I Became a Black Market Tycoon with an Inventory - Chapter 26

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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026—Dispatch, Not Troop Deployment
26. Dispatch, Not Troop Deployment
“Without stamina, you can’t do anything. You have to run more than the enemy, move more than the enemy. No exceptions.”
“Fix your stance. Straight.”
“Don’t shake when you fire. You barely moved an inch, but the target point was off by over ten meters.”
“Cover and concealment—do it properly. The moment your head shows, it could get blown off. A sniper’s waiting.”
“Situational awareness is everything. Know where you are, where your teammates are. Check constantly.”
One week into my job as a Special Forces instructor in Congo.
I’m tearing apart the entire Congolese curriculum.
What were these bastards even teaching?
No wonder they all die out there.
We didn’t teach this garbage back in the Korean War, either.
For now, I’ve added—
—the tactics and strategies necessary for tropical rainforest combat.
And I’ve been training the Special Forces soldiers to match those strategies.
I’ve given them everything I have.
I teach these men with absolute conviction.
Whether it’s doing my duty faithfully—
whether it’s pride in being an instructor—
whether it’s building a stronger Congolese Special Forces unit—
none of that matters to me.
If I train these bastards well, they’ll kill one more rebel.
When I die, I’ll take one more down with me.
That’s why I teach them.
There’s a benefit to being here, though.
Back in Uvira, we collected intelligence and sent it up the chain.
But here, intelligence flows to me.
It’s far easier to understand how the rebels move and operate.
.
.
.
“How’s School?”
“It feels strange, but it’s alright.”
“How are your studies?”
“Harder than I expected? No, actually—easier.”
“Good. Shall we get started?”
I found a house near the Special Forces base.
The base offered on-site accommodation,
but I turned it down and chose to commute.
Base housing means living under base restrictions.
But I can’t do that.
There are too many constraints.
Besides teaching soldiers, I have other work to do.
I need to raise Poapi.
I need to gather intelligence.
I need to kill these rebel bastards.
Living on base would only tie my hands.
So I came out here.
The house we found was a single-story brick structure near the base.
Built of brick—
brick construction itself was a symbol of wealth in Congo.
Poapi was amazed when he saw running water and electricity.
By my standards, though, it was desperate poverty.
Which is why—
—everyone dies from plague.
If I just kill the rebel bastards—
honestly, I don’t even want to kill all of them.
Derek Meyer.
I just need to kill this one.
The rest? Dead or alive, who cares.
They’ll tear themselves apart without my help. They’ll die on their own.
I don’t even want to think about them.
But if someone blocks my path to Derek Meyer—
if even a shadow falls across that path, I’ll drive a blade through his throat without hesitation.
“This isn’t a skill to protect yourself. It’s a skill to kill people. Remember one thing: if you’ve decided to kill someone, don’t hesitate. The moment you hesitate, you die.”
“You’re still young. You’ve grown a lot, but you’re not strong enough. Don’t try to win with strength—use everything you can. A knife, a gun, if not that, a chair, broken glass. Dirty tricks? What are dirty tricks? There’s only living and dying. You might get called a coward for a moment, but once you’re dead, you won’t hear it anymore.”
I began teaching Poapi technique.
Poapi was a lean Black kid.
At only twelve years old, he was already 170 centimeters tall.
I was that tall at eighteen.
His reflexes were decent. His mind too.
Despite starting school late,
he kept up with the lessons effortlessly,
and he picked up the techniques I taught him with his body just as naturally.
Honestly, for a twelve-year-old kid,
I pushed him hard—harder than I probably should have—
but Poapi followed along without complaint.
We train,
we eat dinner,
Poapi does his homework,
and I come to a nearby bar for a beer.
I’m not here just for a beer, though.
I’m gathering intelligence,
and I want to acquire some weapons.
I have plenty of guns taken from the rebels,
but I don’t have a sniper rifle.
A sniper rifle is exactly what I need right now.
My mind is full of revenge,
but I’m not reckless enough to charge in with just a rifle.
I’ll be a coward.
I’ll hide and pick them off.
Point your finger.
Call me out.
Curse me.
No matter what you say,
just as our dead teammates won’t come back,
those bastards dying won’t change.
They’re already dead.
I ordered a beer and quietly surveyed the surroundings.
“Great, a Chinese bastard’s here. Ruins the taste of the beer.”
“When did our bar become a monkey town?”
“Monkey bastards coming all this way. Must be good money.”
“Did you swing from a tree to get here?”
“Gonna pay for beer in bananas?”
“Hahahaha”
“But what’s he called? Ching-chong? Is that right?”
“Who knows. I don’t care. But is he actually Chinese?”
“Who cares if he is. Chinese or not, doesn’t matter. I just don’t like looking at that slit-eyed monkey bastard.”
Thinking I can’t understand,
they keep making racist remarks.
So what.
As long as they don’t come directly at me,
what they think or say is none of my business.
I’ll just sit here pretending I don’t understand.
Sipping my beer.
“But Okapi Sting really died? Is that true?”
“Don’t know. But the rebels have been more active since then, so it seems like it might be true.”
My thoughts changed.
The name Okapi Sting should not come from those filthy mouths.
The reason doesn’t matter.
Whether positive, negative, praise, curiosity, or questions—none of it matters.
