Morning as the sun slowly creeps up over the horizon.
Tra-la-la!!
Inside a highway rest area where gentle music was playing, a man covered in tattoos tapped the shoulder of the man with reggae hair sitting next to him.
“Why?”
“Hey, hey, look at that.”
The reggae-haired man turned his head in the direction the tattooed man was pointing.
A news report was playing on the television installed at the bar.
[“The Dungeon Management Association has designated the dungeon that recently emerged in Colorado with the name ‘White Dawn.’”]
After seeing the news, the reggae-haired man’s eyes sparkled with interest.
The tattooed man seemed to read his thoughts and flashed a confident smile.
“Do you want to go there?”
“That dungeon belongs to the Hexen Group, right?”
“Yeah. I heard the guys from $3 have taken everything, but there should still be quite a lot useful stuff left.”
‘Then let’s go quickly.’
The reggae-haired man stuffed the hot dog he was holding into his mouth and immediately stood up.
[“Ding! Your payment has been received.”]
With a flick of their fingers to pay for the food, the two immediately left the bar.
Amon, who was listening to their conversation at the table right behind them, sipped his coffee and put down the newspaper he was reading.
‘I heard all the mercenaries are heading to Colorado.’
The two who had just left seemed to be those kinds of people.
The reason was obviously because of the dungeon.
‘It’s because Megacorp’s dungeon has appeared after a long time.’
Since dungeons are being created all over the world, they weren’t that rare.
Sometimes, an incompetent mid-sized company disregards safety protocols and creates a dungeon through experiments, or dungeons are formed when big corporations sabotage each other, so about one dungeon is steadily created every two years in a region.
However, it’s rare for a mega-corporation to create a dungeon.
According to Amon’s research, it had been ten years in the United States.
The larger the company that becomes the predecessor of the dungeon, the more dangerous the dungeon is, but the rewards are correspondingly sweeter.
Therefore, upon hearing that the Hexen Group had created a dungeon, even mercenaries from faraway California were heading towards Colorado.
‘I’ve already cleared that dungeon… No. Did I conquer it, thereby increasing the demand even more?’
There are various dungeons in the world, each with its own unique characteristics.
Because of this, there’s an academic field called dungeonology to classify dungeons, but this isn’t particularly important.
What’s important is that the dungeon he cleared, White Dawn, was the kind that remains even if the boss is defeated.
‘Well, the demons are summoned beings and the monsters are executives punished by divine wrath.’
The news said it’s a type of dungeon with no boss, only monsters that continuously resurrect.
In other words, it’s a dungeon unappealing to mercenaries aiming for the top, but infinitely attractive to novice or mid-level mercenaries seeking steady growth.
Moreover, while the $3 group collected all the important items, what mercenaries desired was completely different from what the companies wanted.
Companies want information and data, but mercenaries want the debris and equipment left in the buildings.
Dungeons that the $3 group is known to have plundered held no value for ordinary mercenaries.
Perhaps that’s why mercenaries were gathering in Colorado not only from the United States but worldwide.
In such a trend, Amon and Sonia were heading in the opposite direction from the mercenaries.
***
Sip.
At a highway rest area heading from Colorado to California, Amon sipped his coffee.
The artificial flavors and caffeine used to imitate coffee left a gritty feeling in his mouth.
Even though Amon wasn’t familiar with coffee beans, he could tell how cheap this coffee was.
After all, he wasn’t drinking it to taste good, but to stay awake, so he could tolerate this.
Sip.
“Father, please take care of us on the way.”
With his upper lip drooping from the disgusting coffee, Amon said to the priest sitting across from him.
The priest, half-awake from sleep, barely nodded at Amon.
On Amon’s way to California, his companion wasn’t just Sonia.
The squinting priest was also ‘dragged’ along by the two.
Of course, formally, he was only ‘conveniently’ dispatched to California to accompany the two.
But after finding out by another coincidence that the priest would suddenly become Sonia’s seminary professor from next year, he couldn’t pretend to ignore it.
‘It’s too obvious…’
To anyone, he was both a protector and a watcher.
Of course, since only the Vatican knew the fact that Amon had single-handedly conquered White Dawn, it would have been too regrettable for him to lose ties with the two.
Therefore, he dispatched the priest who happened to have ties with the two and had relatively free status.
Amon clearly remembered the expression on the priest’s face when he received the dispatch document along with the professorship appointment.
In Amon’s previous life, when a senior at work was transferred to the provinces, the powerless office worker had many things he wanted to say but had to hold back in front of people— that was the expression on the priest’s face.
