Chekkat stared at Sol rcer, unable to believe what he'd just heard.
What kind of developnt was this? The man asked him for a favor—yet wanted him to kneel first!?
"You've got to be kidding , right?"
Chekkat's voice trembled with hesitation.
There were still plenty of his subordinates around; if he knelt now, he'd lose all face as their leader.
"You think I'm joking?"
Sol pressed the silver short staff against Chekkat's forehead, smiling faintly.
In an instant, cold sweat broke out down Chekkat's back. His heart turned to ice.
There was no doubt in his mind—Sol was insane. He'd casually wiped out so many Public Security officers. Everyone knew: to arrest criminals, you need evidence, but for counter-terrorism... you only need a na.
Thud!
Chekkat dropped to his knees before Sol, forcing an ugly grin. "Boss, whatever it is you need, just say the word! If I can help, I will!"
Sol tapped him lightly on the head twice with the silver short staff, satisfied. "Mm. A wise man knows when to bow."
"You're absolutely right."
Chekkat had no choice but to agree.
"We've got quite a few super-weapons on hand," Anby said coldly, her expression blank as she looked at Chekkat. "We want a reliable channel to sell them. Can you make that happen?"
Chekkat's eyes went wide. "Super-weapons? You an... like the one just now?"
"Exactly."
Anby tugged open her black jacket, revealing a row of identical silver short staffs strapped to her belt.
"I must be dreaming!"
Chekkat's eyes nearly popped from his skull.
Eight of them—eight! Each identical to the one Sol had just used.
One of those had nearly cost him his life. What would eight do—blow up all of New Eridu!?
"You're in the arms business," Sol said with a calm smile. "You can introduce to so good buyers, can't you?"
Chekkat's face twisted in discomfort. "That... might be a little difficult~"
Of course, he didn't want to do it. He had no clue who these two really were, and his supply lines—his clients and connections—weren't things he could expose lightly.
"Heh. Difficult? Then I suppose that ans you're useless to us?"
Sol's tone was calm, but there was disappointnt in his eyes. He didn't press further—yet.
"Difficulties... can be overco!"
Chekkat's attitude shifted instantly.
All because Anby had already drawn one of the silver short staffs, blue electric arcs sparking violently through the air—ready to clear the room at any mont.
Seeing Sol's composed expression and Anby's decisive readiness to strike, Chekkat realized these two really were lunatics.
He felt a bit wronged; according to underworld etiquette, this was the part where people negotiated.
But these two? They just jumped straight to violence! It was barbaric!
"Excellent. I knew I wasn't wrong about you."
Sol patted Chekkat on the shoulder, helping him up.
Anby, anwhile, reluctantly retracted her weapon, a touch of disappointnt in her eyes. She hadn't had this much fun "playing with electricity" before. Even if the silver short staffs themselves had no innate power—it was all Sol's special effects—the experience was thrilling all the sa.
Chekkat exhaled in relief and forced a smile. "So then, Boss, how exactly do you want to help?"
Sol replied casually, "It's simple. Find so buyers, negotiate a reasonable price, and make the sale. Just three steps. Very easy."
Easy?
Chekkat almost laughed out loud.
Nothing about that was easy.
This man was asking him to dig up his own roots—the two most vital aspects of arms trading were secrecy and reliability.
If he did things Sol's way, both would be ruined.
And if Sol decided to double-cross him afterward, he'd be finished.
"Having trouble?" Sol asked softly.
Anby raised her weapon again, clearly eager for an excuse.
"There are… challenges," Chekkat stamred, "but they can be overco!"
He gritted his teeth and agreed.
"Good," Sol said. "Each super-weapon starts at twenty billion denny. Bring trustworthy buyers as soon as possible."
Chekkat hesitated, then asked carefully, "Um, I'd like to buy one myself… just to show potential buyers how it works."
Twenty billion denny was expensive, but he could afford it.
He'd been in the arms trade for years. Even after all the bribes he'd paid, he still had twenty-five billion in liquid assets.
And if these things were truly super-weapons, he wanted one.
Besides, this would test whether Sol and Anby were sincere about selling—or just playing him.
"Fine. Cash up front, product on delivery."
Sol agreed easily, his gaze softening a little toward Chekkat.
He appreciated the man's taste—it matched his own sense of artistry.
Each short staff was crafted from two kilograms of zinc-aluminum alloy, electromagnetically refined by Sol himself. They were, in his view, high-end works of art.
And for Chekkat to spend twenty billion denny on one? That was true appreciation.
"I'll get the money right now!"
Chekkat could barely contain his excitent.
They were actually selling! If he bought one now, he'd be making a fortune!
"You'd have us wait here?" Sol raised an eyebrow.
"Of course not. Please, both of you, co with to our base downstairs—have a seat."
Chekkat said generously, leading the way.
The Public Security team was dead, and this place would be abandoned soon anyway. Letting them rest downstairs was no big deal.
The Black Panther mbers watching all sighed in relief. None of them wanted to fight these maniacs wielding "super-weapons."
Before long, Sol and Anby were seated comfortably in a lavish office, sipping hot tea served by Jane.
"You two are quite sothing," Jane said aningfully.
With just a few words, they'd completely wrapped Chekkat around their fingers—about to uproot his entire network.
She had to admit, it was impressive.
"Watch your tone when speaking to guests!"
Anby frowned and snapped at her.
She'd disliked this Public Security woman for a while—especially after seeing her try to cozy up to Sol.
Now she had every reason to scold her openly, and she relished it a little.
"…"
Jane lowered her gaze like a scolded wife, silently enduring it. She couldn't afford to break character; it was for the sake of the mission.
Sol chuckled softly, amused by the whole scene.
Just then, Chekkat returned, holding five anonymous bank cards. Seeing the atmosphere, he imdiately assud Jane still bore a grudge against those who'd destroyed part of his organization—but had to swallow it for the sake of the gang. A loyal subordinate indeed.
He laughed awkwardly to ease the tension. "Boss, I've brought the money. Can I have the super-weapon now?"
Sol took the five cards, transferring all twenty billion denny into his account.
"There you go." Sol casually tossed a silver short staff to Chekkat. "Handle it with care. Not easy to make, you know."
Chekkat fumbled to catch it—and the weapon fired accidentally.
A massive boom! tore through the office wall as a blinding electromagnetic blast obliterated the concrete.
"Be more careful next ti," Sol said, shaking his head regretfully. "That thing only fires three tis."
Of course, the "weapon" was one of his own creations. He'd made sure to show off its power properly—but he didn't have ti to add all the special effects again.
"Hsssh!"
Chekkat's hands trembled as he held the silver staff.
It was terrifying. If the shot had gone even slightly off, he'd be dead.
But that only proved it—this was a real super-weapon. Sol had given him the genuine article.
Even if it only had two shots left, he'd still made an incredible deal!
Pity about that accidental discharge, though… that one blast had cost him six billion denny.
"Boss, I'll go find your buyers right away!"
Chekkat said eagerly.
"Good. I'll await your good news."
Sol nodded.
Then Chekkat hesitated and asked, a little embarrassed, "Uh, by the way… how should I address you, Boss?"
Sol tossed the now-empty black card into the trash and replied softly, "You can call [Pantalone]."
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