Judging from Shiranui Kiriko's mental state, she wasn't quite right anymore.
Well, honestly, it was already her second time being stuffed into a jar and resurrected. If she were perfectly fine, that would've been abnormal.
Li Pan didn't dare get too close to her like this. Instead, he picked up the landline, listening to her daily report.
Landline:
"Report 0791035 shows signs of tampering and sealing. Suspected hypnosis and brainwashing. Contents may be inaccurate."
Damn. Hypnosis and brainwashing, huh? Maybe onmyōji arts weren't entirely useless after all… and impressive the landline could even detect it. Well, might as well listen.
Landline:
"I am 0791035. I teamed with 0791034 to infiltrate Himeji Castle and steal the Hashiba family's demon blade, Onimaru Kunitsuna. During reconnaissance we were discovered by hostile Iga ninja. In the ensuing escape we were defeated and captured."
…What? That's it?
Landline:
"Report may be inaccurate due to brainwashing."
Li Pan rubbed his temples. Damn Iga ninja again. Were they really that badass? Fūma and Kōga always failing, while Onitei seemed to rely entirely on Iga? At this rate, why not just recruit some Iga himself?
And that demon blade… Onimaru Kunitsuna. Tch. Another sword? Could Takamagahara stop recycling seals? It was always jars or blades.
Li Pan sighed, then dialed again.
"Oi, Kotarō. That demon blade—Onimaru. Don't tell me you stole it for yourself? Spit it out, before I come deal with you personally."
Kotarō protested,
"Boss, I'd never lie to you! We failed! The sword is still in the Hashiba clan's castle tower. If not for my connection with Ashiya, I'd be dead myself!"
Li Pan slammed the table.
"Quit giving me excuses! You so-called Onitei ninja, all your titles—'upper ninja,' 'phantom ninja'—but never a successful mission! At this point, Rama does better work than you!"
Kotarō sighed,
"Boss, it was an accident. I thought Hashiba's top retainers were away at the front. The castle should've been undefended. Even Kiriko agreed. Who could've expected to stumble straight into Tokugawa's secret envoy negotiating peace with them? And Ashiya himself was there too! Pure bad luck."
"What?! Tokugawa and Hashiba negotiating peace?! And you only mention this now?"
Kotarō grimaced,
"But isn't that normal? Fight and talk, talk and fight. They're old allies from Takamagahara days, no deep blood feud. With Night Corp looming nearby, of course they'd eventually reconcile.
I just didn't expect our infiltration to collide with their secret meeting. And with Ashiya there… our luck was cursed."
Li Pan wasn't sure if Kotarō was lying or not, so he pressed:
"Tell me in detail about this Ashiya Noritaka. His abilities. Is he truly defecting—or a plant? Spill everything."
"Yes!"
Kotarō proved his worth as an intelligence man, rattling off everything: not just Noritaka, but the Ashiya clan's history, and the secrets of the Sixfold Demon Lord.
Li Pan listened, stunned.
The Ashiya weren't just an old onmyōji family—they were among the two original founding lineages of the art.
Long before Takamagahara, before the First Oda's transmigration, when spirit legions ruled this world, native humans had awakened powers to fight otherworldly monsters with onmyō arts and Five Element magic.
An official bureau called the Onmyōryō was formed, governing astronomy, divination, rites, and commanding exorcist families. Their most skilled masters—state-certified—were known as onmyōji.
Two schools existed: yang concealment and yin concealment, akin to white and black magic. Yin concealment leaned toward grim, unsettling arts—like preserving severed heads in jars.
The Ashiya ancestor, Ashiya Rokudō, was the founding master of the Yin path.
The two paths clashed and cooperated, but yang dominated. Yin exorcists were marginalized—their arts too eerie.
But when the First Oda transmigrated, ruthless and cruel, his temperament matched the Ashiya perfectly. With Rokudō's aid, he gathered local talents and founded the Onitei, using otherworldly power to secure Oda rule.
In return, Oda annihilated the rival yang-exorcist families, leaving Ashiya supreme, inheriting both lineages' secrets.
Ever since, each Ashiya head was titled Rokudō, chief of the Onmyōryō, national exorcist and high priest of Takamagahara.
But in this generation, after Takamagahara's collapse, Noritaka—a bastard son—murdered both his father and heir, seizing the Rokudō seat. With no other male heirs fit for the craft, the elders grudgingly spared him, confining him to Banshū.
With Takamagahara fallen and Hashiba's Himeji fortress nearby, politics grew chaotic. The Hashiba released him, hoping to use his expertise. But fearing his notoriety, they kept him sealed and watched.
Noritaka, disdainful of them all, met kindred spirit Kotarō. Both had slain kin. They clicked, defecting together to the Monster Company.
Hmm.
Clearly Noritaka was a dangerous, ambitious man. Risky to recruit, but valuable.
After all, the Ashiya were masters of sealing and curses—the perfect specialists for the company's line of work.
Kotarō, of course, tried to absolve himself: Ashiya's Yin arts served the Sixfold Demon Lord. If Noritaka fell to darkness, it wasn't his fault.
Li Pan smirked. Even better. Let him go mad, fall, descend. That just meant more food for Li Pan.
After swallowing Cockroach's gall, Li Pan felt his qi surging. Within a month he'd likely digest it fully—advancing to the Fourth Turn.
Recruit Noritaka, let him grow fat with power—then devour him too. Perfect.
Good. Ashiya Noritaka, welcome aboard.
As for Kiriko's opinion? Who cared. If she didn't like it, she could quit. Two and a half grand a month wasn't that special.
So Li Pan skipped the banquet, stayed up late filing his full report to HQ.
