Mystical Journey

A few red and yellow hot air balloons floated around in the sky. There were symbols and words that were written on them with certain meanings.

Garen raised his head and glanced over while standing on the street corner. He could not see properly because the sun was too bright and the hot air balloons were too far away, blinding his eyes and making him slightly uncomfortable.

He was wearing a normal long-sleeved white T-shirt and dark black jeans. His muscular frame and golden tassel-like hair constantly attracted the curious gazes of the little black children in his surroundings.

There were white communication lines drawn on some of the dilapidated streets that extended towards him in a straight line. A few dirty cars drove past slowly, before yellow-grey and black colored lines appeared and covered the floor, while heat waves radiated off the illuminated, scorching ground.

When he glanced over at a nearby area, he noticed that this place was filled with tall old buildings. Most of them had faint yellow stains that showed their age on the surface while other areas were obviously damaged.

This place called Caora was neither a bustling African city nor a famous tourist town. Instead, it was only a normal and unexciting little town.

A group of black women who were balancing baskets of fruit on their heads walked past the doors of the little roadside shops. They were clad in their unique long, bright yellow local dresses and wore noisy bone bracelets on their arms while laughing and chatting.

Garen could not understand their language at all, but this was unimportant. He glanced at the sun in the sky before getting down from the train and thinking that it was probably only twelve o'clock in the afternoon now.

The whereabouts of Kenna and the Black Uniform Organization were probably close to this town. Furthermore, the few remaining representatives of the Relic Organization had allied themselves with Vincent, and a mercenary group called Black Knife had invited the Primary Colors local representatives who were still on good terms with the Nighthawks, in hopes that both sides would be able to reconcile in this town.

The mediation could either be real or fake, as this was also an opportunity for them to check out the Nighthawks' hidden powers.

Garen agreed and asked them to come over, as the Nighthawks' members had already been concealed completely. However, he had never made it a habit to hide anything because he had always done everything openly to crush his enemies directly. Hide? Only the weak would do that. As someone who possessed sufficient power, he would only choose to hide if there was a possibility that he would encounter a threat.

As the row of people strolled through leisurely, Garen put on his black sunglasses while his gaze drifted from the roadside advertisement banners to the signboards.

A few black fellows rushed forward and tried to sell him some cigarette lighters and other little knick-knacks.

"Five dollars! Five dollars!" They yelled in fluent English, but it was possible that these were the only words they knew.

Garen glanced at the other people around him. He realized that the sellers would not call out to the other black people, while other outsiders who were obviously tourists would encounter the same situation as him.

He was unfamiliar with this town and did not like it because it was filled with wild animals. Moreover, wild cats and stray dogs would scurry through the streets occasionally while other animals like snakes or colorful birds were carried on people's shoulders.

Garen even saw a leopard with golden patches sitting inside an expensive car when it drove past him.

This place was extremely hot, and most people were clad in short-sleeved clothes and short pants, singlets, or even long skirts that were almost transparent.

When he walked towards the front of the street, Garen quickly stopped in front of a bar. There was a strange arc-shaped green sign that looked like a portrait in front of the bar, which was flashing with colorful red lights even in broad daylight.

The door and doorway were shabby and it seemed as if no one was entering or exiting the place except for a fellow who walked out of the side door with a pail before pouring the water out of it and down the drain.

Garen stood in the doorway of the bar and waited for a few moments. Two black men in white shirts walked out and nodded at him politely before pulling open the main door of the bar at once.

The interior was pitch black, making it impossible for him to see anything, as though it was merely an endless black hole.

Garen glanced at the men before noticing that both of their mouths were wide open and they were exposing their pearly white teeth as if they were smiling.

"Sir, there are people waiting for you inside," said one of the black men softly in English.

Garen smiled faintly before taking long strides into the bar while the door was closed behind him quickly. The inside of the bar was completely dark because all of the doors, windows and other places that allowed light to enter were all covered with black cloth. However, it was still surprisingly cool inside.

Bang!!

Suddenly, unimaginably bright light exploded throughout the entire bar at once. Instantly, the area was neatly illuminated with white light, allowing the whole place to light up.

"Welcome. Welcome, dear Nighthawks Commander." An old man who wore a cowboy hat and large aviator sunglasses walked out. He was clad in denim clothing from head to toe and was the spitting image of an American western cowboy from the movies.

This old man walked out and stretched his hand outwards before pointing towards the left side. He pointed at a group of people who were seated. All of them looked muscular and had tattoos on their arms and necks. Some of them lowered their heads and used pocket knives to clean their fingernails while others raised their legs and held the young black women beside them while getting up to mischief.

The one similarity that all of them shared was the black pocket knife tattoos on their bodies.

"The members of Black Knife." The old man in denim introduced them while smiling happily. "Those are all Vincent and Octagon Pot's people." He pointed at another group of people who were seated on the opposite side of the black people.

It seemed like this group of people came from all walks of life. There were office workers, women who sold vegetables, bakery bosses, lawyers, social-climbers and other kinds of people. There were obviously some differences between them and the people from Black Knife because they had some restrictions and were not as carefree as them.

Regardless of which side they were from, Garen still felt as if they were sizing him up carefully.

"Octagon Pot? Are you referring to the eight largest Relic Organizations in Europe?" he opened his mouth and asked.

"Of course. That's Octagon Pot." However, the old man did not explicitly say which one of the eight sides these group of people belonged to.

"I've never seen how a mediation is conducted. Am I going to see the flow of events while I'm here today?" Garen raised his hand and asked candidly.

