With one final, sharp shot from the Copperhead, another body fell onto the wasteland.
Leon swung Black Unicorn and shook off the blood that remained on the blade.
The smooth surface of the katana was once again completely clean, without a single trace of blood.
Several bluish-green runes on the blade shone with bright light, and their cold glow disappeared only when Leon returned the sword to its sheath.
Hiroshi also lowered his rifle, removed the empty magazine, and quickly replaced it with a new one.
“Is this the last one? That guy probably didn’t have that much influence within the Tyger Claws. Even having eight people under his command is already pretty serious,” Leon asked uncertainly.
“It should be, Leon-kun.”
Hiroshi finally relaxed a little.
The gratitude in the way he looked at Leon was obvious.
“Thank you for this.”
Without his help, no matter how much experience and ability Hiroshi had, there was no way he could have killed that many Tyger Claws today.
At best, he might have managed to kill that disgusting bastard, then fought several of his men to the death, and in the end they all would have ended up dead together.
And his sister would have remained forever trapped in that dark cage without light.
Her future would probably have ended in suicide or complete destruction, after which she would have become the main star of some XBD and been used as disposable material.
After so many years spent on the streets of Night City, Hiroshi was not afraid of death.
But his sister was his only weakness.
His Achilles’ heel.
The mere thought of what could happen to her was enough to make him cling to life at any cost.
“I take the money, I solve the problem.”
Leon casually shrugged.
As if he found something amusing, he then smiled and added:
“I hope this little kid still managed to satisfy Mr. Client.”
“Sorry.”
Hiroshi frowned sincerely.
“I admit I was a little too harsh with you this morning.”
“The reward Wakako gives you probably won’t cover even half of what you spent today.”
“I put practically all of my savings into this job. Right now, I have nothing I can use to repay you.”
He paused.
“But I owe you a favor.”
“If you ever need anything, just call me.”
“I won’t refuse.”
Leon returned Black Unicorn to his bag and then picked up the empty magazine he had casually thrown away earlier.
He did not look particularly impressed by Hiroshi’s gratitude.
“We can talk about that later.”
“The job isn’t finished yet.”
He looked at him.
“Isn’t finding your sister the most important thing right now?”
Hiroshi nodded seriously.
He turned around and immediately ran toward the street.
But after several steps, as if remembering something, he turned back toward Leon.
“Leon, are you staying here to clean up the place?”
After all, Leon had already helped him a great deal.
If he stayed behind to deal with the aftermath of the fight as well, Hiroshi would feel pretty bad.
“No.”
Leon lowered his gaze toward the weapons scattered across the ground.
“I want to pick up whatever still works and sell it later.”
Then he added:
“As for the bodies, leave them.”
“Scavs have noses better than dogs.”
“They’re experts at cleaning up the city’s trash. They definitely won’t miss this place.”
“This junk…?”
Hiroshi looked at him in confusion.
“What is even worth taking here?”
Weapons used by ordinary gangsters.
And not even anything more than the lowest level of street thugs.
What could people like that possibly have that was valuable enough to be worth carrying away?
Even the rifles were not worth much.
If you took them to a gun store, the owner would probably think you were bringing bad luck into the shop.
After all, they had been taken off dead people.
In addition, compared with goods like this that had already passed through who knew how many hands, someone who genuinely wanted to buy a weapon would probably rather get a clean, original piece directly from a dealer.
Especially because Arasaka Shigure and Nowaki were not particularly expensive even when bought through legal channels.
It would be different if the equipment were genuinely valuable.
For example, weapons, body armor, and tactical gear from corporate security after an attack on a corporate transport.
Things like that were often worth serious money and could be resold very easily on the black market.
Hiroshi estimated that even if they picked up every working rifle from the ground and somehow sold them, they might earn only two or three hundred Eurodollars.
And a person was not a pack animal.
A few rifles would already be close to the maximum one could practically carry.
“Looks like Leon is really the frugal type,” Hiroshi concluded.
Although all of this seemed a little strange to him, in the end he attributed Leon’s behavior simply to a good habit of not throwing anything away.
After explaining it to himself that way, he did not linger any longer.
He said goodbye to Leon and ran toward the restaurant.
Leon pursed his lips and began walking around the wasteland, collecting every usable weapon like a man gathering scrap metal.
One rifle after another, he stuffed into his bag, as many as he could carry.
Well…
to be honest, he had always thought there was no particular need to pick up every piece of trash he saw.
But when he saw the weapons and equipment scattered all over the ground after the battle, something inside him started itching.
It was almost as if he had returned to the days when he played games.
If you do not pick up at least some of the loot lying in front of you, it feels like you have just thrown wealth out the window.
Besides, this was his first real battle.
He had to take at least something as loot.
After a long internal struggle, Leon eventually decided to listen to his own instincts.
As for everything else…
he had no intention of bothering with it.
Every city had its own “ecosystem.”
And remains like these would almost always be cleaned up by Scavs and other people who survived on what the city discarded.
Scavs.
They were like vultures above a desert.
Grave robbers in a cemetery.
From Leon’s perspective, they were nothing more than scum and degenerates.
Unlike most other gangs in Night City, they had no clearly defined territory.
The entire city was their business area.
Their methods were simple and efficient.
Knock someone unconscious.
Kidnap them.
Then place the unfortunate victim on an operating table.
Do not waste anesthetic.
Use a knife and drill to open the body layer by layer as though dismantling some object.
Remove everything that can be sold.
Organs.
Cyberware.
Anything with market value.
Even the victim’s consciousness, memories, and emotions did not have to go to waste.
They could be recorded, processed, and turned into an XBD that would then be sold for profit.
Use a person down to the last possible percentage.
As though throwing them into a juicer and squeezing until absolutely nothing remained.
But few people understood that this kind of work actually required a certain level of ability.
True professionals were like vultures circling high above the desert.
They did not only eat the freshest meat.
They knew how to hunt for themselves as well.
Most people involved in such things did not have that ability.
They were more like worms in the sewer.
Incompetent opportunists who simply waited for prey to fall at their feet on its own.
Homeless people scattered across the streets.
Unregistered clinics hidden in side alleys.
Even people at the very bottom of society who worked transporting corpses…
When a real opportunity appeared, all of them could switch to cleaning up the city’s remains without any problem.
Of course, even the homeless would not ignore a gift that had fallen from the sky.
Bodies left in dark alleys.
Discarded weapons.
Anything that could be sold, eaten, traded, or used.
Why?
Because you are alive today.
Tomorrow might not even exist.
Before leaving, Leon looked back one last time at the chaotic battlefield.
Every shootout and every clash in this city left wreckage and remains behind.
Like the death of an enormous whale in the ocean.
One body sinks to the bottom, then attracts an entire ecosystem.
In the end, the same thing always happens.
Those who can eat the meat, eat the meat.
Those who can only gather the leftovers, settle for the leftovers.
Eventually, someone even licks the bowl itself clean.
And even after that, someone desperate enough will always appear to rinse the empty bowl with water and drink that water, convincing themselves that they can still taste a trace of flavor that disappeared long ago.
Just as Leon stepped out of the passage and back onto the street, he caught sight from the corner of his eye of several homeless people in torn clothing.
They carefully avoided his gaze as they slipped deeper into the passage.
The street behind him was narrow, dark, and suffocating.
Tall buildings on both sides completely blocked out the sun.
On the other hand, the main street was bathed in warm, lazy golden light.
Leon tightened his grip on the bag.
He sighed softly.
Then headed toward the restaurant.