Chapter 120
"Because of money?"
"Yeah, he probably came to earn money. Like I said, the Shaolin Temple is Poor."
I was momentarily dumbfounded by the Detective Ronin's words as he shrugged.
Poor?
Turning my head toward the center table, I immediately see the Machine Monk leisurely sipping a mojito.
That's probably pretty expensive.
Our bar has relatively reasonable prices compared to competing establishments, but that doesn't mean it's cheap by any means.
Cocktails themselves are subtly luxurious items that can never be cheap when factoring in the cost of ingredients, labor, rent, and liquor taxes.
He's drinking such cocktails to his heart's content, yet he's Poor.
An ominous thought suddenly flashed through my mind at the Machine Monk's lavish spending, which seemed to completely disregard his financial situation. Don't Tell me he's going to try to put it on a tab because he has no money.
Our bar strictly refuses tabs.
"Well, he probably still has money to buy drinks. It just means they're impoverished by the standards of a religious Faction; they shouldn't be so impoverished that they can't even properly provide travel expenses to a Monk dispatched to the secular World... probably."
The Detective Ronin's well-timed words, as if he had noticed my worry, gave me some relief.
It would have been really nice if he hadn't trailed off at the end as if he lacked confidence.
Impoverished, how could Shaolin, the leading authority of the Nine Great Sects and One Alliance, have fallen so far...!
While lamenting the dark future of the Cyber Murim, I opened my mouth at a sudden thought.
"But if Shaolin is Poor and comes to earn money to solve that problem, wouldn't it need a massive sum capable of restoring its wealth by the standards of a religious Faction?"
"I suppose so."
I briefly tapped the calculator in my head.
If it's enough money to allow a declining religious Faction to catch its breath for a moment... how much would it be?
"A few million... no, tens of millions."
That was it.
Considering Dusk City's murderous cost of living, tens of millions of City Dollars would easily be needed.
And what that meant was,
"That Machine Monk can earn that kind of money?"
The Monk who, just a little while ago, was stuck with his arm caught in a vending machine slot unable to do anything, could earn an astronomical sum that I couldn't even begin to match even if I saved my salary without spending a single penny for the rest of my life?
Feeling somewhat despondent and completely unable to believe it, I blinked my eyes, to which the Detective Ronin nodded.
"It is probable, though it'll just be pouring water into a bottomless jug."
I wouldn't care if it were pouring water into a bottomless jug; I just want to earn that kind of money once too.
How on earth does he earn that kind of money?
Wearing a bamboo hat and holding out a bowl to beg for alms doesn't seem like it would be very lucrative.
"You said they can't even get donations from corporations or Nobles, so where exactly is he getting that money?"
Is there anywhere such a massive sum could come from without getting involved with corporations?
With my impoverished imagination, I couldn't even begin to guess.
When I asked the self-proclaimed Mr. K more about it, he answered in a Meaningful voice.
"Because receiving donations isn't the only way to wring money out of a corporation."
What is that supposed to mean?
When I failed to understand his meaning, the Detective Ronin tapped his head with his finger and spoke in an obnoxious voice.
"Think about it a little. The rumors should have spread to you by now, so why don't you recall why people have been flocking so unusually to this vicinity lately."
"That's because Dead Cell—"
I raised my voice without realizing it, then felt the surrounding gazes drawn to me and leaned forward to whisper.
"That's because the Dead Cell gang stole a corporation's property nearby, isn't it?"
(more accurately, the Militia Secret Research Institute's data)
They seized the confidential research data that might be connected to the experiments I underwent.
Because of that, the sealed off area was swarming with ronins who caught a whiff of something Suspicious, Corporate Hounds from Militia or other corporations, and all sorts of other dangerous persons of interest.
Because once they found and killed the henchman of those Machine Fetishist bastards presumed to be hiding somewhere, they would be able to get their hands on that data.
high risk, high return, as they say.
Whether they returned it to Militia or sold it off to a rival Megacorp... either way was incredibly dangerous, but if they succeeded, a massive reward awaited them.
