Chapter 53: Ambushed

He took the severed arm that had been cut off by the other and buried it, making sure it was well concealed. From outside, he could hear the furious clatter of gunfire; relying on his instincts, he sensed that a great battle was now inevitable. No matter what, he had to speed up his actions and then lead everyone away from this place of trouble as quickly as possible.

Chen Cao made sure the arm was hidden without a trace, then gently pressed the grassy turf back over it. With a rush, he jumped into the hole, pulled the cover shut over the entrance, and plunged into darkness. The light dimmed abruptly. Chen Cao took a flashlight from his backpack and adjusted it to the lowest setting to avoid detection. The tunnel entrance was barely wide enough to admit him, and so low that his six-foot frame could only just squeeze through in a crouch.

As soon as he entered, a chill wind met him, carrying a metallic tang of blood. After a few steps, Chen Cao directed his flashlight at the ground, noticing smears and streaks of blood being dragged along. It seemed that even when facing formidable enemies, this group had not forgotten to drag away the corpses—proof of their combat discipline. This realization weighed heavily on Chen Cao’s mind as he quickly reviewed the day’s encounter: those eerie warriors in black robes, wielding scythes, had been utterly ruthless—capable of wiping out the Viper Special Forces in an instant, and even forcing the elite fighters trained under 0611, like Chen Diwen and his team, into a bloody stalemate. Their fighting prowess was undeniable.

Who exactly were these people?

Following the trail of blood, Chen Cao advanced deeper into the cave, one hand gripping his pistol, the other his flashlight. The passage gradually widened; after a short distance, it was broad enough for a person to walk upright, like a narrow tunnel, though the darkness ahead remained impenetrable.

He picked up his communicator and tapped out a message in Morse code, reporting his position. Mosika replied quickly: the location matched their intelligence. The agent’s last transmission had originated from here.

It was clear he was on the right track—one step closer to his goal. His alliance with Kokola’s intelligence network was still in its honeymoon stage; they were as eager as he was to locate the target, and had no reason to deceive him. The thought that he was nearing his objective heartened Chen Cao. No matter how perilous the road ahead, hope was always a comfort.

The tunnel widened further, the air grew fresher. Chen Cao breathed deeply, but before he could make sense of it, a sudden, searing pain shot through his chest. He reached instinctively to touch it—his hand came away sticky.

In that split second, rather than resist, he acted on a flash of inspiration, shouting in Gabonese, “Don’t move! I’m one of you. I’m Matsumoto Shuren! I demand to see Commander Sebastian!” As he spoke, he crushed a button-sized intelligence transmitter in his hand.

His shout caused a stir, but the attackers paid him no mind. One of them struck him hard on the head. Chen Cao collapsed, his pistol flying from his grasp. Thanks to countless drills under Instructor Zhou Anshi at the academy, he was resilient to such blows; though the strike was fierce, he knew that if he didn’t go down, more would follow.

As he fell, the attack ceased. He heard guttural, throaty voices—duck-like and chilling in the damp, black tunnel. The flashlight on the ground cast a faint glow; all Chen Cao could make out were black-and-white cloth shoes. After a brief exchange in their strange tongue, he felt himself being lifted, his backpack and weapons quickly taken away.

“Ugh…” he groaned in feigned agony, squinting to catch a glimpse of his captors in the dim light. But the flashlight was promptly switched off.

There were two of them, he guessed, each gripping an arm, paying no heed to his discomfort. They dragged him, weaving through turns in the darkness. Chen Cao knew he was being taken to their commander.

He could hear the distant murmur of a crowd and the click of coded transmissions, but these sounds faded as he was led onward. It seemed he would have to keep up the ruse a while longer.

They went on for what felt like ages, his captors showing no sign of fatigue. It was as if he were being dragged to hell itself by underworld demons.

With a creak, he was thrown heavily to the ground. A door clanged shut behind him.

The darkness was absolute, the air thick and foul with the stench of dead rats. Dazed from the blow, Chen Cao immediately pressed his chest—thankfully, the cartridge belt he’d taken from the late Kyle had absorbed much of the impact, sparing him a deeper wound. It was just a cut. Otherwise, he might have needed to sew his own guts back in.