Thus, the priest was dragged along by Amon and Sonia with his own will thoroughly excluded.
They headed towards California by changing drivers in a three-shift rotation to reduce travel time.
The priest, rubbing his eyes under dark circles, spoke to Amon.
“What about Miss Sonia?”
“If she eats something before bed, she says it’s hard on an empty stomach.”
“You’ve worked hard until dawn, too, Mr. Amon.”
Until they arrived at this rest area, Amon had been driving, and Sonia was in the passenger seat.
Now, leaving the rest area, the priest would take the wheel, and Amon would sit in the passenger seat.
Sonia had to close her eyes since she was the next driver, but Amon needed to keep the priest alert by chatting next to him.
Regardless of the world, it’s courteous for the person in the passenger seat to stay awake with the driver.
“Father, would you like some coffee?”
As part of his role in the passenger seat, Amon offered the priest some coffee.
Whether because of the caffeine or just because it was terribly bad, the priest’s eyes opened wide after taking a sip of the coffee.
The half-asleep priest was finally ready to take the wheel.
“Shall I buy some snacks on the way?”
The priest declined Amon’s offer.
He said it would give him a headache if anything spilled inside the rental car.
So, they only took zero-calorie cola to drink from time to time and left the rest area.
[“No exhaust fumes! Let’s love the environment!”]
They passed environmental activists protesting with signs in front of the highway rest area and got into the car.
Holding the ignition key, the priest spoke as if in prayer.
“Please, please…”
Vroom.
Fortunately, the engine started smoothly.
“Oh my, thank you.”
With a thank-you remark to no one in particular, the priest pressed the accelerator.
The car exited the rest area and entered the highway.
With Sonia in the back seat, the car headed towards California.
In the uncomfortable silence, Amon began chatting to fulfill his duty in the passenger seat.
“How did you become a priest?”
In response to his question, the priest looked ahead and wrinkled near his lips.
After a brief silence, the priest finally answered.
“Because it’s safe.”
“Yes?”
“In this godawful world, the safest place for those who possess divine power is the Vatican.”
“Uh…”
Amon, taken aback by the unexpected response, struggled to find a reply, his eyes welling up with tears.
The priest Amon knew… was a good person, albeit slightly suspicious in appearance.
Regardless of whether he was trustworthy, he was a good person and a good priest.
Not exactly a saint, but a benevolent person?
Just that.
Amon couldn’t have imagined receiving such an answer from someone like him.
Reading the silence, the priest guessed what Amon was thinking and began to share a story that might pique his curiosity.
“I think you’ve misunderstood me. I don’t particularly like the Vatican either. I’m an office worker who goes to the Vatican, not a member of it.”
“Eh? Is it appropriate for you to say that, Father?”
“It wasn’t something I started out of a sense of duty. Being in the world of exorcism feels like walking a tightrope with your life on the line. Over time, I found myself leaning towards something more stable and safe.”
The priest’s response was entirely understandable.
Some people can risk their lives for their faith, while others, valuing their lives just as much without abandoning their faith, may also prioritize their lives.
It’s a realm where right and wrong aren’t easily defined, making his explanation quite relatable.
If the priest hadn’t said those lines, that is.
“Not quite…”
Amon recalled what the director had told him.
The priest had insisted on bringing Amon and Sonia to the Vatican.
To hear someone like him say he wasn’t particularly loyal to the Vatican was hard to believe…
He couldn’t easily trust it.
In Amon’s silence, the squinting priest, perhaps sensing his thoughts, chuckled softly.
“Then why did I want to take you two to the Vatican? From my perspective, being in the Vatican is much safer. Plus, it boosts my own performance.”
“… That’s incredibly secular.”
“There’s no reason not to do it if good deeds are rewarded.”
Amon fell silent.
It was a very practical reason.
‘The more I see, the more I realize how incomprehensible this priest is.’
Amon revised his opinion of the squinting priest, continuously chatting from the passenger seat.
This conversation took place when there were still 12 hours left until reaching California.
Their multi-day journey to California ended when it was Sonia’s turn to take the wheel.
The three separated after dropping off their luggage at their pre-arranged homes.
The priest headed to the center to return the rental car, Sonia went to the university for enrollment procedures, Amon proceeded to the mercenary agency as planned.
‘There are more mercenaries than I thought.’
With a Megacorp-level dungeon emerging in Colorado, countless mercenaries were moving there.
Despite this trend, there were still many mercenaries in California.
