God of Blackfield

In September 2001, the morning sun blew out on Kilima, Democratic Republic of the Congo.

Kang Chan slowly released from the clothed barracks.

No one had ever seen a blackened face, a hardened body, a twinkling eye, or a hymn of praise before assuming their true age.

After taking a slow breath, Kang Chan unwinds by walking along the outer road of the barracks.

Three years have passed since he became the 11th commander of the 13th Regiment Special Forces. Three years have been hard to say for a long time and cannot be said to be short.

Anyway, during that ambiguous period of time, the nickname "God of Blackfield" was definitively situated throughout Congo and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, of course.

It didn't just mean he became famous.

Some rebels surrendered with both their hands when they heard the word "hymn" and many nearby tribes rushed to save their lives.

After walking around the barracks, the strong hymn began to run slowly.

It took me about two years to start running like this.

I missed Korea so much, I thought it was crazy to have dongases and noodles, sundaes and toasted rice, and I wanted to see something in Korean as good.

Once Africans felt dislike, the more they fought the rebels, the more the brutality that hid somewhere in their bodies stretched out and tied them to the river.

“Huff! Huff! ”

I felt frustrated, so I ran.

And, like a lie, 'stability like a river to a hymn' came.

Now I speak French in my dreams, and I speak at my own pace of desires I never imagined.

That's not all.

No matter where you toss it, you can still eat it.

The sun rises at the grip of the sun, causing heat to gush out to the strong rain.

“Huff! Huff! ”

I want to stop.

I ran every day, but I wanted to stop running around here every day and relax in the morning.

However, the hymn did not stop running.

You shouldn't stop walking for the freshness and fantastic taste of tobacco until the end.

The vigilante who was running with it finally came back to the barracks and drove his hands over his knees, breathing heavily.

“Huff. Huff. ”

You have to sweat it out for about five minutes so it doesn't sweat again after washing. After a brief exhalation, the auditorium walks to the wooden table placed in front of the barracks.

Drink water first and then bite a cigarette in the mouth so that there is river stability in the body.

Chul-kung. Cheeit.

“Whoo!”

The body and mind were immediately stabilized.

Kang Chan sits in front of the table and looks at the Kasai River.

I live somewhere downstairs with crocodiles, but I haven't seen them yet.

It was time for Kang Chan to take a cigarette with his mouth.

The sweet smell of coffee pierces the cigarette smoke and attracts a glance of praise.

Shh, shh, shh.

Then I heard a crewman approaching.

“Captain.”

Smythen was approaching with two mugs from where Kang Chan turned his head.

“What is it?”

“Coffee.”

Do you know who this son of a bitch is for coffee?

“I didn't buy Korean coffee from the boss, I made it with cream and sugar. ”

Smythen, who placed the cup in front of the auditorium, sat on the side of the table.

When the recruit who trained for the Special Forces recalls the annoyance and helplessness of being this son of a bitch, Kang Chan turns his head back to the river.

“Captain. This time off. ”

Kang Chan lifted up his mug and took it to his mouth.

Crazy bastard! How much sugar did you pour.....

“While the commander was in France, we thought we should go out and come closer. ”

“Smythen.”

Oui.

“You know that's not a matter for me to decide, right? ”

“I know, but if the commander gives his opinion, it will be accepted. ”

Kang Chan looked at Hilgum Smythen.

This son of a bitch must have twisted his body after thinking about her again.

“All right. Go. ”

“Captain!”

When Kang Chan turns his eyes, Smythen quickly shuts his mouth.

“Please.”

While getting up quickly, he only turns around after dropping his desperate eyes on the table.

Shh, shh, shh.

Kang Chan takes the mug back to his mouth as he looks at the back of a walking Smith.

If you open your eyes for a while, you must be a woman. In the meantime, I tried to finish knocking on the line, but when I saw what I was doing, I thought I'd ruin that ignorant man's body.

Feeding.

Kang Chan laughed in vain laughter.

That's not necessarily the case.

* * *

Dayero was surrounded by thick arms, supported on his head and placed in bed.

I got up around lunch and ate lamb and rice, so it was time to go out into the street in a moment.

At this point, there was a wind that came to mind.

I wanted someone to stand up and kill me with a gun or a knife.

Suicide is such a coward. But if a man with less than one fist swung his throat with a knife and died, it will be a mockery after death, so that is no longer the case.

I'm not asking for a cartel.

I want a real tough guy to show up and kill himself if he runs like a bad guy.

“Whoo!”

There was such a reason for the brutality of other members of the organization who were walking around defending Excel Moon Street.

I want you to go get a tough, tough guy to put a bullet in your heart or split your life.

There was another reason.

Without Daeyeru, older street women are treated worse than animals.

“Shuffle.”

Doyers slowly aroused an elongated body.

The sin of mother and sister, who hung their necks on the trees and burned them in the fire, is to seduce a man.

The driver was Hamir Al Uffi, the leader of that small tribe, and he identified five men who struck his sister with him that day.

Three of the five cut their throats and two pierced their hearts.

Hamir cut his throat and then cut all six filthy men to make it clear why he died.

I thought I'd be good at it, but not at all.

It flowed like that and came to the streets of Excel Moon. Today, the wish of Dayeru to get out of work was death.

I had a lot of advice to learn French, but I quit because I thought that would make a fool out of living. It's never bad hair.

