Chapter 189
Chapter 189
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 189
Chapter Title: Illegal Fighting Match (2)
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"Nice to meet you like this."
"Same here! ...They say the world is small, and now I get what that means!"
Oliver and the plump black mage moved to a quiet corner with fewer people and exchanged greetings.
He'd lost a bit of weight since they last met, but judging by his somewhat depleted life force, it wasn't from exercise—it looked like hardship had worn it away.
Even so, he seemed genuinely delighted to see Oliver.
"Seeing a familiar face here makes me so happy."
Genuine. Oliver replied in kind.
"Yeah, I'm happy to see you too. I went back to the Gray Market recently because it was open again, but you weren't there, so I was disappointed."
At those words, the plump man looked startled, as if a memory had just clicked.
His emotions toward Oliver swirled with a mix of anger, confusion, curiosity, and intrigue.
"Ah! Right... You... No, that's not an insult or anything. Hold on... Ahem, ahem!"
The plump man's emotions churned even more complexly than when they'd first dealt with each other.
Back then, his intent had been clearly focused on making a good sale, but now he was in far greater turmoil.
He had things he wanted to say but was too scared to voice them. Oliver spoke to him.
"I don't know what it is, but I'd appreciate it if you could speak freely."
Hearing that, the plump man glanced at Oliver's face, then let out a sigh. "Hoo..."
Steeling himself. Finally, he mustered his courage and put some force into his voice.
"...Your name's Dave, right? The rising powerhouse fixer in T-Zone."
"Well... I wouldn't call myself a powerhouse fixer, but yes, I'm Dave, the fixer operating in T-Zone."
"Haa... So I went and did business with a big shot."
The plump man muttered weakly, as if it was absurd.
When Oliver asked about it, he soon explained the reason.
After wrapping up their deal, as he was spending his days as usual, customers started showing up one by one out of nowhere.
"Was it because of me, by any chance?"
"They came saying they'd seen the massive Eater pouch used by a T-Zone fixer, so what do you think? ...Does that ring any bells?"
"Uh... I've used it a few times at the Black Market, but could that be it?"
Oliver asked, slightly surprised. He hadn't realized people were watching him that closely.
Sure, some folks had watched with interest when Big Mouth swallowed items... But Forest's warning hadn't been empty talk. The huge Eater pouch was giving away Oliver's identity...
Dinkley, who had been listening quietly from the side, cut in with a question.
"It's pretty common for folks to copy gear from hotshot fixers. But I don't get it... No offense, seriously? If customers are flocking because of it, isn't that a good thing?"
Dinkley pressed the plump man aggressively, true to his style as a gym owner in rough X-Zone.
Intimidated by the attitude, the plump man nonetheless gathered his courage and responded calmly.
He was timid, but he knew how to steel himself when it counted.
"Ahem... Not picking a fight. It's just that the rumors got weird. They think I'm some guy who can churn out obedient Eater pouches left and right."
"Ah... Can't you just warn them like you did with me?"
"I did more than that! ...I told them Eater pouches aren't convenient magic bags you carry around—they're artificial lifeforms with egos. They're docile when small, but who knows what happens when they grow? Plenty have killed and eaten their owners... But no one listened! They said it'd be fine since they'd seen you using one so well."
"So it's this guy's fault!"
Dinkley bellowed. He was short, but his voice boomed louder than anyone's.
If the arena hadn't already been rowdy from the fights, everyone would have turned to stare.
Wondering what was up, Oliver heard Dinkley spell it out.
"This guy's a sucker—no, a member—paying multiples of the gym fees! You trying to mess with him? Ah, don't butt in. Trust me. Looks like he's nitpicking to squeeze some cash— this is my specialty. Yeah!! Yeah!!!"
"No, wait, you said I paid multiples of the membership fees?"
"...That's not the point right now!"
Chaotic exchange. The plump man waved his hands in denial.
"No, no... It's not like that. I'm not the type to screw over customers. I just have something I want to ask."
Genuine. Oliver asked,
"What are you curious about?"
"Is your Eater pouch working fine without any trouble?"
Oliver thought for a moment and nodded.
"Yes. It sulks sometimes and doesn't want to work, but a little coaxing gets it going strong."
In truth, Big Mouth would devour anything for a single bill, making it a huge help in Oliver's work.
It swallowed massive amounts of corpses and items effortlessly for storage.
"Was there any problem on your end?"
"I made some for certain customers, but half couldn't handle them at all. The other half got careless, got attacked by their Eater pouches, injured... or even killed."
"Ah... Really?"
Oliver could tell it was true from the man's emotions, but it was still hard to believe, so he asked again.
