Chapter 610
“It’s not ‘Suni’, it’s ‘Sunni’.”
“What’s the difference, sand-dwelling bumpkin.”
“You bastard…!”
“Hey now. Spring is the perfect time for spring punches.”
‘Crack!’
We didn’t stop.
We fought across dozens of regions every single day, capturing leaders of terrorist and rebel factions, or manipulating them under Magic Johnson’s custom brainwashing spell.
And just like that… a week flashed by like lightning.
* * *
While fighting the armed terrorist organizations and rebel forces in the Middle East, I came to realize two things.
First: human malice has no end.
Second: this horrific cycle never stops turning.
There are just… too many evil bastards in this world.
They’re like weeds.
Viruses spread across every corner of the Earth.
No matter how many you uproot, more sprout elsewhere, infecting everything they touch.
So in the end, there is no way to stop this cursed wheel permanently.
‘Still… there’s one thing I know for sure.’
Even if I can’t stop the wheel forever—
I can break it.
And make it stop moving, even if just for a moment.
In that sense, the old man sitting in front of me right now was one of the biggest cogs keeping that massive wheel turning.
“You, masked youth.”
The old man spoke in a calm voice, fingers brushing the rim of a fragrant teacup.
“You may have found me, but… the world won’t change so easily.”
Al Diab Zawahiri.
A man with a long name, like most Arabs.
Even as explosions roared outside and intruders burst in, he remained composed.
‘He’s just an old man with no strength, right?’
It’s unclear whether that composure came from a century of life experience, or because he was the head of Al-Qaeda—one of the two largest terrorist groups in the Middle East alongside IS.
But what mattered was—he was wrong.
“It ‘will’ change. Just like people change… the world will change someday, too.”
“Do you know how many Muslims bow before Almighty Allah?”
“No idea. Aside from the one in front of me.”
“They say it’s 25% of the global population. Over a billion people.”
Al Diab smiled thinly.
“You are now standing against over a billion Muslims. You’ve made enemies of Allah and all His faithful servants.”
Like hell I’d be shaken by this old lunatic’s rambling.
I smiled back and answered,
“Not Muslims. Terrorists like ‘you’.”
“I won’t deny there are still those who don’t support us. It’s unfortunate. But in the end, we are all brothers. Bound by Allah’s name, we will unite under one banner.”
“Right. So those brothers—the Sunnis and the Shiites—have been tearing each other apart for centuries?”
Al Diab responded smoothly to my retort.
“That’s not so strange. Husbands and wives fight. Brothers and sisters, too. Conflict is natural, even in a household.”
“Sounds like your whole house is rotten. Mine isn’t like that.”
“What can I say? The conflict has been passed down since our ancestors. Just minor differences and misunderstandings. All part of the process of becoming one.”
Al Diab didn’t know. No—he refused to understand.
How many innocent people had suffered—
And would ‘continue’ to suffer—
Because of those “minor differences” and empty words like ‘unity’.
‘Monster.’
This old man in front of me was a monster—twisted by obsession and delusion.
Then, I saw him smile gently.
“How about it, misguided young man? Stop this foolishness and come with me.”
“…?”
“I see it in your eyes. Doubt. Pain. Let go of your turmoil. Come into the warm embrace of Allah.”
With a peaceful voice, the old man reached toward me with his wrinkled hand.
I watched the trembling gleam in his eyes, let out a sigh, and muttered,
“You live long enough and you go senile, huh? Save your BS.”
“…!”
Shock spread across the old man’s face.
“You got caught playing games—you pay in blood. Choose: neck or wrist.”
Our eyes locked midair—
Then it all happened in an instant.
‘Shing!’ ‘Bang!’
With a slash as fast as a bolt of light, my short sword severed the old man’s wrist—
And from deep within his dark robe, a hidden firearm fired, the bullet missing me and striking somewhere behind.
To summarize:
I dodged.
He didn’t.
“Gyaaaaah!”
He sure had some lungs on him.
Hard to believe this geezer was over 100 years old—his scream echoed like a stadium mic.
Clutching his perfectly severed wrist, Al Diab collapsed onto the rug.
But there were others who moved even faster than him.
‘Shishishishik!’
From the ceiling, walls, and floor beneath the carpet—
They emerged like ghosts, bringing wind and flashes of light with them.
They launched a deadly barrage from all sides—thirty-six directions, coordinated with terrifying precision.
But I didn’t dodge.
I attacked.
‘Inventory open. Equip [Fire Dragon Armor].’
At the same time—
‘Clack!’ ‘Ting ting ting!’
Blades and arrows crashed into my reddish armor and bounced off, their force absorbed.
Makes sense. Unless it’s reinforced with concentrated aura or an aura blade, you’re not getting through [Fire Dragon Armor].
These attackers had the vibe of elite martial assassins—trained like Murim killers.
And they realized it instantly.
‘Shuuaaah!’
No commands. No signals.
