Cyberpunk and Mercenaries
"Think it's about time we hit a dungeon," Amon said to Sonia, who sat across from him, as he ate the chicken salad served for dinner.
Sonia's reaction was subdued. She had known this day would come eventually. In this world, there were two main ways to grow stronger. One was to undergo augmentation procedures like magic tattoos, cybernetic enhancements, or genetic modifications. But Amon and Sonia had no intention of doing that. Each procedure came with fatal drawbacks. Magic tattoos constantly drained energy just from breathing and had terrible efficiency, making daily life a hassle. Cybernetic enhancements were way too vulnerable to hacking and EMPs. Genetic mods warped your appearance away from human form and triggered specific allergies.
If Amon and Sonia were ordinary humans, they might've gritted their teeth and gone through with it despite the flaws. But they were Divine Power users. Their ceiling was high enough already—why embrace those downsides? That left only one path to true strength: harvesting Essence from dungeons.
Unlike augmentations, it offered no guaranteed stable results, the power gains were far smaller, and the mortality rate was sky-high. That's why the standard play was to get augmented first, then farm Essence. But Amon was different. He'd already proven his combat chops in the Hickzen Group's dungeon. So Sonia wasn't surprised he'd go dungeon-diving for Essence himself. It could've happened any day now, which explained her calm response.
Still, there was one thing she needed to nail down before he left.
"How long? You're not staying overnight, are you?"
Dungeons in this world weren't that deep. They were just failed labs or company buildings that had ruptured—round trip in a day, tops. At least, when they were fresh. Depending on the boss, most dungeons grew deeper over time. No boss worth its salt would stick around in a spot conquerable in a day. Most expanded their nests like queen ants, making them more complex and delving ever downward.
"From what I hear, it's about four days round trip deep."
Her golden eyes fixed on him, brimming with obvious disappointment. Meeting that gaze, Amon gave a wry smile.
"Don't worry. It won't be that bad. This time, we're just dipping our toes in—right back from the entrance."
Amon definitely wanted to get stronger. But at the same time, he wanted to live long and happy. No way was he rushing in to headbutt a dungeon boss and risk a game over. There was no rush anyway. Always safe. That was his motto.
Only after hearing he'd be back in a day did Sonia let out a relieved sigh.
At the orphanage, she'd always slept surrounded by big sisters, big brothers, and little siblings. Even after graduating, she wasn't sharing a room anymore, but she'd grown used to living under the same roof as Amon. Being left alone at home... she wasn't quite accustomed to that yet. Or maybe she was just annoyed at the idea of him sleeping elsewhere. Either way, his answer put her at ease.
"Take care of yourself. Don't get hurt."
Amon nodded. In this mood, they'd normally kiss, but even lovers didn't lock lips mid-meal. Instead, they intertwined their fingers. Sonia's silver bracelet and Amon's golden one gleamed on their wrists. Under the soft lighting, they prayed silently for each other for a moment.
The next day, Amon headed for the dungeon. Kashi didn't come along. Unlike a merc job, he couldn't afford to babysit her in there. They'd agreed he'd adapt first, then she'd join later. She'd operate solo in the meantime.
Arriving in the dungeon district, Amon entered the building facing it.
Explorer's Guild
It was different from the merc brokerage he'd always used. Brokerages connected mercs to clients—they weren't for finding party members. Dungeons weren't commissioned gigs; you went because you wanted to. So for parties, you needed a spot tailored to explorers.
Whoosh—the auto-door slid open as Amon stepped inside. Eyes turned to him. They scanned him head to toe, mechanical or magical eyes appraising him however they could. Plenty of explorers quickly lost interest.
What, some punk kid with no augments?
Good gear was pointless if the user couldn't wield it properly. They figured he was some spoiled rich kid and tuned out.
Others hadn't written him off yet. They weren't eyeing his body—they were checking his gear. To them, equipment spoke for skill. They zeroed in on the blades at his waist and his robes.
Ninja? Bodyguard background?
