Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Division of Roles (1)
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Oliver, panting as he lugged the briefcase along, asked,
"Nutritional supplements?"
Rasso nodded.
"That's right. All this life force is going to be processed into nutritional supplements. It's not the only way to use it, but these days, turning it into supplements is the most efficient."
Oliver, who knew next to nothing about business, didn't quite follow. Rasso explained more patiently and in detail.
"Do you know who the main customers for these supplements are?"
"No."
"It's the wealthy elite of Randa. You know where Randa is, right?"
Oliver racked his brain. Hmm... Ah, he'd heard of it once before.
When he and Joseph had first arrived in Wineham, Joseph had mentioned it. All the factories in Wineham were relocating to Randa.
"I've heard the name."
"Good. Then you know Randa's gobbling up this city and the surrounding areas, developing at a breakneck pace?"
Oliver nodded again.
"Cities that grow that fast produce a ton of rich folks. Sure, even more poor ones, but anyway—the wealthy in Randa are mostly older, overweight types. They've got money to burn but lousy health. That's why they shell out big bucks for supplements made from life force. Life's worth more than gold to them."
Oliver nodded, seeming to get the gist.
"So this life force is one of our Family's key products, just like Filterette. Demand keeps rising, so the market's looking bright."
Rasso brimmed with the confidence of a seasoned businessman. Then Peter chimed in cautiously, flattering him.
"Haha, that's impressive. Bright market outlook means rising demand, right? The Family's going to thrive even more."
He was just trying to suck up, but Rasso took it more seriously than expected.
"Exactly. But demand alone isn't enough. We have to ramp up supply to match."
"Supply?"
"Yeah. We charge absurd prices per bottle of supplement, but only if the product's top quality. Skimp on quality to boost volume, and they cut ties cold. Gotta be careful."
"Ah, that sounds bad."
"Actually, it's not that big a deal."
"Huh?"
"The key is securing steady materials. And given the state of this city, things look pretty promising."
It was an ironic statement. The streets they'd passed were lined with shuttered shops and factories, homes reeking of poverty. Promising?
Rasso continued as if reading their thoughts.
"I know what you're thinking. 'Promising' doesn't fit a broke-down city like this. But that's just how green you are. Poverty's a goldmine for black mages, surprisingly. Tell me—what happens if every factory in this city relocates to Randa?"
Peter answered as seriously as a student in class.
"Uh... it gets poorer?"
"Bingo. Will everyone just pack up and chase jobs in Randa? Nah. Plenty will leave, sure, but just as many will stick around. Moving ain't easy. So we just find reliable brokers, pay those stragglers a bit, and extract their life force. Soon the whole city will be our material stockpile."
Peter's eyes lit up.
"That's genius. As expected from a mid-grade disciple—not like us low-grades."
"Honestly, I heard it from Andrew myself. Just bragging a little. Feels kinda embarrassing now that I said it."
"No way, it's amazing."
"Anyway, I'm only telling you guys specially, so keep it between us. Not exactly a secret, but knowing too much never helps."
'You guys specially.'
Peter cracked a slight smile at those words. For someone eternally stuck as a bunk monitor, hearing this from a standout mid-grade like Rasso was pure joy. Even if it meant nothing special.
"Alright, we're almost there. Good thing—we'll make it before dinner. Hey, what's going on over there?"
Rasso peered at the crowd bustling frantically in front of the factory in the distance. It looked chaotic, everyone panicked and on edge.
"Hey, what happened?"
Rasso grabbed a passing temporary disciple and asked.
A closer look revealed bloodstains on the temporary disciple's work clothes.
"I-it's an attack. Not sure who, but someone ambushed the formal disciples."
In the underground conference room of the sausage factory, the Family's boss Joseph had gathered with his five high-grade disciples.
The mood was grave. Joseph spoke first.
"Report."
Andrew, the top among the high-grades, replied.
"Yes, Master. While gathering materials today, unidentified assailants attacked our Family. Out of ten teams, three were hit—two wiped out. All told, one low-grade injured, two dead. Fortunately, no mid-grades harmed."
Andrew's tone was relatively upbeat. It made sense, really.
Low-grades could barely cast black magic, so they weren't much use. Mid-grades, though—they were actual combat-ready troops.
Plus, low-grades could easily be replaced by cherry-picking from the temporaries.
Joseph pondered before speaking.
"How'd the attack go down?"
"Same MO each time. They waited in deserted alleys, popped out, shotguns blazing, then bolted."
"Didn't catch a single one?"
"No. By the time we gave chase, they were gone. Knows the area like the back of their hand. Maybe another Family picking a fight again?"
The other Families in Wineham meant the two rival black mage groups.
The manipulation specialists of the Anthony Family, and the disease experts of the Dominic Family.
Joseph had clashed with them before, but the Pharmacist's intervention had led to a truce. Now they each stuck to their territories quietly.
"Our Family's growth making them nervous?"
Joseph shook his head.
"Nah, this hit-and-run crap isn't their style. Annoying, sure, but barely any damage. If it were them, it'd be a proper assault."
"Then...?"
