In Cyberpunk, Always Watch Your Back
Right after Amon appeared behind the beastman crew, the pupils of the cat beastman—Paul's right-hand man—contracted sharply. Time seemed to slow for him. Thanks to the cat beastman's innate dynamic vision enhanced by genetic modification surgery, he had achieved dynamic visual acuity on par with a military neural accelerator. His body couldn't keep up with his eyes, but at least he could clearly see what was happening. The scene of red rain falling in slow motion was almost dreamlike. But the cat beastman soon regretted his sharp eyesight.
In that slowed time, he couldn't help but see it plainly: Amon's sword gleaming, a single flash slicing through the brothers' necks, their heads being harvested like ripe fruit. What kind of monster is that...
A human neck is tough. Guillotines were invented specifically for severing them. So a man who harvested heads as easily as picking fruit was undoubtedly a monster.
Boss. Looks like we're fucked.
In the slowed time, he drew his sword. In this group, only the crew's executives seemed capable of reacting to Amon's attack. The later he moved, the more brothers would die. Suppressing his fear, he charged at Amon.
Amon wasn't even looking at the cat beastman.
Now's my chance.
Even as he ran, the cat beastman's footsteps were eerily silent. He crept up behind Amon and watched closely, waiting for the perfect moment to swing his blade. But—
"Huh?"
Amon dodged. It had been an angle impossible to evade. Not only did he dodge, but he grabbed the cat beastman from the side.
What the...
Some kind of ghostly footwork? In his sluggish vision, Amon's sword approached his neck. His eyes tracked the blade, but his body couldn't follow.
Boss. Guess I got too greedy.
The cat beastman closed his eyes as his vision spun wildly.
Rain fell. The sky was so clear, yet red rain poured relentlessly. Whenever it seemed to ease, Amon's sword flashed once, and the downpour resumed fiercely.
Paul, drenched in the rain, muttered hollowly.
"Ferdi, Lewis, Keron..."
The blood of his cherished brothers soaked his clothes and fur. But Amon didn't stop. Countless beastmen heads flew skyward, red rain cascading down.
Paul wanted to fight back. Just like in the dungeons, shooting at the vanguards' backs, throwing bombs, setting fires. But he couldn't. Amon never exposed an opening. Rampaging in the midst of the beastmen, he cleverly positioned himself so that any shot would inevitably hit another beastman. Amon exploited their camaraderie ruthlessly.
"No..."
The horde of brothers had dwindled to just ten. They'd banded together to survive in this wretched city. At first, mere survival was the goal, but somewhere along the way, they'd dreamed of a better life with their brothers. That dream shattered right there.
A rat beastman, unable to endure it, pulled the trigger on his shotgun. But Amon dodged it effortlessly. The missed shot riddled the chest of another beastman facing him, turning it into a beehive.
The beastman stared in shock before collapsing forward.
"No... this can't..."
Of all people, it was another rat beastman—blood brothers, twins. The shooter's face paled as he'd killed his own twin with his own hand.
"I didn't mean for..."
Amon, reading the mood, approached the rat beastman and whispered,
"It's your fault."
That was enough. The rat beastman offered his neck without resistance. The survivors witnessed the horrific scene clearly. Silence fell over the alley.
As everyone lost their will to fight, barrels drooping downward, Paul—the only one still aiming—shouted at Amon.
"What the hell is your reason for going this far?!"
Paul knew his own actions weren't righteous. But he didn't believe in karma, so he couldn't accept this. What he faced now was nothing more than misfortune.
"Was it worth all this?!"
Amon, hearing this, was dumbfounded. How could they be so brazen? Amon saw beastmen as equals to humans, but these were unmistakably beast cubs.
Amon said, "Do you remember how many parties you've sold to the Center?"
"How the hell should I remember every one!"
"Then how many party members' families?"
"That's what I'm saying—I don't remember."
"Yeah. You wouldn't. It wasn't your first time."
How many people had been sacrificed at that Center? The thought that Sonia might have been among them made bile rise in Amon's throat. Gritting his teeth to suppress the nausea deep in his gullet, Amon said,
"It's amazing how you can act so righteous after all this shit."
"I had to feed my brothers."
"Even so, there's a line."
"In this city, if not me, someone else would have!"
"Then that someone would have died by my hand."
As soon as the words ended, Amon charged at Paul. Paul swung his machine gun toward Amon. That's when Amon kicked one of the rolling heads on the ground straight at Paul. Startled by his brother's head suddenly flying at his face, Paul faltered, and Amon closed the distance.
