[Brezil — BR-174]
After stopping for a short rest in a village called Incra, Joker and his men continued down the BR-174, heading south. Eventually, they reached the equator. Joker was pondering whether he should take a picture as a souvenir to show off to Gamerica later on when one of his subordinates called for him.
“Boss...”
“STOP THE TRUCK!”
The three trucks stopped right in the middle of the road. Their coordinates were precisely 0°2 N 60°38 W. Everyone exited the vehicles and lined up neatly on the east of the road. Joker took out a cigarette and lit it.
“It’s coming... Twenty seconds to go.”
“I’m counting on you, Giovanni.”
A young man who looked no older than twenty stepped forward and walked to a bush. Joker and the rest of his men kept silent as they stared at the sky, looking east. Finally, they saw what they were waiting for.
The Tomahawk missiles had first gained fame during the Gulf War in 1991 and had been continuously updated since then. The latest system, nicknamed Block 4, was their fourth version. Their current performance was mind-boggling.
They had a maximum range of three thousand kilometers, although this depended on the specific warhead, and the location of the impact had an error margin of only a few meters. They flew at 0.75 mach speed and could course-correct automatically to track a moving target, thanks to their connection to a satellite system. The warhead was also equipped with an infrared detection device which meant the Tomahawk would accurately hit its target no matter how foggy or dark the environment was. On top of that, these missiles only flew around ten meters above ground, making them extremely difficult for radar to track and fighter aircraft to take down. It was an unforgivable arrow that would hit its target from thousands of miles ten times out of ten.
“The missiles have not encountered any obstacles...”
Twenty Tomahawk missiles had been launched from the destroyer Murphy and were flying toward their target a thousand kilometers away, autonomously avoiding the trees and buildings that stood in their way all the while. Although these missiles were only half as fast as those usually deployed by the army, the distance they could cover and their precision were best in the world. Captain Turner was now certain the missiles were going to hit their mark, as was his whole crew.
Naturally, the same went for those waiting in the White House. Howard was munching on fried chicken and drinking Diet Coke as he stared at the images being sent via satellite. He couldn’t wait to see his odious enemy’s body shredded to pieces.
“Target locked! Fifteen seconds to impact... Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven...”
The Tomahawk missiles were aimed precisely at Joker. Soon, twenty missiles would swoop down on a single person at subsonic speed.
“Two. One. Impact!”
All twenty Tomahawk missiles blew up at the same exact time, satellite imagery showing the explosion.
Every soldier aboard the Murphy rejoiced at the bombing’s success. The White House was just as ecstatic. Thick white smoke filled the whole screen, but there was no doubt the missiles had hit their target. Everyone, including the White House Chief of Staff, applauded as a bottle of high-quality champagne costing around three thousand dollars was brought into the room. Howard did not usually drink alcohol, but even he had a glass, considering the circumstances.
The festive mood was the same aboard the destroyer Murphy. Turner shook hands with his executive officer and navigating officer as they congratulated one another.
“Once we confirm that everything is over, we’ll make a report to headquarters and then have a party. Drinking will be allowed, of course.”
“Great!”
In the midst of laughing, the soldier charged with satellite communication started in disbelief at the data he had just received.
“W-Wait!” he suddenly yelled. “The target... The target hasn’t been destroyed!”
“What?! Show me the images!”
The white smoke had been cleared by the wind. The sight that awaited Turner and the others was that of Joker casually smoking his cigarette with his hands tucked into his pockets. In front of him and his men, a fifty-meter tall wall had appeared out of nowhere. Joker let out a puff of smoke and looked at the sky before sticking up his middle finger.
It looked as though he just mouthed the words <I’m sorryyyyyy!> in English.
＊ ＊ ＊
“GODDAMN IT!”
President Ronald Howard flew into a rage, smashing his glass of champagne on the floor. The “Ultra Long Range Attack” that everyone had thought to be a perfect plan had ended in utter failure.