"No idea yet. Randa's boom is stirring up all kinds of pests... Tricky. Catch these bugs or let 'em slide?"
In quieter times, he'd hunt them down to uphold the Family's rep. But not now.
Shipment deadline looming. Business first—ignore it and focus on production.
"Prioritize production for now. Bugs can wait; business can't."
One high-grade raised a hand.
"Doubt this attack's a one-off. Can we really focus on production? We're short materials already—if a mid-grade goes down, we're shorthanded."
"True..."
As Joseph hesitated, Andrew raised his hand. His eyes sparkled with a bright idea.
"How about assigning material gathering to the low-grades, and putting mid-grades on production with us?"
All eyes turned to Andrew.
For years, material runs had been led by mid-grades with low-grade support. This broke tradition.
"Why?"
"Shift mid-grades to production, hit deadlines faster, and free them up for any surprises."
Joseph stayed silent, so Andrew pressed on.
"Some mid-grades say they can handle extractions decently. Expanding roles isn't bad. And... low-grades dying off isn't a huge loss, right?"
Harsh, but no one objected.
Low-grades were just a step above temporaries. Replaceable anytime.
Then another high-grade raised a hand.
"I'm fine with it, honestly. One issue, though."
"What?"
"Low-grades can extract emotions, sure, but not life force. They haven't learned that yet."
Andrew grinned brightly, as if he'd been waiting for it.
"Don't worry about that. Rasso told me something interesting."
After dinner, everyone got personal downtime.
Usually a time to rest or chat noisily with friends, but today's incident cast a gloom.
Not surprising. Someone was targeting the Family.
You might be next if luck soured—pure human worry.
Everyone but Oliver.
"Ah... so you got hurt pretty bad."
"Yeah, seen folks shot back home a few times, but it's been ages here."
"Oh? But the shape's getting messy."
Oliver eyed the spider web Marie was forming. She snapped to attention.
"S-sorry."
"It's fine. Better than your first try."
The oddly mismatched talk highlighted their different focuses.
Marie dwelled on the attack; Oliver fixated solely on black magic. Like a moth to flame.
"You're... so single-minded."
"Huh?"
"Nothing... How about now?"
Marie showed off her completed web.
Vastly improved—not just mimicry, but genuine-looking. Leaps and bounds.
"Eh... decent."
Marie smiled at Oliver's response. Her efforts paying off... well, not entirely her own.
She wasn't dumb; Oliver's help matched her own input.
Guiding her senses, fixing flaws—that's what yielded results.
Amazing, really. His few days of aid outdid her six solo years. Incredible.
"But this part could be better."
Oliver prodded a finger into Marie's hand mid-web.
The central strand split into five, weaving into a more intricate, sturdy form.
"Like this—stronger. Got it?"
"Ah, yes... Thank you."
"No problem. Mind if I borrow it a sec?"
With that, Oliver reclaimed the emotion. Marie's fragile model stabilized in his grasp.
It used to spark envy, jealousy. But watching now? Nothing.
Jealousy needs a gap you can bridge.
As Oliver wove the web, Marie spoke again.
"I... really mean it, thank you."
"Nah, it's fine. I've gotten help too."
"You've already mastered letters and numbers, though?"
True. Oliver had blazed through reading, writing, math—everything she could teach. Yet he kept instructing her.
"Ah... not that. This."
Oliver displayed the emotion.
"You helping me extract lets me practice bit by bit."
He dissolved the web into a sphere.
"That's nothing. Small amounts are easy."
"Ah, I can't even extract that much."
"...Huh?"
"Can shape it at my fingertips, but extracting? Nope. Master said my emotions are weaker than average when I joined."
"Ah..."
New to Marie, but she took it at face value. What did a temporary like her know?
"So I need others' emotions. You saved me. Otherwise, I'd be stuck."
"...Talk casually. You're above me now."
"Nah, formal's comfier."
Oliver meant it.
Politeness kept beatings at bay. Still, Marie seemed wistful.
"Th-then, whenever you want, just say so."
"Yeah..."
Curt, emotionless reply. Oliver fell silent, focusing on the orb.
"..."
"..."
Marie stared too—nothing special. Just faint twitches in the sphere.
She broke the silence first.
"How was today? You went for materials."
Oliver answered flatly. Followed Rasso, extracted maternal love from unwed mothers, pulled life force from some debtor via the Pharmacist.
"...Wait. You extracted life force? You?"
Oliver nodded.
"How? That's mid-grade level."
"...I saw it done?"
Oliver pondered long before answering. Like explaining breathing.
Too obvious to articulate. Marie felt awe—and worry.
"Oliver?"
"Yes."
"Tone it down a bit."
"What?"
"This. I know you're a genius, but showing talent too soon is dangerous."
Oliver finally met her eyes.
"Dangerous?"
"Yes..."
Marie glanced around mid-sentence.
"...No one knows if that low-grade in your spot really died of food poisoning."
Oliver looked blank, so she scowled.
"Maybe—"
Oliver stood.
He looked at Marie.
"Gotta go."
"...Ah, yes. Come back safe."