"Since everyone has already arrived here, your presence shows your respect towards me and the Primary Colors. Therefore, why don't you just be frank and tell us your wishes openly," said the old man with a smile on his face.

The first thing Garen did after he arrived in South Africa was to use his Secret Techniques to contort his own facial structure and characteristics. Therefore, it was impossible for these people to identify his exact details. At most, they would only be able to use other channels to eliminate his possible identities but would not be able to discover the true powers that were concealed behind him.

"Openly? Didn't I just come here openly? What else do you want me to be open about?" Garen tilted his head and asked.

"We did not have a major clash with the aristocrats," said the Vincent representative loudly after he stood up. "The aristocrats decided to drive us out completely when they entered the picture, and as the weaker side, we could not even resist them properly despite working together."

"The Stone Clock of Fortune is with you?" Garen did not reply but asked him a direct question instead.

"Of course."

"Very good," Garen nodded. "If you want to reconcile, my requests are simple. Firstly, give me the Stone Clock of Fortune. Next, my Nighthawks group will be given eighty percent of the secret treasures. After that, I will just let this incident slide."

Whoosh…

When these words left his mouth, all of the people on site could not sit still suddenly.

"Eighty? Hehe. That depends on whether you're destined to take it…" The people from Black Knife sneered suddenly.

A brawny black man who seemed like their leader stood up while doing tricks with a sharp pocket knife in his hand.

"First of all, those who break the rules need to accept their punishments."

"Hehe. I heard that the Nighthawks sniping field is virtually undefeatable on the African battlefield. Do you think you could let me experience it for a moment?" He walked towards Garen and was clearly slightly taller than him.

"Sniping field?" Garen already knew that the Nighthawks' own special techniques involved forming a ring with faraway sniping techniques. The snipers who were part of this ring could protect each other while killing their surrounding enemies simultaneously. They would also be able to monitor the entire area to a certain degree at the same time to create a powerful sniping technique without any blind spots.

A few street performers who were banging on small drums walked past outside the bar. Their rhythmic drumming noises echoed throughout the area clearly, accompanying the melody of a man's strange singing voice.

Garen glanced around and noticed that everyone's eyes were focused on him as if they were either waiting for him to change his mind or were waiting to see a good show.

Black Knife and Nighthawks had always been two first-rate mercenary groups that had never dealt with each other. Black Knife had already been deeply rooted in South Africa before their first place position had been stolen by the foreign Nighthawks. They were obviously unhappy, and the Nighthawks bore the brunt of their anger by suffering injuries, as Black Knife would definitely take matters into their own hands during rare opportunities like these.

They had initially waited for Garen to show his trump card but had never expected that he would not follow the steps from the start. Since the situation turned out like this, there was nothing left for them to be concerned about.

Garen glanced at the people from Black Knife and noticed that some of them were already beginning to reach for their guns while others unconsciously held more and sharper cutting tools in their hands and glared at him strangely.

"Before we continue, I still have a question that I need all of you to answer," Garen piped up suddenly.

"What question?"

"The people who tried to ambush my Nighthawks previously, are they all here?" A sliver of a smile appeared on the corners of Garen's mouth suddenly.

Shh!!

Instantly, a bloody hole appeared on the forehead of one of the black people on site before he collapsed on the ground.

"Attack!!"

The Black Knife leader lunged at Garen and stretched his arms towards his neck immediately.

Bang bang!!

After the sound of two continuous gunshots, his arms seemed as if they had frozen in midair, and he was lucky that he was able to evade two bullets that came flying from behind Garen.

The black male leader flipped backward before two extra silver handguns appeared in his hands. He shot the gun at Garen thrice, releasing three banging noises.

There were no bullets flying towards him this time.

"Our people have discovered the Nighthawks! Capture him and take him hostage!!" yelled the Black Knife leader loudly.

The bar turned chaotic as everyone rushed to find a bunker. The sofa, bar top, tables, and chairs were all used as bunkers to shield people.

Everyone seemed like insects whose nests had been destroyed. They ran frantically and disappeared in an instant.

A crashing noise rang out when a stray bullet hit a crystal chandelier before the light was extinguished at once.

Garen walked through the bar listlessly. All of them were merely normal people and he had reached the maximum point of boredom. Moreover, he had only agreed to meet them after the others had gathered on their own.

Under the strong influence of the Primary Colors, his opponents had assumed that he would not actually make a move, but never expected that the opposite would be true instead.

The old man in denim from the Primary Colors rolled behind the bar top effortlessly without making any unnecessary noises or movements. He was a sensible person and knew that since the other party refused to respect the Primary Colors, the first thing that he had to do now was to protect himself.

Bang bang bang!!

Faint but sharp gunshot noises echoed throughout the inside of the bar constantly.

Garen walked throughout the bar confidently as if he was completely unconcerned about being hit by a stray bullet. He sat on a chair that was still perfect and poured a clear glass of spirits for himself. He did not care about the bottle and just sniffed it immediately instead before drinking a mouthful.

The gunshot noises quickly became shorter and softer and it soon became obvious that the Nighthawks were being suppressed.

One of the people from Black Knife rolled off the couch immediately and waved his hands.

Bang!!

A gunshot could be heard.

Garen turned his head slightly when the bullet hit a brown alcohol bottle inside the alcohol cabinet behind him before alcohol and glass shards flew everywhere.

When a glass shard flew past Garen, he deflected it easily. The glass shard flew at a speed that was impossible to be seen by human eyes before an airy hissing noise could be heard when it dug into the black man's forehead accurately.