Chapter 51: Worth the Fight

The attack came faster than expected.

Even faster than Karl and the others had anticipated.

They had all assumed that the attackers had held back during the journey, waiting until the final moments—when they reached their destination and let their guard down—to strike.

So they had mentally prepared for a fight in ten minutes.

But just as they checked the time, turned the corner, and headed toward Azure Tower, the convoy behind them was hit.

Boom!

Karl was the first to react, rolling out of the car and dropping into a defensive stance.

No attack came.

Only then did he realize that the explosion hadn't happened near them—it had hit the rear convoy.

For a moment, he had thought he'd failed to anticipate the attack despite all his caution.

"It's the back of the convoy—looks like the attackers have finally locked onto their target."

Oliver stepped out of the car, gripping his Shingen SMG. At this point, he was sure of it—the previous withdrawal wasn't because the attackers lacked manpower, but rather a calculated move.

Escort missions always have a common saying:

"The most obvious target is often not the real one."

Because everyone knows that walking around flashy and drawing attention is the worst way to stay hidden. Blending into the crowd is always the better strategy.

"They attacked us first, probably to test whether the target was among us. Once they confirmed the target wasn't in our group, there was no reason to keep engaging us."

Oliver's voice was steady, but his eyes were on the other mercs, who were also grabbing their weapons.

"What's the call, Karl?"

Jackie turned to him.

"We turn back and help."

Even though the corpos had left them for dead earlier, this was different. The target was inside that convoy, and if the target died, then this whole mission was a waste of time.

"Got a plan, KK?"

Mann, now fully convinced by Karl's leadership, followed his lead without hesitation.

"No plan."

Karl drew his Kenshin pistol.

"We just kill them all."

He wasn't a professional bodyguard. He didn't know tactical protection maneuvers.

He only knew one way to keep the target safe—

Kill every single threat before they could act.

There were ten mercs left, including Karl, Jackie, Oliver, and Mann.

The remaining six seemed to have already made a decision while they were still in the vehicles. The moment they stepped out, one of them nodded at Karl before sprinting off in the opposite direction of the attack.

"Are they bailing on the mission?"

Karl wondered.

But before he could dwell on it, one of the remaining five mercs approached him.

"You're Karl, right?" the man asked. "I heard your squad calling you that earlier."

"And you are?"

Karl studied the middle-aged mercenary, covered in scars, looking to be in his forties or fifties. He had no time for small talk. They needed to move.

"Call me Brown," the man said. "We saw your skills earlier—when we go in, you're in charge of protecting the target."

"What do you mean, 'I'm in charge of protecting the target'?"

Wasn't that everyone's job?

"This job is messy. The people after the target aren't amateurs. If things go south..." Brown glanced at Karl and nodded. "Consider it a favor for saving my squad earlier—you take the target and run. We'll hold them off."

His voice was calm.

So was the expression of the four mercs standing behind him.

Like they had already accepted it.

Karl suddenly understood everything.

He glanced at the sixth mercenary, the one who had sprinted off into the distance, nearly vanishing from sight.

The middle-aged mercenary noticed Karl's gaze and also turned back to look at his fleeing teammate.

"He's the youngest in our squad. If we die, and the mission is completed, he'll collect the payment from the fixer and send it to our families. That money will be enough for them to survive."

With that, he stepped past Karl, leading his four remaining squadmates toward the fight.

"Don't worry. We've already told him—if we all die, if the mission fails, and there's no money to bury us separately, he'll come back and gather our remains. We'll all be buried together. You wouldn't mind sharing a grave with us, would you?"

Karl exhaled. "I don't mind."

"Good."

The mercenary grinned, the deep lines on his face shifting with the expression. "Then we'll go in first. Remember, if things go south, get the target out. You're too young to die before us old dogs."

From start to finish, the man remained calm.

Only when he was about to walk into his own death did he allow himself a small smile.

And just like that, as he and his squad turned the corner—

Gunfire erupted.

And he was gone.

"Good men."

Mann patted Karl's shoulder before stepping forward.

"In that case, I'll take the front."

After all, that's what he had promised when he joined the team—to stand in front and take the heat.

Karl exhaled again, his expression hardening.

He had never looked this serious before.

What could be heavier than a dying man's last request?

That weight pushed down on Karl's shoulders, forcing him to take things seriously.

By the time he, Oliver, and Jackie reached the corner, the battlefield was pure chaos.

The thirty-seven Arasaka security personnel had been reduced to less than twenty. They had abandoned their vehicles, forcing their way into a three-story convenience store, using the building for defense.

The Lake Lady Guinevere was parked outside with its doors open, but the target was nowhere in sight.

And in front of the store, two separate groups were charging in.

One of them was easy to recognize—the attackers.

The Shingen SMGs made it obvious.

The other group was—

"Maelstrom scum."

Jackie gritted his teeth, his Saratoga SMG already raised as he charged in alongside Mann.

The battlefield was a mess.

Arasaka's security was pinned down, forced to defend the storefront. The attackers and Maelstrom were pushing in together.

Meanwhile, Karl and his mercenary squad were approaching from the side.

Oliver glanced at Karl.

"I'm sticking with Mann and Jackie. You take the back entrance of the store. If there aren't any hostiles there, grab the target and run."

"You're planning to fight to the death?"

"Just think of it as—I caught the infection."

And with that, Oliver charged into battle.

Karl knew what he had to do.

What Brown had told him.

What Oliver had just said.

Get the target out.

Run.

They had to run.

The enemy's goal was the target—not the mercenaries.

As long as the target escaped, they wouldn't be worth pursuing anymore.

At that point, survival wouldn't be impossible.

Karl had killed a lot of people in 2075.

But this was his first time trying to save someone.

And yet—

"This is worth it."