces or controlling them with Magic Johnson’s custom brainwashing Magic.

And just like that… a week passed in the blink of an eye.