Chapter 126
Chapter 126
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 126
Chapter Title: Just Someone Helping Out (2)
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Joseph led Oliver down to the basement beneath the gym.
There was no light at all, leaving the surroundings pitch black, and the air was musty.
With a click, he turned on the light, and bulbs on the ceiling flickered to life.
"Whoa..."
Oliver let out a sound as he took in the scene before him.
The basement was nearly as large as the ground floor, but there were far fewer iron weight machines.
Instead, it was filled with a massive ring, bloodstained and menacing sandbags, mitts, gloves, and even blunt weapons like iron chains and blackjacks.
"What is this place?"
"It's the training ground for the gym's affiliated fighters. I'm a former member here, but I can still use it."
"Former member?"
"...Before joining Fighter Crew, I was a fighter in illegal underground rings. Everyone who trains here is similar—thugs, thieves, pimps, illegal fighters. Most of them make a living through violence."
Oliver glanced back up the stairs he'd come down. It made sense, in a way.
They'd said it was hard to find proper jobs in X District.
Curiosity welled up in him again.
J District and X District were in the same city, even if far apart—how could the difference be so stark?
"Hey."
"Yeah?"
Lost in thought, Joseph called out to Oliver.
He seemed troubled, pausing for a moment before speaking cautiously.
"Anyway, since you said it's fine, I'll talk casually like before. No issues with that?"
"Yeah, of course. I'd prefer it that way."
Oliver replied, recalling Marie and Peter, whom he'd taught in the past, along with countless others.
Every time he taught them, every time their skills improved, every time they grew fond of him, the pretty glow they originally had faded a little more.
It was a deeply sad thing.
"...Alright. Then teach me here. I told you ahead of time, so no one will come down for a while. What do we start with?"
At Joseph's question, Oliver pulled a test tube from his pocket. It naturally contained emotion.
"I'm not great at teaching, so I'd like to check your skills first. If it's okay, could you extract some emotion from this?"
At Oliver's words, Joseph took the test tube and extracted from it.
"Huh?"
"What's up?"
"Why are you so slow?"
Oliver asked, watching Joseph's extraction process.
It wasn't a joke—he was genuinely slow.
This level was about what a low-grade disciple from his time in Joseph's Family could manage.
It hadn't seemed this bad when they'd fought.
"...If it's unprocessed emotion, this is my normal speed."
"Unprocessed emotion?"
Joseph hesitated a moment, then pulled a test tube from his own clothes and held it out.
Oliver examined it.
It contained emotion, but not the usual kind.
As Joseph said, it was processed for ease of use.
If he had to compare it, it was like fish with guts removed, scales scraped off, and fillets neatly sliced.
Convenient, but weaker as a result.
"Where'd you get this?"
"You can get them in Fighter Crew. They don't hand them out endlessly, but there's plenty."
"So you've been using only this?"
"Yeah... Is there a problem?"
"Problem? Yeah, there is. Stop using it now."
"Why?"
"Processing it prevents the emotion from reaching its full power, and relying on it means your skills won't improve anymore. You won't be able to use Black Suit either."
"I don't get it... Why?"
Oliver fell into thought. How to explain?
"Hmm... Hold on."
With that, he reached out into the air.
Suddenly, emotion burst from the test tube Joseph held—walak!
The emotions gathered in his hand.
"You said you wanted to learn Black Suit."
"Yeah. Disease-type black magic is dangerous if overused—it burdens the body."
That was true. Disease-type black magic seemed like a straightforward, powerful body enhancement at first glance, but it forcibly drew on physical strength and life force.
It was manageable in moderation, but frequent or intense use could be risky.
That was why Oliver had developed Black Suit.
"Do you know how Black Suit is made?"
"The recipe? No clue."
"Recipe?"
"That's what we call black magic techniques."
Ah, right—he remembered now.
Black magic had emerged simultaneously in multiple places in a single era, so methods and terms varied.
Recipe, cook, processing, incantation—they called it all sorts of things.
"...Right. Anyway, the recipe for Black Suit is like this."
Oliver slowly demonstrated.
He drew the clumped emotion out into fine threads.
The threads, fully under Oliver's control, hung in the air without scattering, forming a neat bundle.
