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🕑 Added 2025-06-17 16:34:25 +0000 UTCChapter 81: The Long-Overdue Two-Way Interview
“Devil, you’re back? ヾ(≧▽≦*)o”
A busy night passed quickly, and as dawn broke, Riku finally got a reply from Sasha.
The girl seemed to have just woken up, even sending Riku a sleepy-eyed emoji.
“Yeah, I’m back in Night City. I saw your messages from before. Did you run into some trouble?” Riku replied with a smile.
“Does it always have to be trouble to message you?” Sasha, still groggy from waking up, sent the message before her brain fully kicked in.
She quickly retracted it and sent another one, her hacker-level net speed making it seamless.
“Nah, I was just wondering why you’ve been offline for so long.”
Riku, watching the chat window, caught the retracted message but pretended he didn’t.
“I was in a far-off place, across districts, and the network there wasn’t connecting well.”
The explanation came easily—there were plenty of reasons for a dropped connection, the most common being crossing network partitions.
“Got it,” Sasha replied, sending a cute nodding cat emoji.
“Over there.”
V, leaning against the passenger window, spotted the person they were waiting for.
“Sorry, gotta step out for a bit. I’m working outside,” Riku messaged Sasha, noticing Lucy approaching. The girl’s vibrant hair made her stand out instantly.
“Stay safe~” Sasha replied earnestly, then got out of bed and headed to the bathroom.
Her figure was tall and graceful—curvy where it counted, slim where it mattered, with a perfect balance. She moved like a swaying willow branch, but her toned muscles gave her a strong yet soft presence, like an elegant cat ready to unsheathe its claws.
“You’ve got this, Sasha,” she said to herself in front of the mirror, patting her cheeks. “I’ve got a meeting with a journalist today. Hopefully, things will move forward.”
“You guys didn’t forget about me, did you?” Lucy said, sliding into the seat next to Riku, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
She couldn’t help it—who could, after days of being ghosted? They were supposed to do a mission together to see if they could sync up, but then they just vanished!
“Sorry, Lucy, my bad. I was out of Night City for a bit and just got back,” Riku said, clasping his hands in apology. He hadn’t expected V and Jack Welles to drag this out so long.
“It’s mostly because we haven’t gotten any jobs that really need a netrunner,” Jack Welles added with a shrug. Their last gig had earned them some rep, but it hadn’t spread as fast as they’d hoped. Plus, people knew Sasha wasn’t a fixed part of their crew, so netrunner jobs weren’t coming their way.
“Whatever. What’s the job this time?” Lucy asked, brushing it off. She wasn’t here to complain, just confused.
“Oh, this one’s right up your alley,” V chimed in, her hair combed back into its usual neat style. She sent Lucy the mission details: deal with a bunch of psychos in Northside’s industrial zone and rescue some idiot who got high at Dance of Death nightclub and landed in trouble.
In V’s book, anyone dumb enough to get that high deserved whatever came their way, but money was money.
This job was different from the last one. Last time, the target had a decent shot at survival, and their family held out hope. This time? It was less about rescue and more about revenge—or at least recovering a few body parts to call it a win.
In Northside, whether you fell into the hands of Maelstrom psychos or some other lowlife, your chances of walking out alive were basically zero.
“Got it,” Lucy said after skimming the fixer’s brief. She understood her role—this was a test of her combat skills.
“Let’s roll,” Jack Welles said, starting the car as Lucy prepped.
Northside Industrial District, part of Watson, was Night City’s northernmost edge—a chaotic hellhole within a chaotic city. This was Maelstrom turf, though the kidnappers might not be Maelstrom themselves. The area was crawling with cyberpsychos overloaded with implants.
Jack took this job for two reasons: eddies and to test Lucy’s mettle. A skilled netrunner was a game-changer against cyberpsychos, who were vulnerable to hacks in more ways than one.
Soon, their Thorton pulled into Northside. The desolate scene unfolded before them—once a thriving industrial hub, now a wasteland of broken dreams, thanks to earthquakes, failed investments, and Arasaka’s corporate greed. Most factories were long abandoned.
“If you’re born in Northside, you die in Northside,” the saying went. This place was a filthy, chaotic purgatory, devouring everyone who called it home.
The only exceptions were a few shiny apartment buildings near the city center—Night City’s version of “luxury villas.” But for the corporate dogs stuck working here, it was exile.
The Thorton stopped near the target area. The four got out and started scoping the place. It was a makeshift camp of old shipping containers, a common sight in Northside, where derelict containers and factory ruins were prime real estate.
