I am the Emperor of Humanity across the Multiverse

The driver was an irritable Frenchman with a buzz cut, dressed in a Hawaiian-style short-sleeved shirt and shorts, his skin a deep brown. The blond-haired passenger, who looked rather young, was the trainee investigator Ryan.

In terms of attire and equipment, Ryan wore a black lightweight tactical jacket and a matching short-sleeved shirt produced by his family's military manufacturing company. His utility belt was loaded with tool pouches and magazine cases. He wore olive-green cargo pants with multiple pockets, a leg holster, and combat boots. A black backpack was placed in the back seat.

They did not bother disguising their identities since the African country they had infiltrated, the Congo, was in a state of utter chaos.

Territorial disputes between tribes, large numbers of refugees and deserters sheltered by anti-government forces, riots, mutinies, and killings were all commonplace in the Congo.

Despite having rich reserves of gold, copper, iron ore, and natural gas, the Congo remained one of the poorest countries, with a GDP of only $4.2 billion in 1993.

Their air defense capabilities were virtually non-existent, and they hadn't even established an air force. In comparison to Atlas, which spent nearly $2 billion annually to maintain its military, the difference was like night and day.

Given Ryan's skin color and hair, he was easily identifiable as an outsider, so there was no need to conceal anything. The Congo was teeming with mercenaries and criminal organizations.

The day before, Chief Instructor Krauser had announced the "graduation exam": a mission to investigate the Congo, search for anomalies, and survive.

The exam would last fourteen days.

During this time, the company would not provide any assistance; they were on their own.

However, if they found themselves in a life-threatening situation from which they could not escape, the company would deploy an ARS regiment to rescue them without hesitation.

As investigators, luck was considered an intangible skill. Inability to escape independently would significantly impact their final evaluation score for the "graduation exam."

Before they chose their equipment and supplies and boarded the plane, Krauser had one last piece of advice: "Keep yourselves alive; don't push too hard for the sake of the exam."

Even if their overall performance was unsatisfactory, trainees who had undergone six months of training would still be assigned to the most suitable positions based on their résumés. If they were cornered by thugs and chose to fight to the death for the sake of their scores...

While the spirit of dying unyieldingly was commendable, being overly stubborn and inflexible was not.

July 16th, 00:34.

ARS Aviation provided a service from a base in Kenya, flying them over the Congo. Ryan and his classmates parachuted one by one, descending into their respective investigation areas under the cover of night.

02:20.

Ryan successfully landed.

After folding and storing his parachute, he used his personal computer's positioning system to determine that he was in central Congo, still about thirty kilometers from his target, the town of Loja.

The deviation in distance was likely due to wind speed or turbulence encountered during the jump, which had made the transport plane quite bumpy. Regardless, the deviation was significant.

Traveling to the target location on foot was unrealistic, as a vast area of primordial rainforest lay between them. After a brief rest and analysis, Ryan decided to head to the nearest town, Longa.

Perhaps luck had returned, or for some other reason, after walking for three hours, Ryan discovered that this small town of fewer than 40,000 residents had an outpost of a French logging company.

As a result, many French people were in Longa, and there was even a very authentic French restaurant and a 24-hour bar.

People willing to travel across the world and brave such a turbulent environment were likely there for "big deals" and to make a fortune. Intelligence transactions and mercenary services often required a fixed location to "gather."

Where there is demand, there is a market, and the bar named "Romanée-Conti" served as such a place.

Out of caution, Ryan did not order food or drink at the bar. Instead, he rested for a while and inquired with the bartender about any unusual occurrences in the area.

At first, he only received vague responses like, "Maybe, I'm not sure; I'm just a bartender."

Although it was his first mission, Ryan understood the subtext. After paying a $200 "tip," he received information that "Loja will soon, in the next few days, be taken over by anti-government rebels. If I were you, I wouldn't go there. Life is precious."

Unexpected information?

Ryan wasn't sure if the $200 intelligence fee was fair, but he felt it was worth it... probably.

Without this advanced warning about the rebels' movements, he might have been caught off guard, putting himself in serious danger.

It's important to remember that African rebels and thugs often commit heinous acts that defy description.

After a brief rest at the bar, Ryan negotiated a price with a self-proclaimed "Frenchman" who had just woken up from a hangover, to drive him the remaining twenty kilometers to Loja.

And then, the scene shifted to the present.

As he watched the frightened pedestrians outside the window and inhaled the pungent smell of alcohol inside the car, Ryan regretted getting into the Frenchman's vehicle.

Moreover, Ryan himself did not notice that Krauser had once written in his file that he seemed to be "accident-prone."

During past training exercises, any time Ryan's team was involved in a vehicle-related project, incidents such as engine failure, tire blowouts, or loss of control were more frequent compared to other teams.

Krauser didn't worry that Ryan would overthink this since files were off-limits unless absolutely necessary.

"Beep! Beep!"

"Merde! (Damn!)"

"Fiche le camp! (Get lost!)"

After enduring countless car horns and shouts, Ryan finally saw a large gathering of thatched houses on the edge of the town, indicating that he was close to his destination and would soon be free from the crazy driver.

Screech!

The vehicle came to a sudden stop.

Clang! Clang!

The sound of violently opened and closed doors echoed.

Vroom!

The engine roared deafeningly, likely due to some malfunction in the exhaust system or elsewhere.

Ryan, with his backpack now on, stood by the roadside, watching the dust settle. He heard the Frenchman shout once more, "Adieu, l'Américain. Merci pour tes trois billets de Benjamin Franklin~! (Goodbye, American. Thanks for your three Benjamins!)"

Ryan merely frowned and then refocused his attention, scanning his surroundings for a quick assessment.

The area didn't differ much from most parts of Africa, with ubiquitous tin-roofed houses and a scarcity of buildings made of concrete and steel. There were no real roads, and the environment was filthy.

If there was anything unusual, it was that his appearance made him stand out as the most peculiar person there.

Noticing that a few locals seemed "curious" and were starting to converge toward him, Ryan immediately moved away.

However, as he walked and observed, he noticed that these locals walked unsteadily, appeared dazed, and, most disturbingly, were continuously bleeding from their mouths and noses...

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