Wrapping Up: The Reason I Contracted with Ian
The reason I'd made a contract with Ian was because of a complete overhaul of my plans. To reach the core planets, I'd have to pass through at least two others. Getting to the heart of the Arkebalt Empire without a single credit to my name was impossible. Starting from scratch as a mercenary or taking odd jobs to scrape together funds would take far too long.
But what if I used the Errant Mercenary Group? I'd been betrayed once already, but excluding Marco, the rest of the crew hadn't left a bad impression. I was too worn down to fret over every potential betrayal, scheme, or scam. Join them, work together, and head toward the core planets. In that context, the contract with Ian was insurance against another Marco situation.
I'd just finished sorting through my thoughts when Ian spoke up.
"To get out of here, we have to go through the logistics warehouse."
He radioed his comrades.
Luca reported after checking the interior via drone.
Boom! A massive explosion rocked from outside.
Roena and Seriana burst in spectacularly, weapons in hand, drawing the enemies' attention.
"We're joining up. Can you fight?"
"What kind of question is that?"
Ian spun around without hesitation. Instead of following, I asked him one thing.
"Can I borrow your sword for a sec?"
"Sword?"
"Yeah. I'm mainly a sword user."
Ian shot me a sidelong glance. Using a sword in this era was rare. Swords were for enemies guns couldn't pierce—prosthetics laced with expensive True Silver. A sword made of the same True Silver could shatter them.
"A sword?"
"Just hand it over."
He hesitated briefly, then passed it to me. A black double-edged blade. At a glance, high-quality, mixed with True Silver for anti-prosthetic use. Tailored to prosthetic output, it was heavy.
Thud. I gripped it with both hands, but the tip hit the ground.
"Can't lift it."
"Knew it."
"...I could before."
"Who said otherwise?"
Ian moved out again. This time, I followed without protest.
Sword... later. Much later.
We descended the stairs to the ground level—the floor with the office I'd escaped from. Ian pointed to a door at the end of the hall.
"Out that door, straight to the warehouse."
He drew his pistol in one hand, sword in the other, and charged. I followed, rifle ready.
We kicked the door open into chaos. Bullets whizzed everywhere, scarring the space. Explosions boomed sporadically. Containers, materials, bodies strewn about. A shout echoed from a wall blasted open on one side.
"What are you doing? Hit something!"
"Can't see through the smoke! Fall back!"
"Enemies! Over here!"
Pure pandemonium. Maybe twenty people total, including those on the ground? The enemies had hunkered down for defense. Roena and Seriana were out of sight, probably trading fire from blind spots.
We jumped right in. Ian activated optical camouflage and rushed forward. I used a container for cover, laying down suppressing fire.
Bang bang!
"Behind! They're behind us!"
The enemies panicked. Ian reached them mid-freakout and swung.
Crunch.
The blade bit into their prosthetics. Invisible slashes from thin air swept through them.
"Wha—?"
"Something's there! Run!"
They scattered before the whirlwind of blades.
"Done?"
Thud thud. Heavy sounds from behind me. Something massive charging my way.
Tch. I whipped around and fired.
Rat-tat-tat!
The bullets hit but didn't penetrate. The enemy emerged: over two meters tall, massive prosthetic arms, crude armor on body and face, iron prosthetic legs. Over-modified, half-human already. Illegal slum job.
"What happened to Bashi?"
The brute stopped in front of me, unnaturally calm for his size.
"Killed him."
"I see. He was my friend. We built our business together, through thick and thin. I was the one protecting him—"
Chattering even now.
"Sorry, don't care."
"Don't interrupt!"
Bang!
"Kuhuhu. That toy gun won't work on me."
Why avoid illegal prosthetic mods? Body and mind affect each other. Mess up the body, the mind follows. Oversized prosthetics overload the brain, driving you mad. This guy's already gone.
He lunged fast despite his bulk.
Whirr! His steel fist accelerated toward me.
Do-or-die moment. Roena, who'd appeared beside me, shouted.
"Leah!"
No problem.
I crouched, coiling like a spring. Then—
Thwack! Boom!
The fist glanced off, ripping into the container. I backpedaled. My weapon: rifle. Target: joints.
Hard to hit from range.
Before he could free his arm, I charged. A watching enemy raised his fist, aiming.
Psssh!
"Rocket punch!"
His fist detached, rocketing at me.
"This—!"
Can't dodge. Then...
The fist flew fast.
Boom! Dust billowed, blinding us.
A silhouette cut through the haze. Ash-gray hair swayed, blue eyes flashed.
"Crazy bastard. Bye."
Muzzle flashed at the brute's neck.
Bang!
The giant slumped, powerless. Roena arrived as the dust cleared. Stunned that fragile-looking Leah could fight like that, she gaped at the scene.
"Leah! You okay?!"
The brute lay crumpled beside her; she stared down at the corpse, expressionless. No fatigue on her face. Just... one arm unnaturally short.
"Leah, your arm!"
But no blood flowed. Wires and gears peeked from the stump. Blue fluid dripped along them.
"...Prosthetic body?"
"Roena, good to see you. Enemies all down?"
I turned to her with a smile. Her momentum carried her response.
"Y-yeah... Leah! Your arm okay?"
I lifted the shattered left arm, showing the cross-section. Elbow down, gone—exposing intricate mechanisms.
Pain... It throbbed.
Even this is simulated?
Not bad, just bruise-level.
"No issue. Fixable."
"You... what are you?"
Seriana approached, enemies cleared. Purple light flickered in her cybernetic eye.
"No seams visible... that body's prosthetic too?"
"Later. I'll explain later. Let's go before it gets louder."
Ian arrived, lifting my broken arm.
"Right. Cops'll swarm soon."
"Hey, weren't you supposed to protect me?"
"Figured you could handle that much."
"Cheeky..."
"That's my line."
"What happened between you two? Why the fight?"
"Didn't I say hurry?"
"...Let's go."
At Seriana's word, we retreated fast. I naturally fell in with them. The Sakil district outskirts warehouse stood desolate, one wall blown out, oil, blood, and bullet scars everywhere. Its inevitable end.
A good while after the incident. A man in a black suit appeared alone.
"Yes, boss. We got hit."
He scanned the battle traces while talking on the phone. His voice echoed in the silence.
"Not cops."
"No remaining stock. Took delivery yesterday."
"Lost the agreed goods."
"Yes. I'll handle it."
The suited man hung up and headed deeper into the office. The top-floor room where Bashi lay. High-end furniture and shelves pocked with bullets.
"Tch, what a waste. No talent like Bashi."
His face showed no regret as he opened the safe. Gold bars, cash, documents inside. Ignoring the gold, he took only the ledger.
"Some puny mercenary pulls off something this bold."
He pulled a round object from his pocket and vanished leisurely. Round devices dropped in his wake.
Soon—
Boom!
A massive blast buried the battle scars. By the time the city police sirens wailed belatedly, nothing remained.