Chapter 242: Episode 242

With my arrival, the tide of battle shifted quickly. The cartels had numbers, but most of them were just random riffraff.

I hit them from behind, sowing chaos while scattering golems everywhere. Once I started picking off their commanders one by one, their chain of command fell into disarray. As the Ghost Corps regained their footing, their counterattack began, and the situation was quickly resolved.

The battle was over. I could see bound cartel members kneeling in a tight cluster off in one corner.

“We truly owe you a great debt.”

I was shaking hands with the man I had initially assumed was the leader of the Ghost Corps. His name was Hector Marquez. Of course, he only handled domestic affairs and diplomacy; the real leader was the Spirit King, Marie. This guy seemed to be the second-in-command.

“We all have to help each other out.”

As I shook his hand, I glanced around. Parts of the Ghost Corps’ headquarters building were burned or blown apart.

“Looks like it was a close call.”

“We are… used to it by now,” Marquez said in a flat tone. “Whenever Lady Marie leaves to contain a catastrophe, the cartels launch a massive offensive. It’s an unfair fight. We’re responsible for the entire vast territory of Mexico, but the cartels aren’t.”

“Can’t you just pick a day and wipe them out in one go?”

Marquez shook his head. “Eradicating the cartels is practically impossible. They’re organized in a cell structure, and you can’t even clearly distinguish ordinary, decent citizens from cartel members. On top of that, their combat power is no joke, so we would have to accept enormous losses on our side as well.”

“…Hmm.”

“More than anything, if we move recklessly, the cartels will stop fighting among themselves and unite against us. The higher-ups on the cartel payroll will also try to sabotage us.”

’Wow, so many reasons. Adult problems really are complicated.’

“Anyway, when will the Spirit King be back?”

“She’s in the final stages. As soon as the catastrophe is over, she’ll return here.”

’I’ve created a debt the Ghost Corps owes me. Whether that will be enough to move Marie, I can’t say.’

Mexico seemed completely consumed by its own internal problems. They cleaned up a catastrophe, came back and fought the cartels, then ran off again when the next catastrophe hit. I had heard that Han Yoonjeong’s Egypt was struggling with the monsters in the restricted zone along the Nile, but these guys had it even worse.

“In that case, allow me to make a formal proposal.”

“A proposal?” Marquez asked, his interest piqued.

“This isn’t an offer of help; it’s a transaction,” I clarified. “I will dismantle the largest cartel opposing you. In return, the Ghost Corps will assist us in the coming fight against Albert. How does that sound?”

Marquez blinked, processing the audacious offer. “The finer details would have to be discussed with Marie, of course, but… is such a thing even possible?”

“Nothing’s impossible,” I replied coolly. “The Ghost Corps may be tangled in a web of complex interests within Mexico, but I have no such constraints.”

Promising to consult with Marie, Marquez immediately excused himself to make the call.

’Alright,’ I thought, a smirk playing on my lips. ’Time to make my own move.’

* * *

Deep in the Ghost Corps’s underground facility, one of the guild members shook his head in doubt.

“I’ve made the preparations as ordered, but…” he trailed off, his expression grim. “These cartel bastards are a different breed. Torture, threats, bribery—nothing works on them. They won’t break easily.”

In the room before me, seven cartel members were bound to chairs, their eyes and mouths covered. I glanced down at the vial in my hand: Jin Bora’s Truth Potion. It wasn’t some miracle drug that guaranteed a confession. The conditions for its use were incredibly strict. It was ineffective against anyone with magic resistance, and it only worked if the target was already burdened by a guilty conscience.

’Will this even work?’ I wondered. Still, I had nothing to lose.

I decided to give it a shot. First, I untied their blindfolds, then played a documentary on the large screen in front of them. It was a production sponsored by the Mexican government, a piece of propaganda meant to promote the “War on Crime” and placate the public. The project had been a disaster. A day after it aired, the filmmakers were brutally murdered by assassins. Politicians and citizens on the cartel’s payroll had risen up in protest, forcing the government to pull it from the air.

As the film played, I stood back and observed their reactions. As expected, there was little to see. Most of them turned their heads away, yawned, or shouted muffled curses through their gags.

’This is all well and good,’ I mused, ’but even I can see this documentary sucks.’

It was produced by a public broadcasting station, and it showed. The educational angle was so heavy-handed that it was just plain boring, spending far too long explaining that drugs were, in fact, bad.

Then, the film shifted to interviews with victims. It told the stories of starving children who had lost their parents, of widows who had lost their husbands, and of mothers caring for their drug-addicted sons.

’Oh?’

While some of the men still scoffed, I could see the flicker of emotion in others. Their hardened exteriors were beginning to crack.

’So there’s a glimmer of hope after all.’

A short while later, the documentary ended. I walked over and, with a deceptively kind smile, pried open each man’s mouth and poured the Truth Potion down his throat. After all seven had swallowed it, they slumped in their chairs as if drunk, their bodies going limp.

