Chapter 30: Cyberpunk and Mercenary Part 3

“Since this is fate, shall we have lunch together?”

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

Overwhelmed by the situation, the woman accepted Amon’s invitation.

The two took seats in a corner of the broker’s office, which also served as a pub, and ordered their lunch menus.

“You mentioned this is your first time coming to this broker’s office,” she said.

Amon decided to order on her behalf as well.

“I’ll have two Dworfy Mines Hotdogs.”

He wasn’t sure why it was called “Dworfy,” but he never bothered to ask the chef about his naming sensibility.

A woman with a rugged, muscular build in the kitchen started preparing the order.

Turning away from the chef, who seemed out of place every time he looked, Amon focused on the customer in front of him.

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

Other dishes often had strong preferences depending on the race or country, making them unsuitable for serving to someone you just met.

Things like eel jelly soup or synthetic meat with grasshopper toppings on pizza…

Compared to those, Dworfy Mines Hotdogs were just ordinary synthetic meat sausages stuffed into bread, making them universally acceptable.

While the food was being prepared, the two introduced themselves.

“I’m Amon Perfume Rose. Oh, my surname comes from an orphanage.”

“I’m Cash Illya. Not ‘Illy,’ but ‘Illya.'”

She slightly squinted her eyes and bowed her head a little.

Perhaps because of something Amon had done for her, she was being polite.

After introducing their unusual surnames, they completed their introductions.

Finally, their orders arrived.

The hotdogs, each the size of a regular hotdog, made Cash’s eyes widen.

“If you can’t finish them all, feel free to leave some.”

With that, Amon took a bite of his sandwich.

The clean scent of synthetic meat hit his nose sharply.

For Amon, who ate real pork once a week, the taste was awkward.

But since the sausage didn’t differ much from real meat, he didn’t feel any aversion.

They were so tasty that he almost forgot they were made from insects.

The sausages were synthetic meat, the vegetables a mix of synthetic dietary fibers, and the tomatoes were GMO.

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

While Amon savored his hotdog, Cash also took a bite.

She was surprised once again.

Amon could understand how she felt.

New mercenaries, the equivalent level ones, rarely ate at the broker’s office.

They didn’t order meals, though they might have drinks or snacks.

The reason was that the menu was essentially the same as outside food but much more expensive.

They believed the brokers were trying to rip off newcomers, so they ate outside the broker’s office whenever possible.

However, once mercenaries gained some financial stability, they began handling all their meals at the broker’s office.

Why?

Because it was delicious.

There was a misconception that establishments targeting mercenaries didn’t care about quality, but that wasn’t the case.

Mercenaries, who never knew when they might die, valued fleeting pleasures like good food, drinks, sexual desires, and sleep.

They didn’t hesitate to spend money, believing there was no tomorrow, and they didn’t compromise on quality.

Meals always had to be delicious, prostitution always fresh, and sleeping areas always cozy.

Mercenaries with limited funds might not care, but once they had some disposable income, they never compromised in these areas.

Because of this, the broker’s food was of considerable quality.

Not only was the price reasonable, but the taste was also outstanding for the cost.

Especially since many mercenaries were heavy drinkers or picky gourmets, satisfying their palates was a testament to the food’s quality.

After finishing his explanation, Amon took another bite of his hotdog.

Listening to Amon, Cash looked at the bite marks on her sandwich and spoke.

“I’m sorry, I guess I was acting out earlier.”

Amon tilted his head, puzzled.

She then shared her situation with Amon.

“I mean earlier when I caused a scene. I actually thought I had to bother you like other mercenaries to prove myself.”

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

She wasn’t a mercenary yet, nor did she have any connections.

She had to leave home due to her family’s circumstances and chose mercenary work to make a living—a common story among cyberpunk youths.

At the broker’s office, she bought drinks for some adventurers to gather information about mercenaries.

“Mercenaries just need to be good at shooting and handling swords. Instead of spending time on delicate tasks for requests, just increase your firepower.”

“Mercenaries are often disregarded wherever they go, so never underestimate them.”

As she recounted her story, a cactus-headed man pointed at Amon, who had just arrived at work.

“As long as you don’t become like that idiot, you’ll be fine.”

With that, the cactus-headed man and his colleagues laughed.

According to the cactus-headed man, Amon had boldly declared he would become a mercenary but had never completed a single request.

He only did safe jobs like delivery for the broker’s office, earning no achievements compared to other mercenaries.

“Coming to kill people but not willing to risk your own life.”

With that, the cactus-headed man took a drink.

Then, seemingly remembering something, he spoke to Cash.

