Chapter 370
2-in-1-Chapter
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As someone deeply embedded in weapons procurement, Lister immediately identified the firearm Leo had produced.
Without hesitation, he responded with practiced precision.
"That’s Kang Tao’s Yinglong. The finest smartgun on the market right now. Trauma Team uses this model as their standard issue."
"What makes it exceptional is its fully automatic loading system, ultra-sensitive radar suite, and state-of-the-art holographic targeting system."
Leo applauded softly. "Mister Lister, you really know your stuff."
"Well, it is my line of work. Unfortunately, while I know its specs, I’m not exactly the type who can wield it properly."
"Not necessarily. You might want to give this a try, Mister Lister."
With that, Leo slid a small chip across the table toward him.
Lister instinctively caught it, looking down at the unfamiliar component with a puzzled expression. "And this is...?"
"A combat support module. The latest development from Aurora PMC. As for what it does—Mister Lister, I suggest you try it yourself and find out."
"This..."
Lister hesitated.
Just like how most children are told by their mothers never to accept food from strangers, Night City had its own version of that rule—never casually use someone else’s braindance wreath or neural chip, because it might be infected or compromised.
Seeing Lister’s hesitation, Leo gestured for him to slide the chip back.
He then took out a laptop and, right in front of Lister, inserted the chip into the device. Using the antivirus software installed on the system, he ran a complete scan on the chip, allowing Lister to witness with his own eyes that it was clean.
Only then did Lister insert the chip into his neural interface.
Immediately, he felt a tangible change in his body.
He picked up the Yinglong smart submachine gun from the table and cycled through several different weapon handling stances, each one sharp and textbook-perfect.
Then he set the SMG down, clenched his fists, brought them to his chest, and launched into a seamless sequence of close-combat military drills—each movement fluid and disciplined.
After fully satisfying his curiosity, Lister ejected the chip.
His physical state reverted completely to what it had been before.
A look of shock appeared in his eyes.
"How do you feel, Mr. Lister?"
"Is this some kind of martial arts chip, Mr. Leo?"
In Night City, there were plenty of so-called martial arts chips, so Lister assumed this was one of them.
"I’ve named it Combat Assist Module. Its function is to turn any user into a special forces operative. And if the user is already special forces, it will amplify their capabilities even further—pushing them to the level of elite commandos."
Lister’s pupils contracted sharply.
If what Leo said was true, then the value of this Combat Assist Module far surpassed the chips currently on sale across the city.
He asked in a low voice, "Then, what’s the cost?"
He understood—every kind of power had its price.
The cost of using Sandevistan was the near-inevitable descent into cyberpsychosis. The cost of equipping Kantao smartguns was their steep price tag, making it impossible to issue them to every soldier.
So what was the tradeoff with this Combat Assist Module, which could turn an ordinary person into a special forces soldier?
"The combat mode can only be activated for one hour. After that, it shuts down automatically. In general, it’s best to wait at least twenty-four hours before using it again—that way, the physical toll is minimized."
"But if absolutely necessary, it can be reactivated immediately after shutdown. However, I strongly advise against it unless it’s a matter of life and death."
"Because it could cause serious physiological damage—or even death."
Lister gave a slight nod.
The stronger the power, the harsher the side effects.
And for the Combat Assist Module, its drawbacks were still within an acceptable range—at least for him.
"Mr. Leo, you’ve demonstrated the Combat Assist Module to me. If I’m not mistaken, you’re hoping to sell it to our country, correct?"
"That’s right."
"Alright, then name your price."
"Each Combat Assist Module costs 700,000 eurodollars. If any failure occurs due to quality issues, full replacement is guaranteed within one year."
As a landlocked nation in North America and the front-line bulwark against the New United States, the Republic of Texas had been receiving constant economic aid from Arasaka ever since the Unification War—also known as the Metal War.
And under Saburo’s successor, Yorinobu Arasaka, the scale of support had grown even larger.
Yorinobu made no secret of his disdain for military tech development, and the Republic of Texas had never viewed peaceful coexistence with the New United States as an option.
The two sides found perfect alignment.
