Ch.2929. Cyberpunk and Mercenaries

The mercenaries’ holy land, California State.

Many mercenaries head to the mercenary agency early in the morning, jostling with ordinary office workers and self-employed people on buses and subways.

While a massive population migration occurs when the morning sun rises,

Amon and Sonia’s morning arrived relatively late.

“Mmm…”

“Are you awake?”

Amon, who had finished his dawn prayer, prepared breakfast for Sonia.

Sonia’s school attendance was always later than others.

The Vatican, which provided her scholarship, might not approve, but she had no intention of becoming an elite holy knight through seminary.

What she needed was divine magic, and that alone.

Therefore, she didn’t need to pack her schedule with classes while worrying about grades.

As a result, she enjoyed a much more relaxed timetable than her peers, with later mornings and earlier evenings.

Even with this behavior, the Vatican couldn’t bring itself to cut off support for her.

The Vatican was the one in need, after all.

‘They must value her potential as highly as mine.’

Whatever the priest had reported, the Vatican seemed to value not only its connection with Amon but also with Sonia.

Otherwise, they wouldn’t allow her laxity, merely requiring her to maintain graduation credits.

“Yaaawn~”

“Focus. You’ve got jam on your mouth.”

Wiping the corner of Sonia’s drowsy mouth, the two finished their slightly late breakfast.

After getting ready, the two began their day about an hour later than others.

“Take care~ Have a good day at school~”

“Don’t get hurt~”

Sonia headed to the academy, while Amon went to the mercenary agency.

A month had passed since Sonia entered seminary and Amon became a mercenary.

Despite that short period, Amon had learned a lot.

‘I was a frog in a well.’

His fashion sense was problematic, but more importantly, he didn’t know much about the modern mercenary industry.

Amon, whose knowledge was stuck 50 years in the past, had confidently believed he’d updated his information through internet searches, but that was his arrogance.

This mercenary industry, where information and equipment performance were directly linked, had developed far beyond what Amon had imagined.

During the World War, engineering had developed exponentially worldwide.

In a world where daily life was virtually equivalent to war, technology was developing at a similar pace.

‘It wasn’t just simple weapons…’

Weapon systems hadn’t completely changed in 50 years, nor had the laws of physics drastically altered.

Bullets still flew with the explosive power of gunpowder, and those unsatisfied with that added magic.

People unsatisfied with Cyberware implants added magical tattoos for special functions, or underwent gene modification to overcome human limitations.

Up to this point, his 50-year-old knowledge remained valid.

But what had changed in this world?

It was the existence of entities.

Entities weren’t just exploited in power plants.

Parts of their bodies, or byproducts they created, were incorporated into any tool that could use them.

The same applied to mercenaries’ equipment.

Their gear had functions Amon couldn’t even predict.

‘Even that gorilla had an infinite staircase storage effect…’

Amon recalled the crazy gorilla he’d encountered long ago.

In the mercenary industry, it was standard practice to add illegal infinite storage modifications to grenade launcher implants.

However, being strictly illegal, this information wasn’t available through internet searches—it was a secret known only to mercenaries.

If he hadn’t disabled the grenade launcher first, Amon’s corpse would likely have been placed next to an unnamed police officer’s remains.

Realizing this, Amon modified his plan to dive into dungeons immediately after becoming a mercenary.

There was still too much in this world that Amon didn’t know.

He needed to be careful not only of dungeon monsters but also of people—jumping in without proper knowledge could get him backstabbed and killed.

Therefore, Amon decided to build his foundation slowly from the basics.

The errand boy job he’d done since the old days.

Developing slightly from that, he became an errand boy who not only ran errands but also delivered mission rewards.

When a mercenary completed a request, he would depart from Pabaloma, verify completion, and deliver the reward to the mercenary.

Depending on the request, he sometimes got opportunities to observe mercenaries carrying out their missions.

Repeating this for a month, he eventually earned a nickname.

‘The Dog of Pabaloma’

It was a wordplay on Pavlov’s dog.

When a mercenary who completed a request rang the signal, Amon would appear with the reward, which was indeed similar.

