Chapter 121
Chapter 121
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 121
Chapter Title: Knuckle Joe (1)
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"Did you really extract mana during the fight?"
A sudden question. It didn't feel like something he'd just tossed out casually.
"Yes, that's right."
"Whew..."
Forest rubbed his dry face and let out a deep sigh, his worry plain as day.
"I heard about it beforehand, but it's still astonishing... Who would've thought you'd be a rare case. Mind if I ask why you didn't mention it?"
"I didn't know I was a rare case myself. More importantly, what exactly does 'rare case' mean? Is it a term for black mages who can extract mana?"
"Pretty much. It's also an umbrella term for anyone with traits worth studying."
"Studying?"
"Yeah... Not the best timing, but let's make it a quiz. Who do you think coined the term 'rare case'?"
That question brought Edith's words to Oliver's mind. The ones without imagination die first.
"Hm... Mages?"
"Spot on. Black mages who extract mana, mana hypertrophy, mana agenesis, mutants with special abilities or high-intelligence ogres, winged pigs—you name it. Anything rare and research-worthy gets lumped under 'rare case.' Some have been studied extensively, but anyway, you're one of them."
Oliver showed interest.
"Are there other black mages who can extract mana?"
"A few, though they're few and far between. Disappointed to find out people like you exist?"
"No? I'm glad, actually. I might learn something from them."
He didn't know anyone like that, might never meet them, and they might not even teach him—but Oliver spoke as if it was already a done deal.
His face was innocently bright, like a child's.
Forest gave a wry smile, as if he couldn't even muster a response.
"Ah, is that why Edith warned me?"
"Warned you about what?"
"She said I could be in danger, so I should be careful. Lonely wolves make easy targets... Was she telling me to watch out for mages?"
"Probably. For mages, knowledge is power. They don't care about right or wrong if it's for research."
It didn't sound wrong.
There had been that horrific lab in the contaminated zone's underground.
Puppet had used it recently, but its original owner was a mage.
Rumor had it they even dealt with demons for research.
It was just Puppet's word, but it rang true somehow.
That sparked a sudden question.
What was the difference between mages and black mages, anyway?
Magic and black magic. Same principles, same actions—no real difference.
As Oliver pondered, Forest spoke up abruptly.
"That said, you don't need to worry too much."
"Pardon?"
"About mages. No need to fret... Sure, some go off the rails, but they're not idiots. They won't just kidnap you outright."
Forest seemed to have misunderstood something and was trying to reassure him.
Oliver listened quietly for now.
"This city maintains balance through cooperation and checks among various factions. No boasting, but our Broker Guild plays a small part in that. You're not officially affiliated, but you've traded with me and made a name for yourself lately. Even mages won't dare snatch you carelessly."
"That's a relief."
"Still, you need to be cautious yourself."
"What exactly should I watch out for?"
"Nothing major. Just don't give mages any excuses. If you hand them justification first, even the Broker Guild can't help much. We might have to quietly back off."
Ah. Even the Broker Guild found dealing with mages burdensome.
Makes sense—this city's mages held a unique status.
"Understood. I'll be careful."
"Thanks for understanding. This city's peace hangs by a thread, like a pissing contest between nine-year-olds. You never know when or where trouble might strike, so you have to watch your step."
Forest spoke with sincerity.
A newcomer like Oliver when he first arrived might not have gotten it, but now he had a faint inkling.
This massive city had childish, petty sides.
Especially evident in the Edith incident.
It was amusing.
The peace of this huge metropolis, teeming with buildings, cars, and people, sustained by such emotions.
He couldn't quite put it into words, but it was amusing nonetheless.
Oliver gathered his payment—an anonymous bankbook, business card, and book—then stood.
"If that's alright, may I take my leave?"
"Of course. Nothing more to discuss anyway. I'll look for something suitable in the meantime. Any preferences on jobs or pay?"
Preferences on jobs or pay...
"Hard to say off the top of my head."
"Figured as much. I'll pick some decent ones for you. Contact me if something comes up. I'll accommodate as best I can."
"Thank you."
Oliver bowed politely and left the office.
About thirty minutes after Oliver exited Forest's office.
Employee Al knocked on the door.
Knock-knock.
"Come in."
With permission, Al opened the door gently and entered.
He closed it and looked at Forest, who was buried in paperwork.