Arasaka escalated its support for Texas, and Texas—as Yorinobu expected—poured those resources directly into military buildup.
The amount of aid Arasaka funneled into Texas made even the infamous Hundred-Billion Subsidy King look like a side character—he might as well have bowed and called Yorinobu his brother.
That was why Leo approached Lister.
Not just because Texas was wealthy, but because they faced an existential threat.
They were mortal enemies of the New United States. The idea of peace between them was a fantasy.
Though the Unification War had ended in 2070, most Texans didn’t view that as peace—only as a temporary ceasefire.
Yet after hearing Leo’s quote, Lister frowned.
"Seven hundred thousand eurodollars? Mr. Leo, are you joking?"
Leo shook his head.
"I never joke when we’re talking business."
"Mr. Leo, do you know that training a Navy SEAL costs only 500,000 eurodollars? There’s no way my country will pay 700,000 for a Combat Assist Module that only lasts an hour."
Leo had expected Lister to bring up the cost of training SEALs. After all, SEALs were among the most well-known special operations units in the world.
"You’re mostly correct, Mr. Lister. But allow me to point out a few things you might’ve overlooked."
"First, while it’s true that training a SEAL costs around 500,000 eurodollars, that depends on circumstances. Not every country has the necessary conditions to train special forces effectively."
Lister spoke with pride.
"The Republic of Texas definitely has what it takes to train elite forces. Perhaps you’ve never heard of our special ops division—Shadow."
"During the Unification War, our Shadow unit repeatedly repelled and devastated invading New American forces. Their reputation is well earned."
Leo raised a hand to stop him from continuing.
"Mr. Lister, no need to get worked up. I’m well aware of how capable Shadow is. But unless I’m mistaken, your entire Shadow division numbers only about 1,500 soldiers, correct?"
Lister’s expression shifted slightly.
"What are you getting at?"
"The size of a special forces unit isn’t only limited by budget. There are countless other constraints. You can’t just throw money at the problem and expect to produce elite soldiers."
"People are different. No matter how hard you train Bob, you’re not turning him into Achilles."
"But the Combat Assist Module is different. You’ve seen the results for yourself."
"No matter how lacking a person is in natural ability, as long as they activate combat mode, they’ll fight like an elite special forces operator."
"And how long does it take to train a special forces soldier? According to public reports, the training cycle for a Navy SEAL lasts up to two years, comprising hundreds of hours of instruction and thousands of hours of real combat simulation."
"Beyond that, the training also requires food, housing, medical care, and logistical support. In peacetime, maybe your country can afford to commit those resources. But in wartime, would your nation still have the luxury to train at such a leisurely pace?"
"However, if there were a Combat Assist Chip, the situation would be completely different. You wouldn’t need years of training. As long as it’s implanted, anyone could perform at the level of a Navy SEAL."
After hearing Leo’s words, Lister fell into silence once more.
Just as Leo had said, in theory, so long as you had the money, you could mass-produce elite special forces.
And right now, the Republic of Texas had no shortage of funds.
Moreover, Leo wasn’t wrong—training special forces required an enormous investment of time and effort.
Money was secondary; the real problem was that in the middle of an actual war, the rate at which special forces could be trained would never match the rate at which they were lost.
In the early stages of the Pacific War, Japan’s Zero fighters had given the United States a great deal of trouble. But by the middle and later stages of the war, the Zero had become so outclassed that American pilots mockingly called them "flying turkeys."
It wasn’t only because U.S. aircraft performance had surpassed the Zero. There was another, often overlooked reason: Japan’s pre-war elite pilots had, within just a few years of the Pacific War, vanished like cherry blossoms in spring—beautiful, but fleeting.
The new pilots who filled their place couldn’t compare to the veterans, and the Zero’s edge gradually eroded under American technological pressure.
In the end, Japan had no choice but to reconstitute the Zero squadrons as kamikaze units, spouting slogans like "one plane for one ship," treating their once-precious pilots like expendable infantry.
The U.S., in contrast, had a constant flow of new blood—growing stronger the longer the war continued.
That’s how the Pacific skies came to belong to the Americans.
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