God of Blackfield
Chapter 320: I'm Sorry (1)

Kang Chan picked up his phone and dialed a number.

- It’s Hugo.

“Hugo, it’s been over twenty-four hours. Why didn’t I get an answer to my request?”

- The approval has been deferred.

Kang Chan smirked. “Can you tell Director-General Romain that I request a private meeting with him?”

After a brief pause, Hugo finally gave him an answer.

- Yes, sir.

“Hugo.”

- Yes, Deputy Director-General?

“I apologize if I’m putting you in a predicament.”

- Not at all. Thank you for looking out for me.

Kang Chan hung up.

Rattle.

Not long after, Gérard entered the room with a yellow shopping bag.

“How did you get here by yourself? You can’t speak Korean,” Kang Chan asked.

“What’s going on?” Gérard responded. After sitting at the table, he prodded, “What’s with that expression?”

Rustle. Read Web Novels Online Free - NovelFire Novel Fire - novelfire.net

Waiting for Kang Chan to answer, Gérard took out three small paper packages from the shopping bag.

“I bought some late-night snacks for Daye,” Gérard explained.

Kang Chan relayed what Gérard said to Seok Kang-Ho.

“This fucker doesn’t look like it, but he actually cares about other people,” Seok Kang-Ho commented.

Gérard then walked to one side of the room to make coffee.

Making coffee, he called Kang Chan and pressed him for the third time. “Captain?”

Kang Chan told Gérard what was happening in Mongolia and what he had talked about with Vasili and Hugo in order.

“We should hurry, then,” Gérard suggested. He put three paper cups on the table. “Let’s finish this food quickly and go.”

“Go where?”

“Aren’t we here because of some bastard named Abibu? Considering the UIS militia ambushed the base so early, they’re likely not limited by time, which means they might start doing some other shit. Let’s finish this quickly and go to Mongolia already.”

Huh? No, wait, he’s got a point! Is this fucker even smarter than Daye?

Rustle. Rustle.

Gérard removed the paper packaging, took out a hamburger that was as big as Seok Kang-Ho’s face, and put it on the table.

“Come, eat,” Gérard told Kang Chan.

“Is this bastard boasting that the hamburger is expensive?” Seok Kang-Ho asked, attempting to interpret Gérard’s suggestion.

Kang Chan’s phone, which was between the hamburgers on the table, began to ring.

Buzz— Buzz—Buzz—. Buzz— Buzz—Buzz—. Buzz— Buzz—Buzz—.

He quickly answered it, since his phone showed that Kim Tae-Jin was calling him.

“Mr. President! It’s Kang Chan.”

- Assistant Director.

It was Kang Chul-Gyu who answered.

- Two hundred sixty of our enemies were Arabic, and forty-one were European. We’ve got one dead, twenty-two slightly injured, and four critically wounded. President Oh is one of them.

Unable to answer, Kang Chan just listened instead.

- We killed two hundred forty-nine and caught the other fifty-two. Six of the captives are in critical condition.

“Who died from our side?”

- He was from Nam Il-Gyu’s unit. Could you have the National Intelligence Service take care of him as a soldier who died in service?

“Sure. Are you hurt anywhere?”

- I’m okay.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Kang Chan repeated.

Kang Chul-Gyu laughed a little, seemingly feeling awkward.

- I got a scratch on my waist, but you shouldn’t worry about it. Anyway, Tae-Jin has talked to Kim Hyung-Jung. We’ll be sending our critically wounded back to South Korea.

“Alright.”

Was this how it felt?

Whenever Kang Chan returned from an operation, Hwang Ki-Hyun, Jeon Dae-Geuk, and Kim Hyung-Jung always had the same expressions on their faces. Did they look like that because talking to soldiers who risked their lives for the country made them feel the same way?

- Can we handle the captives our way?

Kang Chan felt that saying yes would mean allowing them to hang the enemies upside down in the base until they died.

“You should discuss that with manager Kim Hyung-Jung.”

- Alright. We’ll keep them until he answers, then.

Noticing Kang Chan’s expression, Seok Kang-Ho glanced at Gérard. Their eyes met.

“Thanks.”

Their call ended with Kang Chul-Gyu’s laughter.

“What’s going on?” Seok Kang-Ho asked.

“I’ve just been informed that we have won the battle in Mongolia. One of our men died, and Oh Gwang-Taek and three others were severely injured. Of the three hundred enemies they faced, they captured around fifty alive.”