Top-shelf stuff, like what corporate combat troops wore. No way someone rocking that was a scrub.
Amon's evaluation split down the middle. Amid the stark judgments, he headed to the counter. He approached the friendly-looking receptionist, a comfy big-sis type.
"Hello, explorer. Need any help?"
Jackpot. Genuine kindness was rare in cyberpunk.
"Need a party."
"What's your main role?"
Her eyes flicked to his waist. Sword and shotgun. Obvious vanguard, but she asked anyway.
"Vanguard, swordsman."
She nodded and inputted his info. Matching was quick.
"Two parties looking for a vanguard DPS. One's just to the entrance, the other's going as far as they can. Which?"
"Entrance party, please."
"Table 21. Safe exploring."
Amon tipped her gratefully for the warmth and headed to table 21. Rough-faced men greeted him. Most had over a third of their upper bodies cybered up.
"Hello. Name's Amon."
"..."
They scanned him up and down, exchanged glances, and nodded.
"Welcome. I'm Paul, party leader. Nice to have you, vanguard."
His voice was ordinary for someone cybered to the neck. Paul promptly introduced the rest.
Even. Yellow bushy-haired guy. Rearguard, rifleman.
Hail. Blue buzzcut giant. Fire support, machine gunner.
Tori. Long black-haired vanguard. Could pass for a guy, but trans woman—and Paul's wife. The party's only other frontliner.
"And I'm the mage. Don't let the looks fool you—went to college."
"Pleased to meet you."
Amon bowed politely. No healer. Divine Power healers were for high-end parties. No way an entrance-run squad had one. No hacker either. Their target was a magic-engineering failure dungeon—hackers were useless there.
With Amon rounding them out, the party headed straight for the dungeon. The entrance was packed.
"Whew~ More explorers than monsters, huh?"
Yellow-bushy Even quipped, jiggling his rifle.
Blue-buzzcut Hail lumbered over, denying it.
"You know how many beasts are in there? This dungeon's over 20 years old, boss is a lich. Looks like a building outside, but underground plus pocket space? City-sized."
"Yeah, yeah. Take the joke as a joke."
"Sorry. Humor circuits off—interfere with ballistics calcs."
"Who asked?"
"Sorry about that too—"
The bickering duo. They were grinning, clearly tight. Meanwhile, Paul flirted with his woman. Skinny mage and buff trans musclewoman canoodling—it really drove home that this was cyberpunk.
Amon glanced at his party, then the endless line. At the end stood the entrance of a once-leading magic-engineering corp. To stay ahead, you couldn't copy—you pioneered. Even knowing failure might dungeonize it.
Saddark Dungeon
Saddark Dungeon was one such place. When they went bust, no citizens pitied them. Government made no rescue attempt. Just another dungeon notice, mercs swarmed, and an explorer guild formed around it. They managed the entrance, took tolls. Someone's grave became just another job site.
Amon murmured a quick prayer for the victims. Party leader Paul spotted it and clapped his shoulder.
"Hey. Devout fella, eh?"
He pointed at the cross around Amon's neck. Amon smiled in affirmation.
"No worries. I don't push faith."
"Heh. But if we need God in the dungeon, you're our guy."
"Leave it to me."
"Next!"
Their turn came fast amid the chat. The party entered.
Near the entrance, it felt like cave tourism from the crowds. But deeper in—impossible to think "building"—forks appeared.
"Lich made these too?"
"Yeah. Probably to scatter explorers max."
Up? Down? Elevator? Not a one-way fantasy dungeon—headache fuel. Boss likely planned that too. But their goal was clear.
"Down underground. Hunt a magic recipe there."
Big corp, even picked over. Entrance still yielded good hauls. No worry it'd be stripped—kill monsters or explore, and recipes kept spawning. Theories abounded, but top one: lich delaying clears on purpose.
Whatever. Paul's party wanted magic recipes.
"Blitz to the last point."
""O!!""
With roaring hype, they charged. Amon's quiet "…O." trailed, unable to match the energy.