Chapter 69: Affordable Firepower!

More than an hour later, Arthur finally finished his drink and left the Wild Wolf Bar with William, feeling a little tipsy.

For someone like him, who had barely modified his prosthetic body apart from his brain and a small steel cannon, getting drunk was hardly an issue. But living in a place like Night City, who wouldn't want to feel intoxicated every now and then?

Arthur glanced at the email sent by the priest and pinpointed the location.

"As expected, Little China."

As mentioned before, Heywood was an area of stark contrast. It had both extreme wealth and crushing poverty, with a middle section serving as a buffer between the two.

Little China was the poorest part of Heywood, home to over 80% of the district's slums. The poverty had led to an environment rife with extreme violence.

Graffiti-covered ruins bore the marks of the Valentino Gang, their influence deeply embedded in the area. The question was—when the impoverished and the criminals of Little China saw businessmen and wealthy individuals passing through, did they feel envy or hatred?

It wasn't a designated combat zone, but it was still extremely dangerous.

Of course, that only applied to ordinary people. For someone like Arthur, who specialized in combat, even a war zone wouldn't feel too threatening.

After all, no one was stupid enough to pick a fight they couldn't win.

By 2076, scanning technology had become incredibly advanced. Unless someone was using a highly customized modification, it was easy to assess a person's combat capabilities at a glance.

Imagine walking down the street and spotting someone covered head to toe in unknown cyberware. What would you do?

In a game, you might be tempted to approach and stab them just to see what loot they were carrying. But in reality? You'd keep your distance. You wouldn't want to end up in a back alley, bleeding out in Night City's filth.

So, not only did no one harass Arthur as he walked, but even the tattoo-covered gangsters steered clear of him. Some even looked as if they wanted to hide in trash cans, afraid of being noticed.

Despite the slum's reputation for frequent violence and crime, Arthur didn't hear a single sign of trouble.

To an outsider, it might seem like Little China had a better security system than the rest of Night City. But that wasn't the case—this was simply fear at work.

Of course, just because experienced criminals could sense danger didn't mean newbies could.

The problem with rookies is that they don't know their place.

"Hey, Arthur, are you sure you can handle this alone?" William asked nervously, keeping his hands hidden under his coat. "Where are your weapons? I don't see anything on you."

His body language was jittery, like a cockroach scurrying near a piece of bread in Night City's kitchens—obviously up to something.

Arthur glanced at William's oversized windbreaker and immediately knew what was underneath.

"Let me guess… a DB-2 Satara?"

It was a common shotgun in Night City, a double-barreled electromagnetic weapon. Popular, affordable, and reliable—at least compared to the garbage-tier weapons some people used.

It was produced by Rostovic, a company known for making cheap firearms. In Night City, the only thing more important than life itself was a weapon. Money came after that.

But just like everywhere else, Night City had a class divide. The rich could afford high-end Arasaka or Kang Tao gear, but the poor? They relied on budget weapons.

That's where Affordable Firepower Company came in.

Buying a gun from them was as easy as getting a snack from a vending machine. Just pop in some coins, and out came a weapon. The only downside? The quality was questionable.

Still, even a low-quality gun could kill, and that was all that mattered.

The company's most infamous product was the disposable pistol—a cheap firearm, often the first choice for the desperate seeking revenge. There was, however, a 60% chance that it would explode upon firing.

But for those set on revenge, that didn't matter. Either way, someone was going to die.

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"With that shotgun of yours, if a real fight breaks out, you'll probably end up as pulp," Arthur said with a smirk.

The gangs in Night City had serious firepower.

Most were backed by corporations, meaning the weapons discarded by corporate armies often ended up in their hands. Gang members could get their hands on heavy machine guns, rocket launchers, and sometimes even military-grade combat drones.

Of course, they wouldn't normally deploy such extreme measures. Even gangsters had to respect the city's power structure.

"That's still better than walking around unarmed," William grumbled, clearly irritated. He had finally built up the courage to seek revenge—failure wasn't an option.

Dying? That was one thing. But losing face? That was worse.

Arthur sighed and stopped next to a secluded alley. He glanced at William and shook his head.

"This is why I hate clueless rookies," he muttered. "Listen, once I take your money, I will get the job done. If I thought I couldn't handle it, I wouldn't have accepted it in the first place. I don't gamble with my life."

"I'm not some idiot who'd try to assassinate Saburo Arasaka just for the sake of a cool headline."

Arthur took a deep breath, checked his surroundings, and confirmed that they were near their target location.

Satisfied, he turned to William again.

"Stay here. Don't move. I'll handle this. You can deal with your enemy after I bring him to you."

Without waiting for a response, Arthur stepped out of the alley, walking toward the target location with confident strides.

Night City's Slums—A Filthy Maze

The slums were a maze of twisting alleyways, narrow roads, and a constant stench.

Every step was a gamble—you might step on something disgusting, or worse, something dangerous.

Arthur turned a corner and spotted two figures conducting a deal. They each held large boxes, whispering as they exchanged goods.

The moment they noticed him, a dozen pairs of eyes locked onto him.

One of them belonged to the Uzumaki Gang. He had extra cybernetic eyes embedded in his face, making him look like a mutated rat from the sewers.

Arthur could never understand their aesthetic choices.

Clearly, this was an illegal arms deal. Arthur shrugged.

"Just passing through. Don't mind me," he said casually, walking in another direction.

But one of them—a particularly stupid gang member—stepped forward, ignoring his own scanning data.

"Hey, bastard! You think you can just walk away after seeing our deal?" he sneered. "You're making me lose face."

He pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Arthur.

Arthur sighed. Seriously? With a weapon like that?

Without another word, he activated his Mantis Blades.

Time seemed to freeze as Arthur vanished and reappeared behind the two men.

His blades slashed through their necks like a scythe through wheat.

A second later, time resumed. The gang members barely registered what happened before their heads twisted midair, their bodies collapsing in a spray of blood.

Arthur retracted his blades, picked up the two boxes, and sighed.

"Some suffering is inflicted by others," he muttered. "Some suffering is self-inflicted. Night City never changes—still full of idiots who force my hand."

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