Chapter 125
Chapter 125
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 125
Chapter Title: Just a Helpful Person (1)
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"Ugh……."
The warehouse basement.
Oliver was wrestling with Pinkman's corpse.
He'd gotten into the preparation work as practice before the doctor and black mage corpses he'd ordered from the Black Market arrived, but it was taking way more effort than expected.
"Nngh……."
He sliced open Pinkman's abdomen with a scalpel, then used the abdominal retractor he'd bought from the Black Market last time to pry it apart, splitting the belly wide with a single pop.
A heavy stench of blood rose up. Fortunately, there was no rot.
The corpse Bigmouth had swallowed was remarkably well-preserved, without even a hint of decay.
Oliver used tongs to pull out the organs. They were squishy and slick, threatening to slip from his grasp at any moment, but after a few tries, he got the hang of it.
Splurch
He stowed the freshly extracted respiratory, digestive, and detoxification organs into a bag with storage function.
He'd heard there were buyers on the Black Market for organs like these.
They were used as materials for black magic items or potions.
It wouldn't make him rich, but after seeing how quickly his money had vanished last time, he figured selling these could help him cut costs.
Four hundred million rand earned at the risk of his life, gone in a flash. He needed to be even thriftier with his cash.
With the organs removed, the body was hollowed out. Oliver moved on to the next step.
He grabbed a handful of white powder that absorbed blood and moisture to prevent decay and smeared it inside.
The white powder's official name was drying powder.
Glib the puppeteer's journal noted that applying it before full chemical treatment was far more efficient.
Puppet had said Glib didn't even remember it, but his notes showed an impressive talent and passion for corpse puppets.
You could tell indirectly from the journal entries and memos.
On top of that, he'd amassed a fortune on his own and joined the Black Hand through sheer grit. His drive was something else.
Oliver suddenly realized he'd made a mistake.
Instead of just leaving the bodies after killing them, he should have found a way to preserve them.
Then he could have used them as materials for assistant corpse puppets and saved money.
"Whew…… I'll be more careful from now on."
With that, Oliver picked up a metal tool.
This one, spread wide like a hook, was called a scraper.
It was for scraping out the clumped drying powder from inside the body.
Before scraping the drying powder from the abdomen, Oliver examined the corpse.
The interior coated with drying powder was quite dry, and the body felt slightly desiccated overall.
"Good, that's on track so far……."
Checking his notepad, Oliver muttered to himself that it was time for the next phase.
He held the body steady with one hand and scraped inside with the scraper in the other.
Carefully, so as not to damage anything, removing only the drying powder clinging to the inner walls.
Once he'd cleared out the bulk of the caked powder, he wiped away the stubborn remnants—like chewing gum—with a cloth soaked in cleaner, then lifted the body and transferred it to the imperishable steel tank.
Moving the corpse was no easy task.
"Haa…… I really need to make an assistant. Or train up my strength."
Oliver grunted as he maneuvered the body into the large tank, then repeated the entire process twice more.
Before he knew it, three corpses were stacked inside the tank.
He wondered if this was okay, but the journal said for bulk production or when time was short—and these weren't major projects—it was fine to process them this way.
Oliver wiped the sweat soaking his body with a towel, then donned special gloves, an apron, and a mask.
He grabbed one of the five chemical canisters from the corner of the warehouse.
These were for preserving the corpses. He uncapped one and poured the entire contents into the tank.
Glug glug glug.
The clear, slightly viscous liquid slowly filled the tank, engulfing the bodies.
Once full, he weighed them down with heavy objects to keep them submerged.
Oliver set a timer, tidied up, and took a break.
Now they needed to soak for two hours, then be dried, then soaked again for two more. Three cycles total.
Only then would they emerge incorruptible, with the durability and flexibility needed for corpse puppets.
This was just the basics…….
"No wonder you need two or three assistants."
As he said it, Oliver rummaged through his discarded clothes for his cigarette case.
Not real cigarettes, of course—it held filterettes, a gift from Marie and the others.
Just to be safe, he pulled one out and examined it.
It looked no different from the one Nina had given him before.
Anger and maternal love, two opposing emotions blended in perfect harmony.
Oliver hesitated for a moment before lighting it up.
This was only his second time trying a filterette.
Unfortunately, it didn't move him much.
What was it……? It wasn't to his taste. Or rather, beyond like or dislike, it just didn't give him that feeling.
The first time, when he'd smoked the filterette made from his master Joseph's emotions, it had been profound.
He'd felt Joseph's emotions surging through him.
Surprisingly, it wasn't mere fragments—it was the full accumulation of emotions and memories from Joseph's life.
He didn't know the mechanism, but in that moment, smoking it let him glimpse Joseph's life, his intense feelings, the desires and goals born from them, like shadowy silhouettes.
For that instant, Oliver understood Joseph.
The torrent of fierce emotions crashing through him brought indescribable shock and joy.
As if he were truly alive…….
