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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Simzy
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California, a sanctuary for mercenaries.
Countless mercenaries headed to the mercenary brokerage early in the morning, jostling with ordinary office workers and self-employed individuals on buses and subways.
While a large-scale population shift occurred as the morning sun rose,
Amon and Sonia’s morning came relatively late.
“Mmm…”
“You’re up?”
Amon, having finished his morning prayers, prepared breakfast for Sonia.
Sonia’s departure for school was always later than others.
Regardless of what the Vatican, which provided her scholarship, might think, she had no intention of becoming an elite paladin by attending a seminary.
All she needed was divine magic, and nothing more.
Therefore, there was no need for her to cram her schedule with lectures, considering her grades.
Consequently, she enjoyed a much more relaxed and comfortable timetable than her peers, with a later morning and an earlier evening.
Even so, the Vatican couldn’t bring itself to cut off its support for her.
It was the Vatican that needed her.
‘They must consider her potential quite high, like mine.’
Amon didn’t know what kind of report the priest had submitted, but the Vatican seemed to value its relationship with Sonia as well as with Amon.
Otherwise, they wouldn’t let her be so lax, as long as she maintained the minimum graduation credits.
“Yawn~”
“Wake up. You’ve got jam on your lips.”
Wiping the sleepy Sonia’s lips, the two finished their slightly late breakfast.
After getting ready, the two started their day an hour later than others.
“Have a good day~ Be good at school~”
“You too, be careful~”
Sonia headed to the academy, and Amon headed to the mercenary brokerage.
A month had passed since Sonia entered the seminary and Amon became a mercenary.
Despite that short period, Amon learned a lot.
‘I was a frog in a well.’
His fashion sense was a problem, but more significantly, his lack of understanding of the contemporary mercenary industry was a bigger issue.
Amon, whose knowledge had been stuck in the settings of 50 years ago, had been confident that he had updated his information through internet searches, but that was his arrogance.
The mercenary industry, where information and equipment performance were directly linked, had advanced far beyond what Amon had imagined.
It was said that engineering had developed exponentially worldwide during the world war.
In a world where daily life was no different from war, technology was developing at a similar pace.
‘It wasn’t just simple weapons…’
Weapon systems hadn’t changed completely, nor had the laws of physics drastically altered in 50 years.
Bullets still flew by the explosive power of gunpowder, and if that wasn’t enough, magic was added to the mix.
Those unsatisfied with cybernetic implants added magic tattoos to add special functions to their bodies, and some overcame human limitations through genetic modification procedures.
Up to this point, his knowledge from 50 years ago held true.
But what had changed in this world?
It was the existence of Entities.
Entities weren’t just exploited in power plants.
Any usable parts of their bodies, or the byproducts they produced, were incorporated into tools whenever possible.
The mercenaries’ equipment was no different.
Their equipment had functionalities Amon couldn’t have predicted.
‘Even that gorilla had a storage effect using the infinite storage function…’
Amon recalled the crazy gorilla he had faced long ago.
In the mercenary industry, it was standard practice to illegally modify grenade launcher implants to add an infinite storage function.
However, since it was strictly speaking an illegal modification, it wouldn’t show up in internet searches, and it was a secret only known among mercenaries.
If he hadn’t neutralized the grenade launcher first back then, Amon’s corpse would likely have been placed next to an unnamed police officer fragment.
Realizing this, Amon revised his plan to rush into dungeons as soon as he became a mercenary.
There were still too many things Amon didn’t know about this world.
Not only did he have to be wary of dungeon monsters, but also of people. If he jumped in without knowing much, the chances of him getting backstabbed and killed were high.
Therefore, Amon decided to build up his foundation slowly.
The errand boy work he had been doing since the old days.
From there, he progressed slightly, becoming an errand boy who not only handled chores but also delivered commission rewards.
When a mercenary completed a request, he would depart from Pavaloma to confirm completion and deliver the reward to the mercenary.
Depending on the request, he sometimes had the opportunity to observe the process of the mercenary carrying out the request.
After a month of repeating this, he earned a nickname.
‘Pavaloma’s Dog’
It was a play on Pavlov’s dog.
When a mercenary who completed a request rang the signal, Amon would appear with the reward, so it was actually quite similar.
While there were many other errand runners, Amon was the only one with this nickname because he was a mercenary.
