Chapter 225
Chapter 225
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 225
Chapter Title: Question and Answer (1)
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"Yeah, nice to meet you. I came because I heard you'd pay me."
The man who had appeared out of nowhere bowed at the waist like a theater actor greeting the audience.
Every gesture was polite yet ostentatious, as if he were performing on stage.
Oliver, who had never encountered someone like this before, hesitated, unsure how to respond.
Just then, Forest stepped forward.
"Dave. Sorry to butt in, but who is this Smith fellow?"
"Ah... He's the one who made the Glutton Pouch I use."
"The Glutton Pouch you use? You mean the man-sized one?"
"Yes. And that's his master. I sent a letter saying I'd like to meet him, and it looks like he came."
Oliver extended his hand, pointing at Smith's master. The master bowed again with exaggerated flair, like an actor center stage. He seemed to have a very bright personality.
Forest, having grasped the situation, paused for a moment. Then he straightened his clothes and reverted to his role as the broker.
He greeted Smith's master politely.
"Pleased to meet you, Master Smith... I'm Forest, a broker working T District, 27th Street. It's a pleasure to meet you like this."
"Pleased to meet you too. And I know who you are. You're Forest, the one who struck it big and became famous in Randa overnight, right? Hitting the jackpot in your later years—truly impressive and enviable. A man's life is like wine... But be careful. People always go after the aged vintages."
Smith's master spoke at length, mixing courtesy with rudeness, while gesturing dramatically like an actor.
His words and movements were so captivating that losing focus for even a moment could sweep you into his rhythm.
Fortunately, Forest wasn't green enough to get caught up in it, and Oliver... was Oliver.
"Thank you for the praise and concern on our first meeting... If it's all right, may I ask your name? Calling you 'Master Smith' is a bit of a mouthful."
"Ah, how rude of me... I'm Ewan Bremner. A master craftsman who makes all sorts of miraculous items, a genius negotiator who can swap beans for cows. On top of that, a great debt collector who's traveled to the lands across the sea, the eastern realms where dragons soar and deserts stretch, even the mad worlds where rats fire guns and giants dwell in sky kingdoms."
Forest momentarily failed to keep a straight face at the boastful claims, laced more with exaggeration than truth. Oliver reacted the same way.
But for different reasons. There were a few lies, but most of what Ewan said rang true.
"I'm also the lover of countless women, a missionary of love, and an incredibly popular dandy."
"Ah, that's a lie."
Oliver blurted it out without thinking. The air froze, and Ewan's expression crumpled for a split second.
"Wow... I help you out, and you punch me right in the gut. They say Randa's a Sodom and Gomorrah without a mother or father, and it looks like it's true."
Oliver belatedly acknowledged his mistake and apologized. Then he sorted through his chaotic thoughts.
He had plenty of questions and things to clarify, but first and foremost, he needed to express his gratitude.
"I apologize again. And thank you for your help. You've been a great aid to me, Ewan."
"Hoo... So you're not completely lacking in manners. Well, even Sodom had a righteous man named Lot, so this city stained in sin must have at least one polite soul."
Oliver, who had been listening quietly, recalled the scripture and asked Forest,
"If it's Lot of Sodom, then surely the one with his two daughters—"
"—That's not important. Let's not get into details."
Oliver held his tongue as Forest suggested, while Ewan continued his rambling chatter.
Once he got going, his tongue kept wagging, assaulting the ears, while his gestures dazzled the eyes. It was utterly chaotic.
But that didn't last.
By calmly gathering his wits and waiting, Ewan's bombastic monologue gradually tapered off, and his wild gestures soon ceased.
Forest seized the moment and spoke politely.
"Ewan, thank you again for your help."
"But you have questions, don't you? People in this city suspect even their own parents and children—it's only natural... If you're curious, go ahead and ask."
Ewan was jovial yet pressuring. But Forest didn't flinch.
"From what I overheard, it seems you were out of town and just arrived in Randa. How did you find us?"
Forest voiced a subtle suspicion.
It wasn't unreasonable.
At this precise timing—after signing a formal contract with Crime Firm and getting ambushed by the Development Opposition Committee—Ewan shows up and helps. It was all too convenient.
He'd even confirmed some familiarity with the Development Opposition Committee.
As a broker, he had to ask.
Ewan's face lit up with delight and satisfaction at Forest's request.
"Hmm... Not an unreasonable question from your position. Fine, I'll answer. But on one condition. A very important one."
"What would that be?"
"If my answer satisfies you, take me somewhere with good booze and beautiful ladies. I don't like doing business on dark streets with dark men."
