Cyberpunk: I'm Not a Scavenger - Chapter 87: The Traditionalists (Patreon)

The instant Pantheon stepped through the torii gate, blinding crimson streams of data erupted across his cybernetic eye.

“Under attack!”

[Reboot Optics] [Cyberware Malfunction] [Localized Meltdown]

The daemon’s transmission progress shot to 100% in an instant. Pantheon’s left eye suddenly went blind, and the neural link behind his ear grew slightly warm.

And then? That was it.

Even without a cyberdeck, Pantheon's self-contained ICE had enough processing power from his own brain to withstand most netrunners. But faced with the overwhelming computational power of Arasaka's data fortress, he didn’t even think of putting up a fight.

So he let them have it. Big deal.

Knowing full well this was a trap, Pantheon naturally wouldn’t store any important information in his neural link. The most they would find were chat logs discussing the details of his plan with Meredith.

Their cyberware attack was even more ridiculous.

Apart from his cybernetic left eye, his body consisted entirely of natural flesh and purely biological implants.

So the Arasaka netrunners never got the sight they'd imagined: Pantheon convulsing before collapsing helplessly to the ground.

Pantheon traced the intrusion back to the netrunners' location and gave them a mocking smile.

“What else can you do besides spit all over my face?”

Following the connection, Pantheon quickly found the shrine's server room. Both netrunners were hiding inside. From a few meters away, he could already hear the netrunner hiding behind the door gasping for breath.

With a wicked grin, Pantheon sliced a large gash in the door with his Chainsword, right next to where the netrunner was standing.

“Here’s Johnny!”

“Ah!”

Before the netrunner behind the door could even react, Pantheon kicked the door hard, sending both the door and the netrunner flying.

The door pinned the netrunner against the wall with a tremendous crash, leaving him motionless. Whether he was alive or dead was anyone's guess. Apparently unsatisfied, Pantheon followed up with a [War Stomp] on the fallen door.

Only when blood began gushing from beneath the door did he turn his attention to the other side.

The other netrunner turned pale and roared as he raised his arm.

“Die!”

In the dimly lit room, a Monowire as thin as a spider’s web shot out from the netrunner’s wrist, coiling toward Pantheon’s neck.

“Is that all?”

Pantheon let out two derisive laughs and swung his Chainsword at the netrunner. The Monowire, supposedly capable of cutting through anything, snapped apart the instant it touched the Chainsword's teeth.

Before the netrunner could withdraw his arm, the Chainsword followed through.

The blade split his body from the shoulder downward. Blood and coolant pooled on the floor, filling the air with a foul odor.

Nourished by the blood, the Chainsword emitted an excited roar.

Pantheon frowned, shook off the blood clinging to the Chainsword, turned, and walked out of the server room toward the main hall of the shrine.

Morning dew condensed on the blades of grass, and illusory holographic cherry blossoms drifted down from the sky.

Stone lanterns lining both sides of the shrine path emitted a faint, cold glow, illuminating the figure in the middle of the path.

The master swordsman, Hiruzen Shimura.

With each exhalation, two visible plumes of white vapor escaped from his mouth and nose, lingering in the air for a long time.

His normally frail and gaunt frame seemed to swell at that moment, and a suffocating, terrifying aura erupted from within him.

Pantheon slung his Chainsword over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow with interest.

“Well, old man, is that ninjutsu or qigong?”

Hiruzen Shimura slowly opened his eyes. His once-clouded gaze was now sharp as a blade.

“This is a breathing technique.”

He didn't raise his voice, yet every word carried.

Hiruzen Shimura studied Pantheon, conflicting emotions flickering through his gaze.

“I thought the one who killed my three useless disciples would be a monster stuffed with cyberware. I never imagined he'd be a young man.”

As a traditionalist, he'd always despised cyberware augmentation. He had even refused the experimental implants offered by Arasaka.

Now that the operation had gone wrong, that decision had spared him the ordeal. Whether it was a blessing or a curse remained to be seen.

“So you're the master of those three stooges.”

Pantheon thought for a moment and finally remembered the three of them.

First the young ones, now the old man.

Was this the obligatory scene in every East Asian story, where beating the youngsters brought out their elder?

“Arrogant!”

Although he couldn’t understand what Pantheon was saying, he figured it couldn’t possibly be anything nice.

Hiruzen Shimura laid a hand on his sword hilt, murderous intent fixed squarely on Pantheon.

“Enough talk. Let me teach you a lesson, you wicked little Night City brat!”

“Clang! Clang!”

The Chainsword met the katana in a shower of sparks. In just a few seconds, the two had already exchanged over ten rapid blows.

Hiruzen Shimura pushed his breathing technique to the absolute limit, his body nearly returning to the peak condition of his youth.

But even that wasn’t enough against Pantheon, whose body rivaled the limits of human capability.

What was even more troubling was that although his opponent was clearly just a young man, he wielded the heavy, rugged Chainsword as if he were a veteran who’d been honing his skills for decades.

For a moment, Hiruzen Shimura wondered whether he'd wasted every one of the past few decades.

After several exchanges, Hiruzen Shimura used the momentum from a collision to suddenly step back, creating some distance.

Panting heavily, he looked at Pantheon, who remained virtually unchanged, and a wave of bitterness welled up in his heart. Why hadn't he listened to the Tyger Claws and Arasaka and agreed to have cyberware installed?

Even ordinary military-grade implants would have spared him this humiliation.

“It seems I really am getting old.”

Hiruzen Shimura took a deep breath, gradually subduing his aura until he once again became an ordinary old man.

“Young man, let’s settle this with a single sword strike. If you win, you may take this old man’s life!”

Pantheon thought for a moment, looking at the wrinkled hands that gripped the sword hilt so tightly, and decided to give him a chance.

“All right, I’ll grant you your wish.”

A morning wind swept by, and a single virtual cherry blossom petal drifted silently to the ground.

Both men moved at the same time.

Steel clashed with a piercing shriek as the two figures passed each other on the walkway.

Pantheon touched the fresh cut on his face, surprised. He hadn’t expected this old man to actually wound him.

Behind him, Hiruzen Shimura’s Katana clattered to the stone pavement, snapping in two. A deep, bone-exposing gash appeared on his chest, and blood gushed out.

“Such... such a fast sword!”

At death's door, he seemed to sense something. With great effort, he turned toward the sword in Pantheon's hand.

“A demon sword... a demon sword. Beware of it, sir.”

With those words, he could no longer hold himself up and collapsed to the ground.

[Detected trait: [Breath of the Roots] (Purple)]

[Breath of the Roots] (Purple)

Description: Patient and resilient as roots buried deep in the earth.

Effect: Cool +4. Special effect: Improves stamina recovery. Actively using this breathing technique briefly restores the user's peak condition, followed by a period of weakness.

The boost to Cool made Pantheon more rational.

It was as though he'd awakened from a dream. Staring at the Chainsword in horror, he activated Witcher Senses.

A halo of blood-red and golden light encircled the blade, accompanied by a faint chant.

“Blood sacrifice to the Divine Emperor, skull offered to the Golden Throne!”

Fuck! This thing's got the Emperor and Khorne written all over it!

...

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