Everyone immediately got to work.
Two men wearing wolf and fox masks shoved the minotaur, its limbs severed, back into the truck bed—the minotaur, of course, wasn't dead yet. Even the bio-monsters from Smoke Mirror Corporation weren't that easy to kill. And if they were, Gustav would be in big trouble.
Meanwhile, Gustav moved the crocodile, who had been knocked unconscious and was barely alive, and the driver into the passenger seat.
"Boss, boss, look, look."
Just then, Dolly suddenly reached out and tugged at Gustav's arm, gesturing to him.
"The minotaur's severed arms and legs never regenerated."
Gustav shrugged. "Of course I can tell. Their magic and equipment are clearly not from South America. That's not unusual. Luckily, they know they can't kill indiscriminately, or things would be much worse."
As he spoke, he tore off a piece of his own flesh and stuck it to the ripped wound in the truck bed. The flesh quickly regenerated, barely managing to mend the wound. Unfortunately, the truck's chitinous shell wasn't so easily repaired, but that was a minor matter for the employer to worry about.
Gustav sat in the driver's seat and plunged his hand into the truck's pink control panel. His blood vessels and nerves immediately connected with the truck's pink brain and its spasming, tentacle-like nervous system.
The nerve signal shock only gave Gustav a slight shiver. Then, using the driving skills he had temporarily borrowed from the driver's brain, he took control of the six-legged truck, driving the truck's brain and speeding towards its destination.
This is no easy feat. These bio-vehicles built by Smoke Mirror Company require specialized skills to operate. Thankfully, their drivers didn't actually die. Thankfully, no one died today.
But considering everything that had happened today, and all the things that everyone would have to repair and replace later, and the associated costs, Gustav wasn't feeling very happy. Today's commission hadn't been worthwhile at all.
However... perhaps there is a way to reduce his losses.
"Friends, are you just from North America?"
He looked up and asked the white wolf masked man and the white fox masked man standing on the roof of the car.
“Yes,” replied the magician wearing the white wolf mask. “Business in the north is getting harder and harder. We heard that mercenaries in South America make more money, so we came down here. Is it that easy to see?”
“That’s too easy.” Gustav smiled wryly. “What mercenary in South America doesn’t have a single piece of biohazard gear? And it’s obvious, isn’t it? Your female companion finds our trucks disgusting. If you want to work here, you’ll have a lot to get used to.”
The man in the white wolf mask reached out and rubbed the white fox's drooping ears, comforting her not to be discouraged.
In his view, this instinctive reaction was uncontrollable. After all, the things in South America were just too strange. It was as if they had replaced the high-tech products we usually knew, like guns and machinery, with biological artifacts. When driving, you had to reach into the flesh-and-nerve control panel, and the guns seemed to be some kind of living thing. The visual impact of these exposed internal organs without skin, coupled with the sticky cries, created a rather exotic atmosphere.
If outsiders want to figure everything out on their own, it will probably take them a long time.
So the man in the white wolf mask turned to Gustav and said, "If a good local colleague could tell us what tricks we need to learn quickly, that would be great for us."
Gustav finally smiled seriously: "Well, there are indeed such colleagues. For a good spellcaster and street warrior, there are always such colleagues. In other words, if you want to do a few more jobs for us."
"make a deal."
The man in the white wolf mask nodded.
“My name is Fenrir, and this is Xiaoyu. Actually, I’ve had a question since earlier—I can tell your job is to transport that minotaur, but is it really okay to chop off the limbs of the goods before delivering them in South America?”
"It's alright. As long as you're alive, it's alright. No matter what kind of injury you suffer, as long as you're not dead, it's easy to repair, and it won't even cost much." Gustav waved his hand. "The first principle of working here is that as long as you don't die or anyone gets killed, you can do anything you want."
Fenrir, upon hearing this, seemed thoughtful: "I've heard from the north that South American mercenaries fight and kill each other with great intensity. I didn't expect you guys to be so afraid of death."