But this filterette offered none of that.
The recipe wasn't the issue. It was the ingredients.
Naturally, his gaze drifted to his clothes.
Duncan's clothes held two filterettes made from that beautiful light extracted from him.
For a split second, he wavered. Smoke now or not?
There were two, after all. Maybe just one? Exactly one.
"……."
Oliver sat in heavy silence, deliberating.
Just as he moved to resolve it—rrrrrring!—the alarm clock blared.
The shrill, piercing sound snapped him from his reverie.
"…!"
A small hammer atop the clock struck the massive bells on either side. Oliver rubbed the bridge of his nose, coming back to himself.
After wrapping up Edith's matter, he'd had too much to do and barely slept. That must have caught up with him.
Click.
He silenced the alarm, redonned his gloves and mask, and fished the corpses out of the preservative.
Using a hooked handle, he lifted them without piercing, laying them out on the tarp he'd spread on the floor.
All three.
Oliver checked them against his notepad.
The preservative had seeped everywhere, with no blood or residue left.
Poking with his finger, they had the firmness noted in the instructions.
Smooth sailing so far.
After drying, he carefully returned the bodies to the tank.
His eyes lingered on Duncan's clothes with the filterettes, but he shoved aside the mad temptation.
"Yeah, just hold out a little longer. There'll be a better time."
After hours of corpse prep, Oliver changed from his suit into casual clothes and headed out.
He wasn't going to work, and his destination was a place where a suit would draw too much attention.
Sure enough, as Jo had said—you'd know it when you got close—the gym stood out.
A low-ceilinged warehouse stretched wide like sliced bread, patched with all sorts of junk and looking rundown.
But inside, terrifying men in nothing but shorts were working out.
Most were ripped, exuding the vibe of career thugs.
Jo had suggested meeting here, and it suited him perfectly.
"Hey, who're you? You don't look like one of us."
Someone called out. Turning toward the voice, Oliver saw a bald man.
He was short enough that Oliver had to look down, but broad-shouldered, thick-bodied, with arms like stone.
His eyes were just as hard as he stared Oliver down.
"Hey, I said, who are you?"
"Hello. Name's Dave. Here to meet someone."
"Heh…… Polite one, huh? No idea when this place turned into a meetup spot."
"Sorry about that. Jo said to meet here."
The man's expression shifted. Mild surprise.
"Jo? You mean the bushy-haired guy with the perpetual scowl who wears knuckles when he kills?"
"Uh…… Yeah, that sounds right. Nickname's Knuckle Jo."
"Then it's him! ……So, what's your deal with Jo? You look like an office drone—not exactly buddy material. He shaking you down or something?"
The bald man snickered mockingly.
"Uh…… You joking?"
"……Hah! Fun guy. Yeah, kidding. Not a coward, good. Come on, I'll show you in."
The man grinned, flashing teeth, and beckoned Oliver inside.
Oliver followed him into the gym.
Steam from sweat hung thick in the air.
"Graaaah!"
"Useless shit! Straighten up, you loser fuck!"
"One. One. One."
"Count right, you bastard……!"
"Don't stop punching, you pussy! Lose again and I'll dismantle you for parts."
The clang of metal, whoosh of air, thuds on sandbags echoed everywhere.
Dozens of men trained furiously amid curses, like they were in a brawl.
Oliver gawked at the vibrant scene.
"Yo! Everyone's full of fight today! Heh heh heh."
A few working out nodded to the bald man.
"Ah, Coach."
"Yeah, my boys can't stand a day off."
The bald man kissed his bicep in response.
"Who's the suit?"
"Met him just now, not sure. Says he's meeting Jo."
"Jo? We graduated from shaking him down ages ago."
"Dunno…… Hey, there he is."
The bald man pointed to Jo in the corner, pounding a sandbag.
Each punch from Jo exploded with a bang.
Bam!Bam!Bam—!
Pure physical power, no black magic.
As Oliver had sensed, Jo was plenty strong without it.
Jo stepped in his signature footwork, accelerating before slamming the bag with full force.
Thud—!
The massive boom shook the gym as a hole tore open, sand pouring out.
A few onlookers grinned in admiration.
Judging his workout nearly done, the bald man called out.
"Jo!"
Jo, shirtless and drenched in sweat, turned.
"You pay for that!"
"Got it."
"And you've got a visitor."
Visitor. At that, Jo finally noticed Oliver beside the bald man.
His eyes widened; he checked his watch and hurried over.
"Why're you…… already here?"
"You said come after finishing my urgent business."
Jo's cautious tone contrasted Oliver's calm one. He was even using polite speech, awkwardly.
It shocked the onlookers, but the next moment floored them.
"No need for the formalities."
"Still, hierarchy……."
"I'm just someone teaching you for a bit. Nothing more, nothing less…… Oh, Coach. Thank you for your help."
Oliver bowed slightly, matching the bald man's eye level.
The bald man stared at Jo in astonishment.
"Who is he?"