Chapter 198
Chapter 198
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 198
Chapter Title: Conversation (1)
----------------------------------------------------------------- Whistle-! On top of a high-rise building in Y District, a man let out a whistle. He had just watched the battle unfolding about a kilometer away and was genuinely impressed.
"That's unexpected. Volu shouldn't be the type to go down that easily."
He meant it. Volu was a rare case among the Human Flesh Chef's disciples—one who specialized solely in manipulation techniques—but his skills were the real deal. The proof was in how he'd instantly revived and strengthened dozens of corpses on the spot. No matter how much forbidden knowledge one used to secure life force and emotions, wielding them effectively came down to pure personal talent. Volu not only understood his abilities perfectly but also possessed the wisdom and cunning to maximize them at any moment. Given the right conditions, he could have been stronger than anyone here. But now, it was all meaningless talk. A magic artillery barrage from far away had just obliterated all the dozens of lives he'd painstakingly gathered in one go.
"Battles can be anticlimactic, sure, but this is surprising. Who would've thought they'd hire a mage? Did they figure out that high-firepower attacks work best against us?"
"Not a mage."
Another man standing beside him spoke up. He was known around here as the Chef.
"What?"
"Not a mage. It's a corpse puppet made using one. Look over there."
The Chef pointed toward the direction the barrage had come from with his fingertip. It was a bit far, but squinting and focusing, he could make it out. Two corpse puppets perched on a tall building. One was a grotesque mashup of insect and cannon, while the other had eight arms sprouting from it. The insect-cannon fired the blasts, assisted by the octopus-like corpse puppet handling aiming and such.
"Huh... Ugly, but pretty decent contraptions. I've only seen stuff like that from the Puppet faction. Don't tell me...?"
"Yeah. Looks like that Fixer's handiwork."
"Name's Dave, right?"
"Yeah, the guy I tried pulling to my side, but he turned me down. Cocky bastard."
"Hmm... He couldn't be from the Puppet side, could he?"
"Who knows? About a year ago, he mentioned meeting them once, but that's it."
The man pondered for a moment before speaking.
"Whatever... Does it matter? Puppet disciple or not, if he's in the way, we kill him."
The man said it matter-of-factly. No bluff, no joke—just sincerity. Puppet and the Human Flesh Chef were both fingers of the Black Hand, but that didn't mean they never fought. If their operations got in each other's way, they were more than willing to kill one another. In fact, the leaders themselves never clashed, but their disciples skirmished sporadically every year, whether over personal grudges or business matters. A brief silence passed, and then the man and the Chef resumed their conversation.
"Anyway, what do we do now? The plan's gone way off track."
Indeed. Their real goal had been to use the stolen auction items as bait to pit Y District against Crime Firm, then slip in and snatch the rest amid the chaos. With the auction house raid failing and Crime Firm on high alert, hiding their goods tight, they'd had to go to these lengths to distract them. That's why they'd roped in some heavy-hitting Y District gangs to stir up more chaos. But look at this mess. Despite deploying a solid Y District gang they'd carefully selected and committing their own forces, it had all fallen apart too easily. Stepping in now wouldn't guarantee things would go their way. They needed a new plan. A new plan.
"No choice but to go for a frontal assault."
The Chef muttered as if he'd made up his mind after some thought.
"Frontal assault?"
"Yeah. We were gonna use the Y District gangs as bait to divert attention, but that's busted now, right? They'll pin the blame on me. If it works, it's my fault; if not, blame the partner. Crime Firm plus Y District... The longer this drags, the worse it gets for us."
True enough. Time was no longer on their side.
"What's the specific plan?"
"I'll intentionally leak that I'm the one behind it—the Fighter Crew's boss planning to team up with Y District to rip off Crime Firm."
"You sure that's okay?"
"Why not? I created it to use exactly like this when needed. Fighter Crew's got decent size, and even if they're just black magic posers, they've all got real combat experience. Crime Firm won't touch them lightly. That'll pin their attention here."
"Your underlings gonna cooperate that easily?"
"They will if they wanna live. If word gets out I stole the auction items, my crew gets lumped in too. Like it or not, they'll play ball. Then, at the right moment, dangle the Black Hand carrot, and they'll bust their asses. Bottom-feeders like them won't pass up a chance to change their fate."
"Can't argue with that."
"On that note, found the targets yet?"
"Narrowed it to five spots. Wanna hit 'em now, but security's no joke. Need more recon. Screw it up, and they'll bury 'em deeper."
"I'll buy as much time as I can, so hurry. Master's deadline's closing in. Mess up, and we're both meat."
"Got it... But you sure you're okay? Could get dangerous."
"Me? Lose to those clowns?"
The Chef bristled at the implication he was being underestimated. It was the perfect look for a Human Flesh Chef disciple.
"Who could've predicted Volu going down like that."
The Chef glanced at where Volu had vanished without a trace, then at Oliver heading toward the Y District barrier.
"Hmph... Taking out that Fixer first would make things easier."
"How?"
"Handy timing—one of my guys is tight with him. Give him some backup, might work. If he fails, no big loss... But just in case, lend me Fork."