Forest glanced at Oliver, Ewan, Al, and the surroundings, then nodded.
"Ah... Agreed. Then we'll guide you gentlemen of Randa to a fine place for conversation."
Clap! Clap!
Ewan clapped vigorously, radiating genuine joy.
"Now that's what I like."
Some time later, three vehicles arrived at the road where the Development Opposition Committee had ambushed them.
All were called by companies that dealt with brokers: one limousine, one standard taxi, and one massive truck.
Forest handed generous tips to each driver who pulled up and politely explained their tasks.
First, he sent Al—who'd been through a lot that day—in the taxi back to his lodging.
The truck driver used auxiliary machinery to haul away Forest's wrecked vintage car.
"To think my baby would go out like this. Heartbreaking... Shall we?"
Forest asked, opening the limousine's back door.
Ewan shrugged with a broad grin and climbed in, followed by Oliver, then Forest.
The interior was the most luxurious vehicle Oliver had ever seen. Surprisingly, a small table held bottles of liquor and glasses.
Even more astonishing, Ewan drank as if he'd ridden in such cars many times before. He even casually pulled a cigar from a box and lit it.
Puffing out thick smoke, he asked,
"Fine smoke. The details tell the class. You deal with good places."
"Thank you for the praise."
"Mind if I ask where we're headed?"
"O District, 66th Street."
"Ah, one of Randa's joys. I used to frequent it. They call it the Street of Joy now, right?"
"You know it well."
"I know a lot of things. But are there still good spots these days?"
"Yes, a place run by an acquaintance. Quite decent. Pricey, but good for talking."
Angel's House... It seemed that's what Forest meant.
Oliver could ask to confirm, but he had something more pressing. He put it aside and looked at Ewan.
"Ewan, if it's not too rude, could you show it to me once more?"
"Show what...? Ah!"
Ewan rummaged inside his cloak as if remembering.
"Not this... Not that... Definitely not this."
Rustle, rustle. He pulled out preserved noses, dense dolls, pink potions—items radiating eerie auras—before exclaiming,
"Ah, found it."
It was a hand. Shriveled like jerky.
Dark and blackened, its fingers were twig-thin, liable to snap at a touch.
Creepy talismans dangled from the wrist, and the palm was etched with black magic circles carved by knife. The crowning horror: an eyeball embedded in the back.
"There it is. The Signpost."
Signpost. That's what Ewan called the black magic item he'd produced.
It pointed to people, objects, or places the owner desired.
It had led him to Oliver.
Impressive in description, but not quite.
"Still a piece of junk on second look. The function's top-notch, but useless at long range. And even when it works, it's iffy. Only does its thing when it feels like it. Makes it hard to toss."
Ewan said black magic items had wills like living creatures. The better the function, the stronger the trait.
Oliver agreed. The Glutton Pouch was a prime example.
The larger it grew, the better it performed—but the more self-aware and resistant it became. Enough to kill and devour its owner.
'Not that I'd know.'
"But it's unexpected."
Ewan suddenly eyed Oliver.
So out of left field, Oliver asked,
"Unexpected how, Ewan?"
"No, it's just... different from what Smith told me. Said you're the type to pepper questions if curious. But you haven't asked how I know the Development Opposition Committee... or why I returned the corpse you worked hard to catch. Aren't you curious? I heard you handle corpse dolls, so bodies aren't just bodies to you."
He was right. To Oliver now, corpses were valuable spoils. The stronger or rarer, the more so.
"Yes, correct."
"Then why not ask? Scared I'm too strong?"
"No."
"Fuck, you think I'm a pushover? Do you know who I am?!"
"No, no. I think you're impressive and not at all easy, Ewan. You taught Smith... I just have so many questions, I'm waiting patiently. Truth is, I have a lot I want to ask you. I only planned to inquire about a recent black magic item I acquired, but now there's more."
Oliver spoke truthfully. He'd meant to ask only about the black magic item made from meat taken from the chef's subordinate.
But now he had more for Ewan.
About the Development Opposition Committee, his connection to them, and the puppet's mention of the clock moving.
This man seemed to know something.
"Lots of questions, eh? Not bad. But opening my mouth costs a pretty penny. I came here because I heard there was a sucker to fleece."
That sucker being Oliver.
Honestly, Oliver didn't care about the label. His goal was satisfying his curiosity.
As Oliver opened his mouth to reply, Forest interjected.
"We'll accommodate as much as we can, so no worries. Perfect timing—we've arrived."
Forest pointed to the car window. Outside was a red-roofed, antique rectangular building.
Angel's House.