I slowly stepped out of the room with a shabby shirt over my comfortable cotton pants.

It was a two-storey house on the back of Excel Moon Street.

Bullshit.

The organizer who saw him quickly started the car.

I raised my hand and touched him like I was throwing out Paris, meaning to let the Doyers go first.

This day needs to be walked a little slower.

That way, the opponent recognizes Daeyero, shoots a few guns, and takes a chance to run with a knife.

However, there were two of them who pretended to be happy while on foot and arriving at their destination, but none of them were dumbfounded.

Dayero asked about the anticipated cigarette in the car that the arriving organizer had stopped first.

Choke.

“Whoo!”

After putting his index finger in his mouth and pulling out the meat in between, D'Yero once again asked for a cigarette.

“Whoo!”

It was the second time he emitted tobacco smoke.

I saw an Eastern man walking from the other side.

I didn't feel like walking, body shape, eyes, or anything.

What is it?

I stared at the Eastern man with a dazzling gaze.

It seemed young, and it didn't.

Anyway, it's hard to determine the age of the Oriental.

In front of what Daeyeru was watching, the man walked upright.

Walking down this road leads to the Excel Moon Hotel, and behind it there are bars where rough men often stop by.

Women used to approach him, but he walked straight without giving him a good look.

Son of a bitch!

If you're a tourist, you should help the women who live like this.

I feel like a honey.

Took a cigarette and threw it at the man.

Tourists usually threaten in Arabic, and when they rub their thumbs, index fingers, and stops, they take out the money appropriately. Or push it against the wall and take out the wallet.

It's easy. It's been done three or four times a day every day. But strangely, the heart pounded, and the dried saliva swallowed.

“Hu!”

It was when the breathless Daeyeru stopped the man.

The man looked at Zec d 'Yeru.

It was a short moment, really.

Dayero's creeps were all over it.

in that short moment of seeing the flourishing eye.

Feeding.

An Oriental man smiles with one lip up and feels dirty.

Do you want me to kill this?

Because Daeyeru is giving strength to his beaky eyes,

“D'Yeru!”

The organizer called him urgently.

The women were scattering with astonishment, and the Oriental man was already walking back and forth on the way past.

As Daeyeru approached by car, the organizer handed over Zambia (the dagger with the tip bent upwards).

When the strangely poisoned Daeyero frowned on the impression, the organizer pulled out his pistol and confirmed the bullet.

Bugs and bumps.

There were eight of them coming.

“Fuchch.”

Eight people came straight ahead, waiting for Dayeru to smile brutally.

Zambia, which is more distant than that, with its twinkling eyes and street lights, is staring at the people who are coming from the hands of DaYeru.

The organizer on the other side of the vehicle pulls out the pistol and holds the gun down.

“Dayeru.”

“Tell me.”

The Arabs, the passers-by, noticed the atmosphere and rushed to walk down their heads.

“We respect it as much as you do. I came here today for a favor. ”

A man who saw the eyes of D'Yeru looked left and right and opened his mouth again.

“I'm asking for ten of our women. I'll leave the management to you, 20 percent of the income, and that's not bad enough. ”

“What if I don't?”

I scratched my forehead like a man is a hassle.

“There's nowhere to go when you're old. But if you're a patriarch in Algeria, you deserve a chance. ”

“Hmm.”

It was when Daeyeru turned his gaze to the idea of annoyance.

Earlier, I saw a man who looked like an East Asian man going down to the basement of a building a block away.

It was a bar where you could drink cheap whiskey, beer, or wine that wasn't funny enough.

I went into the bar, so I'm not coming out right away.

“I'm 70 percent. ”

“Hey, we were polite, though. You'd rather not leave it somewhere, you know that's not possible. ”

The man who finished speaking stops with his hand in his pocket.

“Don't get me wrong. I'm just trying to get a cigarette out. ”

He slowly moves his arms and pulls out the cigarettes and lighters in his pocket.

If it was hard to deal with an older woman, these guys would really be killed somewhere and thrown away.

Scratch.

He lit two cigarettes and handed them over to DaeYeru.

“60 percent.”

“50.”

I immediately got back the man who was pushing the cigarette at the suggestion of D'Yeru. Dayeru nodded and received a cigarette, which had been locked for a while.

“After.”

Ten older women are on the streets again. There may be some fuckers in the organization that Daeyeru belongs to, but that was something that could be solved with a smooth fist.

“Good luck. ”

When he throws a cigarette on the floor and turns around, he hands Zambia to the organizer.

“That's what I know because I'm going to go ahead. ”

After speaking, D'Ye threw a cigarette on the floor and moved towards the bar he had previously seen.

The next time I get scared, I get scared again in a similar situation.

Then he bows his head, he learns French, and he's greedy to live.

I wanted someone to stop thinking like this.

I wish I could kill him and let him rest.

He walked straight to the tavern and went straight down the stairs.

Spooky talk, slow bursts of laughter, and a lot of cigarette smoke.

As Daeyeru opened the door and entered, a little commotion began at the entrance.

In the eyes of the twinkling D'Yeru, an Eastern man came in.

I sat at the table, put a beer in front of me, and I hung a cigarette on my finger.

Bugs and bumps.

It was after Daeyeru moved behind his back.

An Oriental man turns his head.

Feeding.

And this time I looked at Daeyero with the same smile as before.

It was frightening.