Joseph watched silently. His emotions brimmed with admiration.
Once fully threaded, Oliver spoke.
"This is the first step—or more precisely, step 0.5—to making Black Suit."
"0.5?"
"Yeah. You have to do the same with life force."
Oliver immediately pulled out a test tube of life force, extracted it, and turned it into threads just like the emotion.
Joseph watched that too in silence, his admiration not fading but growing stronger.
"Once you have these two, you're at step 1."
"...And then?"
Instead of answering, Oliver manipulated the threaded emotion and life force.
Dozens of threads moved like those on a loom, intertwining dazzlingly.
He made it relatively slow for Joseph to follow, but even so, Joseph's eyes darted around, unable to keep up.
Meanwhile, the emotion and life force wove into a dense, massive fabric.
"That's how you make Black Suit. Turn emotion and life force into fine threads, weave them into cloth, then drape it over your body. These three steps require a fair bit of control."
A fair bit of control... Most black magicians wouldn't even agree it was just that.
Emotions were powerful energy like mana, but they resisted sorcerers fiercely, making them tricky to handle.
That was why black magic was easier to start than regular magic, but few reached great heights.
Joseph, aware of this, said,
"Impossible."
"What is?"
"Turning emotions and life force into threads and weaving them. Each part is hard, and it takes forever. Days, even, just to make one? Fights are about speed—this isn't practical in real combat."
"Practice makes it possible."
"It's not something you can master with practice."
"Hmm..."
Oliver pondered.
It was an odd sight, but Joseph found himself tensing up without realizing.
Like a student facing a scolding teacher.
He'd only felt this with the head of Fighter Crew, the Chef.
The overwhelming pressure of an untouchable powerhouse.
Now, he felt it again from Oliver.
Oliver suddenly spoke.
"Have you tried it?"
"What?"
"Practicing. Have you even tried?"
"..."
"As I said, I'm not talented at teaching. I just help those who relentlessly try grasp the knack after a few attempts. But I've gotten decent results this way before. I've even turned someone who couldn't handle emotions properly into a solid black magician."
"..."
"If it really feels impossible, don't bother... But I can't help beyond this. You probably won't come back. However..."
Oliver trailed off, looking at Joseph.
"...If you're willing to risk it and give it a shot, I'll help regularly. What do you say?"
Luckily, Joseph was an impressive person.
Instead of giving up, he said he'd try once.
Excellent. Truly excellent.
But regardless, the path ahead was long. So Oliver broke it into small steps, assigning homework based on Joseph's abilities.
The first task: practice extracting unprocessed emotion.
Perfectly, from start to finish.
Shortening extraction time and holding the emotion in hand would come later.
Even that seemed tough for Joseph, but after practicing together and guiding him indirectly, he seemed to get the knack somehow.
If he didn't slack on practice, he might handle extraction properly by next time.
"Whoa... Impressive. You've really mastered the basics of Codeword grammar and interpretation."
On the way to the Gray Market, at a traditional market crossroads.
Oliver sat with an old man between a shop and the sidewalk, chatting. The old man ran a bookstore.
With an amazed look, the old man gulped straight from the bottle of liquor Oliver had bought, then scribbled a new Codeword on paper.
A cryptic language somewhere between letters and pictures.
"Can you read this too, young friend?"
Oliver looked at the sentence on the paper.
It was a line and a half—long for basic Codeword.
"...It says something like, 'Old folks prefer better liquor,' right?"
"Spot on. Bring pricier stuff next time."
"Ah, sure."
Oliver nodded. But it was awkward regardless.
He'd thought he'd splurged by getting decent liquor from Forest Restaurant.
"That whatever-it's-called... Magic liquor is all the rage these days."
"Magic liquor?"
"Yep. It's illegal, but hot restaurants stock crates of it. Think you could snag one?"
"Ah..."
"Figured you get good tips at the restaurant. Can't you?"
"I think I can manage."
"Music to my ears, young friend. The side dishes pair well, too."
The old man said, picking up packaged grilled meat with his fingers.
That side dish was also from Forest Restaurant.
"Good to know. So, does that mean I've got Codeword right?"
The old man licked sauce from his fingers and nodded.