“Woah!” Seok Kang-Ho exclaimed in amazement. He then looked at Kang Chan, surprise evident in his eyes. “Did you just say that Oh Gwang-Taek is severely injured?”

“Yeah. Let’s wait and see. They’ll be sending them back to Seoul soon.”

Afterward, Kang Chan told Gérard the same thing.

“Has South Korea’s special forces team always been this strong?” Gérard asked afterward.

Unable to answer, Kang Chan took a sip of his coffee instead. A complex mix of emotions whirled inside him.

“Eating a hamburger doesn’t feel right with Gwang-Taek injured,” Seok Kang-Ho said while glaring at the hamburger. He didn’t seem to mean it.

“Why should we feel that way? Just eat already. Gérard bought that for you. We’ve always lived like this in Africa anyway.”

“Eating while he’s injured just feels so wrong.”

Contradicting his words, Seok Kang-Ho held up a hamburger and offered it to Kang Chan.

“Go ahead. I’ll eat later,” Kang Chan said.

“What are you saying?! Gérard might get upset because we refuse to eat what he bought! That’s the only reason I’m eating!” Seok Kang-Ho exclaimed, then took a big bite of his hamburger. The taste of lettuce and meat greeted him.

While chewing, he asked, “Why did they take captives, though? That must’ve been a hassle. Those fuckers—”

“Hey! Don’t talk while your mouth is full!”

“It’s alright! Anyway, those fuckers—the captives, I mean.”

“What about them?” Kang Chan asked.

“How about we use them to build a factory in Mongolia? We don’t need to pay them, and we can drag the ones who refuse to listen somewhere nearby, and…” Seok Kang-Ho trailed off and examined Kang Chan’s mood.

Pretending as if nothing was wrong, he took another bite of the hamburger.

Kang Chan couldn’t blame Seok Kang-Ho for making that suggestion. However, this wasn’t a war between African tribes.

I still think we’ll be able to use them somewhere.

He felt as if something was tickling him.

***

After making what looked like a large boxing ring with ropes, the South Korean team led all of their captives inside it. In truth, they had just made them kneel outside the base but right in front of the barracks overlooking their perimeter.

“You motherfuckers!” Yang Dong-Sik yelled.

“Hey!”

If Nam Il-Gyu hadn’t called him, Yang Dong-Sik would’ve unsheathed the bayonet attached to his upper arm again.

Yang Dong-Sik had already beaten up two of the captives and hung them upside down.

Nam Il-Gyu didn’t stop him back then since the captives kept blatantly defying them. Now, however, the captives only seemed to be insulting them.

One of the captives whispering something got so startled by their shouts that he lowered his head. They all looked pale with fright.

Who could blame them? Near their location was a machine gun, a Mistral, and sentries standing guard on top of the barracks with a fierce look in their eyes. Nam Il-Gyu, Yang Dong-Sik, and four other soldiers from the DMZ team also had them surrounded, their rifles pointed upward.

The South Korean team had tied their captives’ wrists behind them with cable ties. Although the captives looked like they were in pain, they didn’t say anything, perhaps because they had just witnessed one of their comrades almost being dragged away by Yong Dong-Sik simply because he asked in Arabic if they should request their captors to untie their wrists.

Even if they hadn’t experienced it, some things only had to be seen for them to completely understand. That was how they knew that sore arms were much less painful than getting beaten up to the brink of death and then being hung upside down.

Soon, they heard someone walking toward them.

Kang Chul-Gyu and Kim Tae-Jin had left the base to check on the captives.

The captives urgently lowered their heads to the ground. They moved so quickly that the others wondered if their necks were going to break.

Kang Chul-Gyu looked at the two people hanging upside down in the barracks.

“They kept resisting, so we hung them upside down to teach them a lesson. We’ll untie them,” Yang Dong-Sik explained.

Kang Chul-Gyu nodded.

Two soldiers headed toward the people they had suspended in the air.

Kang Chul-Gyu had a bayonet attached to his upper left arm, thighs, and ankles. He also had a rifle hanging behind him, a pistol on the right side of his waist, and several magazines on his back.

Due to his appearance, whenever he looked at the captives, they shuddered and lowered their heads.

If he extended his left hand, they knew their necks would end up broken. If he extended his right, then their throats would be slit.

Kang Chul-Gyu did things that were difficult to even imagine, all while running at full speed.

