Chapter 215
Chapter 215
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 215
Chapter Title: Letter Airplane (1)
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"Aren't you tired? Shouldn't you rest?"
"I'm fine."
Oliver, with a massive hammer slung over his shoulder, and Joseph, limping along behind him, exchanged words.
Surprisingly, Joseph was showing Oliver respect with polite speech.
It was sudden, but there was a reasonable explanation for it.
The reason was none other than hierarchy.
Oliver hadn't officially joined the Fighter Crew, but while teaching black magic, he needed at least a minimum level of authority. To that end, Joseph insisted that everyone receiving instruction—including himself—should address Oliver politely.
'Everyone's seen Dave's power, so no one will take him lightly, but there are plenty of idiots here. If we treat him too casually, some might start thinking they're on his level. So from now on, everyone including me will use polite speech. Dave, feel free to speak casually to us.'
Oliver had politely declined, saying he preferred casual speech himself, but he didn't stop Joseph from using polite language.
Speech patterns were up to the speaker, after all—Oliver had no right to dictate.
As he recalled their past conversation, Oliver arrived at the gym run by Dinkley.
Muscular men were sweating profusely through their workouts, as usual.
"Oh! You made it?!"
Dinkley, short in stature but packed with explosive muscles, approached while lifting a dumbbell.
"How have you been, Gym Master?"
Oliver gave a slight bow in greeting, while Joseph offered his usual curt nod.
Dinkley glanced at them and bellowed to the men in the gym.
"You see this?! Learn from it! Even a big shot dealing with the Crime Firm shows me respect just because he's a member!! Time you lot learned some manners!"
The working out members mumbled half-hearted "Yes, yes" in response to Dinkley's shout.
"What brings you here?"
"Nothing much. Just starting a new business, but these guys won't accept my perfectly reasonable premium prices and keep trying to haggle. That's all."
"Is there such a thing as a reasonably expensive price?"
"Of course! Right here! ...By the way, Jo, have you been getting beat up somewhere lately?"
Dinkley glanced at Joseph's bruise-covered body and asked.
Joseph shot Oliver a quick look and nodded.
"Yes."
"To be precise, it's from training."
Oliver corrected Joseph's words.
It was training, even if it involved whacking him with a quarterstaff, stabbing, punching, kicking, kneeing, elbowing, and blasting him with black magic. It wasn't "getting beat up."
Dinkley narrowed his eyes at Oliver.
"I... see. More importantly, what brings you here? That load on your shoulder doesn't look like you're here to work out."
"Yes, exactly. Actually, I'm here to meet Smith."
The small abandoned building next to the gym.
It wasn't on the verge of collapse, but it was definitely crumbling. Oliver entered the dilapidated structure.
Dust floated faintly inside, likely from incomplete cleaning.
"Welcome... Huh?!"
A plump man inside was organizing items.
He was none other than the black magic craftsman who had made Oliver's Big Mouth.
"Dave?"
"Smith. How have you been?"
Oliver greeted the chubby black magician politely, using the name he'd recently learned.
Fate worked in mysterious ways. They'd reconnected at an illegal fight ring in X District, and he'd hit it off with Dinkley right away, jumping straight into business together.
"Hold on—who said we hit it off? It was half blackmail, and now I'm stuck here!"
"Pardon? I heard you reached a mutual agreement through sufficient discussion. Was that not the case?"
"Agreement? Sure, we talked. I was broke enough to rummage through trash bins. When he offered me a place to stay and a spot to do business, how could I refuse?"
"Then isn't that fine?"
"He takes 50% of the profits in return. That's worse than the Gray Market."
"Ah... Then you could've just refused the partnership."
"Like I said, I wasn't in a position to. Plus, he threatened to report me to the Crime Firm if I did. No choice."
"Oh, that's too bad... Anyway, I came here to ask you something."
Oliver brushed off Smith's complaints without sympathy and got straight to his business. He had no time to waste.
At Oliver's attitude, Smith seemed hurt, slumping dramatically over the counter and sobbing in a way that didn't suit his size.
"I hate this city! No one takes my side! Damn city folk! Just preying on honest, pure country boys..."
"You're from the countryside?"
"Most people in the city are from the countryside anyway. More than the natives. How else do populations grow that fast? We're not rats!"
"Oh... I see. Interesting. You seem pretty upset. Are you okay?"
"Do I look okay...?! I came to the city dreaming of getting rich and living a lavish life, but everyone's just out to suck me dry! And this gym master makes me exercise every day! Exercise!!"
The plump man slumped over the counter again, shedding tears.
It seemed less genuine sadness and more mental fatigue from exhaustion and frustration.
Joseph quietly approached Oliver and whispered.
"Should I hit him?"
"No. Why would you?"
"Usually stops the crying."
"Really?"
Oliver pondered briefly before shaking his head. That didn't seem right.
"I brought an opening gift. Maybe this will cheer you up?"
"Sniff... What is it?"
"They say cash is the best gift, so here's ten million Randa—"
"—Oh, really?!"
Smith sprang up nimbly, as if he hadn't been crying. True professional spirit.