Slash. Amon's sword took Paul's eyes. In the ensuing darkness, Paul felt sensation vanish below his wrists.
"Kids! Run!"
Even then, Paul thought of his brothers. He heard their shouts and screams. Each time a body thudded to the ground, Paul counted. When he reached five, he collapsed to his knees in despair.
"Kids... are you alive...?"
He groped the ground. His arm touched a beastman's head. Feeling its hardness, Paul finally accepted reality. A single tear of blood trickled down his cheek.
"Sorry, kids..."
The sight of the dying beastman searching for his brothers was pitiful. But Amon felt no pity. Before Paul could curse him, a flash severed his neck. Paul's head rolled with its mouth agape. Amon picked it up.
"I don't know how much your bounties are worth, but use it to apologize to the families."
Amon left the scene with Paul's head. And a few hours later—
The beastman crew's human trafficking scandal set the city ablaze. The fervor didn't die down for days.
The news anchor raged at their crimes. But her anger wasn't born of justice. It was profitable. In a world where justice and good deeds were laughable jokes, hypocrisy paid well. At least the police had to appear righteous on camera, and public figures had to look virtuous.
People pointed fingers at the dead Paul and beastmen. Not out of justice, nor because they'd disrupted the city's order. Just for fun. Legal condemnation brought self-satisfaction. So they cursed. Conveniently, the perpetrators were dead and beyond repercussions. Perfect entertainment for the citizens.
The issue of beastmen social crimes resurfaced briefly but sank again. In a world where everyone—regardless of skin, culture, or race—committed crimes as a matter of course, it was meaningless chatter.
Amid that atmosphere, Amon went about his daily life. His name didn't appear in the news. He was treated as an anonymous mercenary. Claiming the bounty through the broker kept his identity hidden. Even if they investigated the scene properly, they might trace it to Amon—but of course, no such investigation happened. The police didn't bother, and the landlord cleaned it up quickly to re-rent the building.
Yeah. That's standard police work.
No wonder Amon had suspected them the moment they showed up at his door. Thanks to that, the incident quietly faded. But until the fuss died down, Amon paused mercenary and explorer activities. Flaunting around risked exposure if something else popped up.
During that time, he reviewed the battle in the training facility.
I need to tweak my swordsmanship a bit.
The foundation of swordsmanship was footwork. Not just swords—all martial arts relied on legwork. No wonder wuxia novels emphasized movement techniques. Change the feet, and the arm swings followed suit. Sky Step users needed swordplay tailored to it.
I didn't use it once in real combat.
He knew techniques that synergized with Sky Step in theory. But in the fight, he just dodged and swung as usual—no Sky Step applications. Lack of practice.
So Amon spent his days swinging his sword in the training room until things quieted outside. One day, as he practiced mindlessly, he heard the training room door open.
Who?
Not staff. In this world, personal combat skills were as vital as life itself. Like clans hiding training from outsiders in wuxia, here too. Sometimes heads literally rolled, so no CCTV inside training rooms.
Amon stopped and looked at the door. Then he spotted familiar black hair and remembered.
Oh, right. Today was the day I promised to spar with Kashi.
Shuttling between training ground, home, and church had dulled his sense of dates. Soon, Kashi fully emerged from behind the door. Her outfit and vibe were completely different from their first meeting.
She'd started with pistols, but missions revealed spears suited her. She switched, and her attire became bolder for spear work. Layers of thick clothes gave way to thin ones for mobility, revealing her figure. Her voluptuous breasts rivaled Sonia's allure, but her true charm was thighs optimized for spear swings—explosively fast yet impossibly smooth.
How do thighs like that produce that output?
Her shorts were scandalously short too. Pantyhose failed to hide her healthy glow. Carrying two spears on her back, she beamed and ran to Amon.
"Amon! Been waiting?"
"Nah, I just got here."
"Dude, you're soaked in sweat—think that'll fly?"
"Whatever. Sorry, can we start after a quick break?"
"Sure. Got plenty of time today."
"Thanks."
Amon left her briefly to wipe sweat with his towel, then set it aside and quenched his thirst. As he savored post-workout refreshment, Kashi's gaze fixed on one spot: his sweat-soaked towel. Her hand reached for it. Just before her fingertips touched—
"All rested. Let's start training."
Amon's sudden voice startled her.
"Something wrong?"
"Nope. Nothing."
She headed to the center as if nothing happened. Amon never noticed her fixation on his towel.