Arthur grabbed the wine bottle and headed straight for the priest.
The priest stood up, opened his arms, and pulled Arthur into a warm, almost fatherly hug.
"Look who's returned," the priest said, laughing. "God's child, escaped from hell, back into His arms again. Truly a miracle — like Adam returning to Eden."
Arthur chuckled.
"I think God must be blind," he said. "Otherwise He wouldn't have picked me up from the cesspit. And Night City?
Not Eden.
It's just another hell — with neon lights."
The priest laughed loudly, patting Arthur on the shoulder.
"You can't say that. Night City isn't hell... at least, not exactly."
He thought for a moment, then smiled.
"Maybe," the priest said thoughtfully, "it's a world where the Devil's arrival was never properly prevented."
"If God fished you out," he added warmly, "then no matter how filthy the cesspit, you are still not excrement."
Arthur smirked at the priest's strange but comforting logic.
But he wasn't fooled by the man's kindly demeanor.
The Priest — Sebastian Ibarra — wasn't just some soft-hearted man of God.
He was a legend in Heywood.
Once, he had been a humble priest for the Valentino Gang, burying bodies and praying for lost souls.
Then came a bloody storm, and Sebastian… evolved.
He moved into a "higher-end" business: middleman for mercenaries.
Now, like Rogue over in Afterlife, the priest quietly maintained the delicate balance of power in Heywood.
When necessary, he wasn't above arranging for someone to take an express ticket to hell — no repentance required.
Arthur respected that.
Night City didn't need saints.
It needed devils who knew when to kneel and when to strike.
Arthur turned his gaze toward the middle-aged man standing nervously next to the priest.
The man was unfamiliar, but Arthur's prosthetic eyes quickly ran a match.
Mr. Ma — the worker representative the Old Captain had arranged for him to meet.
Arthur smiled faintly and asked,
"So, you're Mr. Ma?
You wanted the priest here as a witness?"
Mr. Ma fidgeted under Arthur's steady gaze.
Meanwhile, the priest chuckled and nodded.
"God is merciful," the priest said. "I believe you are too, Arthur.
Mr. Ma's family is struggling — please, show him the same mercy God showed you."
Arthur snorted.
"Mercy? From me?" He took a long drink from the bottle. "Tell me, Father, did God not also send a flood after promising milk and honey?"
Arthur leaned back, tapping his finger rhythmically on the table.
Dong. Dong. Dong.
The heavy sound filled the Wild Wolf Bar, and sweat beaded instantly on Mr. Ma's forehead.
The tension was thick.
Arthur finally smirked and spoke.
"Relax. I'm not here to collect blood."
He leaned forward.
"Actually," he said, "I'm getting old. I want to settle down.
I'm opening a factory. And you — your people — you're exactly what I need."
Mr. Ma blinked, stunned.
Arthur continued casually, as if discussing the weather.
"I hear your workers have been jobless for days now.
Come work for me instead.
Better conditions. Five percent better pay than market rate.
And if business goes well... end-of-year bonuses."
Arthur grinned mischievously.
"Maybe even the legendary 'Sword of the Lady of the Lake' as a prize."
The priest: "..."
Mr. Ma: "..."
Both men were stunned into silence.
For a second, Mr. Ma just gaped.
Then, realizing Arthur was serious, he grabbed a glass from the table, raised it high, and shouted,
"Mr. Arthur! I don't know how to thank you! I drink to you!"
He downed the entire glass in one gulp, his face flushing bright red almost instantly.
Arthur couldn't help but chuckle.
Mr. Ma's heavy Dragon Kingdom accent had thickened with excitement.
A job offer like this was gold in Night City.
Finding stable work was harder than finding clean drinking water.
Despite the constant propaganda on News 54 about Night City's "booming economy,"
the truth was painfully obvious:
The homeless camps kept growing.
Gangs roamed the streets.
Most people scraped by on side hustles and desperation.
Jackpot.
Arthur could see it clearly: Mr. Ma and his desperate workers would be loyal — and grateful.
Mr. Ma looked like he was about to say more, but his phone buzzed.
He bowed awkwardly, murmured apologies, and hurried off to the side to take the call.
The priest, meanwhile, relaxed and clinked glasses with Arthur.
"Thank you for helping Jack," he said quietly.
"Kindness, Arthur... kindness always returns to you."
Arthur smiled but didn't comment.
He took another slow look around the Wild Wolf Bar — the worn tables, the scuffed floor, the familiar faces.
"So many years," Arthur murmured, "but this place hasn't changed a bit."
He chuckled, feeling an odd warmth rise in his chest.
"For Mrs. Wells' sake," he added, raising his bottle in a toast,
"I'll take good care of Jack — and the factory."
[End of Chapter 68: Priest and Mr. Ma!]