That name should not be spoken.
I just walked over
and brought a beer bottle down on one bastard’s head,
and kicked the one trying to get up on the other side.
Caught off guard by my unexpected attack, they tried to hit back.
But these punks throw weaker punches than Poapi.
I dodged his fist and threw a hard straight at his jaw.
He crumpled to the ground from that one hit.
Maybe because he saw his friend go down in one punch,
the man’s aggression suddenly deflated.
He’d been acting like he’d kill me just a moment ago,
but now he was suddenly docile.
“No racism.”
I said just one thing.
They got beaten because of racism.
Not because of Okapi Sting.
If they’d earned a beating for speaking that name, the price should be death, not unconsciousness.
So just think you got beaten for racism.
The docile man’s hand went to his back waistband.
He was reaching for his gun.
I reached for mine too,
but the bar owner shook his head.
I put the gun away,
and the owner shouted at those men.
“Get out. What the hell are you doing?”
The man slowly put his gun away, grabbed his unconscious friend, and left.
“Sorry about that. This one’s on me.”
The owner slid a beer bottle toward me.
“Thank you. I apologize for the trouble. If anything broke, I can cover the cost.”
“Don’t worry. This happens often enough. I got stuff that doesn’t break easy.”
“Smart thinking.”
“Less smart, more about survival. That’s the better way to think of it.”
“I’m Jose.”
“I’m In-bae.”
The owner looked to be in his fifties—a white man.
A slight build, white-haired white man.
“Could I buy you a beer too? As thanks?”
“Who’d turn down someone buying me a drink? Bad for business.”
The white man poured a beer with the ease of practice and slid it to me.
I raised my bottle lightly to meet his.
Clink.
“Those guys—I’ll apologize to them again. They’re not bad men, just uneducated, you know? Act and talk however they please. You gave them some schooling, so maybe they’ll learn something.”
“I hope so.”
“But I haven’t seen you around here before?”
“I got assigned to this area.”
“Assigned here? There’s only the base around here… assigned… wait, there’s a new instructor at the base, isn’t there?”
Jose quickly pieced together what I was saying
and seemed to understand the situation.
The rumor that one of Okapi Sting’s members was coming as an instructor had spread through the neighborhood.
Working in the bar, Jose heard all sorts of pointless gossip.
This man was definitely the Okapi Sting team member who’d come as a Special Forces instructor.
“You’re… that…”
But my expression stopped him from saying more.
He had the sense to read the room.
A white man still alive in Congo, running a bar—he’d learned how to survive.
“How did you end up living in Congo, Jose?”
“The usual story. I fell in love with a woman who came to study abroad. Turned out she was Congolese. I was completely smitten, so her nationality didn’t matter. We came to Congo together… and somehow, I’m still here.”
“That’s romantic. Are people like you called a romantic, Jose?”
“A romantic? Maybe. My wife died, and I’m still here, so I guess that makes me one.”
“What happened?”
“Complications during childbirth. The medical care here is the worst. Lost my wife and my child both. But I couldn’t leave. So I’ve just been here, selling beer.”
“How long have you been here?”
“About thirty years?”
“Do you know anyone who can get things? Items?”
“Items?”
“Yes. Items. Any kind of items.”
“Hmm, I do a little trading on the side, but I’m not sure I’d have what you’re looking for.”
“Can you order?”
“I can, but I can’t guarantee it.”
“I want to get a sniper rifle. Is that possible?”
“That? No problem. Weapons are the easiest thing to get here.”
“Then I’d like to make an order. I’ll pay half up front.”
“We usually ask for full payment up front, but since it’s our first deal,
A week later, when I came to the bar,
Jose handed me the sniper rifle.
.
.
.
“In-bae. I heard rumors that the rebels are resuming activity around Kinshasa.”
Poapi had been doing his job well as an informant here in Kinshasa, just like in Uvira.
He’d grown close to the locals,
and he’d give me information that didn’t even appear in UN reports.
The UN report just says rebel movements have been strange.
That things have changed.
It didn’t mention Kinshasa’s surroundings specifically.
“Especially around Campoko—word is they’re gathering there.”
“Thanks. That’ll be a big help.”
If I hear rumors, I need to verify them.
I drove toward the area around Campoko.
Campoko was a slum people knew about.
Beyond it lay a tropical rainforest.
That’s probably where they are.
I drove to Campoko
and surveyed the area.
I saw rebels, but this doesn’t seem to be their main base.
Just a few scattered around.
I pulled C4 from my inventory and made booby traps.
Just like the reports showed—
American-style. Delta Force or Green Berets, I’m not sure which.
But deliberately done a bit clumsily,
as if the rebels had made them.
Exactly the way they do it.
Along the paths the rebels use,
I set the traps.
Their way. Exactly their way.
Just like the reports documented.
Derek Meyer’s way.
I made booby traps and installed them throughout the Campoko area.
While I was setting them, I heard explosions—someone had already triggered one.
Still not enough.
It’s a long way before I’ve set enough to finish the job.
I’m still installing them.
These bastards will die by booby trap.
I wrapped up and headed back.
I deliberately took the path where the traps had exploded.
As expected, the rebels were panicking.
The wounded,
the dead—they didn’t know what to do.
This is just the beginning.
Wait for me.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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