“Dammit, looks like Maelstrom psychos after all,” Jack cursed, spotting something grim through his Kiroshi optics. The others saw it too—a man tied to a wooden cross between containers, his abdomen sliced open, blood dripping into a bucket below. His own intestines were used to bind his wrists and neck.
“Fucking hell,” V muttered, disgusted. These cyberpsychos had a knack for torture, keeping the guy alive with twisted methods.
“No saving him,” Riku said, looking away and swallowing hard. The scene hit him differently, like something out of a nightmare.
“Eight of them. They’ve spotted us,” Lucy said, her eyes glowing as she hacked into the camp’s surveillance. The cyberpsychos were on alert, smelling fresh meat.
“Look, look! I told you this guy would bring us more toys!” one of the psychos cackled, their voices carrying. They’d leaked the info on purpose, luring reckless “cyberpunks” to their trap.
Chapter 82: Why Does He Seem Even Stronger Now?
From the shadows of the surrounding shipping containers, a group of Maelstrom gang members emerged.
Their appearances were downright terrifying—no eyes, noses, or any normal facial features. Instead of standard cybernetic eyes, their faces had been carved out and fitted with grotesque, protruding cyberware glowing with a menacing scarlet light.
Looking only at their faces, you’d almost think they were machines rather than humans.
In a way, these cyberpsychos could hardly be called normal humans anymore.
To put it bluntly, standing next to them, even Riku’s wild getup didn’t stand out much in Night City. No surprise there—Night City’s residents had seen it all, from every kind of monstrous modification to straight-up yokai-level weirdness.
“Looks like the boss here knew we were coming,” Riku quipped, crouching behind a container.
They’d probably been spotted the moment they arrived. These cyberpsychos were ready, just waiting for them to walk into the trap.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire erupted from the other side of the container, mixed with angry shouts.
“Dammit! What the hell are you doing?!”
“There’s a hacker! A pro! They breached our network defenses!”
One Maelstrom thug started spraying bullets wildly at his own crew before being quickly tackled to the ground.
“Take out the cameras!”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The cameras were obliterated in seconds. These Maelstrom goons were no rookies—they knew exactly what was up.
“They’re all rocking subdermal armor,” Lucy said, her eyes dimming as she pulled back from her hack. She hadn’t taken anyone out, but she’d scoped out their setup.
“No surprise there. It’d be weirder if these bastards didn’t have it,” Jack Welles growled. Subdermal armor was practically standard for these lunatics.
He and V started swapping magazines. Dealing with subdermal armor wasn’t impossible—otherwise, if everyone had it, the world would’ve gone to hell ages ago. The simplest solution? Bigger guns. Electromagnetic rifles, for example, could punch through walls or armored vehicles with ease.
Pair an EM rifle with tungsten rounds, and cheap subdermal armor might as well be tissue paper. Even top-tier armor couldn’t take more than a few hits.
Defense always lagged behind offense. As soon as new subdermal armor hit the market, you could bet there’d be a bigger, badder weapon to counter it. Against increasingly terrifying firepower, armor just couldn’t keep up.
Of course, not everyone could get their hands on those heavy-hitting weapons. Arms dealers kept a tight leash on that stuff.
So what do you do if you’re up against someone with subdermal armor? Just give up and die? Nah. Switch to armor-piercing rounds. For low-grade armor, standard AP rounds were enough. They might not punch through in one shot, but keep firing, and eventually, you’d get lucky—assuming you didn’t get cut down first.
Jack Welles and V, of course, had AP rounds ready. Most firearms were built to handle both standard and armor-piercing ammo anyway.
Arms dealers knew the game: supply and demand. They’d sell you the AP rounds, and your gun better support them. A gun might be a one-time purchase, but ammo? That’s the real cash cow—use it up, buy more.
“I’ll take point. You three provide covering fire and watch your backs,” Riku said, drawing his katana and rolling his shoulders. He took a deep breath, feeling every cell in his body buzzing with excitement.
“Let’s go! Tear ‘em apart!”
V grinned, hefting her Ajax rifle, her face lighting up with the same thrill. Bang! Bang! Bang! She leaned out, unloading a hail of bullets like they were free.
V’s Ajax swept through the eight Maelstrom goons, forcing them to scatter. They didn’t dare tank the shots head-on—not after one poor sap got his arm blown through by V’s AP rounds. He survived, barely, thanks to his armor holding up elsewhere.
Clearly, their subdermal armor wasn’t exactly top-shelf.