Once I confirmed their state, I had the Ghost Corps hunters bring them one by one into a smaller room.

“Alright, let’s talk,” I began, asking each of them the same question. “Your safety will be guaranteed, so don’t worry. Just tell me where your boss is.”

The interrogation continued. Some of them spat curses and thrashed wildly. Others hesitated, but the fear of reprisal kept their lips sealed.

And then, there was one.

“Our main base is the central mansion in Valladolid,” the man confessed, his voice slurring slightly. “The boss is there now.”

He gave it up so easily that it made me suspicious. “Why are you telling me this so willingly?”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “I was a farmer. I lost my son in a cartel shootout. But when the entire agricultural sector in Mexico collapsed, I joined the cartel to feed my family.”

“I see.” I’d heard stories like this before. Most people who cultivated drugs did so because they had no other way to survive.

“This isn’t me being a hypocrite,” he continued, his voice heavy with self-loathing. “And I’m certainly not trying to atone. Nothing I do can erase my sins. In time, I’ll probably go back to my old ways, shooting people without a second thought.” He was remarkably self-aware. “I’m a piece of trash. I know that one day I’ll meet a miserable end, just like the people I’ve killed. But…” He squeezed his eyes shut, and I knew he was thinking of his dead son. “For now, I just want to be true to this fleeting feeling in my heart. That’s all.”

“Thank you for your cooperation.” He didn’t seem to be lying. I had the Ghost Corps take the potion-addled man away and rose to my feet.

’Ea, you heard that? Where is it?’

-Not far, Tower Master. I will mark it for you immediately.

I gazed out the window at the sky. It was perfectly clear, without a single cloud.

’It’s been a while since I’ve had to use that magic.’

* * *

Alvarez, the drug king of Mexico.

While most of the country’s cartels were fragmented, his power was absolute. He had absorbed countless smaller organizations, expanding his influence until his people were embedded in the police, the prosecutor’s office, the Hunter Association, and even the political arena. He was a monster who had sunk his roots deep into the nation, building hospitals and schools in the regions he controlled to win the favor of the populace. In truth, the Mexican president had surrendered because of Alvarez’s overwhelming power.

Today, however, Alvarez was not in a good mood.

“Blanco’s entire raid team was wiped out?”

“Yes, my apologies. A hunter calling himself the Tower Master interfered…”

Alvarez’s brow furrowed. “Tower Master? Who the hell is that?”

“It’s a new hunter name he’s using. Before, he was known as the Great Mage…”

“Ah, the kid who supposedly spread magic throughout the world.” Alvarez drummed his fingers on his desk, a thoughtful expression on his face. “An outside hunter. This is getting annoying.”

“What are your orders?”

“Internal strife is always more troublesome than outsiders. If we back down now, our own men will see us as weak. Send the hunter assassination team. I want him dead before he can return to Korea.”

“Understood.”

Alvarez rose from his chair and walked to the window. Outside, the trees were swaying in what seemed to be a strong wind. No, they were swaying too violently.

’What the hell?’

Trees were being ripped from the ground, roots and all. He realized it wasn’t wind. An impossibly huge mass of water vapor was hurtling toward them.

“A… a tornado?”

CRACKLE!

Lightning tore through the inside of the cloud. Each flash illuminated the gray vortex with an eerie, fluorescent blue light that was terrifying to behold. The swirling cloud advanced, pulverizing everything in its path. Alvarez knew instinctively this was no natural phenomenon.

“It’s coming!” one of his men screamed.

“Get out! Run!” another yelled.

Alvarez shattered the window and leaped outside, his men scrambling to follow.

WHOOOOSH!

The colossal force was unstoppable. As the pillar of cloud passed over, even concrete buildings crumbled into rubble. The men caught in the gale’s radius were sent spinning through the air, their screams lost in the storm. A flash of blue lightning silenced them for good.

Alvarez and the few who had escaped just in time watched in stunned silence, their minds blank.

“…Ah!” Alvarez suddenly realized where the tornado was headed. “You son of a bitch! No! Not there! NOT THERE!”

The divine punishment that had obliterated his mansion now descended upon the drug warehouse behind it. Countless bundles of raw leaves and bags of finished product were sucked into the vortex and vanished.

Alvarez fell to his knees. “Do you have any idea… how much that was worth…?”

The tornado didn’t stop until it had razed every inch of Alvarez’s estate. Weapons, guards—everything was neutralized, scattered among the debris.

“What a mess.”

A figure stepped into the desolate remains of the mansion. He wore a navy blue suit with a short greatsword strapped to his back. The remaining cartel members scrambled to aim their guns at him.

“…Who are you?” Alvarez asked, his voice hollow. His eyes were still fixed on the ruins of his empire.

“Does the name Kim Yusin, the Tower Master, ring a bell?”

At those words, Alvarez’s head snapped around, his eyes wide with fury. “You’re the Tower Master? Then that… that was—!”

Yusin answered with a bright, cheerful smile.

“Yeah. I did that.”

* * *

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