He had proudly received his mercenary license on the first day, but what he was actually doing was errands.
The mercenaries mocked Amon, calling him a coward.
Amon was well aware of this nickname attached to him.
How could he not know when they openly teased him?
Ring, ring.
“Hey, dog. Bring me some booze.”
A mercenary who entered Pavaloma rang the signal and called out to Amon.
Amon, with a pleasant smile, complied with the request.
On his way to deliver the booze, a mercenary deliberately bumped into him, causing some of the alcohol to spill.
Amon didn’t show any reaction to their harassment and steadfastly continued his errand boy work.
Payback is a must. Otherwise, they’ll see you as easy prey.
In the rough mercenary industry where this phrase was a virtue, Amon’s actions only fueled the mercenaries’ sadism.
A harmless toy they could torment without consequence.
That was Amon’s reputation among the mercenaries.
Despite this reputation, Amon had never gotten angry.
This wasn’t because he was saintly.
On the contrary, Amon preferred action to words.
The reason he suppressed his anger and endured was simple.
‘They’re all low-class guys who are going to die soon anyway.’
There was nothing more wasteful than getting angry at someone who was about to die.
Amon wasn’t doing anything special to them.
It was simply that the mercenaries who harassed Amon were all low rank, and their deaths were the natural order of cyberpunk.
‘Idiots who don’t know how important the basics are…’
They saw Amon as nothing more than a delivery boy carrying reward envelopes, so they mocked him like that. But errands weren’t just simple deliveries. Why would they use Amon if that were the case? They could just use a regular delivery service.
To hand over the completion reward, it was necessary to check whether the request was properly completed and if any problems arose during the process.
This couldn’t be done with delivery personnel who lacked relevant knowledge, so often, lower-tier mercenaries of the same rank were tasked with it.
The errand-running mercenary sent to the scene learned how a particular request should ideally be completed, which weapons were suitable for specific situations, etc., while delivering the reward.
Besides that, there were secret contact methods, ideal infiltration routes, small tips between mercenaries, and procedures for accepting and completing requests.
There were many basics to learn during errands.
In fact, those who called Amon a coward were often blinded by their admiration for mercenaries and the ease of access, unaware of the dangers involved.
Such individuals often ended up being picked up by garbage trucks and dumped in landfills or sewers without Amon having to lift a finger.
Moreover, Amon was confident in his methods.
The owner of Pavaloma supported Amon’s approach.
“These youngsters these days…”
Amon recalled what the owner of Pavaloma had said.
“If you’re going to work as a mercenary, you should build up your foundation step by step like you do. Youngsters these days don’t know the importance of the basics.”
The old man in the wheelchair had said that, 50 years ago, bronze-rank mercenaries would be given errands to gradually gain experience.
Amon was following that practice because it was a setting he saw in Cyberpunk 3.
However, after the legendary mercenary, known as the Mercenary King, ushered in the era of the great mercenary, everyone and their dog flocked to mercenary brokerages wanting to become mercenaries.
Since then, bronze-rank mercenaries no longer bothered with tedious chores like errands.
Many grabbed guns and knives as soon as they registered, jumping straight into missions, and they ridiculed those who remained at the brokerage, building their foundation through errands, as cowards.
As this trend continued for 50 years, the act of building a foundation through chores became seen as foolish among bronze-rank mercenaries.
Most brokerages didn’t bother interfering with this trend.
There were plenty of applicants.
The good ones survived, and the talentless ones were found in landfills or sewers.
However, the owner of Pavaloma, with his strong pride as a mercenary brokerage owner, thought differently.
“Anyway, I don’t like it.”
The old man grumbled as he maneuvered his wheelchair.
In the past, even bronze-rank mercenaries had a basic level of competency, but nowadays, they skipped the basics and often failed in the covert contact phase because they lacked knowledge.
Therefore, covert requests that would have been entrusted to bronze-rank mercenaries in the past were now rarely given to anyone below Silver rank.
Even Silver ranks were just fledgling mercenaries, so he couldn’t trust anyone but Gold ranks, the owner complained.
Amon sympathized with the owner’s feelings.
Amon also played through the era the owner was from, and the owner, before becoming a grumpy old man, was a legendary mercenary.
He was in a wheelchair now, but he was the protagonist’s supporter in the true ending of Cyberpunk 3.