“Damn! These guys are loaded, burning through AP rounds like candy! Don’t kill ‘em too quick!” the wounded Maelstrom thug barked, his scarlet cyber-eyes glowing. His face showed no pain—just more crazed excitement.
That was thanks to a pain editor, a neural co-processor that blocked pain signals from reaching the brain’s parietal lobe. With it, you could push past human limits, fighting on like nothing hurt. Problem was, people with pain editors often didn’t realize they were about to die.
“Water Breathing, Third Form: Flowing Dance.”
Riku shot forward, his movements fluid and unpredictable, like a winding stream. He was using the technique as a mobility skill, zigzagging in a serpentine pattern. If he got lucky, he might even dodge a bullet or two.
At his current speed, dodging bullets outright was tough, but once he got moving, no one without auto-aim cyberware could track him easily.
Surprisingly, the Maelstrom goons didn’t shoot. Instead, two of them charged forward to meet him. Click! Their forearms snapped open, revealing gleaming mantis blades.
“You wanna play close-quarters with me?! I’ll slice you to pieces!” one of them roared.
Clearly, the Maelstrom thugs were confident in their combat skills. And why not? Two-on-one seemed like a guaranteed win.
“Cyber-eye reboot!” Lucy’s eyes flared with light, colors swirling in her irises. As Riku charged, she and Jack Welles covered him, tossing a basic daemon into the network. The Maelstrom goons’ ICE systems were low-grade—no match for her.
Zzt! Zzt! Zzt!
The two charging thugs froze as their crimson cyber-eyes sparked and fritzed out, their vision going dark.
Clang!
Riku closed in on one, his katana flashing as he slashed at the thug’s neck, sending him flying. Boom! The goon’s head lolled as he crashed into a container, denting it inward.
Riku didn’t stop. He grabbed the second thug’s head, slammed it into the ground, and stomped hard, driving it into the dirt.
“Holy crap! Is Riku getting even stronger?!” V blurted, her eyes wide as she watched him send a guy flying with one swing.
The Maelstrom crew flinched, but instead of backing off, they got even more feral.
“Kill ‘em!” one shouted, raising a flamethrower and unleashing a blaze at Riku, not caring if he roasted his own crew in the process.
Chapter 83: The Joy of Scavenging
Amid the roaring flames, Riku stood unfazed, his fire-resistant coating shrugging off the heat like it was nothing.
Swish!
He burst through the fire, swinging his katana. The flames parted like water, trailing the blade’s edge.
Clang!
The Maelstrom goon with the flamethrower went down hard, the fire sputtering out as he hit the ground.
“Damn! This guy’s cyberware is stacked! Fire-resistant coating too?!” another Maelstrom thug shouted, charging forward with two others. Their crimson cyber-eyes burned with madness, devoid of reason.
To be fair, these Maelstrom goons weren’t slow. Their strength and combat skills were well above average, thanks to their combat cyberlimbs and gear. But these guys? They were clearly the bottom rung of Maelstrom—stuck with low-end cyberware.
Against regular folks, their mods were more than enough. But against a beast like Riku? They were out of their league.
Riku effortlessly sidestepped a baseball bat swung at him, then landed a brutal kick on another thug. The guy flew backward, crashing into his buddies, who dodged with quick reflexes.
Before they could return fire, a storm of bullets rained down on them.
“Die, you scum!” V shouted, unloading her freshly reloaded Ajax. With Riku drawing all the attention, she had free rein to let loose.
V and Jack Welles were crack shots, and Riku was like a walking taunt, pulling every enemy’s focus and giving them open season to fire.
Lucy was no slouch either. With Riku tanking, she had plenty of room to work her magic, tossing daemons into the network. Sparks flew from the Maelstrom goons’ cyberware as their systems glitched out.
What’s a hacker’s worst nightmare? Getting rushed in a fight. Most hackers shine in cyberspace, not close combat. Even street-savvy hackers like Lucy had some self-defense skills, but they couldn’t compare to a dedicated fighter.
With Riku soaking up all the aggro like a human shield, Lucy felt safer than ever.
Zzt! Zzt! Bang!
One Maelstrom thug’s head exploded in a puff of black smoke under Lucy’s hack—his network defenses completely fried, his brain cooked.
Riku surged forward, closing in on the scattered goons. V’s gunfire forced them to dive for cover, but they still didn’t back down.
One thug raised his arm, revealing a projectile launcher system. Click! A high-explosive round locked into place.
Zzt! Zzt!
