Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Southern Dipper
The jackal’s expression shifted slightly.
As one of the most renowned intermediaries in the entire Deep Moss District, the moment the refrigerated box was opened, he recognized the origins of those three severed heads.
Grove, Jariden, Taddy.
They were the leader and core members of the Cross Tiger Gang.
His artificial eye’s pupil flickered briefly, as if sending a message, then he raised his hand to signal.
Soon, a man dressed as a wine attendant brought over a silver tray and placed a bottle of deep red wine on the table.
“Have a taste. It’s said to be stock from back when Fengmao Banquet was still thriving before its bankruptcy and collapse. Such wine is rarely seen on the market nowadays.”
Saying that, the jackal uncorked the bottle, poured himself a glass, and drank it all at once in front of his guest.
Fengmao Banquet.
This once-mighty enterprise monopolized raw material production, restaurant operations, and cross-channel food sales, only to fall during the “Second Comprehensive Corporate War” forty-nine years ago.
High-end wine was naturally among its many product lines.
Song Shi casually filled a glass and drank it down as well.
“How does it taste?” the jackal asked with a slight smile.
“Not bad, though I’m not much of a drinker,” Song Shi replied.
He then straightened his posture and lightly tapped a finger on the table.
“The Cross Tiger Gang’s base has been severely damaged, their leader dead. I imagine this news will attract considerable interest.”
“Business can certainly be discussed, but…” The jackal’s smile deepened, leaving his sentence hanging.
“Before coming, I heard the ‘Jackal’ was the cleanest and most efficient intermediary. That’s why I brought these here.” Song Shi gestured toward the refrigerated box. Though his tone was even, a noticeable chill lingered beneath his words. “But now it seems one can’t rely too much on ‘reputation’ alone.”
The jackal still wore a smile, unfazed by the coldness. He even poured himself another glass of wine before speaking.
“If mere ‘reputation’ were enough, then intermediaries like me would have no reason to exist.”
“That’s true,” Song Shi nodded and suddenly leaned back into the sofa.
He raised a finger and tapped it upward, sighing, “The outside world is getting worse and worse. That’s why I want to find a new place to live—what do you think, Mr. Jackal?”
***
Outside of Paloser…?
Could he be from the Wastelands, or another city?
Hearing this, the jackal pondered and began to grasp the situation.
To make a living in Paloser through personal combat, being a mercenary was a decent choice. After all, the mercenary profession was highly flexible—taking on bounties during the day didn’t prevent robbing banks with a mask at night.
As one of the most famous intermediaries, having mercenaries under his name—“Jackal”—was both a symbol of capability and a guarantee of task acceptance and resource acquisition.
With these thoughts in mind, the jackal’s smile faded a bit.
At that moment, a communication popped up on his retina.
Scanning the message without a flicker of emotion, the jackal contemplated before speaking slowly.
“Looking for a new work environment? Understandable. Not everyone enjoys the same monotonous life, and Paloser can accommodate newcomers.”
His gaze shifted to the refrigerated box.
“But the ‘work’ itself isn’t urgent. Let’s first discuss this—”
“Those who got the news from you and rushed to seize the Cross Tiger Gang’s spoils—I want half.”
Ignoring the shift in topic, Song Shi raised a finger and stated calmly, “I dislike bargaining, so that’s my price. No more, no less.”
“...Seizing the spoils?” The jackal paused, shaking his head slightly. “That price is vague and hard to define. The other party probably wouldn’t accept it.”
“But I trust the ‘Jackal’ will handle the pricing.”
“If you want to add something,” Song Shi chuckled softly, straightening up, “just send them those pictures. It’s been some time, and I assume you’ve already had someone gather evidence, haven’t you?”
He recalled the earlier drone footage showing the frozen warehouse in chaos, littered with severed limbs and wreckage.
The jackal felt a chill, though not due to the scene itself.
He had witnessed far worse in terms of bloodshed and cruelty—what truly surprised him was that the battle inside the warehouse was clearly the work of a single person.
To defeat the Cross Tiger Gang singlehandedly…
That was formidable.
“This matter is complicated, so I’ll take a tenth of the spoils.” The jackal pushed aside his wine glass and straightened up, then added, “That’s also the ‘Sunday’ rule.”
“Oh?”
Song Shi raised an eyebrow.
***
“I handle two kinds of business here: one in ‘Sunday,’ and the other elsewhere.”
The jackal adjusted his collar, his expression growing serious.
“Only business of a certain level can be discussed inside ‘Sunday,’ and for such dealings, I take a variable cut depending on the circumstances.”
“Although your deal is a bit light, we are nonetheless seated in ‘Sunday.’”
“Hmm...” Song Shi nodded.
“Agreed.”
So the jackal pulled a dark gray magnetic card from his pocket and slid it across the table.
“This is my card. You can contact me through the communication code on it.”
“The specific profit numbers, payment methods, and follow-ups will be settled within three days. Also, future jobs will come through this account—do you have any taboos about assignments?”
“Taboos... I’ll decide based on the situation.”
After reaching a certain understanding, their conversation sped up, and the deal was quickly finalized.
Declining a second drink offer, Song Shi rose.
Watching the other man’s retreating figure toward the door, the jackal suddenly raised his voice.
“One more thing.”
“What should I call you, friend?”
Song Shi paused.
He slightly lifted his head, as if recalling something while silently praying toward a morning chapel.
Then, without hesitation the next moment, the young man stepped through the door and into the torrential rain.
Only one voice echoed, lingering in the alcohol-scented air.
“Freelance bounty hunter...”
“Nan Dou.”