Chapter 129
Chapter 129
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 129
Chapter Title: Fatigue (1)
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"Hmm... Would you like some coffee?"
The old bookstore owner asked.
Oliver, seated at the table in front of the shop, politely declined.
"No, thank you."
"I'm the one who minds if you don't. Just drink it."
With that, the old man fetched a kettle and poured black coffee into an old cup. He then added a splash of whiskey on top.
"Ugh... So why did you suddenly ask that?"
The bookstore owner sat down across from him and inquired.
"Why are you asking now if I'm a mage? You never asked before."
"There was no particular reason to ask until now, but something came up that I wanted to know. Sorry for springing it on you out of nowhere."
"Ho... Interesting. You've piqued my curiosity—what could the Black Mage possibly want to know from this decrepit old mage?"
"...!"
"Why the shock? All that comes with age are wrinkles and sharper instincts."
The old man slurped his coffee nonchalantly.
He showed no surprise or unease at the situation, remaining utterly calm.
"Ha... Alright, what is it you're curious about? I'm no great man, but I've lived long enough to pick up a fair bit of knowledge. I'll answer within what I know."
No great man? The words planted a small seed of doubt in Oliver.
Fleeting as it was, the mana he'd sensed from the old man had been impressive.
More vast than that of the lightning mage, the Mage Tower student, or even mana-hypertrophied Duncan.
His mana was broader than anyone's, yet pure and serene. And now, he controlled it so perfectly that nothing was visible.
For such a man to call himself no great? Oliver couldn't read his emotions well enough to tell truth from lie.
Normally, he'd press the point, but Oliver had more urgent matters and let it slide.
"...Do you happen to know about Martel?"
"Martel? It's been ages since I last heard that name. Why do you ask?"
"Someone I know is there right now."
"Who might that be?"
"Do you remember the person who bought books saying I'd teach them to read?"
"I do... The inn worker. Memorable, that. A Black Mage helping someone—quite intriguing. Was it some kind of experiment?"
"...No. I really just helped them."
"I see. What's the kid's name?"
"Rossburn. And he's gone to Martel now. They said they'd sponsor him as a student... Does Martel really have a policy like that?"
The old man took another sip of coffee instead of answering.
"Hmm... Let me ask you in turn. What do you want to hear? A comforting lie, or the uncomfortable truth?"
"? ...Of course, the truth."
"Ho, really? That's unexpected. Most people prefer the comforting lie."
Oliver furrowed his brow, baffled. Who in the world would prefer a lie over the truth?
"Are you serious?"
"Quite. Young friend, the truth is uncomfortable and brutal—most can't handle it. No bluff. People idolize the glorious empire but hate being the invader. Contradictory, isn't it? That's why they find truth distasteful. Like a thorn in the throat."
"...I don't quite follow."
"I figured as much... One last time: do you really want the truth?"
"Yes."
"Very well, then. He'll have been taken as an experimental subject."
"An experimental subject?"
"Yes. Experimental subject... Do you know anything about Martel?"
"I've heard the basics. A research institute under the School of Life, influential in medical and military fields."
"Not wrong, but that's just the outer layer of the onion. At the core, they research immortality."
"Immortality?"
"Indeed. Immortality. Living forever, literally."
Puppet's words flashed in Oliver's mind.
The mages here researched demons—and even made deals with them.
"Why research immortality?"
"? Why ask why? For those with money and power, it's a natural interest."
"Is it?"
"Absolutely. Eternal life and youth—anyone who's achieved all they can in the human realm desires it... This is baffling. No one's ever asked that before."
"I see... But what's the connection between immortality research and taking Rossburn?"
Tok- tok- The bookstore owner tapped his temple.
"To exchange this."
"...Your head?"
"Precisely, the brain. More precisely, swapping the information inside the brain."
"Brain information?"
"Yes. For example..."
The bookstore owner took Oliver's hand.