"Yes indeed, young friend. Impressive. Most challengers crumble at this first stage. Even with books and good teachers. To self-study to this level from one book... Makes me doubt you're really just a restaurant server."
A meaningful remark. Oliver focused his eyes.
'Huh...?'
Oliver rubbed his eyes before replying.
"Why's that?"
"No reason... My eyes just got blurry suddenly."
"Happens when you're tired. Speaking of, how much sleep have you been getting lately? You look worn out."
The old man's words weren't baseless.
After Jane's protection ended, Oliver had drastically cut his sleep.
Lately, he'd pulled all-nighters too.
No special reason.
Just too much to do, trying to handle it all at once.
Thanks to that, he'd finished the scripture entirely, processed Pinkman and Duncan's corpses in first pass—including Pinkman's body.
He'd finally started on the book from Edith, though just the first volume.
He was a bit tired, but fine. The old man disagreed.
"You need proper sleep. Listen to this old-timer."
"Is that so?"
"We don't know exactly why we sleep, but we do know what happens without it."
"What happens?"
"Cognitive decline, hallucinations, schizophrenia, short-term memory loss, motor skill loss, language impairment, emaciation, and eventually death... Someone experimented on it long ago."
Hoo... Oliver took interest.
No sleep leading to that.
"Fascinating results... Who did the experiment?"
"Dunno, can't remember. It's old."
The old man smiled faintly as he answered.
Unlike his smile, a hint of guilt gleamed. If his eyes blurred again like before, he couldn't peek at emotions.
"...Anyway, you've finished that book, so here for the next?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Got the next one?"
The old man downed more liquor, went into his narrow bookstore, and returned with not one but five books.
Bam! A small tower of books appeared on the table.
"This is...?"
"Codeword Basics 1 (Lower), Codeword Basics 2 (Upper/Lower), Codeword Advanced (Upper/Lower). Five in total... You self-studied one book, so with time, you can handle these."
All five were thick. Oliver felt greedy.
"How much for all?"
"Let's see. Basics 1 is 300,000; Basics 2 each 600,000; Advanced are rare, so 1.2 million each, but used with scribbles... Total 4 million randas."
"...Prices went up? Shouldn't it be 3.9 million total?"
"Used rare books—should be 5 million. You trying to starve a weak old man? Fine, 3.9 million. No lower."
Something felt off, but his bargaining was too sharp; Oliver had to nod.
"...Sorry, but I can't buy."
"No tricks, young friend. No haggling."
"No, I just don't have the cash for 3.9 million at once."
He had it, but cash was low; he'd need to save for a bit.
The old man glared.
"...No tricks."
"Really."
"Hmph... Guess it's true. Wasn't planning this, but take them on credit."
"Credit?"
"Yeah. Impressed you like books, so I'm generous. Not because I have nowhere to store them."
The last part nagged, but Oliver accepted the kindness.
Better to have them now.
"Thanks for the kindness, then—"
"Hey, where you going?!"
The old man snapped.
"Business done and you lift your butt? That's how all you young ones are?"
"Uh, then?"
"Park it back and listen to my drunken ramblings. Think I gave credit for nothing? Young folks are all the same."
Oliver went "Ah..." and sat back down.
Still, the old man's anger lingered.
"Ugh... I'm offended now. Cheer me up properly."
"Properly...? Three men play poker in a bar. One Northerner, one Kingdom man, one Randa. These three—"
"—No, make it fun, not annoying."
"...Then a restaurant joke."
"Ha... Lord help us. If not rude, mind if I ask your age?"
"Why?"
"Just too boring. Restaurant jokes?"
"Weird?"
"Obviously. At your age, proper etiquette is girl talk. Dates and such."
"Ah... I do have a date with a woman."
The old man's eyes widened in shock. Unbelievable.
"For real?"
"Yes."
Oliver nodded. Regular cathedral visits had finally landed a meeting with Joanna.
The old man got excited.
"Holy hell! ...This got interesting. You said woman, right?!"
"Yes."
"Damn! Where?"
"The cathedral—"
"—What kind of idiot sets a date at a cathedral?! Grab a pen now! Write what I say, prepare accordingly! Right now!"
Flustered, Oliver grabbed the pen as instructed.