Chapter 213
Chapter 213
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 213
Chapter Title: Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock (1)
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Thankfully, Forrest nodded at Oliver's sudden request.
Quick on the uptake, he seemed to sense something was up but didn't pry.
He was a truly kind person.
Regretfully suggesting they talk next time, he got into his car and left first. Oliver saw Forrest off and immediately headed out.
Tap- Tap- Tap- Tap-
Each step Oliver took made the quarterstaff in his hand strike the ground, producing a steady rhythm.
Passing grand palace-like buildings and the majestic clock tower he'd only seen in ads, he entered a luxurious park reserved for politicians and city officials working in A District.
"Hello?"
Oliver greeted a man sitting on a bench not far from the park entrance, scattering pigeon feed.
A face he'd never seen before, yet not a total stranger. Not close, either.
Oh, and for the record, the pigeons took one look at Oliver and flew off in a panic.
Undeterred, the man kept tossing feed around—as if the act itself mattered more than the birds.
"I was waiting just in case, and sure enough, here you are."
"Were you waiting for me?"
"Didn't you know?"
"No, not at all. I just happened to spot you here and came to offer my thanks."
"Thanks? For what?"
"Thanks to the book and corpse remnants you left behind, I've mastered corpse puppets... I owe you one. Thank you."
The man—no, Puppet—stopped feeding the pigeons and turned to look at Oliver.
"You're full of surprises. Makes the wait worthwhile."
"What business did you have waiting?"
"Right, there's something we need to discuss... It'll take a while. Got time?"
Puppet politely checked Oliver's schedule first.
"Yes, about an hour... Were you planning to talk here?"
"I'm fine with it. Why, you against it?"
"No, it's good. But before that, mind if I make a small request?"
"What?"
Oliver pointed to an ice cream stand at the end of the path.
The sign boasted premium vanilla and rich chocolate flavors.
"Can I grab one? I've got a craving."
"Hm... Get me one too."
It was a bizarre scene that would leave anyone in the know utterly dumbfounded.
Puppet, the grand master of black magic who'd lived for centuries, never shown his true face to anyone, and mentored countless organizations and disciples—now sitting on a park bench, eating vanilla ice cream.
With a young punk barely out of his teens, no less...
Yet ironically, to the uninformed, it looked perfectly natural.
Like friends with an age gap, chatting casually.
"Didn't expect that. Who knew you liked ice cream."
"Nothing wrong with it basically. I like sweet things too... Can you taste anything, sir?"
A natural question. Puppet's current body was a corpse puppet, after all.
But Puppet furrowed his brow slightly.
"Sounds a bit discriminatory. Racist, even."
"Ah, sorry."
Puppet burst into a cackling laugh at the apology.
"But fair question. Even as a corpse puppet, I can taste. Feel the breeze, hear the birds chirping... Took quite the investment, but worth it for this blessing."
Coming from someone who'd conducted endless human experiments over centuries, it was brazen—but there was genuine reverence in his demeanor too.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
They both finished their ice creams, even munching the cones below.
Very nutty.
"So, if you don't mind, could I ask why you wanted to meet? I was honestly surprised to see you here."
"Many reasons. Personal curiosity, the situation at hand, and you've gotten tangled in some amusing business lately."
Puppet twirled his finger as he spoke. Seemed sincere.
"Thank you for your interest. But I'm not sure what you mean by 'the situation' or 'amusing business.'"
"Flesh Chef."
Puppet murmured the words softly.
"Word is, you've been taking down his disciples lately."
"The chef, a manipulation black mage, Pig Face, and Benium. Four in total."
"No point naming them; I wouldn't know. Not my disciples, and after centuries, you think I remember everyone?"
Puppet said it plainly, without malice. Makes sense—he'd even forgotten his own disciple Glyph.
The black mage who'd tried handing beggars over to the Black Hand alive.
Not incomprehensible. Living centuries changes your mindset from ordinary folk.
Still, a shame.
"Tell me. Did you really take them down?"
"Yes."
Oliver explained in detail how: blasted the first manipulation black mage with a corpse puppet-cannon in one shot, beat the chef and Pig Face head-on, and captured Benium with Pink Man's help.
After saying it, he wondered if mentioning Benium was unnecessary, but Puppet didn't care. Too trivial.
His interest shifted elsewhere.
"Impressive, handling corpse puppets that well."
"The book helped a lot. Thanks again."
Oliver meant it. Glyph's journal was useful, but Puppet's book took the first step.
"Forgotten book leads to this—ridiculous."
"Isn't that the fun of the world?"
Puppet cackled at Oliver's words.
"Can't argue. Speaking of—ever thought of joining the Black Hand?"