"Exactly that. Have you Ever seen a dentist make money by receiving donations? Dentists usually pull people's teeth and receive treatment fees. It's a similar logic."
The Detective Ronin's enigmatic story was unfolding, his tone becoming more and more like his old self.
I wasn't so stupid that I couldn't understand it was a kind of metaphor.
He is saying right now that the Machine Monk is the corporations' dentist.
Not someone who receives one-sided donations from corporations, but an entity that pulls the corporations' aching teeth and receives compensation in return.
A corporate problem solver.
At this point, I slowly began to guess why the Machine Monk had come all the way here.
What would be the reason for a dentist to make a house call? He must have come To Pull a tooth.
And Militia's most painful cavity was located right around here.
In the end, that Machine Monk had also come looking for Militia's confidential data, just like everyone else.
This was because of money.
It was a much easier and simpler conclusion than I thought, and perhaps because of that, it was anticlimactic.
"...Well then, isn't he much different from the other ronins?"
"Broadly speaking, you could say that. But there are definitely differences that cannot be ignored."
The Ronin Detective spoke while putting on airs to the fullest, saying that two things came to mind right away.
"First, a Shaolin Monk does not move without a request for cooperation from a corporation."
It meant that even if that Machine Monk looked clumsy on the Outside, he was a problem solver dispatched after Militia or another Megacorp officially requested the Shaolin Temple to quietly Resolve this incident.
In short, if the other ronins were quack dentists at an Underground Clinic, this guy was a legitimate dentist who only took appointment-only customers.
"And his skills would be just as guaranteed."
Perhaps thinking this explanation was Insufficient, the Ronin Detective added—
"To put it more bluntly."
"To put it?"
"That Shaolin Monk is fucking strong."
—He was fucking strong, apparently.
* * *
According to the Ronin Detective, it was only natural for Shaolin's Warrior Monk to be fucking good at fighting, and it was common knowledge on a level that didn't even need explaining.
Even if the Shaolin Temple had fallen into ruin, did that mean their orthodox Martial Arts remained the same?!
Did they skip the Buddhist studies and meditation they were supposed to do and just eat and do Martial Arts training? Well, since he's a machine, maybe he trained without even eating. It wasn't even a real Cyber Murim, so why was there a concept of a Warrior Monk in a 22nd century Buddhist Sect?
There were many parts I couldn't understand, but since that was how it was, I had no choice but to Accept it.
I felt like I had seen related lore in the Original Game, but I couldn't remember it.
My memory, which had noticeably improved lately, didn't seem to have much effect in this area.
Anyway, was that why all the other Ronin were keeping their distance from the Shaolin Machine Monk, or was there another reason?
The Shaolin Monk said he would repay his debt to me, but could I trust that?
And why was he disguised in such a clumsy Ronin appearance, and so on?
I had a lot more to ask the explainer Ronin Detective, but unfortunately, time did not permit.
The bar was incredibly busy due to the influx of customers, and asking even this much was the result of somehow squeezing out free time that I didn't even have.
A massive pile of work had built up again, and I had to handle it.
Still, I should consider this a desired outcome. I think I got all the information worth getting.
I thanked the Ronin Detective, and when he told me to buy him a drink if I was thankful, I picked out one of the cheap synthetic liquors from the menu, casually handed it to him, and resumed my duties as the bar Manager.
Catching the tails of troublemakers trying to sneak out without paying their drink tabs, restraining a brute who was furiously rage-slamming the joystick of the newly brought-in arcade game machine as if he had narrowly died in a boss fight...
My body was moving diligently as I worked, but my mind was deep in other thoughts.
One question lingered in my mind.
“If he”s fucking strong, how strong is he?'
Just how well does he fight for them to even use the expression “fucking strong”?
If it were a game, the conclusion would have been simple.
To be called fucking strong, you'd have to hit max level. On top of that, you'd need good traits, and have all your weapons and items at endgame tier...
