Chapter 214
Chapter 214
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 214
Chapter Title: Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Crack, craaack.
As Oliver stretched his back wide, a refreshing sound echoed through the air.
He checked the clock—it was already 6:30 PM.
Oliver turned his head to look at the towering stack of hundreds of books on one side and the empty bookshelves waiting to be filled.
He had to sort all those books by morning. All by himself.
'Of course. The others came early, brought in the new books, removed the old ones, and did their share. It wouldn't be fair if we all stayed till the end. You handle from here to there.'
It was a statement that seemed reasonable yet utterly unfair, but Oliver didn't argue.
There were two main reasons.
For one, no matter the circumstances, the librarian wasn't entirely wrong. And second, he'd half-expected something like this.
Kevin had warned him on the first day that he'd face bullying.
If anything, it wasn't all bad.
Being swamped with work meant he had less time to dwell on Joanna's situation or Puppet's cryptic words.
Oliver tried to focus on the positives and think kindly of it all.
No matter what, landing a job at the Magic Tower was a miracle in itself—a stroke of unimaginable luck. This was hardly a trial or tribulation.
"If anything, it's enjoyable."
"What's so enjoyable?"
As he muttered to himself and prepared to get back to work, someone interrupted.
It was Kevin Dunba, the Magic Tower professor Oliver had hired.
With his red skin and neatly combed black hair, he had slipped in unnoticed and now stood in the corridor.
"Professor, you're here? How did the meeting go?"
"No, I've got another one tomorrow. They seem to think the budget they're giving me is a waste."
"I see. So what brings you here?"
"I left a note saying I'd come help with the work."
Right. Before the librarian dragged him off, Oliver had scribbled a memo and left it on his desk.
He'd learned it was proper etiquette to note where you were going when stepping away.
"Ah... I didn't mean for you to come. Did I mess up?"
"No, I just wanted to see what you were up to. It's way past quitting time, and you weren't around, so I wondered... Looks like you've got a ton left. Where's everyone else?"
"They've gone home."
"Dumping it all on you?"
"It's a long story, but I joined late, so I volunteered for cleanup. Fair's fair."
"Because of the communicator?"
"Yes... Planning to pick it up from the supply room tomorrow and set it up. I'll finish that task you assigned by lunchtime and put it on your desk."
It wasn't an excuse—he meant it. Forrest had taught him well, and Oliver's habit of reading a lot made his hands quick.
"I'm not here to rush you. I'm here to apologize."
"Pardon? What for...?"
"The communicator issue and all those books I gave you—they're all from a year ago. I took whatever the department handed me without checking. My fault. I'm sorry."
Caught off guard, Oliver shook his head.
"No, it's fine."
"No, I want to apologize. Rank or no rank, people should do their jobs properly, and I didn't this time. So, sorry."
In that moment, Oliver sensed something like conviction or resolve in Kevin.
He wasn't apologizing out of mere guilt—he'd violated his own principles.
Oliver liked that.
"...Understood. I'll gladly accept your apology, then."
Oliver dove right back into work, checking the memo from the librarian and slotting books into their spots.
Kevin watched silently, as if he had more to say.
"Is there something else?"
Kevin sat in a nearby chair, spread his mana to scan the surroundings, then asked point-blank.
"...Aren't you angry?"
"About what?"
"All this. Someone of your caliber getting treated like that—you'd have every right to be furious."
Kevin's words carried genuine concern.
They'd fought life-or-death battles, so Oliver knew Kevin's strength, and Kevin knew his.
Oliver was at least professor-level—at minimum, a Master.
Right below Grand Master and One Master.
And since he'd held his own against Kevin, who had few peers even among Masters, Oliver was top-tier among them.
An exceptional talent, considering his age and status.
Even accounting for hiding his identity, enduring this nonsense should spark rage—yet the black magician before him showed none.
He seemed to be enjoying it.
"Who knows... Should I be?"
"Most people would."
"Most people... Sorry, but I'm not sure."
"Why not?"
"I feel like I'm already getting more than I deserve."
"Really?"
"Yes. Truth is, I've always been curious about the Magic Tower."
"...?"
"I got my hands on some diaries and journals from Tower folks by chance and read them."
"......"
"But I soon realized I could never get in. Birth, talent, status, reputation—all things beyond my control... Yet here I am. I'm just grateful."
"Even when people here ignore and bully you?"
"I've been bullied at the orphanage and the mines too. At least here they don't pinch till bruises form. And sorting books is fun."
"You're remarkably positive."