The reason this nickname stuck to Amon, despite there being many other errand runners, was because he was a mercenary.

He had proudly obtained his mercenary license on the first day, yet all he did was run errands.

The mercenaries mocked him as a coward.

Amon was well aware that this nickname had stuck to him.

How could he not know when they openly mocked him?

Ding dong, ding dong.

“Hey, dog. Bring some alcohol over here.”

A mercenary rang the signal and spoke to Amon as he entered Pabaloma.

Amon complied with a friendly smile.

On his way to deliver the alcohol, a mercenary deliberately bumped his shoulder, causing some alcohol to spill.

Amon continued his errand work steadfastly, showing no reaction to their harassment.

In the rough mercenary industry, where returning what you receive was considered virtuous—otherwise you’d be seen as weak—Amon’s behavior only encouraged the mercenaries’ sadistic tendencies.

A pushover toy that could be bullied without consequences.

That was how mercenaries evaluated Amon.

Despite this assessment, Amon had never shown anger.

This wasn’t because he was saintly.

Rather, Amon preferred action over words.

The reason he suppressed his anger was simple.

‘They’re just low-level guys who’ll die soon anyway.’

Nothing was more wasteful than getting angry at someone who was going to die.

Amon wasn’t doing anything special to them.

It was just that the mercenaries who bullied Amon were all bronze-rank, and their deaths were simply the law of cyberpunk.

‘Idiots who don’t understand how important the basics are…’

They mocked Amon because they saw him as just a delivery boy bringing reward envelopes.

But errand running wasn’t just simple delivery work.

If that were the case, they’d use actual delivery workers, not Amon.

To deliver mission completion rewards, one needed to verify that the mission was properly completed and check if any problems occurred during the process.

This couldn’t be done by delivery workers without relevant knowledge, so it was often assigned to low-ranking bronze-rank mercenaries.

The errand-running mercenary sent to the field learns what an ideal mission completion looks like, which weapons are good in specific situations, and more while delivering rewards.

Additionally, they learn about covert meeting methods, ideal infiltration routes, mercenary tips, and the procedures for request processing and completion.

There were many basics to learn during errands.

In fact, those who called Amon a coward were blinded by their admiration for mercenaries and the accessibility of the profession, not understanding how dangerous it was.

Such people often ended up being carried away in garbage trucks by cleaners while wandering around the neighborhood.

Moreover, Amon was confident his approach was correct.

The manager of Pabaloma supported his method.

– “Kids these days…”

Amon recalled what the manager of Pabaloma had said.

– “If you’re going to be a mercenary, you should build your foundation step by step like you. Kids these days don’t understand the importance of basics.”

According to the old man in the wheelchair, 50 years ago, bronze-rank mercenaries were given errands to slowly build experience.

Amon was following this setting from 3, as he had seen it.

But after the legendary mercenary known as the Mercenary King ushered in the great mercenary era, everyone and their dog rushed to mercenary agencies.

Since then, bronze-rank mercenaries no longer handled boring errands.

Many grabbed weapons and jumped into missions right after registration, and they bullied those who stayed at the agency running errands as cowards.

After this trend continued for 50 years, bronze-rank mercenaries began to consider building basics through errands as foolish behavior.

Most agencies didn’t bother to address this trend.

There were plenty of applicants anyway.

The good ones survived, and those without talent were found in landfills or sewers.

However, the manager of Pabaloma, who had strong pride as a mercenary agency manager, thought differently.

– “Anyway, I don’t like it.”

The old man grumbled while operating his wheelchair.

In the past, even bronze-ranks had the basics down, but nowadays they skip the fundamentals and often fail at the covert meeting stage.

As a result, covert missions that would have been entrusted to bronze-ranks in the past are now only given to silver-rank or higher.

The manager grumbled that even silver-ranks were just inexperienced youngsters, and he could only trust gold-ranks.

Amon sympathized with the manager’s feelings.

Not only had Amon played during the manager’s era, but the manager was a legendary mercenary before becoming an old-timer.

Though now confined to a wheelchair, he had been the protagonist’s supporter in the true ending of Punk City 3.