Just smooth movement—like robots following pre-installed instructions.
Realizing the upper body was protected, they shifted to target the exposed lower regions.
But [Fire Dragon Armor] was a game-changer.
If I met someone stronger than me, it’d close the gap.
If we were equals, I’d gain the upper hand.
And against the weak?
Even if thirty of them rushed me—hell, even three hundred—they’d still be the ones to fall.
“Come on, you crows.”
With that quiet taunt, I swung my short sword.
‘Whoooosh!’
A single horizontal slash.
But it was enough.
‘Fwaaaang!’
An explosion of heat surged from the blade, melting magic and weapons alike. The air twisted all around us.
As that overwhelming force awakened, the entire underground base trembled violently.
‘Rumble rumble!’
The tremors weren’t just in the ground or ceiling.
Behind those black turbans, countless eyes began to tremble.
Maybe because their comrades had just died—
Silently.
Without even a scream.
Or maybe because they felt the unbridgeable power gap.
‘Probably both.’
But one thing was clear—
It was too late to retreat.
“You’re not coming? Then I’m on my way.”
For me, the phrase “outnumbered” lost meaning long ago.
I’ve fought dozens. Sometimes hundreds. Once, even thousands.
And lived.
This battle was just another one of those.
‘Swish!’
A blade shot up from the ground and grazed my jaw.
Patient bastard.
Stayed hidden even as the others charged.
But his attack failed—
And the price was death.
‘Crack!’
I instantly countered with [Forbidden Capture Technique].
Before the guy’s twisted body could even hit the floor, I reached out.
‘Shushushuk!’ ‘Pupuk!’
Five wind blades cut through the air, knocking down several “crows” flying through the room.
The ones rushing me with fury in their eyes met the same fate.
‘Screeech!’ ‘Slice!’
A desperate strike, filled with willpower.
But there’s a gap between will and skill.
My counter sliced them in half—
Blade and body alike—
Falling like puppets with their strings cut.
‘Splash!’ ‘Boom!’
A wave of blood burst in midair.
I struck it with a palm—
The heat evaporated it instantly.
Beyond that mist, another enemy charged—
Only to get blasted backward into the wall.
‘Crash!’
The whole room shook.
But no matter how the world quaked, their assault didn’t stop.
‘Whish!’
Three whistling strikes tore through the air—
Each targeting a different part of my body.
I didn’t dodge.
I stepped forward and flung my short sword.
‘Screeee!’ ‘Thud!’
You don’t survive a blade like that through the heart.
The sword slipped from his hand as he dropped.
The other two came at me—
I caught their blades barehanded.
‘Grab!’
Aura is sharp.
But if your hands are cloaked in [Qi]—
You can catch them.
I squeezed.
‘Crack!’ ‘Crunch!’
“……!”
“……!”
Two swords snapped in half.
Two faces stared wide-eyed in disbelief.
I gave them a flat farewell.
“Go.”
“W-Wai—!”
“Oh, and take this with you.”
Did they ever give their victims a chance for last words?
Maybe.
But I wouldn’t.
‘Stab!’
“Grrhk!”
With a fiery groan, the light vanished from their eyes.
They collapsed like rotten logs.
I looked around.
No more enemies.
No more blades.
No more death.
Only one man remained—
Staring at me in pure terror.
“Satan… you… you’re Satan…”
“Maybe. To guys like you, I probably am Satan.”
It was the first word I’d ever heard in church as a kid.
Now, it felt more like my name.
Pulling my short sword from a corpse, I walked toward Al Diab.
“Kind of funny, isn’t it? The real devils calling ‘me’ Satan.”
“S-Stay back, demon! Evil one! By the name of God, I command you to leave!”
“Man, I’ve heard that one before. It’s like something from Seoul Subway Line 1. Makes me a little nostalgic.”
I was even wondering if Al Diab had studied abroad in Korea when—
‘Clunk.’
The iron door to the outside swung open.
Covered in dust, Skeleton King appeared from the quiet beyond.
“Wicked human. Is it over?”
“Yeah, it’s done. What about you?”
“I finished earlier. Preparing the materials now. There’s quite a lot to work with, and it’s not too bad for me… but are you sure you’re okay with it?”
“With what?”
“They’re humans, like you. Using them for my skeleton army might…”
“They’re not ‘my’ people. And I’ll sleep better once they’re in your army and I’m back in Korea.”
I shut it down firmly and turned to the wide-eyed Al Diab.
“Oh. This guy’s the real demon.”
“……!”
‘Use barbarians to control barbarians.’
Or in this case—
‘Use terrorists to handle terrorists.’
I nudged Skeleton King in the ribs.
“Hey. Do it.”
“…I don’t wanna.”
“Oh come on. Just do it already.”
Grumbling, Skeleton King raised a thumbs-up at Al Diab and declared:
“The undead army will take care of these bastard terrorists. No need to worry!”
…Okay, I couldn’t help but laugh at that one.