"Transferring the info in my head to yours. As you see, my body's old, but yours is young. If I moved my memories and knowledge to you and seized control of the body, I'd enjoy that youth and vitality."
"Is that possible?"
"Not yet. The brain is more complex and delicate than magic that shifts weather or millennia of civilization. But they've reached the experimental stage."
The old man released Oliver's hand and continued.
"It's the School of Life's top focus now. They tried enhancing the body itself, but that's impossible. So they're going the loophole route: body swaps. I think it's more promising myself."
Oliver pondered briefly.
"...Do the kids used in experiments die?"
"Who knows? I'm too foolish to say. Probably worse than death. Death is returning to God's embrace, but this... neither living nor dying."
He was right. Transplanting a mage's brain info into a kid didn't kill the original mind.
It left it in limbo—not dead, not alive. What state was that?
More puzzling: how was such an experiment running in the city center?
...No, not really puzzling.
He'd heard mages did human experiments everywhere.
A public secret.
Still, something felt off knowing Rossburn was there.
Hard to explain, but it hit different when it was someone he knew.
Why Rossburn, of all people?
The bookstore owner asked.
"...What do you plan to do?"
"Pardon?"
"What will you do? You came all this way to ask me, so it bothers you. Planning to rescue him? Your friend Rossburn."
Caught off guard, Oliver thought it over.
"Hmm... Well, that might be too much. I don't have any reason to rescue him to begin with."
"Fair enough. The Mage Tower's above city authority. Police and guards can't touch them—nor could you, young friend. No obligation anyway."
Oliver nodded. True enough.
He didn't know the Mage Schools in detail, but he could vaguely gauge their scale and power.
Running human experiments downtown meant immense influence—and likely many powerhouses.
Even Duncan had been pushed out of Mage Tower competition.
This wasn't Oliver's turf.
"Thank you for answering. I didn't buy anything, so I'll repay you later. Mind if I head out first?"
"Of course. Heading home?"
"Yes, though I plan to stop one more place."
"Where?"
"The cathedral."
Inside the dim cathedral.
Oliver rubbed his sleepy eyes and yawned.
Several nights of skimping on sleep had finally caught up—fatigue crashing in.
He hadn't felt this exhausted in ages.
Not since escaping the mines?
Back then, he hadn't even known fatigue—always tired, so it felt normal.
Just a year ago. Yet it seemed so distant now.
Kiiiii—
The cathedral door creaked open. Turning, Oliver saw a priest with a candle and a robed woman enter.
The priest stepped aside deferentially, and the woman approached with steady steps.
She looked a bit angry.
"I'm shocked."
At the woman's low murmur, Oliver bowed his head in apology.
"Sorry, Holy Knight."
"I told you because I thought you were serious. But not even a day after we parted, you summon me again? Think it's easy for me to come out? What do you take me for?"
Oliver apologized again.
"Sorry for calling you out so late, Holy Knight. But I don't take you lightly, and this isn't just personal curiosity. Could you hear me out for a moment?"
At his plea, Joanna hesitated before sitting in the front pew.
"...Why did you call me?"
"I need your help, Holy Knight. Or rather, to report something."
"Help? ...Report?"
"Yes. A magic research institute took someone for experiments. Human experimentation."
"......."
"Holy Knight?"
"Yes?"
"Ah, you're listening. Mages took a boy, about fifteen, for live experiments... I need your help."
"...Where?"
"Martel Research Institute, under the School of Life."
"...Are you sure?"
"? ...Yes, I asked a mage to confirm. Seems solid."
"'Seems solid'? No evidence?"
"No... Beyond my means. But it's almost certain."
"Can't investigate on words alone."
"? I don't get it. Why not? Just look into it, right?"
"...It's not that simple."
"...What's so complicated? You investigated well in Wineham."
Oliver hadn't meant it as sarcasm. Pure curiosity.
He genuinely didn't understand.
He was just asking for a check on a possibility, yet she was defensive—like investigating Filterette sales hadn't been.