He touched his head—swollen, but otherwise unharmed. He stood and began feeling his way around, hoping for the comfort of a stone wall.

“Don’t bother. You won’t get out,” a voice said from the darkness.

Startled, Chen Cao oriented himself toward the voice. “Who are you?” he asked, only now realizing the speaker was using the Kokola language. In his urgency, Chen Cao replied in kind.

“Who am I? Heh. I’ve forgotten. And you—are you Kokolan too?” the voice asked with a hint of laughter.

“Yes… I am. How did you end up here? You’re a prisoner too, aren’t you?” Chen Cao answered, playing along.

“Prisoner? I’m not exactly a prisoner,” the man retorted, touchy at the word. “When a unit runs out of ammo, loses all contact with its country, does that count as being captured?” He seemed to be justifying himself.

Chen Cao edged closer, the smell of dead rats intensifying. He must be nearing the speaker.

“Are you coming closer, compatriot?” the man in the dark asked, causing Chen Cao to halt.

“Yes,” Chen Cao replied directly. He had to get a grasp of the situation.

“So you were taken prisoner?” the stranger asked.

“Something like that. And you? You seem to have been here a long time,” said Chen Cao.

There was a long silence, then, “What year is it now?”

Chen Cao thought for a moment. “It’s 1990.”

“Nineteen ninety!” The man in the darkness sounded shocked. “You mean… it’s really 1990?”

Chen Cao said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ve been in this sunless hell for twenty years. Ha! A miracle,” the man laughed.

“Twenty years? You’ve been underground for two decades? Was he a Kokolan soldier captured before 1970?” Chen Cao wondered, astonished. These terrorists were unspeakably cruel, imprisoning a man underground for twenty years. But he recalled Mosika’s instructions—he needed to extract as much information as possible from this man to confirm whether this was truly the headquarters of the Jihadist group, since Mosika had yet to give definite word.

Before he could ask more, the outside lights snapped on. A voice in Gabonese called out, “Matsumoto-san, Commander Sebastian requests your presence.”

In that brief glare, Chen Cao took in his surroundings: a several-square-meter cell, one side occupied by a wild-haired man with deathly white skin—undoubtedly a Kokolan, his blue eyes fixed on Chen Cao.

With a screech, the iron door burst open. Two Jihadist fighters rushed in, glaring at the Kokolan, who stared back in fury. They knocked him flat and kicked him savagely, cursing in their guttural tongue.

Then the fat interpreter entered, mopping sweat from his brow. “Matsumoto-san, we’ve been unable to contact you for days. It must have been difficult. Commander Sebastian awaits,” he said deferentially.

Chen Cao glanced at the Kokolan, who merely cradled his head in silence. Sympathy stirred in him, but this was no time for rash action. He would have to go along and see what fate had in store. The interpreter’s words made his heart sink—he was about to be exposed.

According to the Vulture’s intelligence, Sebastian had met Matsumoto Shuren before. Now, he was walking straight into the lion’s den. Chen Cao quietly tensed his muscles, eyes fixed on the interpreter’s pistol. He would have to take things step by step.

He darkened his face and said, “I won’t go.”

The interpreter blinked in confusion. “Matsumoto-san, why not?”

Feigning anger, Chen Cao snapped, “I’ve been missing for days, gravely wounded, living among your fighters in these caves. Yet Commander Sebastian never came to see me. Is this how you treat your guests? Remember, I’m here to bring you money and weapons!”

The interpreter faltered, recalling the chaos of the night when the Justice Alliance launched their assault, and the hectic days since. Commander Frederica had likely forgotten all about the so-called Son of the Sun. Now, faced with Chen Cao’s complaint, he was at a loss. Wiping his brow again, he simply glared and barked an order to the two fighters behind Chen Cao.

They immediately seized him, dragging him unceremoniously toward the door.

“What are you doing?” Now was the time to act—if he waited until he was exposed before Sebastian, it would be too late. Chen Cao braced himself.

Flame King 53 – End of Chapter 53: Ambushed