The man turned at the Chef's request. A massive fat guy was crunching through a corpse—bones, flesh, guts, all of it—with wet, ripping sounds. Fork. The silent Fork looked back, chewing away.
"Time for you to do some work."
There had been an unexpected hiccup, but overall, the operation was a success.
They'd recovered all the auction items hidden in the Y District shrine, including a hefty chunk of the stolen ones.
Sure, the rest still needed finding, but nailing the biggest haul on the first mission was undeniable.
Great news.
"But the best part is that Dave here earned the biggest credit. Your name's spreading through Pinkman Agency now."
Al set the ordered fish dish in front of Oliver while speaking. With practiced, precise movements, he poured white wine for him.
"Didn't order any wine, though?"
"The boss said to take care of you while he's out. Drink up, no worries."
True. Oliver wasn't just here to eat because he was hungry.
He was also waiting for Forrest, who was away on business.
Al had explained that surging workloads meant scouting new suppliers, meeting other brokers to coordinate, and such—keeping him away often.
"Of course, it's temporary, so the inconvenience won't last. Thanks for your understanding."
"No problem. Waiting like this is actually enjoyable... Mind if I ask something?"
Oliver took a bite of fish, then sipped wine to cleanse his palate.
Al replied with his usual polite warmth.
"Ask away. I'll answer as best I can within what I know."
Sincere. What a kind guy.
"The shop's suddenly packed—related to the extra business?"
Oliver glanced around the restaurant as he asked.
As he'd noted, it was full of people.
Pale-skinned men in suits, burly muscleheads, sharp-featured women, guys in odd glasses... None looked like ordinary folk.
A good number kept sneaking glances at Oliver, whispering among themselves.
"That the guy?"
"Heard he's working with Pinkman now?"
"Dropped a bomb in Y District, they say."
"Old man's hitting it big in his twilight years."
"Yeah, thought he'd retire into obscurity."
Al caught the looks, shot them a glance, then answered.
"Yes, new Fixers, info brokers, middlemen, security firms, money launderers—you name it. Brokers need wider networks as work piles up."
Made sense. Brokering wasn't just matching jobs; it took effort and manpower.
Background checks on clients for lies, ensuring pay matched risks, warnings on mission hazards, and more—tons to handle.
No broker could solo it all. Hence, partners galore.
"Must keep you busy."
"Quite the opposite—it's a blessing from the gods. Work is divine."
Oliver suddenly recalled an old scripture.
Labor is sacred, it said.
"...Dave?"
"Yes?"
"You okay?"
"Ah, sorry. Got lost in thought. Did I mess up?"
"No, no... You just look tired."
Oliver nodded vaguely and smoothly changed topics.
"Any fresh news from Jonathan?"
"Sorry, Dave. That's boss's business; I can't speak for him. Please understand."
Al meant it, inside and out.
"It's fine. Just checking—no big deal."
Seeing Oliver's politeness seemed to soften Al, who hesitated before speaking.
"...Personally, I heard a rumor."
"Rumor?"
"Yes, but it's sudden and sounds like nonsense—"
"—Good thing you're here."
A familiar voice cut in midway through Al's words.
Oliver turned to see Jo in a turbulent emotional state.
"Hey."
Oliver was mildly startled by Jo's sudden appearance but quickly composed himself.
Whatever the case, Fixer Dave's name was getting around, and anyone in the know was aware he dealt with Forrest on T District 27th Street.
So Jo showing up here to find him wasn't that odd.
What was odd was Jo's emotional state.
Anger, anxiety, fear, guilt, self-justification, confusion, terror, hesitation—all churning like a heated stew of messy ingredients.
For Jo, who usually stayed calm and straightforward except in rare cases, it was highly unusual.
"...Need help?"
Al whispered softly into Oliver's ear, ready to step in if needed.
Oliver thought for a second and shook his head.
"...No, it's nothing. Don't worry."
Al nodded, though unconvinced.
"If you're okay with it, should I order another of what you're having?"
Oliver pointed to his dish as he asked.
Jo raised a hand to decline.
"I'm good... Not hungry."
A lie, Oliver noted.
"Ah, I see. Still, could you eat a little? Feels rude to be at a restaurant without ordering."
Jo pondered, then slowly nodded. His guilt and hesitation flared brighter.
Al took the order, promising it'd be quick, and stepped away.
Oliver ate first and asked,
"Bit surprising. Didn't expect to run into you here."
"Uh..."
"Mind telling me why you're looking for me?"
"It's... personal. Something to tell you."
"Something to say?"
"Yeah, but not great here... Could we talk outside? If you have time?"
Jo's emotions were off for sure. Every word sparked hesitation, guilt, self-justification, fear, anxiety—rattling his brain.
The turmoil showed physically too.
He was aware of it, but Oliver didn't pry.
Curious as he was, instinct told him answers wouldn't be straight in this state.
Jo's anxiety peaked as he pressed on, trying to convince Oliver.
"I—"
"—Got it."
"Huh?"
"Sure. Was planning to meet Forrest, but later's fine. Two conditions, though."
"Conditions...? Like what?"
"First, eat then go. Food's coming right up."
Oliver said, pointing to Al bringing the dish.