Chapter 61: Bounty Hunter and Missions

Before he had ever smelled blood, Zong Jing had never imagined that killing could be such a wonderful thing.

The sharp iron blade sliced through his windpipe, cutting through the slick layers of fat and muscle. He watched the crimson blood gush out, savoring the heady fragrance that filled the air for a fleeting moment.

It was a pity that those self-proclaimed “righteous” types wouldn’t allow him to indulge.

When his master and senior brothers discovered that he had secretly killed more than a dozen people, all their usual warmth and kindness vanished. They berated him as they wounded him with all manner of “hidden weapons”—

Just as he’d thought. They were all a bunch of hypocrites! Their past kindness had been nothing but an act to fool him!

But it didn’t matter. Even if they had expelled him from their so-called “righteous” sect, he had once stumbled across a demonic martial art called the “Great Divine Demon Tribulation Art.” So it was fine! It didn’t matter!

Since you all call me a “demon,” then from this day on, I’ll become a real demon and show you what that means! Hahahahaha—

—BOOM!

A deafening crash rang out!

Zong Jing’s eyes snapped open. The door to his rented room at the “inn” had just been blown to pieces!

He rolled out of bed, ready to activate his “demonic art” and draw his “hidden weapons.” But in the next instant, a streak of icy light slashed through the air amid the storm of splintered doorwood!

As the blade of cold light came down toward him, an overwhelming sense of death welled up in Zong Jing’s heart.

Yet in that instant, he roared instead. A member of the “demon sect” was supposed to defy heaven itself! To seek life in the jaws of death!

“Behold my Great Divine Demon Fist—!”

He had already poured every ounce of power into his “demonic art,” but the next moment, the arm he had thrust forward was sliced cleanly in two! Milky-white synthetic blood and mechanical components sprayed in every direction!

The long blade did not slow. It plunged straight into Zong Jing’s chest, pinning him back onto the bed just as he had leapt up.

“Y-you... What kind of divine weapon is that? How can it pierce my protective energy...?”

“First of all, your name isn’t Zong Jing. Your real name is Kalloda.”

Song Shi looked down at the man before him: a bald, burly figure in a heavy leather coat, trembling from head to toe.

“Nor are you some martial arts master who abandoned the righteous path for the demonic one. A week ago, you were a wanted fugitive suspected of seven offenses, including murder, robbery, and possession of prohibited items. Of course, given the state of Paloser, the Security Bureau’s response to most criminals is limited to putting up a wanted notice.”

“Lies! Utter nonsense! You won’t shake my faith!”

“But you were unlucky. Four days ago, after a home invasion, rape, and murder, you ran into a regional patrol officer from the Security Bureau. A firefight followed, but you managed to escape. Your injuries were too severe for you to take your time choosing a cybernetic surgeon, so you had to settle for a back-alley doctor nearby.”

“Unfortunately, the doctor wasn’t very reliable. The brain-computer interface he installed in you had been ripped from the corpse of a cyberpsycho with a severe case of ‘personality recognition disorder,’ brought on by an obsession with the immersive-simulation film The Great Demon Lord.”

“You were badly wounded. By the time you’d spent two days recovering, your neural pathways had already begun to synchronize and fuse with the interface. Your memories became jumbled, and everyone looked like one of the ‘righteous’ people hunting you down. So after shooting a few passersby, you hid in this ‘inn.’”

“Of course, this kind of scavenged equipment is cheap and highly profitable, so I can’t say I don’t understand—”

“What are you trying to do?!”

“—What am I trying to do?”

Song Shi repeated the question with a laugh. “I’ve already put my blade through your heart, and you’re still asking what I’m trying to do?”

“You may be half a cyberpsycho now, but I don’t buy that ‘the mentally ill are innocent’ routine. Besides, you killed plenty of people before this.”

“The people you killed weren’t exactly rich or powerful. You knew perfectly well who you could mess with and who you couldn’t. You did your research before striking.”

“So they pooled their money and put a job on the Jackal’s board. The price was decent, so I took it.”

“Zong Jing”—or rather, “Kalloda”—stared wide-eyed. He glanced around and suddenly realized that the decor in this “inn” was strange. Why hadn’t he noticed before?

