Ch.3030. Cyberpunk and Mercenaries

“Since we’ve met by chance, shall we have lunch together?”

Amon smiled as he invited the woman in front of him to lunch.

The woman, overwhelmed by the situation, accepted Amon’s invitation.

The two found a spot in the corner of the broker’s office, which doubled as a bar, and ordered lunch.

When she mentioned it was her first time at the broker’s office, Amon offered to order for both of them.

“Two Dwarpi Mining Hot Dogs, please.”

Amon wasn’t sure why it was called “Dwarpi” rather than “Dwarf,” but he had never bothered to ask about the chef’s naming sense.

In the kitchen, a muscular woman(?) with a masculine build received the order and began cooking.

Turning away from the chef, whom he still couldn’t get used to seeing, Amon focused on his guest.

“In my experience, this is the least divisive option.”

Other foods varied greatly in popularity depending on one’s race or nationality, making them poor choices for first meetings.

Eel jelly soup, synthetic meat grasshopper pizza… compared to these, the Dwarpi Mining Hot Dog was just ordinary synthetic meat sausage in bread, making it universally acceptable.

While waiting for their food, the two introduced themselves.

“I’m Amon Perfumerose. Ah, the surname is from my orphanage.”

“Kathy Elijha. That’s Elijha, not Elija.”

She slightly bowed her head, half-opening her red eyes.

She was being polite, perhaps because of what Amon had done for her.

They completed their introductions, each explaining their unusual surnames.

Soon, their food arrived.

Kathy’s eyes widened at the hot dog, which was twice the size of a normal one.

“Feel free to leave some if you can’t finish it.”

With that, Amon took a bite of his sandwich.

The clean scent of synthetic meat hit his nose.

It was an unfamiliar taste for Amon, who ate real pork once a week.

But since sausages didn’t differ much between synthetic and real meat, he didn’t find it particularly off-putting.

It was tasty enough to forget it was made from insects.

The sausage was synthetic meat, the vegetables were synthetic fiber composites, and the tomatoes were GMO.

Honestly, each individual component tasted like garbage, but the chef had somehow combined them skillfully to create this flavor.

While Amon savored his hot dog, Kathy took a bite of hers.

“…!”

She was surprised again.

Amon could understand her reaction.

Equal-rank mercenaries, especially newcomers, rarely ate meals at the broker’s office.

They might order drinks or snacks, but never meals.

The menu items were the same as outside food but much more expensive.

Believing it was a scheme to overcharge newcomers, they would try to eat elsewhere.

But once mercenaries gained some experience and had a bit more money, they took all their meals at the broker’s office.

Why?

Because it was delicious.

People misunderstood something: establishments targeting mercenaries actually paid considerable attention to quality.

For mercenaries who could die at any moment, brief pleasures—appetite, sexual desire, sleep—were extremely important.

They tended to spend money as if there was no tomorrow. In return, they never compromised on quality.

Food always had to be delicious, prostitutes always had to be clean, and beds always had to be comfortable.

While mercenaries with little money might make do, those with some financial leeway never compromised in these areas.

This was why the food at the broker’s office was of considerable quality.

It was not only worth the price but offered exceptional value.

Especially since many mercenaries were heavy drinkers and picky gourmets, satisfying their palates was a guarantee of quality.

Munch, munch.

Having finished his explanation, Amon took another bite of his hot dog.

After listening to Amon’s explanation, Kathy stared at the bite mark on her sandwich before speaking.

“Sorry, I must have lost myself earlier.”

“?”

Amon tilted his head in confusion.

She explained her situation to the puzzled Amon.

“I’m talking about picking a fight with you earlier. I actually thought I needed to bully you like the other mercenaries to prove myself.”

According to her, today was her first visit to the mercenary broker’s office.

She wasn’t even a mercenary yet and had no connections.

She was just a typical cyberpunk youth who had to leave home due to family circumstances and chose mercenary work to make a living.

Upon arriving at the broker’s office, she bought drinks for some adventurers to learn about being a mercenary.

“Mercenaries just need to shoot well and handle knives well.”

“Instead of wasting time on subtlety for missions, focus on increasing firepower.”

“Mercenaries are looked down upon everywhere, so never let yourself be underestimated.”

The cactus-haired man who was telling her these things pointed at Amon, who had just arrived at the broker’s office, and said:

– “Just don’t end up like that loser.”

With that, the cactus-head and his colleagues snickered.

According to cactus-head, Amon had come in with big talk about becoming a mercenary but had never completed a single mission.

He only did safe jobs like making deliveries for the broker’s office, so he had no achievements compared to other equal-rank mercenaries.

