Chapter 134
Chapter 134
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 134
Chapter Title: Small Miracle (2)
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Throb. Throb. Throb.
Oliver closed his eyes as his vision blurred from the worsening headache.
His wounds had healed by draining life force, and his body temperature had returned to normal, but his fatigue remained untouched.
He wanted to rest.
He hadn't thought that way once since leaving the mines, but now he truly wanted to rest.
"...Then, shall we hurry a bit more?"
Oliver murmured as he opened his eyes.
Fortunately, the throbbing headache subsided, and his blurry vision cleared somewhat.
With that, he saw the bald mage whose limbs had turned to steel and shattered pitifully, and the red-haired mage impaled with icicles in both shoulders and knees, slammed against the wall.
He couldn't remember when it had happened.
'I think I did it...'
"Huff...! Huff...! You bastard! You barbaric scum...! You inferior race...!!"
Oliver turned toward the source of the voice.
There lay the blond mage, collapsed face-down.
Having had too much life force drained, his golden hair had turned gray and ashen, and his once well-proportioned face and body were gaunt, as if starved for days.
He looked utterly exhausted, yet he didn't suppress his hostility and rage toward Oliver. If anything, it burned fiercer.
"You bastard...! I won't let you get away with this. Even though we've lost, you'll pay for touching Matel... Got it?! This isn't the end... It's just the beginning!"
Oliver silently looked down at the blond mage before losing interest and heading to the vault-like door.
It still looked massive and sturdy.
"Hmm..."
He tapped it with his fingers—tap, tap—and tried turning the handle. It didn't budge, of course.
Just in case, he pressed a mana-infused hand against it, but there was no reaction.
'Mana flows through it, but that's not the key. It's a method I've never seen before.'
As Oliver puzzled over it, a chuckling laugh echoed—kekeke.
It was the blond mage, mocking him.
"What, did you think it'd just open? It's a special order from Galos. Can't open it without the key. Not with magic, not with brute force."
Oliver looked down at the blond mage.
He was reveling in the humiliation of defeat, his rage, and the great joy that Oliver wouldn't get what he wanted.
These people were strange in more ways than one.
Their magic forms and physiques were odd, but they seemed to derive more pleasure from others' misfortune and downfall than from their own gain or improvement.
It was a mindset far removed from anything productive.
"The other researchers will be here soon... You're done for!"
"Is that so?"
"Yeah! ...Kill me if you dare. I'm not scared of a barbarian like you."
"Then I'd better hurry."
The blond mage blinked in confusion at the mismatched conversation—"What?"—but soon understood.
Oliver raised his hand into the air and extracted life force and mana from the bald mage with shattered limbs and the red-haired mage frozen solid.
Just enough to keep them from dying.
Shoooooo—
Watching his comrades suffer, the blond mage screamed in fury.
"You bastard...! You think this ends with just you?! We'll wipe out everyone connected to you—"
—Crackle!!
Ignoring the blond mage's ravings, Oliver went about his work.
He poured the extracted emotions, life force, and mana into an empty test tube, then drew out portions and attempted to mix them.
Millet-seed-sized amounts of emotion, life force, and mana.
A small lightning storm raged in his hand from the repulsion, but fortunately, he managed to suppress it with brute force, just like with the rice-grain size before.
Bang—!
Moments later, the three energies in the mix stabilized.
It had grown slightly from rice-grain to millet-seed size.
Yet, he wasn't as pleased as expected.
Whether from fatigue or the need to finish quickly, that was all he could think.
With his other hand, Oliver created a Black Suit and donned it, then overlaid an artificial soul atop the black garb.
Adding the artificial soul greatly improved its quality.
In that state, he concentrated all his power into his legs, waist, shoulders, arms, and quarterstaff...
———Bam!
He struck the metal slab door with all his might.
The massive metal door shuddered with a huge clang.
It looked fine outwardly, but Oliver felt the impact from the first blow.
"Th-that brute-force idiocy—"
———Bam!