Could it be that he really wasn’t...?

Song Shi didn’t waste another word. He pulled his blade free, ending the man’s life for good.

In the wall-mounted mirror of the cramped rental room, Song Shi’s full reflection came into view—

Compared to a short while ago, his appearance had changed considerably.

Five days had passed since the night he met the Jackal.

The Jackal had certainly lived up to his reputation as one of the most renowned fixers in the Deep Moss District. He was quick and efficient, transferring the full payment on the morning of the third day: 1.1 million credits.

It wasn’t a huge sum, but it was far from small. It could even buy an older model of powered exoskeleton armor—though that would be the bare frame, without any of the mounted equipment, enhancement modules, or tactical configurations. Those were bottomless money pits.

In short, Song Shi had used the payment to give his gear a thorough overhaul.

The dark-gray monomolecular blade in his hand was a Steel Raven, made by the high-end weapons supplier Platinum Works. Four feet long and one inch wide, it had a triple monomolecular coating, a matte finish, and a rippling cloud pattern. It cost 43,000 credits.

Leaving aside impure weapons like high-frequency blades, plasma swords, kinetic chainsaw axes, and electric halberds, among the more orthodox melee weapons, the Steel Raven was unquestionably top-tier.

Judging by the price, it was roughly five times better than Milton’s.

Next came the powered armguards.

Song Shi had also bought a White Armor V, the latest model in the White Armor line, with performance metrics that outclassed the Type III across the board.

With credits paving the way, Amikaba personally removed the factory-set power limiters on both powered armguards. He also fitted the Type III with a “retractable armored prism shield” capable of withstanding light fire for a short time.

Both armguards also received a general tune-up and reinforcement.

The two remaining new pieces of equipment were tactical boots with some movement-assist capability and a close-fitting protective suit.

The boots had built-in supports to help generate force. The suit was made from a high-grade specialty composite fiber with excellent resistance to impacts and cuts. It didn’t impede movement and could stop most stray bullets.

Yes, stray bullets.

If he tried to stand in front of a full barrage from a large-caliber assault rifle, he’d still be riddled with holes.

There was one other thing.

With Amikaba’s help, Song Shi had had his brain-computer interface removed.

Song Shi wasn’t some “classical” psychic, and he had no objection to implants or augmentation surgery. But everything depended on being able to control them.

Given his current circumstances, keeping a “brain-computer interface” that could be hacked was far too dangerous.

He had also picked up a few odds and ends.

All told, he had spent a little over half a million credits.

That really wasn’t much. Considering the risks of losing control or being hacked, Song Shi had chosen not to buy any cybernetic implants. They were expensive and could boost one’s strength quickly, but aside from the Transcendence and Consensus Paths, they weren’t especially suited to a loner like him.

Beep-beep—

“You have a new call, from the Jackal—”

Click.

Song Shi pulled a small, flat rectangular mobile device, about half the size of his palm, from his pocket and pressed the call button. A hundred years ago, before cybernetic technology had matured, these mobile communication devices—then known as “phones”—had been everywhere. These days, hardly anyone used them.

For portability, they couldn’t compete with brain-computer interfaces that integrated a host of functions. For specialized use, they fell short of network supercomputing terminals equipped with advanced processing power and dedicated features.

“The target’s been taken care of. I’ll send you the coordinates. Have someone go over and handle the body and confirm the job.”

“That fast? Good. I’ll send someone over. Once we’ve confirmed it, the ten thousand credits will be transferred.”

“Right... By the way, how’s that favor I asked you about coming along?”

“Well, ordinary rubies and red agate are easy enough to find, but you asked for as much natural material as possible. That makes things a little tricky—”

“Money’s no problem.”

“That’s not what I meant... But don’t worry. We’ve got the first batch. It’ll arrive tomorrow night. Should I put it in a locker?”

“That works. Thanks.”

“No trouble. Anyway, back to business. There’s a rather urgent job right now. South Dipper, are you interested?”

“Urgent?”

“Yeah, and it’s connected to a corporation.”

Song Shi narrowed his eyes.

“Which one?”

There was a brief pause on the other end.

“Emerald Pharmaceuticals.”