Before he could fire, his arm sparked and smoked. Lucy had cut the launcher’s connection, frying the cyberware.
Clang!
Riku’s katana flashed, slicing clean through the thug’s neck. The guy collapsed, his head twisted at an unnatural angle.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Jack Welles and V kept the pressure on, pinning down the last two Maelstrom goons. The thugs took a few armor-piercing rounds but barely flinched—their subdermal armor holding up. Not for long, though. Riku closed in, his katana flashing as he took them down with precise neck strikes.
Riku’s blade wasn’t the sharpest—it couldn’t cut through subdermal armor easily—but his raw strength made up for it. Every swing was a neck-chopper, true to the essence of his Breathing Style swordsmanship. In Demon Slayer fashion, if you’re fighting a demon, you aim for the neck. Anything else is a waste of time.
Even with subdermal armor, a direct hit to the neck was brutal. The two unlucky goons’ necks snapped, their cervical spines shattered. For those still twitching, Riku delivered a few extra slashes for good measure.
“This subdermal armor’s tough as hell,” Riku remarked while finishing the job. Without it, heads would’ve been rolling.
“You need a better blade. That thing’s trash,” Lucy said, stepping closer. She flicked out her Kendachi monomolecular wire.
The monowire was a sneaky, lethal weapon—a blade so thin it was practically invisible, just a molecular thread. Don’t let its looks fool you; it could handle 1,360 kilos of force and cut through armored weave like butter.
“You’re right. Time for an upgrade,” Riku agreed, nodding. His current katana, praised to the skies by Tanjiro’s mentor Sakonji Urokodaki, was basically a flea-market reject in this world.
But good blades weren’t cheap. Lucy’s Kendachi monowire? You’d need tens of thousands of eurodollars to even dream of it.
“Forget Kendachi blades for now. You could start with a Kendachi flamethrower,” V said, already scavenging. While Riku was busy finishing off enemies, she was picking through their gear—a solid habit.
She hefted the flamethrower the Maelstrom thug had been using, her face lighting up. “This thing’s Kendachi-made!”
“Jackpot,” Riku said, eyes gleaming. A Kendachi flamethrower could fetch a nice price—maybe even more than their payout for this job.
Kendachi, full name Kendajiri-Adachi Armaments, was a Japanese megacorp formed by the merger of the Kendajiri clan and Adachi Industries. They specialized in high-end melee weapons and, for some reason, flamethrowers. The Kendajiri family had been master bladesmiths for generations, but their flamethrowers somehow sold just as well.
“Total score!” V laughed, grinning ear to ear. This was the thrill of scavenging—stick with it, and you might just strike gold.
“Quit yapping and help out. We gotta move this guy,” Jack Welles called, pulling up in their Thorton. He slung a big bag over his shoulder and headed toward a victim tied to a wooden cross.
“Damn, how do we even start with this?” Jack cursed, eyeing the gruesome scene.
“For the eddies, man,” Riku said, swallowing hard and stepping up to help.
Lucy clearly wanted no part of it, pretending not to hear, while V, the money-grubber, was too busy fawning over her new flamethrower.
“This job’s payout does not match the danger,” Jack grumbled as he stuffed intestines back into the victim’s body. “Most crews would’ve wiped on this.”
“No kidding,” Riku agreed. This Maelstrom crew wasn’t your average street trash. The experience points he’d racked up proved it.
[Ding! Experience +105.]
[Ding! Experience bar full. Level up to Lv4. Current experience: 69/400.]
[Gained 1 attribute point.]
[Gained 1 skill optimization point.]
Ah~~~
Chapter 84: The New Team Member
Seeing that this level-up granted a skill optimization point, Riku finally felt a weight lift off his shoulders. One skill point every two levels, one optimization point every three—gaining them through leveling was far more reliable than other methods.
Riku didn’t rush to use it. Who knew what kind of optimization it might trigger? Better to wait until he was alone to play it safe.
The victim’s body was stuffed into a sack, layered several times over. Jack Welles, holding his nose, tossed it into the trunk.
The car, barely two weeks old, couldn’t escape its fate as a corpse hauler. Such was the life of a cyberpunk.
“Let’s move before Maelstrom’s goons come looking,” Jack urged, ever cautious.
Unlike other gangs, Maelstrom was fractured into smaller crews on their turf, each handling their own slice of crime. Depending on their status and role, a crew could have dozens of members or just a handful. Bigger groups took on raids, murders, or guarding high-value goods, while smaller ones patrolled their patch.