All requests, with 30% direct ones for Dave.
"Boss."
"Yes, what is it?"
"We're out of lamb. Need to reorder."
"Got it. Place the order from our usual supplier. Their lamb's top-notch."
"Yes, sir... And the check? I think it's time to respond."
Forest paused his work and rubbed his face again.
The check was from Martel Lab reps who visited two days ago.
They came all the way, shared a simple meal, and handed it over.
Claimed it was for the good food, but Forest knew it was a blatant lie. They knew he knew.
This world spoke in subtext.
The check was a greeting.
We'll kidnap Dave, so look the other way.
And a warning: stay out of it.
Arrogance born of their confidence in their power.
Forest had to respond.
Whatever he said wouldn't easily deter them, but it could influence their next move.
Forest pulled the check from his drawer, treated like a bomb.
It read 300 million, signed with Martel's M.
With resolve, he wrote a polite refusal letter, enclosed the check, and sealed it.
"Drop this at the post office. Express delivery."
Al took the envelope politely but asked anxiously.
"Are you sure?"
Al's question seemed cowardly but was perfectly sensible.
Martel's check was a courtesy and a notice.
Not a request for permission.
Obviously—they were a powerhouse in this city.
Backed by vast capital, the Life School, and patents across fields.
Mage supremacists steeped in eugenics, but refusing their mighty proposal was dangerous.
Might mean leaving the business... or worse.
Defying the strong here was folly.
Yet Forest stuck to his guns.
This way, they'd at least tread carefully.
Delaying out of fear meant no one to turn to later. Silence equals consent.
So, respond now.
"Don't worry if the shop folds. I'll give you proper severance and help find work."
"That's not why I asked, boss."
Forest looked at Al, his red-skinned employee.
"Of course... Mind running to the post office?"
"Yes, sir."
Al bowed and left.
Alone again, Forest straightened his clothes and gathered his thoughts.
Honestly, no need for excessive worry.
Mage infighting was fierce internally and externally; even the Life School couldn't act recklessly.
Dave was rising fast as a fixer with many eyes on him—no blatant kidnapping possible.
If he were a nobody, the Guild might turn a blind eye, but his fame spanned districts now. The Guild couldn't ignore a scandal; it'd tarnish their reputation and business.
Still, the city was dangerous—shadows and spotlight alike.
So Forest reviewed requests.
Pick the best ones, connect Dave to influential clients.
That network would shield him and Forest.
Lately, the kid boosted not just income but the Guild's standing too. Only natural.
"Yeah, it's the right thing. Not about repaying Kent or anything."
"What the fuck are you?"
In a corner of the Black Market, as Edith directed.
Oliver found himself surrounded by vendors dealing drugs.
He'd asked about Gifts; they didn't like it and closed in menacingly.
Who knew asking where they got Gifts would piss them off so much.
"Why aren't you answering, you prick? Where'd you buy the Gift? Spill it, fucker."
A gaunt, skull-like man pressed again.
He seemed a black mage too.
His burly staff grabbed steel pipes, glaring at Oliver, ready to swing.
Worried about trouble for Edith, Oliver tried polite talk.
"Did I offend you somehow?"
"Offend? Ha... I'm gonna lose it. Where you from? Sent by that fuck Rudy, right?"
"Who's Rudy? Sorry anyway. Just checking something."
"Whoa... Checking what?"
"It's personal, hard to say."
"Aha... Guess I'll make you wanna talk. Boys?"
With that, the burly ones hooked arms under Oliver's pits, holding him.
Even tried for his quarterstaff.
"Hey now—"
-Grip.
Oliver clutched the staff tight.
The strong-looking employee tugged repeatedly, but it stayed put.
Furious, he growled low.
"Let go."
"...Sorry. It's a gift."
Tension thickened.
Oliver tried once more, politely.
"Apologies again. If you can't tell me about the Gift, I'll leave now and never bother your business. Truly sorry."
The skull-faced man lit a cigarette, exhaled.
"Can't just let you walk."
He moved to act.
"Oh, right on cue."
A sudden, familiar voice.
Oliver turned. There stood Knuckle Joe in a suit, messy mop of hair.
Oliver said,
"Ah, hello, Joe. Long time."
"Yeah, long time..."
The skull-man knew Joe too.
"What? You know him?"
"Yeah. So, advice: let him go."