On the northeastern coast of Landa lies a quaint port town known as Back Port, reminiscent of its southern counterpart, Wineham. However, unlike Wineham, which boasts self-sufficiency under the governance of Donal Matheson, Back Port's economy relies solely on the prosperity of Landa.
To sustain its livelihood, Back Port thrives on small trading companies, canning facilities, and seafood processing factories, all of which were established through investnts from wealthy capitalists from Landa. Although so of these investors operate with integrity, others have more sinister motives, such as the directors of the Cri Firm.
This group of investors banded together to funnel a considerable sum of money into Back Port, intending to establish illegal smuggling routes and factories to produce their illicit goods. The fate of Back Port now hangs in the balance as honest businessn and corrupt investors battle for control over the town's economy.
"But now that business was taken over by a gang."
Oliver was inford by the head of the Cri Firm branch managing Back Port, who seed to be worn out and exhausted, sporting dark circles under his eyes and disheveled hair, possibly as a result of recent developnts.
"Where exactly is the area we need to reclaim?"
Despite having received intel from both the Cri Firm and Forrest, Oliver sought further verification. This mission was not solely his own; it was a trial for the Fighter Crew, and he couldn't afford to overlook anything.
Above all, as the crew's leader, he felt a great sense of responsibility. Although he harbored doubts about his ability to lead effectively, he was determined to give it his all.
Regardless of his own reservations, Oliver understood that it was his duty and commitnt to fulfill this task.
The branch manager of Back Port rose from his seat and gestured towards a specific area on the administrative map of Back Port that hung on the wall of the office.
"Here is the port's third district and the small factory behind it, as well as this warehouse area. They have smuggling outlets and small-scale production facilities."
The information matched what Oliver had received, and the manager's words seed sincere.
"What is the identity of the gang?"
The Back Port branch manager seed prepared for such an inquiry, promptly retrieving so docunts from a nearby cabinet. Despite appearing fatigued, he exhibited a thodical approach to his tasks.
"It's a coalition of foreign gangs."
"Foreign gangs?"
"Yes. Various foreign gangs like Galsia and Yuleate. Galsia's gangs are the main force, and they were originally a small gang that was nothing more than a subcontractor for us. They did things like security and odd jobs… But when this guy appeared, they showed their fangs to us."
The branch manager pointed to a black-and-white photograph in the docunt.
The image depicted a man with shaggy, cropped hair and a beard.
"His na is François, and he's from Millieu."
"What's Millieu?"
Innocently, Oliver posed his question to the Back Port branch manager. The manager was montarily caught off guard; after all, Oliver was known throughout Landa as the most skilled Solver.
"You don't know what Millieu is?"
"Yes, could you please explain?"
Recalling the Landa branch's instructions to cooperate as much as possible with this important person, the Back Port branch manager, though flustered, explained.
"Think of it as a cri firm in Galsia. However, unlike us businessn, they are closer to warriors. They have their roots in thieves, robbers, and fallen nobles. As a result, they are not very systematic, but their combat abilities are quite high."
Upon receiving the new information, Oliver nodded in understanding and committed it to mory, recognizing its potential usefulness for future reference.
"One day, he ca here with his subordinates, mingled with the Galsia gangs, and gathered the small, scattered Galsia gangs together to form a group. Now, they have even attracted other foreign gangs and have grown even bigger."
"And then they took over your business."
"Yes… they said they'd give us back our business if we handed over the prostitution trade in the city to them. We tried to deal with it ourselves at first, but… there aren't a lot of troops around here, and those foreign thugs are way too intense… If we ask for backup from other areas, it might cause so unwanted attention…"
The Back Port branch manager hesitated and began to recite his predicant in detail. His emotions pleaded for help from Oliver.
"Um… I'm just an employee, so I don't have any say in the cri firm, but would you like to convey your concerns when I report the mission later?"
The color returned to the haggard face of the Back Port branch manager.
"Th-thank you."
"Alright, I'll let them know."
"Thank you… Is there anything else you're curious about?"
"No," Oliver replied briefly.
Everything matched what he had heard from the cri firm and Forrest before coming here. It was ti to get to work.
"So, when are you planning to suppress them? If necessary, we'll join you."
"Now."
"Excuse ?"
"Right now. I've learned that it's best to strike as quickly as possible. And you don't need to help."
"You don't… need help?"
"Yes, it's not that I'm ignoring your goodwill. It's just that it's a sort of test, and it would be better for us to do it on our own… Is there any problem with you guys?"
Oliver turned his gaze and directed his question toward the group.
Standing behind him with their hands clasped, the Fighter Crew mbers, Joe, Sam, and Owen, exhibited a resolute deanor as they shook their heads in response.
"No problem."
"Then, it's settled… Mr. Branch Manager, if it's okay with you, could you please guide us to Harbor Area 3?"
⏩ ⏩ ⏩ ⏩ ⏩ ⏩
Several minutes later, Oliver and his team, consisting of Joe, Sam, and Owen, were en route to the White Port Area 3, which was presently occupied by a foreign gang. As a fishing dock and smuggling route, it was typically bustling with activity during the day, but the cover of the night had rendered it desolate.
As the car slowed to a stop, Oliver and his companions disembarked and made their way toward the area.
