Chapter 123
Chapter 123
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 123
Chapter Title: Request (1)
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At the edge of the Black Market, next to the office for Crime Firm employees.
A skinny old man wearing gold-rimmed glasses sat at an empty desk there.
He was an employee of the Crime Firm as well, mainly in charge of selling "special goods" that the firm handled directly.
Corpses were, of course, one of them.
"So, you want a doctor's corpse and a black mage's?"
"Yes. Not just any black mage—I'd prefer one specialized in manipulation and necromancy. Surgical skills would be a plus."
Oliver calmly explained his requirements.
The old man in gold-rimmed glasses filled out the paperwork accordingly.
After finishing writing with a scratch-scratch of his pen, he lifted his glasses once and spoke.
"Those are some strict conditions. What grade were you thinking?"
Grade.
Joseph had explained it beforehand.
Corpses with such specialized conditions were divided into grades.
Naturally, higher grades meant better quality—and higher prices.
There were five grades in total, and from grade 2 onward, they included people who had made names for themselves in their fields.
"Hmm... What about grade 3?"
The gold-rimmed old man flipped through the papers and replied.
"Doctor: 120 million randa. Black mage: 200 million. But factoring in your conditions, we'd need 300 million for the black mage."
My God... Oliver realized the terror of money for the first time.
The 400 million he'd earned risking his life was going to be exceeded with ease.
He'd thought he'd have plenty to buy both leisurely... but he'd underestimated this place.
As Oliver fell silent, the old man removed his glasses and spoke politely.
"The items are special and tricky to handle, so the prices are on the high side. We always try to keep stock ready, so feel free to come back once you've saved up more. I'll be here anytime—"
"—By chance, could I hear the grade 4 prices? Doctor as is, and for the black mage, drop the extra conditions—just manipulation-necromancy specialization."
The gold-rimmed old man paused.
He put his glasses back on, edited the text, and opened new paperwork to check.
Flip, flip, flip—the sound rang out, then stopped.
"We have a grade 4 doctor corpse available cheap by coincidence. It's 90 million randa, but the expiration is tight, so I can discount it 10% to 81 million randa."
"Ah, that sounds good."
"Let me see... And the black mage at 170 million randa."
81 million plus 170 million. Total: 251 million randa.
A hefty sum, but not impossible.
However, adding in the other drugs, tools, and equipment he'd bought earlier meant burning through a good chunk of this payout.
He hesitated a bit.
Money itself wasn't the issue, but spending it all now might leave him short when he needed it later.
He even questioned if it was worth this much for auxiliary soul puppets.
After much deliberation, Oliver finally spoke.
"...I'll order those two. When can I expect delivery?"
Oliver decided to focus on the present.
Money could always be earned again. Better to start experimenting as soon as possible.
Joseph, standing behind him, seemed slightly surprised at the large amount. The gold-rimmed old man up front felt the same.
"You're buying?"
"Yes. Any issues...?"
"No... You can pick them up as early as a week, ten days at latest. Total: 251 million randa."
"Got it."
Oliver nodded in response.
It was a bit delayed, but that was the procedure here—no helping it.
He figured he'd handle other things in the meantime.
The gold-rimmed old man spoke again.
"Then, could you fill out this form? And as per rules, we'd need half as a deposit now."
Oliver nodded and pulled out his wallet-like glutton pouch.
Thank goodness he'd withdrawn everything from the anonymous account in advance.
Oliver forced open the pouch's mouth and shoved his forearm deep inside.
Oek-?!
He shook his arm around, and soon a reaction came from within.
Oliver turned the pouch upside down.
"Kueeeek—! Kueeeek—! Kueeeek——! Kueeeek——!"
With retching sounds, bundles of bills tumbled onto the desk—thud, thud.
Since it vomited whole bundles, it was easy to sort, but the poor glutton pouch wept tears from all five eyes, looking miserable.
Oliver didn't let up, shaking it up and down to coax more.
"Sorry about this. Just a bit more. I'll give you a 10,000-randa bill later."
Kuek!
Kuek!
Kweeeek——!
Finally, the glutton pouch emptied itself and went limp.
The gold-rimmed old man stared in brief surprise, then regained composure and began sorting the money.
He stacked the tied bundles neatly, riffling through bills now and then to verify amounts.
A moment later, he said.
"125.5 million randa... Spot on."
"Yes... Oh, and here's the filled-out form."
Oliver handed over the completed paperwork.
All it required was his name and confirming the order details.
The gold-rimmed old man checked it and said.
"Name's Dave Light, correct?"
"Yes."
"Understood... We'll ensure you get your items without delay. Take this."
The old man handed over an iron key.
"We verified your face, but for contingencies, here's this. Not having it won't stop pickup, but it'll make things smoother for both sides."
Oliver understood.
A security measure. He promised not to lose it, then stood.
As he turned to leave, the old man said.
"An honor doing business with you, Mr. Dave."
"...Yes, thank you."
Oliver replied, sensing an odd friendliness. A bit too courteous, maybe?
With his business done, Oliver left the Black Market with Joseph.
Emerging from the basement parking lot, the overcast sky typical of Randa greeted them.
"Now it's time for me to keep my promise."
Oliver turned to Joseph, who followed behind, and asked. Joseph hid his tension with silence.
"But could you tell me why? Why do you want to fight me?"
Oliver and Joseph headed to a deserted corner on the outskirts of R District.
