This is bad…
Snatch-and-dash worked, but the bidders weren't about to just let it go.
Besides that so-called arbiter and the blood clan entourage, there were hidden and revealed onlookers scattered through the stands—Li Pan sensed at least sixteen.
If all of them represented corporations, then nearly half the Security Committee had joined the war.
No time to think. Stuffing the Grail inside his jacket, Li Pan, with little Spider-Type.18, went all-out—twisting, slipping, hands and feet together—sprinting along the back route the "she-wolf" had shown him before, bursting out the opera house's rear exit.
The moment he stepped outside, Rama's call relayed through Eighteen.
"Boss, disaster! Our company warehouses got popped!"
Li Pan: "Oh. It's fine, I'm aware—"
Rama: "We only checked half of them and fourteen warehouses are already cleaned out…"
Li Pan: "Nani!! Fourteen!? Damn these dogs!"
A bucket of cold water over his head. Right—no wonder they weren't rushing the Grail.
The Company had toys galore—why fixate on the Grail?
Normally, to avoid conflicts, you had to pay dearly for monsters. Now was the perfect time to roll up sleeves and rob them outright!
And hey—"How was I to know what was inside your warehouse? I was chasing the Grail!"
"These sons of— You're all pushing me, huh…"
Sweat broke on his brow. This wouldn't do—two fists can't beat four hands. No matter how strong the Company was, it couldn't stand against a pack mauling. He needed to end the chaos, fast.
K's call came right on cue.
"K!"
K sent a price sheet.
Of course: a new offer signed by Prince Cornelius himself—obviously a markup of the "Holy Grail Lease Contract" Li Pan had given Yuliya—except the signatory and authorized user changed from House Julius to House Cornelius, and the numbers… changed a lot.
Yes, a lot—five times more. PR fee to House Cornelius: 10 trillion. Leasing fee to the Ye Group: 50 trillion. Lease term cut to 50 years.
The reason was spelled out: Cornelius had been dragged out of bed to clean up the mess.
After fifty years, the newly elected Prince Pompeius would arrive with the legions; Cornelius would return to slumber and hand governance back to Yuliya. Follow-up "Grail Buyback" would be handled between that couple and the Company.
K: "Li, think carefully. We're serious."
K went offline.
"Tsk—damn, damn…"
Gunfire already drummed all around. The other corporate dogs still hadn't acted, but some bastard had put him on live broadcast with his escape route highlighted. Gangs, mercs, auxiliary police—every kind of small fry—swarmed for the hundred-million bounty nestled against his chest.
Li Pan had no time to shoot back. Who knew how many rabid dogs were tracking that money? Delay and he'd be boxed in. He parkoured at full tilt—roof-running, wall-climbing—diving into a skyscraper maze to shake off the citywide hunt.
Running hard, thinking faster.
Cornelius taking the stage meant the Ye Group had unified internally. Yuliya had, apparently, sold him out.
And K, a knight—basically a head of security—could only relay terms and contracts now; she couldn't help more.
As for Prince Cornelius—former regent before the Archduchess—while the 0791 corporate war and postwar reconstruction fell to the Archduchess, the long game across the heavens spanned centuries.
In other words, from Takamagahara's zenith to its decline, to the loss of its seat and colonies, to war's bitter end—Prince Cornelius had been the Ye Group's principal strategist and commander.
He masterminded Takamaghara's defeat and seized 0791. A figure of real prestige and merit.
No wonder K woke that old ghost to stabilize the field; the Secret Party Parliament fell silent and obeyed.
Savvy move: knowing the Ye Group couldn't bid directly now, he used QVN to issue an open tender—the speed of those heavenly corporate reps, even the arbiter's arrival—yeah, Cornelius's hand.
Right—the Arbiter of Dirac.
Li Pan knew exactly what that gray-faced middle-aged man was.
An arbitration function.
There was no longer any "court" to enforce labor laws or environmental regulations. Only corporate "self-discipline." We all know how that goes. Push them, and a corporate war starts.
But business must go on. A strong arbiter to ensure contracts proceed is necessary.
Thus, under the Security Committee, a Committee of Arbitration was established, representing the Committee's collective will.
Arbiters carried the top cyborg frames, able to enter battlefields and witness victories firsthand. To prevent coercion or bribery, their brains and personas were uploaded by special tech into the Sea of Dirac, ghosting across planes.
They're essentially the final gate to stop full-scale war—witnesses and monitors of corporate conflict—judging outcomes, delivering the Committee's default ruling.
If one side refuses arbitration, the war continues.
If all sides sign, you get a temporary, stable peace.
It's not a problem to fail negotiations—but sign and break it, and you disrespect the Committee, the collective face. Then everyone stops being polite and beats you to death.
