Chapter 106: The Unlucky Mercenary

David was certain beyond a doubt that this time, he hadn’t moved his hand swiftly enough to create a breeze. His hand had moved slowly—impossibly so for any wind to arise—and there was no draft inside the room. It was simply impossible for the dust resting on the table to be disturbed.

“Focus, focus!” Suddenly, a thought struck him—a possible explanation.

Instead of reaching out, he directed his mind to concentrate on a speck of dust, intent on controlling it.

That dust particle, singled out by his attention, floated up before his eyes.

“Mental force is a special kind of substance, capable of interfering with reality!”

As David watched the dust hover, this phrase surged through his mind. He didn’t know if it was a memory from this life or the last, but witnessing the scene before him brought the words to the forefront.

Indeed, whether in his previous existence or this one, there were machines that allowed the will to control matter.

Take Hans’s left arm and leg, for example—prosthetics of a unique kind.

Yet those prosthetics functioned by connecting to the nervous system, not in the truest sense of mind interfering with reality.

Other similar devices operated on much the same principle: they interpreted facial expressions, eye movements, or even directly tracked neural changes to manipulate machines or remote signals.

But what David achieved far surpassed these methods—this was true mental interference with reality, even if only with minuscule dust.

Curious to see if his control had improved, he attempted to move a sheet of paper, but it proved his ability was still too weak—his soul, perhaps, remained too feeble.

“Wait—Shadow Attendant can manipulate objects. Is it also mental interference with reality?” David suddenly recalled the Shadow Attendant.

He beckoned to the invisible Shadow Attendant by his side, instructing it to move the paper before him, all the while carefully sensing the process.

Though not an expert in the mental arts, David firmly believed that the Shadow Attendant moved the paper by means of mental interference with reality.

Moreover, he sensed that the Shadow Attendant accomplished the task with greater ease, as if its strength had grown.

Could it be that his own breakthrough had affected the Shadow Attendant as well?

With this thought, David abandoned breakfast and began experimenting.

Through his tests, he found the Shadow Attendant could exert a force of up to two hundred grams—double its previous capacity. Although this strength was still insufficient for combat, it allowed the Shadow Attendant to manipulate heavier and more numerous objects.

Perhaps one day, the Shadow Attendant would wield weapons in battle, as depicted in the Sacrifice Manual.

Furthermore, the distance it could separate from David had increased—from ten meters to twenty meters.

“Master, you should have your breakfast now!” the intelligent steward, Emma, reminded him at that moment.

David returned to the table and began his meal.
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Moore was a mercenary warrior, taking leave in Raber City when the insect invasion occurred, forcing him to be conscripted for war.

When the conflict ended, he suffered minor injuries and received no compensation, which, for a mercenary, was nearly unacceptable.

As he lamented his luck, he saw a job posted on the SkyNet Mercenary Task Station: kidnap a student—specifically noted as not a warrior.

The fee for this mission was a staggering five hundred thousand credits, instantly soothing his wounded pride.

The high reward made him overlook the fact that kidnapping a student was illegal; as long as he acted discreetly, nobody would ever know.

With this mindset, as soon as flights resumed at the airport, he took an air cruiser straight to Pellan City.

Upon arrival, he wasted no time in seeking out a bar.

The Old Soldier Bar sat on the edge of Pellan City, home to a motley crowd—crows, hunters, drunkards, prostitutes, and all manner of folk, giving the place a chaotic air.

Moore entered at noon, finding just over a dozen burly men drinking.

“One Bloody Mary, make it with two pieces of dry ice,” Moore said softly to the scar-faced, one-armed proprietor, tapping the counter four times—once hard, twice softly, and once more hard.

“Everyone here calls me Old Hander. What’s this about? The insect invasion just ended, there are tough bugs outside the city, and you still want to take on a job?” Old Hander, mixing the drink, spoke in a deep voice.

Moore’s gesture was the signal for mercenaries to purchase information. Every city had such places, though the channels and informants varied.

The Old Soldier Bar was part of a traditional information network, run by retired veterans—a chain found in many cities.

“Old Hander, ah, what can I do? I was conscripted in Raber City, and not even given credits for equipment repairs. Without a job, I can’t survive!” Moore shook his head, helpless.

“Don’t whine to me. My information fee won’t be cut by a single cent!” Old Hander knocked his glass against the counter, voice stern.

“Relax, Old Hander. It’s just a small job this time. You’ll get your credits. I want all the information you have on David Kerr,” Moore said, accepting his Bloody Mary with a slight smile.

Old Hander’s movements paused minutely, his ear twitching imperceptibly, before he resumed wiping the counter.

“A name alone isn’t enough. You know there might be others with the same name,” he said, setting aside his cloth and withdrawing his only hand beneath the counter.

“I’m talking about a senior high student. That information shouldn’t cost much,” Moore replied with a grin.

“It’s very expensive—expensive enough to buy your life!” When Old Hander’s hand emerged from under the counter, it held a short gun—a large-caliber weapon known as a ‘hand cannon.’ While it couldn’t harm first-level bugs, it was more than enough to kill any larva or human.

As a warrior, Moore’s reflexes were extraordinary; he rolled quickly, evading Old Hander’s shot.

“This bastard took a job to harm our hero David!” Old Hander looked at Moore as one would a dead man, but did not pursue him, instead shouting loudly.

Moore’s equipment was in the case he carried, but he had no time to open it. The dozen men in the bar grabbed chairs and weapons, closing in.

Meanwhile, the bar’s alarm blared—Old Hander had activated the distress signal, alerting the whole area to an attack.

With the situation outside the city complicated and the mines closed, workers were on leave and the crows had not left town.

So when the Old Soldier Bar’s alarm sounded, the whole district erupted; hundreds armed with various weapons converged on the bar.

“Careful—don’t let him open his case, he’s a warrior!” Old Hander, seasoned as he was, fired at Moore’s case, thwarting Moore’s attempt to retrieve his gear.

Moore smashed an incoming chair with his fist and dodged a thrusting knife.

“I’m a legal mercenary—why are you attacking me?” he shouted angrily.

The men weren’t particularly strong fighters; given a little time, Moore was confident he could defeat them all.

But the most troublesome was Old Hander—whenever Moore tried to gain ground, Old Hander’s hand cannon forced him back.

“Hah! You ask why we’re attacking you? Legal mercenary or warrior, today you won’t leave Pellan City alive! If you plan to harm David, you’ll have to answer to everyone in Pellan City!” Old Hander shouted.

“Who’s trying to harm David?” Voices clamored outside as armed men rushed in, while others unable to enter surrounded the bar.

“Can you tell me why?” Moore, seeing the situation, dropped his case, raised his hands, and questioned Old Hander.

According to the rules of the Old Soldier Bar—and the entire information trade—informants are forbidden from interfering with mercenaries’ business, let alone attacking them directly.

Such actions would seriously damage the bar’s reputation.

“Because the one you seek is David Kerr—the hero of this city!” Old Hander replied gravely.