Moreover, with his rifle, he could easily send a bullet right into their foreheads, possibly even making their heads explode.

He already had a notorious reputation among their prisoners. Nam Il-Gyu and Yang Dong-Sik—who were no different from monsters—treating him with respect only made it worse.

Vroom. Vroom.

In the distance, they could see two trucks driving over to them.

“Looks like they’re already done,” Kim Tae-Jin commented.

Kang Chul-Gyu nodded.

The ones in the trucks had been tasked to collect their enemies’ weapons and equipment.

Kang Chul-Gyu looked into the distance, then back at Kim Tae-JIn.

“We have six of our sunbaes guarding the perimeter. Since they’re a kilometer away from each other, the area within a six-kilometer radius around us should be safe,” Kim Tae-Jin said.

Kang Chul-Gyu just nodded in response.

It was a dark night.

The only sources of light they had were the surveillance lights that were looming over their captives.

Kim Tae-Jin felt as if he had gone back in time and was in the DMZ again. This was exactly what it was like back there.

Whenever Kang Chul-Gyu looked around, the rookies, Kim Tae-Jin included, instinctively froze up.

“How long have these people been kneeling?” Kang Chul-Gyu asked.

“About two hours,” Nam Il-Gyu answered.

“Untie their wrists and let them straighten their legs as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kang Chul-Gyu looked at Yang Dong-Sik next. Even though he was clearly walking over to him, the captives still looked terrified.

Kang Chul-Gyu patted Yang Dong-Sik’s forearm two or so times, then headed back into the base.

Only then did the captives finally look relieved. However, upon noticing the look in Yang Dong-Sik’s eyes, they lowered their heads again.

Yang Dong-Sik looked deeply touched that Kang Chul-Gyu did that. To the captives, however, he just looked like a murderer exploding with joy.

He unsheathed the bayonet strapped to his left upper arm. One after another, the other soldiers did as well. “Alla-ah!” one of the captives wailed towards the sky, looking terrified.

“What are you saying, you motherfucker!” Yang Dong-Sik yelled.

Snip!

Looking very displeased, he cut the cable ties binding captives’ hands.

***

Every day, Hwang Ki-Hyun tirelessly worked without ever showing his emotions.

He couldn’t do anything about incompetence right now, but he could at least prevent others from reading the emotions of the person in command of South Korea’s National Intelligence Service.

His meeting with the other leaders had taught him that. Lanok, Vasili, and Yang Bum never showed what they were thinking except on purpose.

Hwang Ki-Hyun tried his best to hide his emotions even as he left the National Intelligence Service’s building in Naegok-dong late at night.

The news about their victory in Mongolia made him so happy that he wanted to scream. He even had this absurd idea to go into a secret empty room and pump his fists into the air.

They were going to start building a factory in Mongolia soon, which was why they had to do whatever it took to protect the base in the first place. Nevertheless, despite only having fifty men, they had achieved an almost perfect victory.

It was a shame that one of them died, but Hwang Ki-Hyun was still happy about the result.

The nameless heroes who had been ousted from South Korea in the past had just accomplished this splendid feat as a part of the National Intelligence Service.

An agent opened the van door for him. Hwang Ki-Hyun then got in the backseat and headed toward the National Intelligence Service’s Samseong-dong branch.

Vroom.

The car his security detail took followed the roundabout that went around the garden in front of the main entrance. It took a wide turn, and the van that Hwang Ki-Hyun was in followed closely behind.

They soon entered the road.

It was already one in the morning, yet there was still traffic on the first lane because of the people walking onto the road to hail a taxi.

Loud car horns echoed around them.

Chk.

“Grab that drunk person! Run, run!” someone urgently radioed in.

Looking out the window, Hwang Ki-Hyun found two drunk people approaching him. The sight gave him an ominous feeling.

They were drunk but were wearing thick jackets that were zipped up to their necks. Moreover, they were looking straight at the van.

Two agents got out of the car in front of the van and quickly rushed toward the drunk people.

Vroom!

The van that Hwang Ki-Hyun was in crossed the centerline.

The cars across from them honked and flashed high beams at them.

Whoosh! Swish!

Soon, the two drunk people broke into a run, charging toward the van. Soon after, the agents grabbed onto them.

Along with a flash, a glaring beam of light quickly approached Hwang Ki-Hyun.

***

Song Chang-Wook usually left work late in the day. He was doing everything for South Korea.