The branch manager, who had served as their driver, expressed concern and posed a question to Oliver with a worried expression.
"Are you sure it's okay to go like this?"
"Yes, our goal is not just to hit and run, but to clear them out. There's no need to wait for us. We will return on our own when the job is done."
The branch manager was montarily speechless in the face of Oliver's composed statent.
The notion that only four individuals would confront a gang numbering over a hundred seed almost unfathomable. However, the manager's reaction was not entirely surprising, given that he was a re mber of a small-town gang operating within a rural region.
In truth, it was the Landaners who were peculiar. Within the city, there was an abundance of superhumans whose powers rivaled those of tanks and cannons, so much so that they practically tripped over them.
While the city was undoubtedly chaotic, it was also exceptional.
"Okay, got it."
"By the way, do we really not have to worry about the police or anything like that?"
"Yes, you don't have to worry about that. I've made so arrangents with Landa's support… You won't have to worry about it, at least for tonight."
Oliver expressed his gratitude towards the branch manager for his guidance before bidding him farewell.
As the car disappeared from view, Oliver turned his attention toward the warehouse in the harbor. Though it appeared to be an ordinary structure, it served as the primary operations base for the White Port branch of the Cri Firm.
Thankfully, this particular warehouse did not house crucial functions such as stolen goods storage or production, thereby limiting the risk of collateral damage.
Oliver posed a question to his team.
"How many people do you see?"
"About eighty, I'd say. There are also a few mana users."
Joe, who had narrowed his gaze, provided a flawless response on behalf of the group.
Oliver's training regi for the Fighter Crew was not limited to combat proficiency alone, but also emphasized the developnt of their visual acuity. Despite its indirect nature, one's eyes could provide invaluable insights into an opponent's emotions, numbers, and positions, among other factors. Astonishingly, many individuals overlooked this aspect of training.
Thus, Oliver prioritized honing the visual acun of his team mbers, who had already acquired basic extraction and combat skills. If necessary, he would resort to forcibly injecting emotions into their eyes, though it ca with its own set of risks.
As a result, Joe, Sam, and Owen had eyes that were considerably enhanced, albeit perilously so.
"What about you, Sam, and Owen? How many do you see?"
"I see about the sa."
"Sa for , Mr. Dave."
After hearing their answers, Oliver focused on his own vision.
Fortunately, as Joe said, he could see the emotions of about eighty people, and among them were quite a few mana users.
One mana user on the upper floor of the warehouse stood out the most.
"According to the branch manager, a man nad Francois is a very skilled mana user. Sam, where do you think he is?"
Without any hesitation, Sam pointed to the very top of the warehouse. His confidence in his eyes and abilities was evident.
"He's right there. His Life-force and mana stand out the most."
"I agree. Now that we've assessed the enemies' condition, let's get to work… As you know, this is also a test, so I will try not to participate in the battle as much as possible. It's up to you guys."
Without hesitation, everyone, including Joe, assented to Oliver's instruction, with no complaints voiced.
Oliver had prepared them for this mission, having emphasized multiple tis before and after its receipt that such an approach would be necessary. Despite having endured rigorous training at Oliver's hands, they were grateful for his guidance and assistance.
At Oliver's signal, Sam sprang into action. Having trained extensively in firepower-related skills, he had honed his abilities with black magic to the point that it was a skill in its own right, rather than rely a supplent to firearms.
Extracting emotions from a test tube with remarkable ease, Sam deployed the black magic toward key locations within the target building with great precision. He had mastered the original black magic taught to him by Oliver, initially unsure of its purpose but quickly realizing its effectiveness and potential applications.
Depending on its usage, this black magic could be more deadly than any conventional weapon. The emotions transford into a fog, surging like waves toward the designated targets.
Multiple dart boards appeared on the outer wall of the warehouse, followed by a Las Bomb and Black Javelin cast by Sam, who may not have been as swift as Oliver but had an impressive casting speed.
The Black Javelin soared like a dark flash towards the upper-floor boss, striking its intended target and penetrating the wall, causing an explosion that shook the building, causing the walls to rupture and crumble like a decaying can.
Although the target's emotional state persisted, indicating they had not perished, their Life-force had been severely weakened, and their emotions were filled with confusion and bewildernt, signifying substantial damage. The sa fate befell the other gang mbers within the building.
"Sam!"
"Got it!"
In response to Joe's shout, Sam swiftly extracted multiple emotions using both hands, seamlessly producing five Las Bombs, before overlaying them with Black Darts.
Though his technique may have been a tad unrefined, Sam had undoubtedly made considerable strides since his initial training.
"Get ready."
Sam launched the Black Darts infused with Las bombs.
The black blades flew toward the building, leaving a trail behind, and Joe and Owen ran toward the building, each enhancing their bodies with different black magic.
Boom!! Crash-! Bang-!
Upon contact with the building, the Black Darts triggered yet another explosion, throwing the foreign gang mbers who remained unaware of the situation into a frenzy of panicked screams.
Capitalizing on the chaos, Owen utilized a massive iron club to break down the entrance, charging inside the building, while Joe concentrated the power of the Black Suit into his legs, propelling him upwards to the upper level of the building. With a mighty crash, Joe smashed through the wall and plunged into the fray.
This mont marked the official comncent of the test.
(To be Continued)
OR
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