Unexpectedly, this made Gustav laugh: "Cherish your life? Yes, of course we cherish our lives. Just like I cherish my wallet."
"Actually, in the territories of other South American gods, the matter of killing people is even less important. Only in the land of our Goddess of Death is it particularly important to prevent people from dying casually. Because people cannot die casually in our land. Therefore, our land actually has some order."
That being said, there was no fear of death itself, no desire for life itself, and not even a hint of... negativity in Gustav's tone.
Guns made of flesh and blood, bullets made of bone, six-legged beetle trucks driven by living nerve connections, and various tools made entirely of leather, flesh, and bone... The style of these things would certainly astonish any outsider at first glance. But Fenrir was truly concerned with those things that couldn't be seen at first glance.
Urban mercenaries do everything, and no matter where they are, the things they do are pretty much the same.
Theft, robbery, kidnapping, breaking and entering, smuggling, kidnapping, sabotage, restraint, stalking, security, errands and deliveries... all these are done by taking orders from the employer (Johnson) through a middleman (fixer).
But if that's the case, what exactly is the difference between North American mercenaries and South American mercenaries?
The difference is absolutely not whether the knives they are using are made of bone or steel.
310: Death and Taxes
The transport of the Minotaur went smoothly without any further mishaps. Everyone drove the truck to the dock without incident and handed it over to the people waiting there.
However, Gustav was still cautious. So he slipped some banknotes to the group waiting at the dock and quietly asked them, "Do you know where this cargo is going?"
The result he got was not surprising: the people responsible for transferring the containers from the dock had no idea what this bull-headed giant was all about.
Gustav suspected that even if he questioned the middleman or confronted the employer, he probably wouldn't know anything more. Using illegitimate mercenaries to transport bio-engineered monsters that could suddenly turn on and kill wasn't considered a particularly outrageous trick in this line of work. He guessed that was probably the only option left.
On the bright side—at least no one died, and they even recruited two new, seemingly promising, teammates.
Gustav was an optimistic and generous man. As soon as the delivery work was finished, he helped Fenrir and Xiaoyu find a place to rent. An apartment suite where the two of them could squeeze in only cost 800 gold coins a month, with no deposit required—of course, Gustav also readily transferred the 20% commission from this delivery job, 3,000 gold coins, to Fenrir.
"Transporting a minotaur across half the city, a job that only lasts one night, is worth 15,000?"
Fenrir was somewhat surprised when he saw the transfer.
"Is the mercenary business in South America really that lucrative?"
“Of course, not everyone makes money this easily.” Gustav laughed, then patted the various scars on his body. “My team and I, our equipment, are top-notch. Only a top-notch team can get such a high share of the profits from the middleman.”
Fenrir glanced at his two teammates behind him, who had been badly beaten but had somehow survived, and nodded: "I can see that. I hope we can work together again in the future."
“Of course I welcome talented people,” Gustav grinned. “But starting next time, it’ll be based on how much work you do to get paid.”
There is certainly no problem with that.
They exchanged communication codes. Before parting ways (the unconscious driver and the alligator had already been taken to the hospital), Fenrir and Jade removed their masks, showing everyone their true faces, their fox and wolf ears, and their fluffy tails.
“Since we’re going to work together, I think we should let our colleagues see our faces. And you can all tell that Xiaoyu and I are monsters, not humans.”
Gustav had absolutely no objection to this.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. “In South America, regardless of race, whether spirit or flesh and blood, whether alive or dead, it’s all the same.”
We're all just tools, right?
Next, Gustav sent them future employment contracts.
Yes, the contract. It outlines how money will be distributed, with each person's compensation based on their position within the team. It also stipulates what to do if someone is injured or dies, how equipment damaged during work will be reimbursed, and so on.
"...South American mercenaries would sign these kinds of work contracts?" To be honest, Fenrir was genuinely surprised. "I thought your rules were more relaxed than other places."
