Chapter 65

June 14 passed.

Aomo returned to the Earth Interface Zone; the first day, or rather the first night, had passed.

The escort craft's observation was indeed just a minor incident, lasting only about six hours; Aomo saw on the lobby TV of the private security company where Morrison had worked before his death the news that Yuger Group's failed recovery of the Red King Star, the so‑called Red King Star being that crimson‑armored giant beast, and Yuger Group's emblem matched the pattern he remembered at the tail, a pattern of several interlocking rings.

Besides that news, what demanded Aomo's full attention was the unnecessary consolation from his foster father's colleagues.

He had to turn down unnecessary leisure invitations, refuse inappropriate valuable gifts, and it was hard not to accept mall coupons and vouchers, especially those for furniture—Morrison's big mouth on the screen told these people that his foster son planned to open an office; a group of older brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts had already begun considering what location he should look for, what renovation, and what furniture.

Reasonably, he hadn't even submitted an application yet; this was still up in the air, and Aomo replied he wasn't in a hurry, but these workers obviously all had dreams of starting their own business, seeing a colleague's child have such ambition, they couldn't help but lend a hand.

Each one pulled out all stops, bringing forth material from their dreams.

The result was an excessive number of proposals dumped into Aomo's hands, and the rough price of each proposal was enough to make his heart stop; he wondered whether these could be paid in installments.

Actually, his current startup funds were still sufficient, and the economical options weren't a burden, but having money obviously didn't mean he could spend lavishly; moreover, he was counting on the Interface Zone government's welfare policy for mercenary entrepreneurship to save him a lot of money.

— As for this, he still hadn't figured it out completely; this matter definitely needed two days of study.

However, he didn't come here just to discuss these with them; he brought Morrison to handle retirement procedures at his old post, and incidentally recover some of Morrison's personal items left at the post and office.

That was actually a worthwhile gain.

Morrison's weapons taken on his business trip were only one‑tenth of his collection; the remaining ninety percent are now entrusted to Aomo for handling, and the thirty percent stored at the company will also be reclaimed by him.

Among the dozen‑odd weapons were firearms, blades, and even blunt instruments; Aomo looked at the standout iron coffin chained among them, then turned his gaze to the grief‑stricken Morrison on the screen, imagining what it would look like to strike someone with this thing that seemed like his own mobile tent.

Then he imagined himself using it—

— he immediately wanted to contact a second‑hand weapons dealer!

Morrison, bawling with snot and tears on the screen, made Aomo abandon the idea of dealing with some truly absurd weapons that weren't really usable.

To be honest, Aomo used to think Morrison's weapon‑collecting habit was just a waste of money, and he had never seen the full collection.

Furthermore, when training himself he had always used relatively conventional weapons, until the summer of his nineteenth year—

— he then learned that among those items were a coffin bound with chains, a cane concealing a laser emitter, mixed with firearm mechanisms that could instantly become a cannon‑sized great sword, a transforming axe with energy‑jet acceleration, and an apparently plain blade that could instantly unfold into a shield—the Jidong blade.

What kind of assassin are you?

Do you really intend to use these things?

You bought these things just to play with them, right?!

Are you also still scavenging at the graduation‑season stalls of the Source Energy Engineering Institute's Alchemy Department, you damn...?!

Aomo watched Morrison's colleagues, beaming with excitement as they hauled out those items; his whole demeanor was like that of an old man on the subway staring at his phone, and seeing Morrison's pitiful look... ah, it was a bit nauseating.

Feeling nauseated, he still called the freight company's agent and applied for an extra compressed cargo package.

He couldn't just drive a super‑cool three‑wheel truck around town like an old scrap‑metal collector hauling dozens of tons of this stuff back home.

On several large screens outside the Interface Zone airport, footage of his exploits in Heaven's Gate City was still playing—three huge creatures displayed together, presenting the aura of 'I know your defender,' with him occupying the C‑spot, making him at that time instinctively tug his cap brim and quicken his pace,

When he first arrived at his foster father's company gates, it was also a crowd greeting him with triumphal airs, asking this and that.

This trip left him mentally exhausted; even if the couriers responsible for delivery turned out to be two Rhodes Island employees who could stir his 'nonexistent memories,' standing there as pretty girls would still not improve his mood.

Especially the red‑haired courier with a halo, who seemed to recognize him, his pose of cracking his knuckles ready to show off reminded him of Bi Ze, and the silent partner with black hair and wolf ears who stopped her also felt familiar, as if he were looking at himself.

One‑sided sympathy couldn't make Aomo tip them; if the delivery fee weren't fixed by industry standards, he would even have wanted to haggle.

Too bad, it really couldn't be bargained.

Moreover, given his memory of Rhodes Island Pharmaceuticals, there might still be some overlap in the mercenary industry; better leave an impression... Aomo thought.

Although it's odd for a pharmaceutical company to have both couriers and officers mixed together, his strong ability to accept new things is also a strength; it's not strange for a growing enterprise to involve multiple industries, especially since it's an otherworldly company.

— Any special circumstance becomes reasonable once it involves a transmigrator!!

A young person who once aimed for the Executive Department of the Two Worlds Safety Bureau should have this kind of awareness!

He didn't know whether the Penguin Logistics members were all here...... Seeing the two use a space‑compression tool to pack everything, then hand him the checklist, Aomo counted the items, found nothing wrong, politely said goodbye, and did not hitch a ride back with them.

Although there was nothing else urgent, he felt that once they got in the car, even the Texas miss couldn't stop the Angel miss's machine‑gun‑like questioning.

Don't ask why it's machine‑gun frequency—Aomo guessed that.

Based on the so‑called character setting from his memory and a brief observation after meeting, it was enough for Aomo to temporarily keep his distance.

However, such a situation straddling moving‑house courier service is indeed rare; Aomo thought the overlap wouldn't be much, so after contacting property management to reactivate the long‑dormant parcel holding service, he hesitated a bit but still didn't dare go to the Interface Zone Mercenary Center for an on‑site consultation.

He really isn't convenient to appear in public now, let alone a mercenary station, which is generally a major hub for spreading rumors.

Let's honestly gather online information, open his foster father's seldom‑used address book and the phone numbers of those uncles and aunts he just received at the company, and consult them one by one.

Just like when he was a kid figuring out how to earn money legally as a child.