– “He came to kill people but isn’t prepared to die himself.”

With that, cactus-head downed his drink.

Then, as if remembering something, he turned to Kathy and said:

– “Oh, right. Sis, why don’t you take this opportunity to step on him a bit?”

The mercenary rule he had mentioned—never let yourself be underestimated.

He convinced her that the best way to practice this was to trample on a loser like Amon.

Just as cactus-head had said, the mercenaries at the bar were bullying Amon who had just arrived.

So Kathy had no choice but to believe cactus-head’s words.

‘I’m sorry…’

Though she felt bad about picking on someone she didn’t know, she needed to survive as a mercenary, so she had to provoke Amon.

Firmly believing this was a rite of passage.

And the result was what happened now.

The cactus-head who had been showing off to her fled the broker’s office with a clown nose, and the mercenaries who had looked down on Amon couldn’t do anything when he drew his sword.

Conversely, Amon was calmly eating his sandwich as if such harassment was nothing, and in the midst of it, he was giving her tips that only veteran mercenaries would normally share.

It was clear whose words were more trustworthy in this situation.

“I’m really sorry. But… I know it’s shameless, but could you teach me about mercenary work?”

Kathy bowed her head deeply.

Her black straight hair hung freely downward.

Looking at the top of her head, Amon was utterly perplexed.

“It’s just a hot dog, not much of a tip…”

Of course, he only knew this because a veteran mercenary had once offered him a taste while he was running errands, but that didn’t make Amon a veteran-level mercenary.

Nevertheless, Kathy’s thoughts were firm.

“No. That’s how I could be sure.”

Thinking about it, cactus-head’s advice had no practical value.

He only talked about industry rules and how to maintain a tough image, without explaining how to handle different types of missions.

In contrast, Amon had provided practical information from their first conversation.

Moreover, she had clearly seen the sword Amon used when threatening cactus-head.

With her knowledge of equipment, she could tell how good Amon’s sword was.

‘No wonder the stronger-looking mercenaries didn’t mess with him.’

Come to think of it, only ordinary thugs without decent equipment or implants had been bullying Amon.

Mercenaries with good equipment or vicious implants had never bothered him.

They must have recognized the sword at his waist.

She couldn’t tell until he drew it from its scabbard.

Only after he drew it could she recognize its value.

It wasn’t a sword that an equal-rank mercenary could carry.

It was an excellent sword that required at least platinum rank to use properly.

‘He might be a retired or runaway Megacorp ninja.’

In this world, the performance of equipment directly reflected the user’s skill.

The fact that he used such equipment was a guarantee of Amon’s abilities.

Since it was relatively common for ninjas to retire or disappear due to various unsavory incidents and become mercenaries, her reasoning was natural.

That’s why she couldn’t let Amon go.

Learning mercenary work from him would be much more helpful for survival than from mediocre equal-rank mercenaries.

At least, she was convinced of this.

She pleaded with Amon.

“I want to survive as a mercenary.”

Whatever other mercenaries wanted, her goal was simply to survive.

She had no desire to rise quickly and become a legend.

She just wanted to live safely and eat well.

It seemed absurd to have such a mindset after choosing the dangerous profession of a mercenary, but she was serious.

Her earnestness reached Amon well.

Kind-hearted Amon couldn’t coldly reject her request.

‘She seems like a good person…’

In the cyberpunk mercenary world, admitting one’s mistake and apologizing already put someone in the top 1% for character.

He thought about the characters he had met in the game and the mercenaries he had encountered in this world.

– “I won’t apologize for the lack of information. Isn’t that why the pay was so high?”

– “Weren’t we just using each other? There’s a saying: yesterday’s friend is tomorrow’s enemy.”

– “You know it was just business. Let’s forget about me shooting first.”

Fuck.

Among these assholes, Kathy wasn’t just in the top 1%, she could be in the top 0.1%.

Kathy passed the character test.

Amon did some mental calculations.

Would it be okay to take her along?

The conclusion was surprisingly positive.

She wasn’t asking to be taken to a dungeon or on a dangerous mission.

Amon was only doing relatively safe errands anyway.

What she was asking was to observe Amon’s errands from the side and learn the basics of being a mercenary.

Taking her along didn’t seem to disadvantage Amon in any way.

In the end, Amon couldn’t refuse her request.

“Alright. Let’s go together.”

Amon thought, what could possibly happen during a simple errand?

*

“Fuck. I shouldn’t have thought that.”

A crude curse escaped the lips of the devout believer.

Hiding their bodies behind a large trash can in an alley, they could hear a voice mixed with mechanical sounds in the distance.

Ratatatatat!

“Come out, you little fuckers!!!”