Because the protagonist became an internationally wanted fugitive in the true ending, the old man was hiding this fact, but Amon knew.

That’s why Amon listened carefully to the old man’s words.

‘Though his tongue is rough, his pride is certain.’

He would never send Amon on dangerous errands.

Rather, he’d send him to places good for building basics.

As evidence, Amon had never been in danger during his month of running errands.

Moreover, some of the mercenaries sent by the manager were good people who gave him various tips.

Thanks to this, Amon had been able to steadily build his mercenary foundation without any problems for a month.

He would probably continue this until the manager told him it was enough.

With such thoughts, Amon silently ran his errands.

Crossing himself and suppressing his anger.

However, that day was different from usual.

“Hey, religious guy.”

“…?”

Amon turned his head at the voice from behind.

Although it might not have been directed at him, he felt somewhat guilty.

As he turned around, his gaze met that of a woman.

‘Ah, it was for me.’

A woman who clearly had business with Amon was glaring at him with angled eyebrows.

She was a beauty with distinctive black hair and red eyes.

When Amon responded, she spoke to him abruptly.

“Is this a church? Why are you crossing yourself here?”

What’s this?

Why the confrontation?

Amon was confused.

Is she picking on me because I look easy?

That was probably likely.

When mercenaries regularly trip you and pour tomato soup on your head, it was understandable that someone might pick on him for crossing himself.

But regardless of that sentiment, Amon’s mouth moved naturally.

“The Lord said, our temple is always in our hearts.”

Since he couldn’t exactly say he was crossing himself because he was too angry to bear it, Amon tried to respond as positively as possible.

But that answer didn’t seem to please her.

“Huh, you religious types always say that. So was it your god who told my mother to donate all my father’s assets to the church? To expand the temple in her heart?”

“Oh my… such a thing…”

Amon was genuinely saddened by her words.

“I don’t know the details, but if that person did such a thing, I have no right to complain even if you call me a religious guy.”

At first glance, her words might sound like an insult to the Goddess.

But Amon didn’t confuse the criteria for blasphemy.

Blasphemy was using the Goddess’s name to commit evil acts and using it as a shield, or insulting her name without reason.

In comparison, the woman’s words were ambiguous as blasphemy.

If a believer did shameful things in the name of the Goddess, they deserved criticism.

While the Goddess might be perfect, humans were not.

Amon, who prided himself as a healthy believer, humbly accepted her criticism.

Her anger seemed justified to Amon.

However, the woman opposite Amon was utterly perplexed.

She had expected some kind of rebuttal, but he accepted it so coolly?

Surprised by the unexpected response, she hesitated.

“Um…”

At that moment, another mercenary with a cactus-like hairstyle behind her joined the conversation.

“What? So I can curse too? Because of that bitch, my life is so messed up- Gack!”

Thud.

His words were cut short.

Amon had already separated his sword from its scabbard, tripped the mercenary with the scabbard, and pressed it against his throat.

With the cold blade tip at the mercenary’s mouth, Amon spoke to him.

“Your tongue is cursed. Shall I cut that viper’s tongue in half?”

Amon’s blade lightly touched the cactus-haired mercenary’s nose tip.

Tap tap.

Perhaps because it was a sword from the Higgjen Group security team, the mercenary’s skin was cut just by contact.

The mercenary’s face turned pale blue.

Careful not to have his nose cut off by the sword, he moved his lips with a muffled pronunciation.

“I’m sorry! I must have gone crazy for a moment… I’ll pay my tithe well at church, please forgive me!”

At the cactus-head’s desperate apology, Amon ended it by leaving a vertical mark on his nose.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

The cactus-head nodded desperately.

Blood overflowed from the vertical wound, making his nose red like a clown’s.

The mercenary covered the bleeding wound and fled the agency.

After the commotion ended, Amon wiped the blood from his sword tip with a handkerchief and turned back to the woman.

“Where were we in our conversation?”

Amon smiled as he met her gaze.

Meanwhile, his hand continued to wipe the blood from his sword.

Seeing this, the woman thought,

‘Did I just provoke a madman?’

Surprisingly, that wasn’t far from the truth.