An abandoned ruin where construction halted mid-redevelopment due to some incidents. Joseph had learned of it through Black Market work.
"What kind of work?"
"Executions. Guys who scam the Black Market or employees who skim goods get terminated here."
True enough, faint bloodstains were visible as proof.
"Ironic, but this market needs trust too, so they manage rigorously. They constantly watch and weed out bad tenants selling fakes or staff swapping items."
"Everyone's so dedicated. Impressive."
Oliver said sincerely.
Hard work was admirable and vital.
Joseph narrowed his eyes at Oliver.
"...Did I say something wrong?"
"Nah, just thinking you're a weird guy."
Joseph replied while removing his suit and watch, rolling up his sleeves.
"Alright, let's throw down."
"Hold on. You haven't answered my question. Why fight me?"
"I'll tell you... after we fight!"
As Joseph finished, he kicked a brick fragment on the ground.
Thwack! A fist-sized chunk flew at Oliver's face.
Reflexively, Oliver swung his quarterstaff to deflect it.
Thud! With a dull sound, Joseph—body enhanced by black magic and fists wrapped in knuckles—charged forward.
He was faster and more skilled than their first meeting.
"Ho..."
Whoosh! The punch sliced through the air toward Oliver's face.
Razor-sharp, but Oliver narrowly backpedaled out of range.
"Huh?"
"Ah, sorry. Mind if I borrow a bit?"
Oliver extracted some of the black magic Joseph had infused in his body.
Less intentional, more reflexive.
Joseph looked surprised too.
"......"
Ignoring that, Oliver pulled a test tube from his pocket, extracted life force, altered the borrowed black magic, and wove them together.
[Black Suit ver. 2]
He spun emotions and life force into threads, weaving a dense fabric like cloth, then draped it over his body and quarterstaff alike.
It reminded him of their first encounter with Joseph.
Joseph seemed to recall it too, giving a meaningful look as he extracted emotions to reinforce himself and reset his stance.
There was resolve in his eyes. Deadly serious resolve.
Tap-tap-tap.
Joseph clenched his fists, took position, and began bouncing on his toes.
Breathing steady, gaze sharp.
To counter, Oliver thrust his quarterstaff forward.
The optimal stance to maximize the long weapon's reach.
Thud-thud-thud!
Joseph moved. Power focused in his legs propelled him forward at startling speed, closing distance.
His movements were fluid and precise—hard to track with ordinary eyes.
Ordinary eyes, that is.
Bang!
Whoosh!
Joseph accelerated in. Oliver swung the quarterstaff along his path.
Perfect timing, yet Joseph ducked low to evade, then unleashed a punch from that crouched pose.
Boom!!!
The machine-precise punch exploded like a bomb toward Oliver's chest.
Oliver yanked the staff back to guard.
Not fully, but post-Duncan fight, he could indirectly predict targets. Otherwise, he'd have been a beat late.
Clang!!!
The knuckle's impact boomed like metal on metal.
Undeterred, Joseph followed with a low kick, channeling black magic energy into his leg for power.
Definitely more adept than before.
Oliver let it hit, countering with a downward staff strike.
Trading blows favored Oliver's superior black magic firepower.
But Joseph tucked his shoulder, spun, and slipped away just in time.
Physical skill, independent of black magic.
Impressed, Oliver asked.
"Impressive. Where'd you—"
Bam!!
Joseph punched immediately. Oliver blocked with his arm.
The Black Suit absorbed damage and pain, but the force transmitted through. Enough to mince an ordinary person.
He'd definitely grown stronger since last time.
Some training? Impressive.
Joseph's onslaught continued. Oliver countered.
Each exchange whipped wind and clashed metal like a storm.
Most of Oliver's attacks grazed or missed; Joseph's landed solidly one in three times.
Oliver was the one giving ground.
Close quarters favored Joseph.
Yet Joseph grew ever more frantic, pressing desperately.
"Raaagh!"
Joseph feinted a punch, shifted steps, and tackled with his body.
Caught off-guard, Oliver reacted a beat slow.
He braced, but Joseph used his weight to shove him against a half-demolished wall.
Thud—Oliver's back hit.
Then Joseph funneled massive energy into his right fist, gripped it left-handed, and swung full force.
Kaboom!!!!!!!!
Oliver flew back from the shock, the supporting wall crumbling behind him.
A devastating blow. Cracks in his Black Suit told the tale.
It demanded heavy toll on the body, but the power was real.
Whoosh!
Oliver rolled up swiftly, swinging the quarterstaff at the charging Joseph.
Boom!
Joseph raised guard in panic, but black magic superiority shattered it.
"Urk!"
Joseph's stance crumbled under impact and pain.
Oliver pressed, swinging again; Joseph blocked but flew back incompletely defended.
Into the same wall he'd desperately shoved Oliver. His face showed shock.
It didn't make sense. He'd improved so much—why?
"Hey..."
"Yes?"
Joseph panted heavily. He looked spent.
"Do it for real."
"Pardon?"
"Don't hold back. Come at me properly. Let me gauge my true strength. No half-measures."
Inexplicable words. But Joseph's were earnest.
His emotions shone pure: jealousy, curiosity, fear, courage, resentment, respect, anger, endurance, sorrow, hope—complex and intertwined.
A beautiful glow.
Seeing it, Oliver replied.
"Yes, understood."