This Maelstrom crew was a standalone outfit, clearly low on the totem pole, stuck on the fringes of Northside Industrial District. Still, they were Maelstrom. If they drew the attention of a larger crew, things could get ugly fast.
The job was done—time to get the hell out.
“Coming!” V shouted, still scavenging. She’d set her sights on a “projectile launcher” implant and was trying to pry it loose.
“Damn, this thing’s bolted on tight!” V grumbled, yanking with all her might. She wasn’t a techie, so field-stripping the implant wasn’t an option. Her plan? Rip the whole arm off.
“Lucy, give her a hand,” Riku said, staying back. He’d be no help, but Lucy’s monowire could do the trick.
Lucy didn’t hesitate. With a flick of her wrist, her monowire slashed through the air, severing the arm clean at the base.
“Ka!”
V nearly stumbled, clutching the detached arm. “Thanks, Lucy,” she said with a grin, satisfied, before heading back to the car with her prize.
The subcutaneous armor on these guys could fetch a few eddies, but it was too much hassle to process. Secondhand skin of that quality wasn’t worth the effort—too costly for too little return. V, ever the scavenger, knew exactly what was worth picking up.
“Pack that thing properly,” Jack warned, not wanting the car’s interior to become a biohazard.
“Relax, it’s bagged,” V replied, flashing a thumbs-up, her face beaming. This job was a goldmine. The flamethrower implant could sell as near-mint, and the projectile launcher was good for either selling or keeping.
“Sell it,” Lucy advised. “The quality’s not great—prone to malfunctions.” A misfire was one thing, but an implant exploding in your arm? That’d be a bad day.
In Night City, death came in many flavors, but getting killed by your own cyberware was one of the most pathetic.
“Makes sense,” V nodded, taking it seriously. She’d seen Lucy hack that launcher without breaking a sweat.
The four drove to the drop-off point, where the fixer’s crew picked up the bagged corpse. Payment hit their accounts instantly.
“Nice. Time to split the eddies,” Jack said, transferring 7,500 to each. Decent, but for facing eight Maelstrom cyberpsychos, it felt a bit light.
“This fixer’s cheap and full of crap. Next time, we negotiate harder,” Jack griped. Had he known they were up against Maelstrom psychos, he wouldn’t have taken the job for so little.
“No biggie. Selling that flamethrower and launcher will net us another split,” V said, unfazed. Those “scraps” could pull in 20,000 eddies, especially the flamethrower.
After divvying up the cash, Jack parked on the roadside and turned to V and Riku. “Alright, I’m sold on Lucy’s skills. You two?”
No point beating around the bush—this job was partly a two-way interview.
“No complaints here,” V said, nodding. She’d underestimated Lucy before, but the girl proved she could hold her own.
All eyes turned to Riku. “Lucy, what about us? Do we pass?” he asked, flipping the question. A two-way interview meant her opinion mattered too.
Lucy leaned against the window, cigarette in hand, gazing outside. “You’re solid. I’m good with it,” she said coolly, flicking ash, as if the outcome didn’t faze her.
“Awesome! We’re a team now,” Jack said, clapping his hands excitedly. A fixed netrunner was way better than scrambling for one every job. A regular crew splits pay evenly, but hiring a netrunner on the fly meant accepting their cut—or their terms.
“How about a drink to celebrate?” Jack suggested, the usual post-job ritual.
“Gotta see Vik first to get this dealt with,” V said, holding up her sack of “scrap.” She was out.
Riku waved off the invite too, leaving Jack to look at Lucy.
“Sorry,” Lucy said, flicking her cigarette. With half the team bailing, she wasn’t about to be the odd one out.
“You could hit up Misty, Jack,” Riku teased, seeing Jack strike out.
“Fine, I’ll drop you all off,” Jack said with a shrug, unfazed, and drove everyone to their destinations.
Riku headed home. After a shower and a change of clothes, he solemnly donned his “Disaster-Averting Fox Mask.”
“Limit System, add the point.”
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Riku didn’t hesitate. He allocated the skill optimization point to his [Oni] skill.
Chapter 85: New Trait
[Optimization complete.]
[Acquired new trait: “Vitalization.”]
[Vitalization: Flesh is not weak. Touch an object, unleash the power of flesh, and control it through vitalization.]
Staring at the result of the optimization, Riku wasn’t sure what to make of it.
It didn’t solve his “eating” problem or his “sunlight” issue. Should he be disappointed?
But this new trait, “Vitalization,” sounded… kind of intriguing.