Surely selling Filterette wasn't a bigger crime than vivisection? ...No.
Even with his common sense gaps, he knew human experiments were worse.
Ethically, whatever.
Shouldn't a Holy Knight step up?
They were shields for humanity and the weak.
Her baffling response only fueled his curiosity.
"Holy Knight?"
"...Randa has city accords—rules we all follow."
"Holy Knight, I'm talking about a kid facing vivisection. Not city accords."
"Listen. It's not simple."
"......."
"Holy Knights curb mage excesses, but not in Randa. Per the church-Randa accord, we only police demons and Black Mages—no investigative authority over mages."
Oliver scratched his cheek.
"Why?"
"...Complicated politics. Beyond my explanation."
"Isn't the church a religious order? What's with the politics?"
Joanna whipped her head around, bristling.
Intended or not, Oliver had slighted the church—natural reaction for her.
But seeing his face, she froze.
His usual impassive expression carried an overwhelming aura.
Even devout Joanna shrank back.
"......."
"......."
"......."
"......."
Heavy silence blanketed the cathedral like lead.
Oliver, staring silently at Joanna, let out a soft hum.
"Hmm... Holy Knight?"
"...Yes."
"Just to check—if the church won't help, can you handle it alone?"
"Alone?"
"Just you. Your status and strength as a Holy Knight should let you look into it. If not... I'll help."
Joanna pondered, then squeezed her eyes shut.
"...Impossible."
"It's not. If you set your mind to it."
"No."
"Why?"
"...If I did, the church would catch me. Could lose my Holy Knight title."
"Doesn't make sense. Holy Knights shield humanity and the weak. Why punishment for duty? Even if punished, what's the point of holding position without doing the job? I don't understa—"
"—Quiet!!"
Joanna shot up, shouting.
Her voice echoed through the empty cathedral.
"If I can't do my Holy Knight duties, my siblings go back to misery! Or scatter! Don't spout off when you don't know!"
Excited, her pious facade cracked.
Breathing hard, face flushed, eyes glistening with unexplained tears.
A sight to pity any man. But not Oliver. Quite the opposite.
His impassive face grew drier.
"You mentioned the orphanage got support only after you became Holy Knight?"
"...Yes."
"Doing your duty might leave your siblings hungry, ragged, or sold to mines. But alive... The kid in Martel might die."
Joanna clamped her mouth shut, silent.
"...I read the scriptures."
"......."
"Fun story, even if I didn't get it. The shepherd and sheep—you read it?"
"...Stop."
"Shepherd prayed, got a flock."
"...Stop."
"One day, he lost a scrawny little sheep."
"......."
"God asked where. Shepherd said lost—searching risks the whole flock... Know what God said?"
Joanna squeezed her eyes shut, guilt-ridden, suffering—but silent.
Silence.
"Ha... Ha, ha."
Laughter slowly echoed in the cathedral with just two souls.
Low, eerie laughter.
Ordinary yet distant from ordinary—Joanna couldn't help glancing at Oliver.
He was laughing.
Mocking morality, ethics, law, faith, courage, humanity.
Seemed ordinary, but up close, Joanna knew it wasn't.
Chills, cold sweat—terrifying.
For a moment, forgetting to breathe.
Oliver stood.
"'Save it anyway.'"
"...Pardon?"
"That's what God said to the shepherd. 'Save it anyway.' Didn't get it, but thought it beautiful."
"......."
"I admired God. Sounds odd, but true. Gangsters, merchants, priests, Holy Knights, rich, poor, kids, adults, women, men—all seek Him in hardship... Seemed perfectly equal. Guess not."
With that, Oliver pulled a book from his bosom—the scriptures Joanna had given him.
"Here. No longer need it."
Joanna took it without protest.
Oliver turned and strode out.
No words, but Joanna sensed she'd never see him again.
She called out.
"Where are you going?"
"...Home to sleep. Quite tired today."