At least based on Oliver's experience, the Eater pouches this plump man made were excellent in both performance and convenience.
"For real. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here."
The plump man then explained how he'd ended up here.
Due to complaints from customers and reports from rival black mages nearby, his stall got shut down, and the Gray Market overseers demanded massive compensation.
"Compensation?"
"Yeah. They said my stuff tanked the venue's reputation. And that they had to clean up after pissed-off customers using their own money. Ridiculous, but I couldn't argue."
"Why not?"
"They had guns, and I don't fight."
"Ah..."
Afterward, the plump man said he'd been hired at a black mage workshop run by Crime Firm.
No money, so they made him work it off.
Even with the rumors, they believed he could make Eater pouches and forced him to, but when results fell short, they threw him into exploitative labor worthy of slavery.
"There were a lot of poor, kind black mages like me there."
"Aah... How'd you escape?"
"Snuck some workshop goods and launched fireworks packed with black magic energy in broad daylight. Holy Knights swarmed in, the place turned into chaos, and I slipped out alone."
It felt vaguely like a story Murphy had told him once.
"...Well, glad you're okay."
"Glad? If Crime Firm finds out, they'll flay me alive. With my build, it'd take all day."
"That's why I'm here."
"Are you getting help from gangs that aid fugitives?"
Oliver asked based on knowledge from his past life.
"Yeah..."
The plump man nodded, his voice and emotions shaky with worry.
Dinkley picked up on it and approached the man.
"You seem worried about something. Mind chatting? I might be a huge help."
His arm slithered around the man clingily. The plump man tried to pull back in panic, but Dinkley held fast—like a predator clutching prey.
Dinkley turned to Oliver.
"Mind waiting here if that's cool? Match is starting soon, but I gotta talk business."
"Business?"
"Yeah, business."
The plump man shook his head in dismay at the unilateral decision, but Dinkley dragged him off without letting go.
The man flashed Oliver a plea for help with his emotions, but Dinkley's held only greed and opportunistic glee—no malice or killing intent—so Oliver looked away.
"Come on, let's go."
"Wait, hold on... Why are you so strong..."
With that, Dinkley and the plump man vanished down a dark corridor.
Oliver turned to look at the arena.
As Dinkley had said, the previous fight had ended, and they were prepping the next one.
A hulking fighter with one side of his face smashed was carted out, while losers tossed their betting tickets into the air.
Waves of joy, rage, ecstasy, and sorrow churned, and before the heat faded, the next fighter entered.
Jo, wearing only shorts, his upper body bare.
His solid muscles and numerous scars stood out prominently.
The crowd—especially the women—cheered wildly, welcoming Jo. There had been talk he was a former pro fighter, and it seemed he was quite popular.
'But for someone like that, Jo doesn't look too thrilled.'
Oliver thought, noting his emotions were even lower than usual.
Moments later, the opponent appeared.
Unlike expectations of some brutish thug, it was a scrawny man who looked utterly unfit for this ring.
He seemed like he needed to be bedded down immediately.
Yet the gathered spectators didn't mock or question it. Some even looked expectant.
Come to think of it, the man's frailty wasn't natural.
Faint traces of black magic lingered, telling the tale.
Limp muscles, unfocused eyes, missing hair, ragged teeth and nails.
All side effects of pushing black magic to its absolute limits.
"Dose him up!"
Men who seemed to be the fighter's crew force-fed him a drug pulsing with black magic energy and jabbed injections.
Then the change hit.
The man, on the verge of collapse, turned dusky red all over, his height and muscles ballooning beyond recognition.
Like something conjured from nothing.
His body thrashed as if burning its final life force, and onlookers recoiled in fear at the transformation.
The only calm one was his opponent, Jo.
Having seen this many times, Jo radiated boredom as he drew a test tube from his waist and extracted raw emotions.
Unprocessed ones.
With that, he activated Burning Life at a low, sustainable level to boost his whole body, then wrapped small amounts of Black Suit and Black Armor around his arms and legs.
"Ho... Impressive."
Oliver murmured in admiration.
His physical prowess and close-combat skills far outstripped Oliver's, even if his black magic finesse wasn't top-tier. He'd clearly practiced and researched relentlessly to find the optimal style for himself.
A seriously threatening sight.
Sensing victory in that form, the once-frightened crowd chanted Jo's name and waved tickets overhead.
"Knuckle Jo!"
"Knuckle Jo!"
"Knuckle Jo!"
Amid the roars, Jo and his opponent faced off.
The bell signaling the start rang out, and the two clashed.
"What brings you here?"
Jo, having ended the match in 15 seconds and come down, spotted Oliver by chance and asked.