“Touch an object, unleash the power of flesh, and control it.” The description was straightforward enough, but he’d need to test it to understand its real potential.
Riku extended his hand, his subdermal armor retracting to reveal his bare, fleshy palm. He drew his katana.
He wasn’t about to experiment on his pricey cyberware—too risky. But this old blade, already due for a replacement, seemed like the perfect guinea pig.
“Flesh Vitalization.”
Gripping the katana, Riku activated his new ability.
Under his gaze, the flesh on his hand began to slough off, flowing toward the blade. His hand regenerated instantly, only for more flesh to peel away and merge with the katana, wrapping it entirely in writhing tissue.
“That’s it?”
Riku studied the blade. The flesh had stopped moving, suggesting it had absorbed all it needed. The tissue squirmed across the katana’s surface, as if consuming it—or fusing with it. It was eerie.
“Kind of slow,” Riku noted. The vitalization process was sluggish, probably too slow to be useful mid-combat. Vitalizing an enemy’s weapon on the spot? No chance. Nobody’s dumb enough to let their gear stay coated in wriggling flesh.
“Let’s set it aside for now.”
He placed the katana down, letting it continue its creepy transformation, and turned to his daily training.
He didn’t forget about his new attribute point either. Without hesitation, he dumped it into Constitution.
“Hm?”
Right after allocating the point, Riku had a flash of insight. The “Vitalization” trait was tied to his Constitution stat. The size of objects he could vitalize and the speed of the process were directly linked to it.
With his Constitution bumped up, he could sense the flesh on the katana wriggling faster now.
Checking the time, he started a timer. About an hour later, the flesh finally stopped moving.
“Done?”
Riku felt a spark of understanding. He picked up the katana, and it was like looking at a completely different weapon.
The blade had transformed. Once a plain, unadorned samurai sword, it now gleamed blood-red, etched with intricate patterns that radiated an unsettling, almost demonic beauty.
Riku twirled the blade, testing its new properties. He could manipulate its shape—sprouting sharp spikes from the blade or extending its length, though only by about twenty centimeters.
Shink!
At his command, the blood-red blade sprouted jagged spikes, and its length stretched slightly.
Swinging it felt natural, like an extension of his own body.
If the blade broke, he could channel more “flesh power” to regenerate it—as long as he was holding it. Subdermal armor blocked the connection, since the ability relied on direct flesh contact.
“Does the quality of the object affect the vitalization’s power?” Riku mused, sensing feedback from the ability. A higher-quality blade would gain stronger abilities post-vitalization.
“So, I still need a better katana.”
The vitalized blade’s quality hadn’t improved—it wasn’t any sharper. Riku could feel that clearly.
“Too bad it can’t be used in daylight.”
The downside was obvious: like Riku himself, the vitalized blade was vulnerable to sunlight. It was, after all, an extension of his flesh.
Vitalizing his subdermal armor or cyber-eyes was a non-starter. Sure, they’d retain their durability, fire resistance, EMP shielding, optical camo, and temperature regulation—maybe even gain new abilities. But they’d also inherit his sunlight weakness.
The whole point of his cyberware was to let him function in daylight. Vitalizing it would defeat the purpose. Riku scrapped the idea immediately.
“Guess I’ll need two blades now—one normal for daytime, one vitalized for night.”
He chuckled. He could barely afford one good katana, and now he needed two?
“Padre, any decent blades for sale on the market? Something budget-friendly.”
Thinking of his empty wallet, Riku shot a message to Padre, the all-knowing fixer who dabbled in everything. Maybe he had some secondhand gear.
“Don’t be so stingy, Devil. Go buy a new blade. You’re about to make bank,” Padre replied, his tone teasing.
“Oh? Got a job lined up?” Riku perked up. The only thing that could make him “bank” right now was his interdimensional meat imports.
“Ten kilos of venison, 20,000 eddies. Sound fair?”
As expected, Padre had sold the meat. But the price… 1,000 eddies per kilo? For something you couldn’t even find on the market, something only the ultra-elite could afford? Was that really fair?
“No choice. Nobody dares use your meat commercially. Without a brand, it won’t fetch a high price, and if they advertise it, they’ll get investigated,” Padre explained.
“Only a few thrill-seekers are willing to buy, but since the meat’s untraceable and lacks safety guarantees, they won’t pay more.”
Padre knew the price wasn’t great, but he’d done his best. Buyers were only willing to go so high.
If it was legit meat hitting the market, he could’ve sold it for ten or twenty times the price—a status symbol for the elite.
(End of Chapter)
