Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: The Chosen Child (1)
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The 19th century, an era known as the age of magic and industry.
Humanity had made astonishing leaps forward.
Forests were cleared for railroads, airships cruised the skies, and automobiles prowled the streets.
And that was just the beginning. The economy boomed, populations exploded, and countless colonies sprang up. Some even claimed that this was humanity's golden age.
Yet even in such times, there were always places left behind.
This mining village was one of them.
A nameless speck of a place where minerals trickled out in modest amounts, it drew in society's dregs—those with troubled pasts. And at the very bottom of that heap were, naturally, the children.
Most of the kids were orphans, their backgrounds all too similar.
They didn't know their fathers or mothers, were dumped in orphanages, raised on government handouts until fourteen, then sold off to this mining village under the guise of "employment and independence."
Strictly speaking, it was illegal. But no one cared. It was far too common.
Because of that, the children all looked eerily alike.
Faces smeared with coal dust from mine work, lifeless eyes, gaunt bodies. Harsh as it might sound, they resembled cogwheels or screws shaped like people more than actual humans.
Squeezed to their limits until they broke, then replaced... But just as every place has its jagged stone, this one had a peculiar child.
His name was Oliver.
If you judged by appearances alone, you might tilt your head in confusion. There was nothing particularly odd about him to call him strange.
No, if anything, he was more than that. Smaller than the other kids and skin-and-bones thin, Oliver's skin was so pale it evoked the image of a living corpse. No one would bat an eye if he dropped dead tomorrow—he was that pitiful a sight.
Yet ironically, that very fact proved how unusual he was.
It had been three years and four months since Oliver was sold to this mine. Back then, he'd fallen out of favor with the orphanage director and hadn't eaten properly, making him far more wretched than he was now.
Seeing his emaciated frame, the mine supervisor, workers, and even the other children whispered that he'd be dead in less than three months. Some even bet on the exact day.
In truth, Oliver fell ill within a week of arriving. It was so severe he could barely breathe, his body boiling like a kettle. Astonishingly, he recovered miraculously just as they were about to dig his grave.
Meanwhile, kids who'd been fine just days before started wasting away and collapsing one by one.
And that was far from the end of it.
Hard to explain, but Oliver had other eerie traits.
Dull-witted yet freakishly quick on the uptake, he had a knack for dodging the supervisor's wrath. When targeted by the bullies, the aggressors would soon fall sick and die, piling up one "lucky" break after another.
The vicious guard dogs that watched the children cowered specifically in front of Oliver. Rats vanished from wherever he worked or slept.
These bizarre occurrences stacked up until Oliver was shunned by all, treated like an ominous object.
But Oliver himself couldn't have cared less. His interests didn't lie in making friends or earning affection.
What Oliver wanted—his one and only desire—was to survive in this mine as long as possible.
It wasn't some grand purpose. Just a raw clinging to life, like an ant or tick thrashing to stay alive.
Raised in an orphanage and hardened in the mines, survival was all Oliver knew.
But that changed one day with the arrival of a single visitor.
Wooo———————!!!
In the midst of the workday, a steam whistle blared—one that shouldn't have sounded.
The children toiling in the stuffy, sunless coal mine laboriously lifted their heads. Only Oliver, pickaxing away in the corner, ignored it and kept working.
Moments later, a portly man descended the rusty ladder with a clanging thud. It was the supervisor who oversaw the kids.
"Attention! Everyone, attention! Assemble outside right now!"
A coal-smeared boy asked fearfully.
"S-Supervisor? What's going on...?"
"What's going on? A guest has arrived after all this time. He wants diligent workers, so get out there and greet him! Move, move!"
At those words, faint smiles flickered across the children's deadpan faces. Why wouldn't they? Being chosen meant escape from this hell.
It was a kind of irregular event—the only hope in this hopeless mine.
The corpse-like kids dropped their tools without hesitation and scrambled up the rusty ladder to the surface.
The ladder groaned under them as they shoved and tussled to climb first, causing a minor uproar. Oliver alone stayed back, watching the chaos.
There was no particular reason. Whether his emotions had died or his soul had broken, Oliver had never truly felt joy, anticipation, or hope since birth.
That might explain his unnatural calm—and perhaps why he'd survived this long. False hope was poison, after all.