But in the Original Game, let Alone max level, even just getting near it meant you were treated as the city's living Legend, a one-man army, a monster capable of toppling a corporation single-handedly within the Setting.
But in reality, such absurd things couldn't be possible, and there was no convenient standard for power level measurement like levels.
Without an eye for that sort of thing, and without an item similar to a Scouter from Dragon Ball, a rough guess was the best I could do.
Let's see, let's find a point of comparison.
Among the people I've met, someone who naturally made me think 'they're fucking strong,' someone who could serve as a power level scanner, is memorable.
“Ned Ludd?”
The first to come to mind was the Troublemaker and villain terrorist who had left the strongest impression on me.
Just recalling that name brings on PTSD.
blood-soaked hands, muscles paralyzed by electric currents, the heat of the Explosion...
The stinging memory of fearlessly facing the Leader of the Machine Destroyers one-on-one with a Japanese sword.
It somehow felt like a long time ago, but it was a story from just four days ago.
“He was definitely fucking strong.”
I even had nightmares about it just last night.
But that was strictly relative to me, based on my standards.
I had only succeeded in a gamble at the very end using cheat codes like Schneider's Kokuyōtō and the Microchip in My Head.
It's funny for me to evaluate anything when I was consistently pushed back and beaten from start to Finish during the fight itself.
Judging objectively, Ned Ludd's Body Modification and armament level wasn't all that outstanding itself.
It was probably because, as members of a red notice terrorist gang, they couldn't use legal purchasing or surgical routes, and because of the Luddite ideology that specifically rejected cybernetics.
So—even if he was exhausted from dealing with other ronins—wasn't that why a mere bar Manager like me was somehow able to fend him off?
Rather than overwhelming output, Ned Ludd's strengths were his cunning and swift movements that caught people off Guard, his bold execution, and his strategy and tactics.
That was why he faltered for a while after those aspects were countered.
He was a sort of intellectual rogue or assassin class, so his pure combat power itself shouldn't be considered that high.
Based on the Original Game, he'd be Level 5, and based on the Isiho corporation's in-house Human Resources Evaluation System, I'd guess he'd have a Combat Ability score around B+.
Considering I got a dismal result of F+ there, it's definitely incomparably higher than mine.
Still, to be objectively called fucking strong, shouldn't he be around A+ or S-Rank?
You know, if you look at novels or games, they don't even treat you as anything unless you're at that level.
Even that wasn't enough, so the trend was for things like SSS-Rank or EX-Rank to pop up everywhere.
“Even if he”s not at that level, he should be stronger than the B+ Ned Ludd, since he's a fully mechanical Shaolin Monk problem solver trusted and used by corporations...'
Another point of comparison immediately came to mind.
“Then how about comparing him to a DCPD Patrol Officer? From there on, it”s clearly an A-Rank, a level that should be called Superhuman.'
I fell deep into thought, recalling the overwhelming Combat Ability I had experienced at the monorail Platform and the game center/arcade.
Once I started, the questions wouldn't stop.
Patrol Officers were surprisingly numerous and common, with five or six existing in just one district/sector, so let's assume for now that the rarer Machine Monk is stronger.
Then what about an Enforcer? What about the Mili-Mili-Mili-Mili-Tech Special Inspectors I've only heard about?
How would he compare to the Isiho Chairman's bodyguard Warrior, Sandayu, or the highest-ranking samurai of other corporations?
It was a completely meaningless daydream unless I was actually going to make them fight in reality.
It wasn't that important in the first place, and it wasn't a problem that would yield an Answer just by my thinking about it Alone like this...
Still, these kinds of random imaginations were fun, and they made the time pass quickly.
It was when I was using half my brain to work and the other half to be deeply immersed in my thoughts.
"Aaron."
A person's husky voice suddenly arose.
It was Sey.
"If you're not busy, come over here and act as a Barback."
The Bartender, who might have the Answer I was looking for, and who was suspected of possessing an estimated S+ Rank Combat Ability based on the Isiho corporation's in-house Human Resources Evaluation System, spoke to me.