Not from love of work—but for the rewards. Without rewards, no motivation. Let those who preach selfless sacrifice go to hell.
HQ's reply was predictable. No objections, as long as he didn't wipe the team. Temp workers like Noritaka were up to him.
This time's haul: two Silver Keys. Plus Cockroach's anti-gravity spine, a rare level-six implant worth at least ten million. Loot like that, he kept for himself—maybe upgrade later.
But his combat suit had been shredded—by the Buddha's claws, by the Handkerchief Knight strain. Repairs would cost two Keys: one for the suit, one for the Tailor.
In net, he'd lost a Key. Only four transformations left.
He pinned hopes on ACA's Husky. Told Uncle Liu to treat him well. Handing him to 01044 later might recharge his plugins.
The company's rewards were meager. But the Security Bureau paid generously.
Though they'd really just been cleaning up Monster Company's mess, Bureau Chief Chen honored the pact. They logged Li Pan's squad as a tactical consulting team—eligible for merc pay.
Since they couldn't use Cerberus, all mercs were emergency hires. And by Night City merc rules: thirty grand up front per team, then ten thousand daily each. Post-tax.
Li Pan filed the paperwork fast. The Bureau wired funds straight to Panlong Construction's account—no deductions.
The split: Li Pan took half plus ten thousand. The rest split among the four. Uncle Liu, for example—first day on the job, fixed his bad back, went sightseeing, barely lifted a finger, yet pocketed ¥47,500 and a free meal. "Boss, you're the man!"
And the Bureau had posted a bounty: fifty grand for the first to breach the control hub. Li Pan claimed it. Total personal earnings—¥660,000. Enough to cover his ruined armor.
And that was just the Bureau's side.
Night Corp still owed him. After all, he'd literally saved trillions in assets.
In this corporate-run world, at least everything was about money. No speeches of honor or sacrifice. Just clear accounts.
The Bureau paid bounties—it was their duty. But Night Corp had no obligation. Surely they wouldn't hand him a cut of damages saved. No way.
But even vampires knew the value of securing a powerhouse like Panlong. Better that than risk Takamagahara buying them off.
And then they discovered—Panlong's account was through Camarilla Bank, a Night Corp affiliate. Even beneficiaries of the Night City Development and Investment Fund.
Perfect. Easy to shuffle numbers.
Soon "L" from the bank called. Camarilla Bank, on behalf of Night Corp, expressed thanks. They would extend Panlong's fund contract, tripling its term, injecting thirty-five million credits.
They also granted Panlong a special SME subsidy: a fifty-million low-interest loan, no expiry.
Li Pan's personal account rank rose from Silver to Gold. His monthly loan cap tripled from ten to thirty million.
In total, Panlong's balance soared to over fifty-six million. Orange was so shocked she called to ask if they'd been hacked.
You could say Night Corp had just handed Li Pan eighty-five million. Or that they'd saddled him with fifty million in debt while tying him to their war machine. Both were true.
Either way, Panlong had caught the attention of Night Corp's upper echelons. With assets that big, and K as guarantor, Li Pan could even raise the 130 million needed for an expulsion-class ship.
Honestly, Li Pan felt grateful to the Red Tengu. Without their chaos, where else would he find such fat payouts? Grinding small gangs for peanuts would never cut it.
But he barely had time to enjoy his newfound fortune before another job dropped.
K: "Come kill werewolves."
Li Pan: "OK~."
He grabbed his merc kit, flew to the coordinates.
Not the Grand Theater—but the entrance to Tokyo Dungeon.
K shimmered into view, optical camo peeling back. She wore a tight bodysuit, visor over her eyes, rifle in hand. Catching his look, she explained:
"The Theater pack—we can handle anytime. This nest I just found. With the city locked down hunting Red Tengu, they won't dare show themselves. Perfect chance to wipe them out."
Ah. That made sense. Though Li Pan was mostly admiring her figure—slim, but her hips…
"Ahem. Just us? How many down there? Honestly, I can only handle one right now."
Sure, he'd refilled his qi with Cockroach's gall. But without his armor, paying for ammo out of pocket, he was cautious.
Werewolves weren't like descending apostles. A hundred grand a head, barely worth a Key. Tough to kill barehanded, but not profitable either.
K snapped her fingers. Ripples shimmered. Two dog-sized multipedal drones appeared at her side.
"No need to brute force. We just confirm their nest and numbers. If too many, we call in an airstrike under Red Tengu cover. One live specimen is enough. You're an engineer—these are yours to pilot."
Li Pan whistled. "Wow, Flea-class. Rich girl. No problem—I know these inside out."
The Flea-class was a miniaturized cousin of the Spider. Optical stealth, anti-radar, burst acceleration. Thirty million apiece—before counting the payload.
These two carried MMSS micro Metal Storm systems. Each module held preloaded silver rounds, pulse-ignited, processor-controlled. Five thousand rounds per barrel per second, twenty-four barrels across four modules—120,000 silver bullets in a second. Enough to wipe out several werewolf nests in a heartbeat.
Yes. Actions had consequences. When you drop a city, you can't expect the world to stay quiet.
And now, the countermeasures had arrived: Flea-class drones and Metal Storm—grade-five military tech, usually reserved for frontier warzones. Now greenlit for use on Earth 0791.
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⚠️ 30 CHAPTERS AHEAD — I'm Not a Cyberpsycho ⚠️
The system says: Kill.Mercs obey. Corporates obey. Monsters obey.One man didn't.
🧠💀 "I'm not a cyberpsycho. I just think... differently."
💥 High-voltage cyberpunk. Urban warfare. AI paranoia.Read 30 chapters ahead, only on Patreon.
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