The stronger kids went first, followed by the weaker ones. Naturally, Oliver was last, relegating him to the worst spot at the rear.
"Ugh, so bright..."
"Feels like I can breathe now."
"Cough. Cough."
The kids chattered like birds, thrilled by the rare sunlight. Sunshine was a luxury in the mines. Then a muscular man appeared before them—the site's tyrannical manager.
Flanked by his vicious guard dog, cigarette dangling from his lips, he spoke arrogantly.
"Alright, quiet down. Don't embarrass yourselves in front of the guest."
The guard dog barked fiercely in agreement—woof! Woof! The children huddled together in fear, but Oliver stood calmly. Then a man appeared quietly.
"Attention, everyone! This is our guest today. He needs honest, good workers, so behave properly."
As if on cue, the kids shut their mouths and eyed the man.
Middle-aged, with a kind face and neatly groomed mustache, dressed in a fine coat and bowler hat—he looked wealthy.
A good sign. A kind, rich man... He was sure to take them somewhere better than here. At least, that's how it seemed to Oliver—though slightly differently.
The site manager said to the guest.
"Shall I recommend some kids?"
The workers who'd curried favor with the supervisor smiled faintly. The guest shook his head.
"No, I'd prefer to choose myself."
With that, he pulled something from his coat. Chocolate, astonishingly. Chocolate!
The kids, who'd only ever seen chocolate wrappers, buzzed with excitement.
"What does this look like to you?"
The guest asked abruptly. The kids tilted their heads. What did he mean? Did he think mine kids wouldn't even recognize chocolate? What was his angle?
Then one quick boy raised his hand first.
"Chocolate!"
As he answered, a sly grin spread across his face. He was certain: this was a test to find the most proactive child. But his guess missed the mark spectacularly.
"Any other opinions?"
The guest's cold response left the first boy crestfallen. No one pitied him. They just raised their hands like vultures, desperate not to miss their shot.
"Me!"
"I know!"
"Pick me! Me!"
"I'll answer, sir!"
"Please, me...!"
Like pigeons swarming crumbs, the kids shouted and waved—everyone but Oliver.
Instead of raising his hand, Oliver puzzled over it. Chocolate? What did that mean? He stared at the guest's hand holding the chocolate. Yes, there was chocolate, but something else stood out more.
A black light. A round orb of black light at his fingertips.
The guest was drawing black light from his body to his fingertips, shaping it into a circle.
This came as quite a shock to Oliver.
Everyone had black light within them, but he'd never seen anyone manipulate it like this.
While Oliver reeled from this revelation, the other kids took turns answering when pointed at.
"Good, you answer."
"Yes! It's opportunity."
Ding! The guest pointed at another.
"The future. A chance at a better life!"
Ding! Another.
"Hope. What you're giving us—"
Ding! Again. And again, and again.
Each chosen child gave clever answers, but none satisfied the guest.
Soon all hands dropped, faces crumpled in despair. Some even shed tears from the injustice, but the guest just muttered in disappointment.
"Hm... Not here either, then?"
Then someone quietly raised a hand. All eyes turned.
"Oh? Y-Yeah... What does this look like to you?"
A question devoid of hope. The least noticeable boy at the back—Oliver—answered.
"A circle."
"...Huh? What was that?"
"A circle, sir."
"...A circle? Not a square?"
"Yes, sir. How exactly did you do that?"
The guest smiled wordlessly.
The deal was struck swiftly.
The guest handed over a thick wad of bills that looked heavy even from afar. The site manager skipped the obligatory guardian questions and handed Oliver over.
The other kids trudged back to the mine with resentful glares, while Oliver followed his new... master away from the mine.
Normal kids would have bowed obsequiously to impress at this point, but Oliver did no such thing. Instead, he asked boldly.
"Um... Master? How did you do that?"
"Do what?"
"This. Like this...?"
With that, Oliver raised his finger. Invisible to ordinary eyes, but the guest saw it clearly: a squishy blob of black light forming at the fingertip!
Yes. Oliver had replicated the guest's feat just by watching. And without much difficulty.
The guest's lips curled up slowly. Chillingly so.
"Since when could you do that?"
"...Just now. I've seen it since I was little, though."
At Oliver's reply, the guest stopped abruptly and stared at him.
"My name is Joseph. A great black magician—and from now on, your master. Serve me."