In hindsight, it made sense.
No matter how many dungeons appeared in Colorado, the fundamentally bustling California would never quiet down.
‘This is the foundation.’
California was the setting for Punk City 3.
Thanks to the protagonist who became a legend among mercenaries in the true ending, California had become almost a holy land for mercenaries.
Moreover, compared to other regions, there were significantly more Megacorp-level dungeons.
With multiple Megacorps gathering, their greed led to sabotage against each other, resulting in numerous Megacorp-level dungeons.
Although it had been quiet for the past ten years, it was once a place of great chaos where a Megacorp dungeon emerged every year.
And many Megacorp dungeons remained unconquered.
It was truly a mercenary’s holy land.
‘It’s been a long time. How hasn’t it fallen apart yet?’
Amon, poring over his in-game knowledge, headed to the agency.
The scenery along the way had changed so drastically that he needed navigation help, but the mercenary agency itself remained completely unchanged.
***
<Pavalloma>
He didn’t know the meaning.
The agency owner, who had promised to explain the meaning of Pavalloma upon his return, was assassinated, so he never heard the end of the game.
According to the epilogue, the owner’s son had taken over the agency, and it seemed to have continued even after fifty years.
‘This is the core of the core.’
In the game, Pavalloma was the top agency in California.
On the internet, it was said to have slipped to around third place after fifty years, which was good news for fundamentalist Amon.
What mattered to him was the nostalgia for the past.
He checked the two swords strapped to his waist and headed toward the automatic door next to his bodyguard.
For some reason, ignoring the bodyguard who was slowly distancing himself, Amon proceeded into the agency.
Whirr
The door opened, and the smell of alcohol and grease greeted Amon.
He crossed the agency and headed to the reception area.
All eyes of the mercenaries gathered on him.
Normally, people might be captivated by his appearance, but this time was different.
Amon was wearing a mask, and the gazes he received were more fearful than curious or friendly.
“…Don’t you know that?”
“Seems like it.”
Amon, cutting through the stares, approached the receptionist.
In any world, receptionists were typically beautiful young women.
Amon’s assigned receptionist’s original face was uncertain, and it was unclear if she was even female, but she was at least on the attractive side.
Having stared at her computer screen for a long time, she turned her gaze toward Amon.
“Hmph!”
…and nearly fell back in surprise.
Amon couldn’t understand.
What had he done to make her so frightened?
Putting aside his confusion, Amon presented the reason for his visit.
Still, the receptionist acted professionally, keeping an eye on him while completing her tasks.
Eventually, an official mercenary license under Amon’s name was issued.
“Thank you.”
Amon inserted his matching card into his inner pocket.
For today, his business was done here.
He only intended to register today, so he had no plans to enter a dungeon or undertake any missions.
Suddenly, a lingering question surfaced.
He asked the only person in this space who didn’t avoid him, or rather, couldn’t escape from him—the receptionist.
“Why are people so scared of me? Has there been a warrant out for my face?”
In response to Amon’s question, the receptionist nervously took out her phone.
Click.
She took a photo of Amon and showed it to him.
In the screen, a thug wearing a blue skull motorcycle helmet stared back at him.
Amon tilted his head in confusion.
‘What’s the problem?’
Each part of Amon’s attire had meaning.
The motorcycle helmet was prepared because the most dangerous situation in dungeons or missions was getting a headshot.
He had modified a red bike suit, excellent in both activity and heat resistance, to include bulletproof plates, and added steel plates to the crucial chest area.
He wore a yellow raincoat to protect against acid substances or blood and combat pants in military colors used by explosive ordnance disposal teams to guard his lower body against mines.
His fingers were covered with fingerless gloves for delicate movements rather than protection, and he wore white combat boots.
To increase his tactical options, he carried a Japanese sword and an arming sword each.
To Amon, his gear was perfect.
‘Really cost-effective.’
Proud of his meticulously calculated outfit, which focused solely on price-performance ratio, He felt satisfied with himself.
Even in his past life, his sense wouldn’t have dulled.
Of course, people who saw him felt completely differently.
‘Isn’t that perverted?’
His fashion looked like something a lunatic who might suddenly go berserk would wear.
But he himself seemed indifferent to his own fashion.
Realizing that Amon’s sense of fashion was seriously flawed, the receptionist gave up persuading him.
“No, nothing…”
Amon tilted his head and walked back onto the street in his current attire.
Like a miracle from Moses, the crowd parted along his path.
An old hand never understands people’s hearts until they get scolded by their lover upon arriving home.