“Oh, right. Sis. How about using this chance to step on that guy?”

He suggested that the best way to follow the mercenary rule of never underestimating was to crush such idiots, persuading Cash.

At that moment, as the cactus-headed man said, mercenaries at the pub were harassing Amon.

Therefore, Cash had no choice but to believe the cactus-headed man’s words completely.

“I’m sorry…”

She felt sorry for someone she didn’t even know, but she had to survive as a mercenary, so she had to provoke Amon.

She firmly believed this was a rite of passage.

And the result was what it was now.

The cactus-headed man, who had been boasting about it as a tip, fled the broker’s office with his clown nose, and the mercenaries who underestimated Amon were powerless once Amon drew his sword.

On the contrary, Amon was calmly eating his sandwich as if the harassment was nothing, while veteran mercenaries were sharing tips with her.

In this situation, it was clear whose advice was more correct.

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

Cash bowed her head deeply.

Her black hair hung freely down.

Amon, looking at her crown, was utterly bewildered.

“What’s a hotdog got to do with a tip…”

Of course, Amon learned this fact thanks to a veteran mercenary who cast ‘Hum Bluff’ while running errands, but this didn’t mean Amon was a veteran mercenary.

Nevertheless, Cash was determined.

“No. That was enough for me to be sure.”

In hindsight, the cactus-headed man’s advice had no practicality.

He only talked about bizarre ways to act tough, claiming it was the industry’s norm, without explaining how to handle actual requests.

In contrast, Amon provided practical information from the very first conversation.

Moreover, she had clearly seen the sword Amon used when he threatened the cactus-headed man.

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

‘No wonder the strong-looking mercenaries don’t mess with this person.’

Upon reflection, only the ordinary thugs without impressive equipment or brutal implants bothered Amon.

Mercenaries with good equipment or fearsome implants had never dared to touch Amon.

Perhaps they recognized the sword hanging from Amon’s waist.

She couldn’t have noticed it until Amon drew the sword from his sheath.

Only then did she realize the sword’s value.

It wasn’t a sword that an equivalent-level mercenary would carry.

At least platinum-grade or higher was necessary to be usable.

‘Could be a retired or escaped megacorp ninja.’

In this world, the performance of equipment was directly tied to the user’s skill.

At the point where he was using such equipment, Amon’s skills were as good as a sure bet.

The fact that ninjas retire or disappear to become mercenaries due to various unpleasant circumstances was more common than expected, so her thinking was natural.

Therefore, she couldn’t afford to let go of Amon.

Learning mercenary work from Amon would be much more helpful for survival than dealing with mediocre, foolish, equivalent-grade mercenaries.

At least, that was her conviction.

She pleaded with Amon.

“I’m determined to survive as a mercenary.”

Unlike other mercenaries for some reason, her sole purpose was simply to survive.

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

She just wanted to live safely and make a living.

It was absurd that someone chose the dangerous job of a mercenary with such a mindset, but she was serious.

Her earnestness reached Amon well.

Amon, being a kind person, couldn’t bring himself to coldly reject her request.

‘She seems like a good person…’

In the cyberpunk mercenary industry, admitting one’s mistakes and apologizing put someone in the top 1% of character.

He thought of the characters he met in games and the mercenaries he met in this world.

“I won’t bother apologizing for the lack of information. Isn’t that why the pay was high?”

“Aren’t we both using each other anyway? There’s a saying: yesterday’s friend is tomorrow’s enemy.”

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

***

[Shit.]

Among these bastards, Cash was not even in the 1%, let alone 0.1%.

Cash passed the character aspect.

Amon pounded the calculator.

‘Is it really okay to take her along?’

The conclusion was better than expected.

She wasn’t asking to be taken to a dungeon, nor was she asking to be sent on dangerous missions.

After all, what Amon was doing was relatively safe errands.

What she was asking was to watch Amon’s errands from the side to build her basic mercenary skills.

There seemed to be no particular disadvantage for Amon to take her along.

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

“Alright. Then let’s go together.”

Amon thought, ‘No way something bad will happen during an errand.’

“Shit. That’s not what I was thinking.”

A foul curse escaped from the mouth of a devout believer.

Hiding his body in a large trash can in the alley, he heard a mechanical voice from afar.

Tadadadang!

“Come out, you fucking bastards!!!”

A gang member, pointing a gun into the air, roared loudly.

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

‘You damn bastard. You cause trouble even when you’re leaving.’

Amon recalled how the situation had deteriorated to this point.

Originally, it was a simple errand.

