"Gulp, gulp, gulp!"
Wade tipped back his head and drained the bottle of beer in his hand, then waved at Weasel for another.
The past few months had been a real blast. He had become a mercenary, and while his first job had hit a few snags, nothing had ultimately gone wrong. After that, things had only gotten better. He took job after job, made quick cash, and began living a carefree life of drinking today's wine today.
He had been very diligent lately and earned tens of thousands more dollars, yet his savings still stood at zero.
All his money went toward supporting the fallen women at the bar. He was good-looking, generous with money, and could tell hilariously filthy jokes. The girls all liked him and called him "Big Fish."
Besides the many prostitutes, he had made quite a few new friends.
For instance, the man not far away wearing a hannya mask and drinking through a straw was a fine swordsman. He possessed a special ability: he could hear the sound of muscle fibers being severed by a blade. That made his hand-pressed sushi absolutely incredible.
Noticing Wade looking at him, the Japanese man politely nodded back. Being a mercenary was only a side job for him; his real profession was running a Sushi Restaurant. Mercenaries had money, after all, and it was much easier to attract customers here.
The old man dozing with his head lowered by the wall was seventy-seven this year, one of the legends of the underworld. If he did not have Parkinson's and dementia, and did not need a wheelchair and a urine bag whenever he went out, he probably could have lived a very carefree life too.
Watching the old man's trembling left hand hold a beer mug while he brought