Ignoring the blond mage, Oliver swung the quarterstaff again.
The struck spot dented, and cracks formed at the seam between the steel wall and door.
"......"
Recalling Joel, Oliver spread his legs wide, twisted his waist to the max...
Then put his entire body's weight into it...
——————Crash!
With a massive roar of metal, the steel door finally separated from the wall and shattered.
It had taken considerable stamina, but somehow, it was done.
After opening the door, Oliver turned back. Toward the blond mage.
Meeting Oliver's eyes, he flinched.
Step. Step. Step.
Oliver approached him, knelt on one knee to match his gaze as closely as possible.
He could feel the man's ragged breathing from fear.
"Everyone connected to me... What was that?"
"......"
"...Do whatever you want."
Oliver examined the blond mage's face and emotions before standing and entering the door.
The blond mage froze, unable to say a word.
Nothing at all.
He stepped through the broken door.
Despite the deep underground location, the interior was quite spacious.
Focusing his vision, he sensed emotions from about ten people.
Oliver searched among them for Rossburn's.
"...!"
Finding Rossburn's emotion, Oliver walked inside—step, step—and stopped before a small room.
The door had a note pinned: the number 4 and "Project B-4 Test Subject."
A firmly locked door.
Oliver gripped the handle, boosted the output from his arm's Black Suit, and yanked.
Crunch— The door opened with a sound, and light flooded the dark space.
Revealing Rossburn sitting inside.
He was wrapped head to toe in bandages like a surgery patient, in a state of extreme fear and confusion.
Unsure what to say, Oliver went with the safest option.
"Sorry I'm a bit late, Rossburn."
"......"
Rossburn stared at Oliver, frozen.
Pressed tight against the wall in terror.
He didn't seem to recognize him. Ah, right—he'd changed leather masks.
As Oliver hurried to swap masks, Rossburn suddenly bolted up and hugged him.
"Uuu..."
Oliver checked Rossburn's emotions.
He couldn't know what had happened inside, but they were a chaotic mess, as if someone had stirred them up.
But that lasted only a moment. In Oliver's arms, he calmed, radiating gratitude, emotion, hope, and guilt.
Even in his dazed state, Oliver patted his back and said,
"Sorry for being late."
"...Kuhk, uwaaaaa... Aaaaaaaaaa."
Finally, Rossburn burst into tears.
As if pouring out emotions held for a lifetime.
Oliver couldn't empathize, but he silently watched, letting it go on.
Until Rossburn's emotions stabilized on their own.
After a long while, Rossburn returned to normal.
The confusion he'd harbored washed away clean.
Confirming it, Oliver spoke.
"If you're okay, can we move now? More people will come soon, and that'd be trouble."
Rossburn nodded in understanding.
"Ah...! B-but, help a bit."
"With what?"
"Th-the others too. Please help. I beg you. Please."
Oliver fell silent.
The "others" meant the people locked here.
Logically, escaping with just Rossburn was best.
The blond mage's warning about Matel forces swarming wasn't bluffing.
Facing them would be annoying and dangerous. Fleeing was right.
But ignoring it nagged at him—Rossburn's emotions.
He knew the gravity, wasn't fearless.
He understood, feared it.
Wanted to live more than anyone. Yet worried for others, felt guilty, begged Oliver despite fear.
...Not bad. Foolish and irrational, but not bad.
Despite knowing more would come, Oliver opened the doors as Rossburn asked, freeing the others.
Somehow it'd work out.
Crunch—
Crunch—
Crunch—
Crunch—
People emerged as doors opened. Mostly early to mid-teens.
Some unscathed, others bandaged like Rossburn.
All feared Oliver at first, but Rossburn calmed them, fortunately.
"Should we save the one further in too?"
Oliver pointed to the innermost door.
Someone was alone beyond it.
Rossburn counted and said,
"Yes, one's missing. Colin."
Without waiting, Oliver approached and opened it.
Crunch— With the sound came a musty chemical stench, instinct screaming something wrong.