“There are only two things we can’t escape here,” Gustav shrugged, “taxes and death. And our esteemed Goddess of Death watches over both. We have to pay taxes too, though thankfully it’s just a fixed amount.”
After all, freelance mercenaries don't run legitimate companies, so there's no way to collect taxes through audits.
"But as you know, this is the northernmost part of the country. The further south you go, the more relaxed things become in the territories of other great gods or chief gods."
“By the way,” Dolly raised her hand and asked, “Fenrir, Jade, you’re both spirits, and you’re from the same place, right? So what’s your relationship? Are you really husband and wife?”
Fenrir was slightly taken aback, but Xiaoyu was stunned first.
Finally, Fenrir said, "We are siblings."
A wolf demon and a fox demon, how do they look like siblings?
However, Dolly didn't doubt it at all; instead, she looked on with great envy: "Wow, so this is what siblings are like! I want brothers and sisters too!"
"Do not be silly."
Gustav waved his hand.
"Fenrir, we made a lot of money this time, but we also spent a lot. We need to find another job quickly; they should contact you in the next two or three days."
“Sure,” Fenrir nodded. “But as you just mentioned, there are many customs and rules for mercenaries in South America that are different from those in the North. Just in case you break any taboos, you should explain them to us in detail, right?”
"Of course. I'm ready."
Several data packets were transmitted from Gustav's side in response.
No matter how much they talk about developing biotechnology, South Americans obviously can't do without StarNet communication and standard file formats. Fenrir opened the file and found several indexes with brief descriptions next to them, which could be clicked to view more details.
"These are things you need to pay special attention to when you're a mercenary in South America. Take your time to read them. Everyone needs to rest, so I won't bother you any longer."
And so, Gustav and his companions left. Everyone seemed quite satisfied with their day's harvest.
Fenrir and Xiaoyu went to the door after they had gone far away, cast a protective spell, and then looked at each other for a while.
"The mercenaries in South America... are quite different from what I originally imagined."
Then Xiaoyu—Hongye finally couldn't help but say, "They all seem to be very happy."
"It's not just about being happy."
Hayden (in Fenrir) casually browsed through the document items.
"If the data Gustav gave me isn't fake—I did some research online beforehand so it seems unlikely that it's all fake—the casualty rate among South American mercenaries is much lower than in North America."
Hayden still had some data on the activities of South American free mercenaries that he had asked Alastor to help him investigate and compile before he came to South America. Even then, he discovered that the casualty rate among South American free mercenaries was astonishingly low. The vast majority of mercenaries retired on their own after the age of fifty. Moreover, the mortality rate of mercenaries belonging to companies was even more astonishingly low.
Why? The most obvious reason is that the mercenaries here have undergone extensive biochemical modifications. What most people consider fatal wounds are not enough to kill most South American mercenaries. Even if they are shot in the head or have their hearts pierced, they could probably survive for a while longer.
This insect-like vitality is at least at the level of enhancing humans... but that's clearly not the whole reason.
The second reason was clearly because the goddess Mikkuri strictly forbade people from dying indiscriminately in her territory. Hayden had also seen this in the notes Gustav had given him. It seemed that Mikkuri could immediately sense if anyone died in her territory. Unless the death occurred in a permitted place like the arena or a hospital, the company's rapid response forces would immediately teleport over. These company special forces were all fully equipped combat gods; a single squad could arrest everyone present without explanation and take them away.
This tactic will wipe out everyone, whether you're a gangster, a mercenary, or a schemer. It's as efficient as an NPC guard in an online game arresting players with negative reputations.
However, this only happens on the territory of the goddess Mikkuri. Other gods with smoke-like deities don't do this at all.
"Is it that other gods can't do it? Obviously not, at least I don't think they can't. If the gods of capital wanted to, they could certainly maintain order throughout the world."
At this point, Hayden gave a cold laugh.
"Such a rapid response, such swift teleportation of the Protoss squads to suppress the anomalous deaths, is obviously very costly. Other gods are unwilling to do this... but why is Mikert willing? It's clearly not because she has a conscience. It's obviously because something makes it even more costly for her not to do it."