"Not sure about positive, but thanks for the kind words."
Kevin stood up after hearing that.
Oliver thought he was leaving, but instead, Kevin drew mana from his body and slotted the books Oliver had been sorting straight into the shelves.
He'd condensed mana, applied a spell to manifest physical force—basic, but that level of precision demanded high skill.
"Professor?"
"You got stuck with this because of my mistake, so I'll help this once."
"Ah... Thank you. But is it okay to sort them like that?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"Books are precious. I thought you'd handle them carefully by hand. The other librarians and staff did."
"That's just because they lack the skill. If you can, this is fine. Books won't break."
"Ah..."
The moment he heard that, Oliver drew on his stored mana, extending it toward the piled books.
"Wait, first time trying and you're going for that many...?"
Kevin trailed off.
Because Oliver had all the books floating steadily in perfect order, aligned mid-air.
Swoosh—swoosh—swoosh—
Oliver flicked his fingers against the librarian's list, and hundreds of books zipped into place on the shelves.
Recalling how Merlin had handled books proved a huge help.
A task that would've taken five or six hours finished in a flash.
Oliver looked at the neatly organized library and asked Kevin.
"This okay now?"
Whiiirrr!!
A remote wasteland with nothing but rocks and mountains.
Atop the tallest rocky peak stood an absurdly opulent mansion.
One might doubt anyone lived there, but surprisingly, an old man occupied the estate.
He paused his lab research mid-experiment to take a call.
"That's amusing. That young lady signing up for your class. She can't possibly hold any fondness for you."
[Yes, I find it odd too. But she's signed up, so no plans to refuse.]
Merlin nodded as if he'd anticipated it.
Classic Kevin. He never dodged exams or fights. Made sense for a red-skinned man like him—showing weakness would invite predators.
Even Merlin could only offer opportunities, nothing more.
"Three classes now, off-plan. You'll be busy."
[Plan changed, but I'll squeeze extra budget from the classes instead.]
"Not easy. Want me to pull some strings?"
[Don't say things you don't mean.]
"Hahaha. You know me well. No intention of meddling directly. Officially retired, after all."
[Officially, yes.]
"But I've got some interesting intel for you."
[Interesting intel means backroom deal?]
Quick on the uptake. Kevin caught on fast. The intel Merlin mentioned came from journals Oliver had looted in the past.
"Yeah, came by chance. Folks these days are getting bold."
[Ahem... Then I'll take it.]
Merlin burst into laughter. But it faded quickly.
Silence fell, then Merlin's voice turned grave and formal.
This was official business now.
"How's the assignment going?"
The assignment: observe Oliver. Merlin had sent him to the Tower precisely to watch from afar.
[Dave's buddy is still observing.]
"And?"
[Nothing major stands out besides occasional absences for fixer work. Basically diligent and competent.]
Merlin admired silently. Kevin, talented and diligent, was strict with himself and thus with others—praise was rare.
If he called someone competent, they truly were. Beyond just job skills.
[Most notable is his mental state. I've noticed before, but he doesn't flinch or get angry in most situations.]
"His mentality does run on a different track."
[Frankly, it's beyond that.]
Kevin sounded deadly serious, even over the communicator.
"Details?"
[Hm... Need more observation. Hard to put into words now.]
"Good answer. No rush—keep watching."
[Yes... By the way, what's that noise? What are you doing?]
"Oops... Just a quick experiment to check something. Hanging up now."
[Understood.]
Click. The line cut.
Merlin set down the communicator and eyed what lay ahead.
A controlled experiment box under multiple seals. Inside, a tiny hell gate suppressed by countless mana strands.
...Crackle! Crrrackle...!
The rice-grain-sized hell gate was slowly breaking the spells that would trap most mages.
Dragging it out further was risky.
Merlin remotely gripped his mana on the box, clenching it like a fist.
Golden mana chains entwined and crushed the hell gate into a sphere.
It vanished like dust.
Seemed minor, but the faint sweat on Merlin's brow told the tale of danger.
He glanced at the vial Dave had given him long ago. Inside swirled faint black emotions.
Dave's emotions.
"No clue how to even approach this."
Vrooom—BOOM!!
Deep in X District. An intersection staked with massive pilings.
A few black magicians sparred there. Real enough to lose your life if careless.
"Don't worry. You won't die."
Oliver closed the gap in an instant and thrust his quarterstaff again.
Jo blocked the murderous yet non-lethal strike diagonally with both arms.
Kwaaang—!!
The quarterstaff, clad only in Black Suit, mercilessly chipped away at Jo's fully armored defense.