Analyzing this failure could come later. For now, what mattered was getting President Howard to calm down.
“Fuck him! Well, then it’s time to get the nuclear arsenal out! Drop an ICBM on Brezil!!!” President Howard yelled, calling for an intercontinental ballistic missile.
“Please calm down, Mr. President! We have promised Brezil that we’d only use ordinary warheads. If we drop a nuclear bomb now, we’ll never be able to fix our relationship with Brezil ever again, even if we do manage to take out Joker in the process.”
“Shut up!” President Howard shouted. “He’s made a fool of me! I’ll use a nuclear bomb to fucking murder that—”
At that moment, something suddenly happened to President Howard. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell to the ground. He was having a stroke.
Howard was a giant. He weighed 107 kilograms and his body fat percentage was over thirty. If you also took his age into consideration—he was already seventy-four—it was plain to all that his health wasn’t the best. He kept clamoring that he was “the healthiest anyone could be” to the Gamerican people, but he secretly suffered hypertension and hyperlipidemia.
<Ronald Howard has been rushed to the hospital.>
This headline spread all over the world.
＊ ＊ ＊
Meanwhile, Joker, who had just narrowly escaped Tomahawk missiles, had not budged from his spot and was currently checking on his men. A gigantic mud wall had erupted right before their eyes, called forth by Giovanni’s earth magic. Giovanni looked a little pale, so Joker had him drink a Magi Potion. Perhaps he had overexerted himself by using so much magic at once.
“You did good, Giovanni. Earth magic is very effective, as expected. I hope the day comes when you get to use it for agriculture instead of this.”
“Thanks, boss.”
Giovanni came from a provincial city in Venisuela and was the son of a farmer. Far-left policies had greatly compromised his livelihood, so he had gone to Caracas to look for work. In the end, he hadn’t been able to find any and had been living in the slums until Joker picked him up. He adored Joker as if the man was his own father, sticking to his side ever since.
“Thank you too, Chico,” Joker said. “Without your detection skill, none of us would have made it out alive.”
The man whom Joker had just addressed, Chico, was a two-meter tall giant with tattoos all over his face. He was built like an American football player, with a broad chest and thick arms, while the tattoos on his face made him look like a gangster. In truth, he was a pretty shy person and had only gotten his tattoos in order to avoid getting picked on in the slums.
“Do you think you’ll be able to sense enemies further away from now on?”
“I’m sorry. I already knew the attack would come from the east, so I was able to focus and caught it in time, but I don’t think I could do any better...”
“I see. Don’t worry about it. You did great today, and I expect good things from you in the future as well.”
Joker continued.
“All right! Let’s get going, then. We shouldn’t see any more missiles raining down on us for the time being.”
Joker sat in one of the trucks running at around eighty kilometers per hour, lost in thought. He had put on a strong front earlier, showing appreciation to all of his men, but it had been a close call. They had only been able to make preparations and intercept those missiles because they were Tomahawks, which were rather slow. If the missiles had exceeded Mach 1, they would have had no way to block them. The reason he was so set on going down the BR-174 was also that, by staying inland, they could stay out of the range of supersonic missiles.
Even though I surpassed the limitations of the human species, I’m still too weak to withstand a direct attack from modern weaponry. Once I clear a Rank A dungeon, I’ll become an S-Ranker. I’m guessing mythical beasts will be able to rival heavy machine guns, like Gatling guns...
True strength meant being able to get your opponent to accept your conditions. Everyone in the world competed for strength. Nations competed with one another, just as businesses and individuals did. This was basically life in a nutshell. You then had to be even stronger to prevent anyone else from stealing what you had obtained. Thus, the class system had been born.
There was only one way to crush that system: becoming stronger than the rich.
Dear Gamerica. Dear people who have it all. I’ll teach you that there is someone more powerful than all of you...
At some point, Joker had closed his eyes.