Chapter 122: The Reaper of Night City — Why the Hell Did You Mess with Him?

One million eurodollars.

To most of Night City, that was a number so large it might as well have been myth.

But to Neo, it was nothing short of an insult.

Even if one ignored the fact that building Night's Ember had cost him more than that from start to finish—the permits, the materials, the engineering, the chrome—there was another, far greater reason this number made his blood run cold.

The Relic wasn't just another piece of tech.

It was Saburo Arasaka's dream, half a century in the making.

A project that consumed lives, money, and genius beyond counting.

The chip's value wasn't in credits or eddies—it was in what it represented:

The bridge between life and death.

Immortality in code.

And this idiot from Pacifica had come to him with a straight face, calling it a fair price.

The Voodoo Boys' middleman, Edward, gave a rehearsed smile. "Mr. Neo, please hear me out. I understand it sounds low, but this is a realistic evaluation."

"Realistic?" Neo echoed softly, eyes narrowing.

Edward nodded eagerly. "The Relic chip isn't even a completed prototype. Even Arasaka, with all its resources, never managed to push it past the ninety-percent mark. In a technical sense, it's a half-finished product. And you can't value a half-finished product as if it's perfect, can you?"

He adjusted his collar, his tone getting bolder as he went on.

"Besides, right now, that chip is a liability. A dangerous one. You're holding something Arasaka would burn the city to reclaim. It's radioactive, Mr. Neo. More trouble than it's worth. You should let it go while you can."

He gave a smirk, confident in his reasoning. "A million euros is already generous. More than fair, really."

Neo smiled. Slowly.

It wasn't the friendly kind of smile.

If this had been anywhere other than his own bar, the Voodoo Boy would already be missing a head.

Still, he decided to let the man live long enough to learn something.

Neo rose from his seat, tone light. "This place is too loud for business. Let's go outside. Quiet. Private."

Edward shrugged, following without a second thought. "Of course."

...

The two of them stepped into one of Kabuki's narrow alleys, away from the pulsing bass of Night's Ember. The neon light spilled down the walls, flickering against damp pavement.

Edward folded his arms. "So, Mr. Neo… what do you say? Are we making a deal?"

Neo tilted his head slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Tell me something, Edward. Are you threatening me?"

Edward laughed uneasily. "No, no, of course not! I'd never—"

"Then maybe you're insulting me." Neo's tone dropped, soft but cold enough to chill the air.

"Because, you see, one of those two things is happening. You can pick which."

Edward blinked. "I—I don't—"

"One million euros," Neo continued, stepping closer, "for the most powerful piece of tech in human history? For the chip your own netrunners would kill to reverse-engineer? Please."

He stopped just inches away. "That number didn't come from you, did it? Your bosses sent you here to test me. To leave their mark. To remind the world that even a 'legend' can still be bought—cheaply."

Edward's throat bobbed.

Neo's voice grew colder. "Tell me, Edward—do you people really think that because you hide behind the Blackwall and fry a few neurons from a distance, you can walk into my city and name your own price?"

He smiled faintly. "You think too small."

Then—

Shing.

The air itself seemed to freeze.

The blade of Shusui flashed in the neon light, and before Edward even realized it, his left arm hit the ground with a wet thump.

He screamed, stumbling back, clutching the cauterized stump. "A-AHHHH—WHAT THE FUCK—"

Neo's voice was calm. "You should've stayed in Pacifica."

Shing.

The second slash came almost faster than sound. His right arm followed the left, spinning away in a spray of blood.

Edward collapsed to his knees, gasping, eyes wild. He turned to run—

But Neo's next step was already at his back. The blade swept down once more, severing both legs at the knees.

He hit the ground hard, rolling in agony, blood pooling beneath him.

Neo walked toward him, the black blade dragging lazily at his side. The neon lights painted his face half red, half shadow.

In that moment, he didn't look like a man.

He looked like Night City's reaper.

"Y-you can't kill me!" Edward howled. "I'm with the Voodoo Boys! If I don't return to Pacifica, they'll come for you! They'll hunt your crew! Your girls, your bar, your city—they'll burn everything you've built! You hear me? You can't win against us! You—"

Neo raised an eyebrow, genuinely amused.

Then he said a single word.

"Idiot."

And the blade fell.

Shing.

The scream cut short.

Edward's head hit the concrete and rolled until it came to rest against the wall, eyes still wide in disbelief.

Neo wiped the blood off Shusui with his sleeve and sheathed it in one smooth motion.

...

"Mr. Neo?"

The voice came from the alley entrance. It was Lexington, one of the new recruits, standing rigid with shock. The kid's eyes darted between Neo, the blood-soaked pavement, and the decapitated corpse.

Neo didn't even glance back. "It's fine. Just a fool who didn't know when to shut up."

He gestured casually. "Dispose of the body. Don't make a scene. Can't have our customers stepping in blood on the way out."

Lexington swallowed hard and nodded. "Y-Yes, sir!"

By the time the kid called for cleanup drones, Neo was already back inside the bar.

He walked in as though nothing had happened. The music was still thundering, Johnny Silverhand was still screaming into the mic, and the crowd was losing their minds.

Jackie Welles spotted him and raised a brow. "Hey, where's that guy from Pacifica? The Voodoo Boys' middleman?"

Neo took a seat, poured himself a drink, and said evenly, "Dead."

Jackie blinked. "You killed him? Damn, choom. That's… ballsy. You do realize those Voodoo freaks aren't like the Animals or the Valentinos, right? You can't just shoot back at them. They'll fry your neuralware in your sleep. Burn your synapses from halfway across the Net."

Neo downed his glass in one gulp and smirked. "They can try. I don't have neuralware."

Jackie froze. Then a grin spread across his face. "Right. You're still all-natural, huh? No implants, no hacks. Damn. The one guy in Night City no netrunner can touch."

"Exactly," Neo said, signaling the bartender. "So relax. Drink. I'll take care of Pacifica myself if it comes to that. Maybe even pay them a visit."

Jackie chuckled nervously. "You're serious."

Neo smiled faintly. "Always."

...

Meanwhile, across the bar, a new figure stepped through the door.

A man in an unremarkable suit, face hidden beneath an adaptive mask. He moved quietly, every step calculated.

But the moment he entered, his eyes found the stage.

Johnny Silverhand.

The spectral legend, alive and burning in digital flesh, pouring his voice out into the world again.

The man in the mask felt his pulse quicken.

He made his way to the bar and sat down.

The bartender—Claire—walked over with her usual easy smile. "You've been staring at Johnny Silverhand since you came in," she said, teasing. "But the drink you ordered… is a Neo. That's a strange choice."

The man's tone was cool, his words deliberate. "Is it strange to watch one legend while drinking to another?"

Claire chuckled softly. "Fair enough."

A moment later, she slid the drink across the counter.

The man lifted it, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips beneath the mask.

He took a slow sip, savoring the burn, and murmured, almost to himself—

"…A unique flavor."

He set the glass down, eyes flicking once more toward the stage where Johnny's voice roared over the crowd.

Yorinobu Arasaka had come to Night's Ember.

And for the first time in years, he didn't feel like a god.

He felt like a man staring at a ghost he thought he'd buried forever.