But the children, unaware, rushed in desperately.
"Bro! Bro! Bro! Are you oka— Aaaah!!!"
At the sudden scream, Rossburn looked up anxiously and dashed in. Oliver followed calmly.
It was a laboratory.
More systematic and expensive-looking than Oliver's basement lab.
The children huddled against walls in terror, eyes fixed on one spot.
A child—or what had been one—lay on the experiment table.
Hard to describe.
Like fermenting human dough?
Less person, more swollen lump of flesh.
'...Mana and life force are raging to escape the swollen areas. Like forcing a big screw into a mismatched hole.'
Oliver thought, focusing his vision.
They'd tried implanting something, but failed.
"C-Colin. You okay?"
Only Rossburn approached the swollen child, trembling in fear.
Complex emotions.
Revulsion and fear at the grotesque form, desperately suppressed as he spoke.
Radiating sorrow, pity, regret, guilt.
The swollen lump opened its mouth. Clinging faintly to consciousness.
"H-how...?"
"We came to save you... I told you my teacher would come!"
"R-really...? Taught letters?"
"Yeah. For real. Totally real."
Rossburn answered, looking to Oliver pleadingly.
Tricky. No idea what to do.
But standing idle felt wrong, so Oliver approached, tapping his quarterstaff—tap, tap.
The thing that had been a child reached out a bloated, oozing, gruesome hand toward Oliver.
Oliver stared, then instinctively grasped it.
...He didn't know why. Just felt right.
The lump shone with joy at the grasp and spoke.
"Y-you really... G-guhk. ...Came to s-save... us...?"
The gripped hand clutched Oliver's desperately. He looked at Rossburn and the others, then answered.
"...Yes."
Gratitude shone again. The boy asked,
"S-savior... Guhk. ...Are you the savior?"
Savior.
Oliver knew the term from recent learning.
A core of Pater Faith.
A sacred being who sacrificed their body to aid humans and the needy.
Unfortunately, Oliver wasn't one.
His head throbbed again.
This lie hesitated him, oddly.
As he pondered confessing truth, the boy spoke.
"Th-thank you for... coming. Thank you, Savior."
"......"
The boy gripped tightly.
"P-please save me. Save me. Please... Kuhuhk, save me."
The dozen children inside turned to Oliver in unison.
As if he could save them.
But impossible.
He hadn't learned healing, and even if, too late for this boy.
Beyond Oliver's domain.
The boy begged again. To be saved.
"Um..."
"P-please save me. Guhk... I'm so scared of dying. Please. Hell scares me so much."
The boy sobbed. Truly terrified. Of hell more than death.
Oliver couldn't empathize but understood.
Orphanage always punished with hell threats.
A terrifying place; disobey adults, go there, suffer eternally, they warned.
Oliver held the boy's hand and asked,
"...What's your name?"
The boy, shaking in frantic fear, paused then answered.
"...Colin."
"...Colin. I can't save you. It's beyond me. But I can help another way."
"...How?"
"Confess your sins. Beg forgiveness sincerely... You'll be forgiven, go to heaven."
"...Really?"
"Of course. Read it in scriptures... And I know an orphan who became a holy knight. So it's possible."
Oliver spouted unknowing words as truth. Ironically, the boy found hope.
Hope of salvation.
"Speak."
The boy hesitated, then said,
"...Broke the director's vase at the orphanage, framed another kid. Scared of punishment. Sorry."
"Father, forgive our sins."
"...Ate an extra rationed bread, so another kid went hungry. I was starving. Sorry."
"Father, forgive our sins."
"Kept money an old lady dropped once... Sorry."
"Father, forgive our sins."
The boy listed sins, small and large.
Oliver prayed to Father God for forgiveness each time.
Then—thud, thud, thud—footsteps and presences approached from beyond.
Matel people incoming.
"You mad bastard... Should be running, yet—"
"—Shhhhh."
Oliver turned to the newcomers and said,
"Be quiet."
All fell silent.