The unexpected offer left Oliver speechless, staring at Puppet.
His faint emotional state suggested sincerity.
"...The Black Hand?"
"Yeah. Be my disciple if you want, or just stay in my shadow. Or form your own group as a finger. I'd provide manpower and funds."
He was serious. A groundbreaking offer. Oliver was curious why, but his answer was set.
"I appreciate it, but sorry."
"Ho..."
A flicker of emotion crossed Puppet's face. Clearly not the response he'd expected.
"Mind if I ask why? Plenty of black mages would kill to join."
"Just averse to belonging to an organization. Commitments steal time, force unwanted tasks."
Oliver gave his usual answer, anticipating the follow-up and preparing.
Likely a pitch on the Black Hand's greatness and the privilege.
But Puppet's reply was unforeseen.
"No issue there. At your level, avoid direct clashes with other fingers, and you're free from most duties."
First time for everything. Others wanted Oliver in for their gain, offering perks as bait.
Puppet offered pure benefits. No strings, not even lies.
"Generous offer."
"You piqued my interest... Won't hurt you either."
"Yes, with those benefits, naturally—"
"Not what I meant."
"Pardon?"
"Might sound like a threat, but skipping the Black Hand could make life rough."
"May I ask why?"
"More people will target you. You took down the Flesh Chef's disciples."
"...Revenge?"
"Not at all. Just greed for you."
"...?"
"A black mage who suddenly appears and kills the Flesh Chef's disciple—that alone has value. Killing you boosts anyone's fame, or yields great experiment data. Black mages or wizards alike."
Oliver got the gist.
"I was just hired by Pink Man."
"But you shone brightest. And you're a black mage."
"Ah..."
"Plus, to my side or the Flesh Chef's, you're a tempting prize. He gains power eating people—you know that."
"Yes."
"I'm no different. Stronger corpse puppets mean stronger me."
"Yet no intent to kill me."
"Not yet. Living you stirs more curiosity than dead."
"Why?"
"...Spoiling it ruins the fun."
Puppet cackled. Not bluffing—there was a real reason.
But that was that.
Oliver politely declined again.
"Sorry. Appreciate the concern, but I must refuse."
"Not concern... But why? You know my words and offer are genuine. Why choose the hard path over easy?"
Oliver pondered seriously.
First meeting aside, Puppet taught him corpse puppets and artificial souls.
Now here, courteously conversing, offering kindness and warnings.
Oliver owed him a thoughtful reply.
He sorted his thoughts. Scenes flashed: Glyph's basement with caged women and kids, Puppet's human experiments, the secret Martel lab where he met Rothburn, and more.
He couldn't judge them, but still...
"...That's why."
Oliver answered.
Short, but loaded. Puppet didn't take offense—instead, he cackled.
"That's why, huh... Fair enough."
Puppet stood without regret. No displeasure or anger.
"Leaving?"
"Business done, no reason to stay."
"Ah... Sorry I couldn't give a better answer."
"Polite one. Got free ice cream. Here's a fun tidbit in return."
"What?"
"Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. The clock has started moving."
Flip. Flip. Flip.
Oliver was in the mage tower staff room, reading the book Kevin gave him.
Not just reading—he was summarizing key points into notes, prep for Kevin's class.
Kevin's job originally, but piled-up tasks like classroom assignments, extra budgets, facility schedules left Oliver handling the less critical books.
Duty was duty, though.
Normally he'd dive in gladly, but today, full focus eluded him.
Blame Puppet's parting words.
'Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. The clock has started moving.'
Cryptic nonsense about a clock moving.
He'd wanted to ask, but Puppet left without answering, and Oliver didn't chase.
Just a hunch, but not idle chatter.
What did it mean? Clock moving.
Suddenly, a faint link to the Flesh Chef's minion raiding the auction house crossed his mind.
Knock-! Knock-!
Mid-distraction, summarizing, came a rough knock.
Harsh sound, and the emotions beyond the door brimmed with irritation.
Familiar face, too.
Oliver rose and opened the door. Sure enough.
The librarian from the Elemental School's tower library.
The one who'd eyed him suspiciously for marveling at the automatic door.
"Hello?"
Oliver greeted the unexpected guest politely.
The librarian still looked displeased.
"Why are you here?"
"Pardon?"
"Called all professors' staff for library sorting. Everyone but you showed. What's the deal?"
Oliver faltered at the sharp question.
"Called?"
"No pager signal?"
"Never got one."
True. No mention in books or from Kevin.
"...New this year. Must be a mix-up. Check the supply room."
"Thanks for the advice."
"You should handle it yourself... Anyway, get to the library. Others are covering for you."