A gang member fired shots into the air while roaring.

Amon leaned against the trash can, forgetting even the filth, and lamented.

‘Damn bastard. Causing trouble even in death.’

Amon recalled how the situation had deteriorated to this point.

Originally, it was a simple errand.

A mercenary would obtain an item, meet with Amon, and hand it over.

Amon would verify the item and deliver the payment to the mercenary.

It wasn’t his first errand, and the broker’s office manager had assured him it was very safe.

However, there was one minimum prerequisite for this errand’s safety:

The mercenary shouldn’t be an idiot.

The problem was that this mercenary was an extraordinary idiot who defied all odds.

‘What the hell was that guy thinking?!’

The mercenary was of equal rank.

One of those “these days” types the broker’s office manager often complained about.

He was an idiot who hadn’t even completed basic training and believed mercenaries only needed to shoot guns.

Somehow, he had misunderstood the mission to retrieve an item and had gone shooting at a gang instead.

It was clearly just a normal “transaction.”

A truly safe transaction where he just needed to receive an item.

Since the client was a legitimate person and the gang was from the underworld, the mercenary just needed to act as a bridge between them—a really simple transaction.

Even the parties involved were reasonable people.

The client had no intention of cheating and had even provided a credit card for the transaction, and the gang was planning to quietly hand over the item.

The mercenary was just an unimaginable idiot.

Whether he suddenly felt a sense of justice, had a grudge against the client or the gang, or strangely misinterpreted the word “transaction”…

Or perhaps he suddenly coveted the credit card and item in his hands.

For an item that could be obtained by simply paying for it, he chose to shoot in the middle of a gang gathering.

And he died.

The mercenary’s thoughts would never be known as he was instantly riddled with bullets.

The problem was that the trouble he caused didn’t end there.

The enraged gang determined this was the collective will of the mercenary broker’s office and used the mercenary’s signal device.

They called Amon, pretending to be a mercenary who had completed the mission.

Thinking it was a safe errand, Amon went to deliver the payment, only to find the equal-rank mercenary’s head mounted on the front of a car and gang members pointing guns at him.

“You bastards! All you mercenary fuckers are the same!”

That’s what Amon heard when the gang member, whom he had never met before, fired at him and Kathy.

From the dead mercenary’s head and the gang member’s words, Amon could understand the whole situation.

‘Damn cyberpunk…’

Amon repeated a curse for the umpteenth time today.

This was a common misunderstanding in cyberpunk.

Human relationships getting severely tangled because of one idiot was everyday life here, but he seemed to have forgotten that fact, lulled by peace.

Explanation?

Would a gang with guns and crazed eyes listen to reason?

The mercenary who acted impulsively had died alone like that?

That wasn’t the cyberpunk way of resolving things.

Misunderstandings weren’t resolved through conversation.

They were resolved through fists, blood, and money.

Obviously, Amon didn’t have that kind of money, so only fists and blood remained as options.

‘Do I need to kill the gang?’

It wasn’t impossible.

If he decided to, he could eliminate the five gang members in this alley.

But that would create a permanent rift between the broker’s office and the gang.

‘No choice…’

Blood was out of the question.

That left fists.

‘The manager will somehow deal with the gang leader.’

As long as no one died, forgiveness was easy.

Dead people couldn’t be brought back, but injuries could be healed.

Even with broken bones and paralyzed lower bodies, as long as they were breathing, misunderstandings could be resolved through conversation later.

That was another way to resolve misunderstandings in cyberpunk.

Having made up his mind, Amon turned his gaze to the side.

Beside him, Kathy was trembling while holding a pistol.

She hadn’t even released the safety, and the way she had her finger on the trigger suggested she hadn’t received proper firearms training.

‘So she really was new to being a mercenary…’

How did such a girl end up becoming a mercenary?

With these thoughts, Amon reached for her gun.

She was startled when Amon’s hand touched hers.

Amon whispered to her:

“May I borrow your gun for a moment?”

Amon’s eyes, full of confidence, gave her a sense of trust.

She loosened her grip on the gun.

Amon nodded and took the gun.

“Stay quiet here.”

Saying it would be over in 15 minutes, Amon peeked over the trash can.

After confirming the gang members weren’t looking his way, he climbed the adjacent wall.

Creating a foothold by stabbing his dagger into the wall, he quickly disappeared through a third-floor window of an abandoned building.

“!!!”

While Kathy was surprised by Amon’s actions, Amon quietly checked the chamber from the shadows of the abandoned building.

‘One magazine for the pistol.’

This would be enough.

Recalling the bat-man’s non-lethal approach in a corner of his mind, he leaped to the opposite building.