Miktikahiva allowed only the people she ruled to die within the areas she specifically designated.
"It will probably take a lot of time to figure these things out, and I don't know whether this matter is considered difficult or easy."
Hayden shook his head.
"There are just too many unusual phenomena in South America."
If there's anything certain about this era, it's that big corporations are always keeping some secrets.
Meanwhile, Hayden's other two lines of communication were also simultaneously investigating and learning about different aspects of the situation.
311: Classic scene
Mercenaries are, in essence, a team activity. Lone wolf mercenaries like Hayden are purely legends or infamous figures. While their fellow outlaws admire such lone wolves, they also tend to see them as madmen.
Of course, a lone wolf like Hayden, who went to extremes, married a great man, and became an agent for a new mega-corporation, would immediately be hailed as a myth—but that's another matter entirely.
So generally speaking, most mercenaries have teams and make friends. It's a collective job.
...On the other hand, those who fight in gladiatorial combat, especially in life-or-death battles, probably wouldn't find it so easy to make friends.
Hayden splits into three bodies: the wolf goes to work as a mercenary with the fox, the snake, who is both alive and dead, goes to look for a job, and his original body goes to work as a gladiator with Angela.
The territory of Goddess Mikite is dotted with arenas, and only a small portion of them are actually run by the Smoke Mirror Company. Most are actually small, individually owned shops, often run by struggling husband-and-wife teams barely making ends meet. These small shops, grocery stores, restaurants, and clothing stores—people at the lower end of the scale economy—often find themselves struggling to make ends meet. So, some of them will clear a space near their shops and set up makeshift arenas. These simple arenas don't cost much, and Goddess Mikite seems to value such facilities, even subsidizing them slightly.
Over time, these gladiatorial combats began to develop very strange competition systems. For example, a tiered system was introduced in the arenas; if you wanted to fight in a higher-level arena, you had to start from the lower-level shop matches... To be honest, it all started to resemble some kind of strange game competition.
Perhaps they are actually just strange games and competitions.
In short, Hayden first used magic to change his appearance and face, put away his staff, took off his gray robe, and put on a black canvas dust coat with sleeves the same length as his arms, along with blue jeans. Then he looked at Angela's maid outfit and changed her into a black leather jacket as well, before heading to the shop he had chosen beforehand.
"Although it all starts with a store competition, the difference between good and bad stores is quite obvious. Good stores can certainly attract more people, and may even attract some experts."
Hayden said as he walked.
However, Angela didn't really care about that; after all, all "experts" were pretty much the same to them. Instead, she tilted her head and asked, "Master, won't this be too conspicuous? The vampire goddess might notice."
“It won’t be discovered so quickly,” Hayden said calmly. “Besides, our main body will be discovered sooner or later, which can actually help draw attention to our two clones.”
Perhaps that's why Hayden deliberately put away his usual mage gear and took a metal-clad staff as a weapon. His attire even drew a strange look from the shopkeeper: "Friend, you're from out of town, aren't you? You know that our gladiatorial combat here is a matter of life and death, a blood sacrifice for our ruthless goddess, right?"
Hayden nodded seriously.
"So you're tired of living and planning to fight to the death dressed like this?" The boss was clearly speechless.
So Hayden stopped playing games with him. He said directly, "I know that all these gladiatorial matches involve betting. But obviously, not many people will bet big in the beginner's shop matches. But if the audience sees me dressed like this, more people might be willing to bet—if you think I'm not funny enough, I can take off a couple more pieces and just wear flip-flops, shorts, and a white tank top, and go fight empty-handed."
Hearing this, the shop owner finally narrowed his eyes: "...You're a high-level mage from North America? You can fight bare-handed without weapons or equipment? You're that confident?"
"Do not."
To everyone's surprise, Hayden shook his head.
"I don't use magic."
This left even the relatively well-informed boss completely stunned.