"Ten million Randa?"
"Yes."
"For real?"
"Yes... The Big Mouth you made performs that well for me."
It was true. The Big Mouth, ordered half out of curiosity, was now one of Oliver's most utilized items after his quarterstaff.
In some ways, even better than the corpse doll.
It wasn't for combat, but it let him carry massive hauls effortlessly afterward—a game-changer. Something beyond his own abilities.
Without it, he wouldn't have achieved results this quickly.
'Books, corpse doll scraps, bodies, lab equipment transport... I've benefited immensely.'
Its value alone was worth hundreds of millions of Randa.
So Oliver didn't mind gifting Smith ten million for his opening as thanks.
It was a lot, but worth it. Plus, he had more to ask.
Smith, receiving the crisp bills, smoothed his hair and straightened up.
"Welcome to my new shop, customer. What can I do for you?"
"I have something to ask."
Oliver placed the bandage-wrapped hammer on the counter.
Thud. A heavy sound echoed.
"Doesn't this feel sluggish? Or am I imagining it?"
"No, you're spot on."
Oliver unwrapped the bandages. Beneath three layers was a hammer made of bright red flesh and white bone.
"This..."
"Long story, but I looted it from a black magician I fought. Doesn't seem ordinary, so I wanted to investigate, but my skills have limits. Its functions—"
"—Super durability, life force absorption, and wound recovery via consumption, right?"
Oliver nodded at the precise description.
"How did you know?"
"Well... Before I answer, can you keep this confidential?"
"Yes."
"It looks like something my master made."
Master.
A word both close and distant to black magicians.
There were figures who played the role of masters, but they were called "Owner."
They were closer to possessors than true teachers who guided with knowledge.
Yet Smith called him "master."
"My master is... quite peculiar. Even for a black magician. Not in a good way."
"I see. So this was really made by your master?"
"Yes."
True astonishment. Smith's skills were solid, so Oliver had assumed a decent master, but this exceeded expectations.
"Then you know a lot about it?"
"No, not in detail."
Another unexpected answer.
Joseph cracked his knuckles, stepping forward to help.
"Ehey! I really don't... It's a weapon made from human materials, but I only know the basic functions. Details? No clue. This is Dinkley's turf—don't even think about violence. Please."
Oliver stopped Joseph.
"Sorry. Joseph, stand down. Smith is just stating facts."
"Exactly! I don't lie to customers who pay me... if I can help it."
After the commotion settled, Oliver asked again.
"If you don't know details, how did you recognize your master's work?"
"See this part here?"
Smith pointed to the hammer's base. There was a seal-like burn mark.
"This...?"
"Beanstalk. The burn spread a bit, but it's a brand my master stamps on his works."
"Ah..."
"So I don't know this item, but I know it's his."
"Got it. So no further details on this?"
"Yes. Human materials, basic functions I mentioned... That's it. Can't help more."
Hm... Oliver pondered. A bit disappointing, but not terribly so.
It piqued his curiosity, but not urgently.
Mild regret? No, not even that.
He now knew roughly how it was made and by whom. Sufficient harvest.
He could calibrate lab gear and study it slowly.
Worst case, dismantle and analyze piece by piece.
As he sorted his thoughts, Smith suddenly offered.
"If you want, would you like to meet my master?"
A bolt from the blue. Oliver reflexively asked.
"Pardon? Do you know where he is?"
"No, he's a wanderer with debts and grudges everywhere—always on the move. But I have a 50% chance of contacting him."
"50%?"
"More like 30-40%. Maybe 20%..."
Smith pulled a large envelope from a drawer. Inside was stiff paper.
"...Human skin, huh."
"Yes, top-grade processed human leather, like paper. Write your message and send it off. If lucky, it reaches him. Shall I?"
A fairy-tale notion. But Smith was serious.
"Why go this far all of a sudden?"
Joseph, watching suspiciously, interjected. Excessive kindness in back alleys often meant bait.
"Why this far...? You really want to know? Think about it. For a sucker—no, esteemed customer—who gifts ten million Randa for an opening, showing this favor means big returns later! Odds of delivery are low, he might ignore it, and even if he comes, it won't be free—but I helped, so I can leverage that later."
"...Sucker?"
"Slip of the tongue. Customer."
"What do you mean 'not free'?"
"My master is, well, a total deadbeat. Never helps for nothing—demands pocket money. And even then, questionable if he'll deliver."
"Hm... How much?"
Smith whispered in Oliver's ear after thinking.
"That much...? Think you can summon him?"
Oliver decided. Not urgent, but no need to hold back if curiosity could be sated.
Money problems were no issue now.
Hearing the answer, Smith nodded, wrote on the human leather, folded it into a paper airplane, and launched it.
Amazingly, the human-leather plane soared high like real magic, beautiful in flight.
"Normally from a high place, but—"
-Crunch!
A passing crow snatched the flying human-leather plane.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
"......"
"......"
"......"
Oliver and Joseph stared blankly.
Smith rewrote the letter and refolded the plane.
"Higher up is better— that was just a demo. Follow me. I'll show you from a high spot."