So Li Pan cussing the arbiter wasn't scary in itself. Only signing then breaking oath draws the Committee's hammer.
And the Company intended to fight anyway. He'd simply declined to bid and refused the arbiter's first mediation.
In other words: the official trumpet for war.
Eighteen cut in:
"Boss, the support team was sniped! Company hover-ship down!"
"Everyone fall back to HQ! Abandon external depots! Call reinforcements!"
Turtle up; counterpunch. No point playing hero, squandering men and materiel. He was in the open; nukes and railguns could sweep him off the board at any second.
Defense, then riposte.
He hoisted little Spider-Type.18 like a phone and started buying arms.
"Sorry, Manager Li—bad timing. TSC's fleet is sold out."
"Nani!!"
Thunder struck.
"Wait, Ms. Lin—I talked to you two days ago! You had hundreds of ships in stock! You can jump in three full squadrons on demand!"
Ms. Lin sounded mortified:
"Apologies. Last night multiple big clients rushed us. HQ was under huge pressure. We sold out all fleets on Route 07. Even spice and munitions are gone."
Oh… sh—! Sold out overnight, trillions worth?!
Careless. My vision was too small. I underestimated how fast a corporate war burns money!
He dialed "Ah-San" again, begging for dreadnoughts.
0113: "Mm… no. Can't dispatch ships now."
Li Pan: "What! Ah-San! Brotherhood! Life and death together!"
0113: "…Who said I'd share life and death with you…
Your region's too dangerous—only one stargate. The lane could be fired on by the whole sector. I won't waste my fleet. Build a gate first. Then we'll talk."
Li Pan: "Come on! Ah-San! Throw me a rope!"
0113: "Told you not to start this stupid mission…
Fine. I'll send 0113012 to help, and jump a stealth bomber squad. Don't you have a stealth recon in your assets? Use it as a lure."
A stealth recon? HAYABUSA?
Damn—if I light up that dirty ship's IFF, Section Seven's hounds will go rabid!
Financial audits can be massaged—if finance is clean, accounts unfreeze in days. But if it touches terrorism and threats to the Security Committee—pinning Akatengu's Tokyo bombings on us—label us the sponsor and seize the Company…
Game over. Even if we win the Grail War, accounts might never unfreeze; the Company could ignore months of blood and merit and kick me out to carry the blame.
Before he could decide, Eighteen chimed again—another incoming call.
"Manager 0791, this is 0113012."
"Oh, that was fast. Thanks for coming—"
0113012's voice was stern: "Why didn't you re-arm?"
"What? Re-arm?"
A slow breath.
"Last time we expended everything! Your stock is at the absolute minimum: ammo, nuke warheads, spice, fuel—spice—even AGSF is short! And OPA in Europa orbit is fully booked, orders queued ten years out!
Without resupply, forget fleet battles. I can't make ten jumps before we turn into space junk!"
Li Pan inhaled deeply.
"Don't worry. I'll handle it."
A pause.
"Do it fast. Callisto isn't safe for resupply. A fleet action could break out anytime. I'm hiding the fleet in deep space now. Once you have a depot, send coords."
"Understood. Act at your discretion. I'll ping you."
Li Pan clawed his hair.
Dammit. The key is supply.
No one told him! Other companies have a dedicated Callisto quartermaster!
He was a temp acting manager who'd never even visited the Ganymede main base; he only had authority to pull fleets after war started. How could he know stock levels? And how was he to guess how base logistics are arranged? Everything is so automated—yet he still has to approve one by one?
Calm. Calm. Calm.
So now, beyond Akatengu baiting him and competitors buying out local fleets, the fatal problem: no fleet supply…
Wangshan called.
"Hey, mop-head! Pay up! You got the goods, yeah? I saw it on the stream."
Great. Everything at once. And live, of course.
Li Pan skidded to a halt on a rooftop, looked at the sky, and flipped it the bird.
Wangshan fumed:
"Don't you stiff us! We sniped a lot for you! Photos, video—want the casings mailed too?!"
"I know! I'll pay when I reach HQ!"
Shing!
A blade sang—
Cold light flashed—
Profit came out of its sheath.
A cloaked ninja sprang from the shadows—
Blade sweeping at Li Pan—
BANG!
An invisible fist shattered the ninja into pulp, gore raining down the tower well.
Wangshan: "See? Loads like that!"
"Show-off… Fine, bonus. Block them—hold as long as you can!"
Li Pan punched himself, pried a tooth from his mouth.
Eighteen: "Boss! Why are you— Don't give up!"
Li Pan: "Hush. I'm not crazy."
