"What do I get out of this, my supposed nemesis?"
"Uh…" At this question, Ragnar was stumped. He thought about it for a moment, then turned back to Cyanide.
"… My respect?"
"Worthless," Cyanide said coldly. "You expect me to help you for no reason?" He chuckled. "I am an assassin, fool. A mercenary, if you will. I do things if you pay me. If not, I have no reason or obligation to help you—especially considering you are my archnemesis, according to yourself."
"Fine, fine!" Ragnar rolled his eyes. "I, uh… don't got anything I can give you in return right now, but I'll owe you a favor after this, how 'bout that?"
"A favor? Interesting. What makes you think I will need a favor from you in the future?" Cyanide asked, genuinely curious.
"Hey, you never know," Ragnar said, shrugging. "Maybe you'll end up having to throw away your weapon sometime as well, and will need my help to get it back."