In the true ending, the protagonist went missing as an internationally wanted criminal, so the old man hid that fact, but Amon knew.
Therefore, Amon listened attentively to the old man’s words.
‘He has a sharp tongue, but his pride is genuine.’
There was no way he would send Amon on a dangerous errand.
Rather, he would send him to places where he could build a solid foundation.
As proof, Amon had never been in danger during his month of running errands.
Furthermore, some of the mercenaries the owner sent him to were good people, providing Amon with various helpful tips.
Thanks to this, Amon was able to steadily build the foundation of a mercenary for a month without any problems.
Perhaps he would continue this until the owner told him it was enough.
With such thoughts, Amon silently carried out his errands.
Suppressing his anger while making the sign of the cross.
However, that day was different.
“Hey, religious nut.”
“?”
Amon turned his head at the voice coming from behind.
While it might not have been directed at him, he felt a bit self-conscious.
Turning around, his gaze met a woman’s.
‘Hmm. It was me.’
A woman, who clearly had business with him, was glaring at him with furrowed brows.
She was a beautiful woman with distinctive black hair and red eyes.
When Amon reacted, she abruptly spoke to him.
“Is this a church? What are you doing making the sign of the cross?”
What?
Why is she picking a fight?
Amon was confused.
Was it just because he seemed easy to target?
That was probably the most likely scenario. These mercenary bastards tripped him, poured tomato soup on his head, and did all sorts of things all the time, so it was understandable that they’d find fault with him making the sign of the cross.
But aside from those feelings, Amon’s mouth moved naturally.
“The Lord said that our temple is always within our hearts.”
He couldn’t say that he was making the sign of the cross because he was trying to suppress his anger, so he tried to phrase it as nicely as possible.
But his answer didn’t seem to please her.
“Huh, you religious nuts always say that. Then, was it also your God who told my mom to donate all of my dad’s property to the church? To expand her inner temple?”
“Oh dear… such a thing…”
Amon was genuinely saddened by her words.
“I don’t know the details, but if that’s what happened, then I have nothing to say even if you call me a religious nut.”
At first glance, her words might have sounded like an insult to the Goddess.
But Amon wasn’t confused about his standards for blasphemy.
Blasphemy was using the Goddess’s name to commit evil deeds and using it as a shield, or insulting the name without reason.
Compared to that, the woman’s words were ambiguous as blasphemy. If a believer did shameful things in the name of the Goddess, it was natural for them to be criticized. The Goddess might be perfect, but humans were not.
Amon, who considered himself a devout believer, humbly accepted her criticism.
Her anger, in Amon’s view, was justified.
However, the woman across from Amon was utterly perplexed.
She had expected some kind of rebuttal, but he accepted it so readily?
Flustered by the unexpected reaction, her words stumbled.
“Uh…”
At that moment, another cactus-haired mercenary behind her joined the conversation.
“What? So I can curse too? Because of that bitch, my life is so messed up- Cough!”
Thwack.
His words were cut short.
Amon, who had released his sword from its scabbard, tripped the mercenary with the scabbard, and pressed it against his throat.
He placed the cool tip of his sword against the mercenary’s mouth, and Amon spoke to him.
“Your tongue is cursed. Shall I cut that viperous tongue in half?”
Amon’s blade lightly touched the cactus-haired mercenary’s nose.
Drip, drip.
Perhaps because it was the sword he’d brought from the Higzen Group security team, even a light touch was enough to cut through the cheap mercenary’s skin.
The mercenary’s face turned pale.
Careful not to get his nose cut off by the sword, he moved his lips, his pronunciation slurred.
“I’m sorry! I must have gone crazy… I’ll go to church and tithe properly, so please forgive me!”
At the cactus-haired mercenary’s desperate apology, Amon finished by leaving a vertical mark on his nose.
“There won’t be a next time.”
The cactus-haired mercenary desperately nodded his head.
Blood overflowed from the vertical wound, staining his nose red like a clown.
The mercenary, clutching his bleeding wound, fled the brokerage as if running for his life.
After the commotion ended, Amon wiped the blood off the tip of his sword with a handkerchief and turned back to the woman.
“Where were we?”
Amon smiled as he met her gaze.
Meanwhile, his hand continued to wipe the blood off his sword.
Seeing this, the woman thought.
‘Did I just provoke a crazy person?’
Surprisingly, it wasn’t far from the truth.
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