When a mercenary fetched an item, they would meet with Amon and hand over the item.

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

It wasn’t her first errand, and the mercenary broker’s owner boasted that it was a very safe errand.

However, for the safety of this errand, a minimum condition had to be met.

The mercenary shouldn’t be a moron.

The problem was that this mercenary was an extraordinarily ridiculous moron, enough to break the odds.

‘What the hell is that bastard doing!!’

That mercenary was an equivalent-grade mercenary.

One that the broker’s owner commonly referred to as part of the current generation of equivalent-grade mercenaries.

He was also a moron who had not even completed basic training and was solidly convinced that mercenaries just needed to shoot guns.

How he understood the mission to fetch an item, he went to the gang and shot guns.

It was definitely a normal ‘transaction.’

A truly safe transaction where you just have to fetch the item.

The client was from the light side, and the gang was from the dark side, so the mercenary only needed to act as a bridge between the two, making it a very simple transaction.

Even the parties involved were normal humans.

The client handed over a credit card for the transaction without any intention of misusing the money, and the gang just intended to quietly deliver the item.

Only, the mercenary was an unimaginably ridiculous moron.

Perhaps he developed some sense of justice, or he had resentment towards the client or the gang, or he interpreted the word ‘transaction’ in his own bizarre way.

Or perhaps he suddenly developed greed for the credit card and the item that were handed to him.

It was an item that could be obtained by paying money, but he unnecessarily started shooting guns amidst the gang.

And then he died.

There would be no way to understand the mercenary’s fleeting thoughts in the moment he turned into a beehive.

The problem was that the mercenary’s trouble didn’t end there.

The gang, whose rage reached the top of their heads, judged this as the mercenary broker’s gun and used the mercenary’s signal.

They called Amon, claiming to have completed the mission while pretending to be a mercenary.

Thinking it was a safe errand, Amon went to deliver the payment, but found the equivalent-grade mercenary’s head stuck on the front of his car, and the gang pointing guns.

“Hey, you fucking bastards! Isn’t this how you mercenary bastards are!!”

That was the sound heard when a gang member, who had never met Amon and Cash before, pointed a gun at them.

Through the dead mercenary’s head and the gang member’s words, Amon could grasp the entire situation.

‘Fuck you, cyberpunk…’

Amon repeated countless curses today.

In cyberpunk, misunderstandings were very common.

It’s everyday here for relationships to get twisted because of one thing, but perhaps due to being fed up with peace, they forgot that fact.

Explanation?

Could you communicate with a gang that’s pointing guns and acting crazy?

The mercenary who acted suddenly died alone like that?

That wasn’t the cyberpunk way of solving things.

Misunderstandings weren’t resolved through conversation.

The way to resolve misunderstandings was with fists, blood, and money.

Of course, Amon didn’t have that much money, so only fists and blood were left as options.

‘Do I have to kill the gang?’

It’s not impossible.

If he set his mind, he could clear out the five gang members in this alley.

But doing so would make the broker’s office and the gang very pissed off.

‘There’s no other choice…’

Blood was out of the question.

All that remained was fists.

‘The boss will somehow handle the gang leader.’

If I don’t kill them, forgiveness is easy.

I can’t save the dead, but I can somehow reverse the disabled.

Even if my bones are broken and my lower body is paralyzed, as long as I have breath, misunderstandings can be resolved through conversation later.

It was another way to resolve misunderstandings in cyberpunk.

Gathering his resolve, Amon turned his gaze to the side.

Next to him, Cash was trembling while holding a handgun.

She hadn’t even disengaged the safety, and her hand was on the trigger, indicating she hadn’t received proper firearm training.

‘Was it really true that she was a novice mercenary…’

How did such a girl become a mercenary?

Thinking that, Amon grabbed her handgun.

As his hand touched it, she was startled.

Amon whispered to her.

“Could you lend me the gun for a moment?”

Amon’s eyes, full of confidence, instilled trust in her.

She relaxed her grip on the gun.

Amon nodded and took the gun.

“Stay quiet here.”

Saying that it would be over in 15 minutes, Amon stuck his head out beyond the trash can.

As soon as he confirmed that the gang’s gaze was no longer on him, he immediately climbed the nearby wall.

Stabbing a dagger into the wall to forcibly create a foothold, he quickly disappeared through a window on the third floor of the abandoned building.

While Cash was astonished by Amon’s actions, Amon quietly checked his pocket in the shadow of the abandoned building.

‘A magazine of handguns.’

That was sufficient.

Recalling the bat-human’s non-lethal killing method in a corner of his head, he jumped over to the building across.