Right hand gripping the tooth, left hand forming a seal, he limped in a lopsided circle around the roof.
Eighteen: "…Did you sprain your ankle?"
He ignored her, circled twenty times, then spat essence-blood over the tooth and tossed it into the circle. Snatching up little Spider-Type.18, he leapt to the neighboring stairwell and bolted down the emergency exit.
Damn this 0791 dump—if this were the Immortal Realm, I'd cloud-surf into the sky! Now I have to knock out a dragon tooth just to cast a minor decoy—my jaw hurts…
He pressed Spider-Type.18 to his ear like a walkie-talkie.
"Get me Kotaro! Private encrypted link!"
"Boss? Why are you pacing that roof? Run!"
Sealbreaker Kotaro was probably watching the livestream, confused.
Li Pan glared at the little spider as if staring into Kotaro's eyes.
"Kotaro—name your price! The 'Divine Palanquin'—I'm buying it for the Company!"
Kotaro froze.
Li Pan tore down the corridor:
"Do me this favor! I'll borrow it now—and when it's done, I'll personally return it!"
Ten seconds of silence. Then Kotaro grit his teeth:
"Alright. Boss, you've saved me enough times. It's my turn. I'll fetch it now."
Li Pan exhaled. If Kotaro handled it, this hurdle could be cleared.
"Eighteen! Load covert routes and call Amakusa—use the Mars military channel the she-wolf used last time!"
"Beep… Boss, he's not picking up."
"Damn! Playing aloof now? Send: 'Divine Palanquin' 'fifty million' 'Shirō.'"
The call connected.
"Amakusa, you sure love your face!"
A soft chuckle: "Manager Li, sometimes I can't tell if you're reckless, brave—or both."
"Save the fluff. Do you still want the Divine Palanquin? Do we still have a deal?"
"Oh? Business with me? There's an old saying—skinning a tiger. Ever heard it?"
"Heh. We'll see who's the tiger. I'm busy—you can see that. Not just our unfinished deal—I've got a much bigger order. Do you dare take it?"
"Oh? Then I'll wash my ears and listen."
"Good. I want to buy the 0791 interstellar fleet."
"…Manager Li, if your psychosis is acting up, I can recommend a pleasant asylum—"
"Fleets. Weapons. Ammunition. Fuel. Spice. Stocked or retired—everything. And since Takamagahara ships are generally trash, I also want experienced sailors. I'll pay triple. I know there's a reserve recall list—pull seasoned hands and assign them to me.
And Akatengu—don't pretend you don't have goodies. SEC's SMS, right? You stole it but can't afford to keep it, can't field it, can't feed it!
Give it to me. I'll hire you. I reimburse ammo, weapons, retrofits, training, replication—all on the Company tab. If you can launder it clean, name your price. Name your conditions. However many people you've got, I'll take all of them."
Amakusa went silent.
Li Pan didn't press—just spoke coldly:
"You've hidden too long—you've gone timid. And you still hesitate? Hm?
Fine, I won't rush you. I know what it means to stand up, carry the name, lead Akatengu down the road of rebellion—and how you still sent help to pull the werewolves out when they were beyond utility. There's a bit of idealism left in you.
So, Amakusa Shirō, answer me.
Night City remembers no nameless men. Do you want to die old in a bed with a catheter—
—or just once, watch New Tokyo burn in your palm?"
Silence. Then Amakusa hung up.
Li Pan let out a long breath.
A heavy thud sounded behind him.
He looked back and saw nothing—but the dust curling up along the shabby stairwell told the story.
Someone had followed him in the jump.
Optical camouflage, huh.
Please. Party tricks for peasants. To a space-man? Not quite.
The first challenger for the Grail had arrived.
Li Pan checked his gear, tossed the useless weight aside, and drew Catherine's Sword. Silver light blossomed along the blade, conspicuous in the dim corridor.
Golden filaments unfurled through the gloom like silk, sweeping over a form that strode out of the underworld—like a mortal lifting a torch to reveal Death.
Time to go all-in.
He'd already played every card and shaken every tree…
Oh—one more.
"Eighteen, close your eyes!"
"Okay."
Little Spider-Type.18 covered her cameras with two feelers.
Li Pan pricked a vein; blood surged forth. Two bright, ruby-red copper coins popped from within. He plucked one, flicked it skyward.
"A single arrow pierces the clouds—
A thousand troops answer the call!
Bro—ther—! Help!"
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⚠️ 30 CHAPTERS AHEAD — I'm Not a Cyberpsycho ⚠️
The system says: Kill.Mercs obey. Corporates obey. Monsters obey.One man didn't.
🧠💀 "I'm not a cyberpsycho. I just think... differently."
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