The firepower gap in black magic was too vast—any slip, and he'd have flown into the wall.
"Hup...!!"
Jo manipulated the Black Armor on his arms to grab and cling to Oliver's quarterstaff.
Then yelled.
"Now! Everyone, attack! Land one hit!"
"Uwaaaah!!! Die!!"
A peer of Jo's swung a kitchen knife coated in black magic at Oliver.
Dead serious about slicing. But no issue. Intent or not, it was still lacking against Oliver.
With his quarterstaff caught, Oliver released one hand, wrapped his forearm in Black Armor, and lightly deflected the attack.
A defense technique Jo had taught him. Even so, mastering it that fast was shocking. Had he always been this good?
Chaaang—!!!
Amid the scraping metal, Oliver smoothly parried the blade and threw a light punch.
Clearly light. But amplified by black magic, it sent the foe sprawling unconscious.
"Kuh...!"
That single counter made the other fifteen Fighter Crew fighters freeze in place.
Despite their numbers advantage, the overwhelming skill gap terrified them—hardened slum survivors, no less.
"Uh... Everyone? What are you doing?"
Oliver said around his staff.
"Isn't this the perfect chance to attack me?"
With his quarterstaff gripped by Jo, limiting his movement—not wrong.
"It's just training, not real fighting. You should all rush me as hard as possible."
No mockery, no taunt, no insult—just straightforward.
Oliver sounded like a teacher coaxing inattentive students.
"I'm holding back. You probably won't get hurt bad."
"Probably?"
"Got potions over there. Even broken bones should be fine."
Oliver pointed to a basket of potions stacked aside.
A gift from Murphy—a bribe to get on his good side.
"Don't we need to practice as much as possible before meeting Crime Firm to prove ourselves? Sadly, this is the deal I made with Forrest, so like it or not, you have to give it your all... Didn't you promise?"
Promise. That word sent a chill of dread through Jo, who bellowed.
"Rush him, all of you! Before we all get fucked! Slack off and I'll hit harder! Attack now!!"
At that, Owen—Jo's teammate—hoisted a club armored in Black Armor and charged Oliver.
A monster of raw strength, top in Fighter Crew.
Not something you could just deflect like before.
"Uwaaaagh!!"
Owen roared, swinging the club high. Oliver, still gripped by Jo, raised his quarterstaff, aligning Jo into Owen's path.
Jo's eyes widened in shock as he stared at Oliver.
"Wait a sec, shit—"
—BAM!!
Before he finished, Jo took Owen's club full-force and sailed into the distant wall.
Even the hitter, Owen, was stunned.
"Jo...?"
As dazed Owen gawked, he saw Oliver's quarterstaff flying his way.
Bang!!
Training over, Oliver approached Forrest in the corner.
"How long was that?"
"8 minutes 42 seconds."
Forrest checked his watch.
"Subtract hesitation and your talking time, they lasted just under 8."
"Still impressive. They couldn't even hold 5 before."
True.
After basic black magic training, Oliver had drilled the Fighter Crew's executive types relentlessly.
Most folded before 5 minutes.
Pitiful gap, even with Oliver going hard on purpose.
But daily spars had stretched it by 1.5 times already.
"Impressive. A bit more effort, and they'll hit 10."
"If they don't die first."
Forrest glanced past Oliver at the Fighter Crew members.
They could barely stand after his beatdown.
Ironic. More brutal in training than life-or-death fights.
"Still, their skills are rising fast, right?"
Forrest couldn't deny that and nodded.
Having seen plenty of fixers, even he was satisfied with the executives' progress.
Jo especially could wield Oliver's original spells—Black Suit and Black Armor—to hold his own against average fixers.
His pals Sam and Owen had honed their specialties too, showing marked improvement.
"...Crime Firm should be pleased. Still behind Tower mages or Security Bureau mercs stacked with cash, but they'll hold their own in Randa's underworld."
"Mm... Yeah, but I'll teach them harder during training. Once it's done, I can focus on my own work."
Forrest nodded wordlessly.
Sometimes he seemed boundless in help, others he drew lines with eerie precision. Made him hard to pin down—comforting yet tricky.
"More training, then?"
"A bit later. They need a break."
"Mm. Agreed."
Forrest eyed a vomiting executive.
"So, what's next? Not resting, I bet."
"How'd you know? Got some business."
"Business?"
"Yes."
With that, Oliver hefted a massive hammer wrapped in bandages.
For a moment, it seemed to wriggle like a living thing.
"Got a question for someone."