His grandfather dedicated his entire fortune to the independence of South Korea, then died in prison because he couldn’t endure the atrocious torture of the Japanese soldiers. Because of that, his father lived a poor life in his later years[1].

Even though his father was born with a golden spoon in his mouth thanks to his grandfather, he refused to study abroad in Japan—which was common for the wealthy at the time. Instead, he ran errands for the Korean Independence Corps, which left him severely disabled.

‘You shouldn’t resent your grandfather.’

Those were his last words to Song Chang-Wook, who was still just in middle school back then. His late father looked as if he felt so bad for him that he didn’t know what to do.

Despite being severely disabled, he had used his money to maintain his late grandfather’s birth home.

Eventually, the government designated it as the birth home of Baekesan, a person of distinguished service to independence[2], and set the cost of its maintenance absurdly low, allowing his father to protect it when he normally wouldn’t have been physically fit enough to.

Song Chang-Wook inherited the old Taegukgi hanging in the middle of the wall of his office from his late grandfather.

He had already chosen and purchased a site in Goseong for the next-generation energy facility. He even planned to build a road there that would connect it to the Eurasian Rail.

“Phew.”

Almost an hour past midnight, he finally put his documents away and stood up.

He had to prepare for the next day, but more importantly, he had to go home. He felt bad for the agents standing guard and waiting for him outside.

Song Chan-Wook firmly pressed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index fingers, then put on his jacket. Googlᴇ search N(o)vᴇl(F)ire.nᴇt

Click.

Upon opening the door and walking out of his office, he saw two agents standing in front of the door with their feet wide apart and hands clasped together in front of them.

“I’m leaving too late, aren’t I?” Song Chang-Wook asked.

“Not at all, sir,” one of the agents responded.

This was refreshing.

Seeing the smiles of the young people working for South Korea always energized him.

The three got in the elevator. While waiting, he watched one of the agents order the others on the radio to prepare the car.

Those in their early thirties were going to be hungry at this hour.

“Why don’t we have Janchi-guksu[3] before we head home?” Song Chang-Wook asked.

“Are you hungry, sir?”

Song Chang-Wook couldn’t answer right away. He thought he would have a stomachache all night if he had Janchi-guksu right now.

At his age, his digestive system no longer worked as well as it used to.

“Mr. Director, we eat snacks when we’re hungry,” the agent reassured.

Could there be an answer that’s more praiseworthy than this?

If his youngest daughter was a little younger, Song Chang-Wook would’ve introduced her to him so that he could be his son-in-law.

Ding.

When the elevator opened, an agent quickly went to the hallway.

Chk.

“Hallway is clear.”

The agent who stayed behind stood closer to Song Chang-Wook. They then walked out of the elevator together.

The agents had a pistol strapped to their waists. Rather than pulling the gun up, they took it out by pulling the gun downward.

Song Chang-Wook had just recently heard that a few days ago, they’d had to fight off some drunk person who tried to get into the building.

Song Chang-Wook got in the backseat of the car that was parked as close as possible to the entrance. The agent accompanying him then hopped in the passenger seat.

Chk.

“Go,” the same agent said.

The car in front, which had two agents inside, left first. Song Chang-Wook’s vehicle followed closely behind.

Song Chang-Wook felt bad for making four precious young people work so late into the night just because of one old person.

Looking outside the window, he saw drunk people walking onto the road to hail a taxi. They were starting to make a scene.

Cha Dong-Wook was grateful even for these alcohol-intoxicated people—even they were doing their best to live with what they had been dealt with.

The young agents working hard to protect South Korea and those working hard in their own ways were the reasons their nation could prosper.

How happy would my late grandfather and father have been if they had seen this?

Song Chang-Wook smiled to himself.

Screech!

The car urgently crossed the centerline.

Song Chang-Wook swayed and lost his balance, causing him to crash into the car door to his right.

Flinching, he looked up. A man was reaching for the back door handle on the right side of the car.

Why is he doing that? Does he think this car is a taxi?

Soon after, a glaring light flashed across Song Chang-Wook’s surprised expression.

1. Please refer to chapter 206.2 for more information about Song Chang-Wook’s grandfather ☜

2. This is for Koreans who have made a contribution to achieve independence from Japanese imperialism ☜

3. Janchi-guksu or banquet noodles is a Korean noodle dish consisting of wheat flour noodles in a light broth ☜

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