Chapter 273
Chapter 273
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 273
Chapter Title: Preparations (1)
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Forrest nodded silently after hearing the answer.
He looked like he wanted to offer a few more words of advice, but knowing Oliver, he kept his mouth shut.
The people in this city all pretended otherwise, but they were surprisingly considerate.
"Ah... But won't you end up taking some heat because of me, Mr. Forrest?"
Oliver asked belatedly.
"You mean me?"
"Yes. Didn't Mr. Shamus say he had amassed a fortune and gathered a ton of underlings?"
"That's true. These days, even the Crime Firm executives are wary of him."
"If things go south, won't you get dragged into the crossfire too, Mr. Forrest?"
"Hm... I appreciate the concern, but that's a bit insulting. You think I haven't prepared for something like that?"
Ah... Oliver sighed inwardly.
He was right, of course. Forrest had been in this line of work longer than Oliver had been alive.
Worrying about someone like that was presumptuous, plain and simple.
Oliver apologized right away.
"I'm sorry. I've just heard so much about how formidable Mr. Shamus is... and how decisive he can be, enough to launch a raid on us."
"I won't deny it. But I'm no ordinary broker either."
True enough.
Forrest was the middleman connecting the Crime Firm and the Fighter Crew right now. Even Shamus wouldn't touch him lightly.
"...And even if something does happen, it'll just mean I wasn't up to the task of working with you. So no need to worry about it."
"...Pardon?"
Oliver blinked at the sudden, oddly detached response.
Forrest's emotions carried a cool, transcendent air.
"Just in case. Some folks get careless once they gain a little power."
"I'm not being careless."
"In this business, worrying about others is carelessness. I hate to say it myself, but this world's a filthy, cutthroat place. Most people can barely look after themselves. Worrying is overkill. Even..."
Forrest paused briefly for emphasis.
"...Even if someone dies, it's just the price they pay for stepping into this world. No room for pity or regret. If you enter a dangerous place, you brace for the consequences. So don't go fretting over others."
Oliver nodded quietly.
By cold logic, everything Forrest said rang true.
Both he and Forrest had chosen this life. Paying the price was something they always had to be ready for.
"Thank you for the advice. I guess I've been getting sloppy."
"Good that you realize it now. Focus on your own business and nothing else. This is a place that welcomes people who mind their own affairs over those who worry about others."
"Yes, I'll keep that in mind."
"Alright... Then I'll pass the word to Carver first thing tomorrow. He probably won't start the job right away, but it's best to prepare ahead. They won't be taking it easy either."
Oliver agreed.
Carver had kept his cool with his usual rationality, but he wasn't treating this lightly.
He wouldn't rush, but if an opportunity arose, he'd strike without mercy.
Oliver needed to gear up accordingly.
'Adjust the schedule, reinforce the manpower... Looks like I'll need to request leave again.'
As Oliver mentally sorted his to-do list, Forrest spoke up again.
"If you're okay with it, mind if I do some negotiating on my end?"
"Negotiating?"
"Yeah. Carver threw out all those conditions, but in the end, he's not offering anything upfront. If I play it right, we might squeeze something out of it."
"Sure, that's... Actually, could you look into something for me while you're at it?"
"The Pater Church greeting?"
"Yes. Someone's curious about it."
***
Forrest accepted Oliver's request.
'Good. Not easy, but not impossible either. I'll make sure we get that first.'
Oliver felt satisfied and rose from his seat, leaving the restaurant.
Business was done, and it was late enough.
But he didn't head straight home.
Instead, he hailed a late-night taxi, tipped extra, and went to a Black Market specializing in weapons.
It dealt in everything from civilian arms to military-grade gear and priest-modified pieces.
He'd learned of a few other Black Markets as rewards for successfully training the Fighter Crew.
No sooner had he arrived than he ordered bombs, guns, acid sprayers, and the like.
'Flashbangs and smoke grenades like Founder used... Depending on how you deploy them, they could double the corpse puppets' combat power. Especially for close-range ones like Duncan... And I need to upgrade the sniper corpse puppet's rifle too.'
Oliver, who had been brainstorming ways to bolster his forces in his spare time, saw the perfect chance and placed a bulk order.
But that wasn't all.
Even though he was exhausted, Oliver visited another Black Market afterward.
This one handled antiques, stolen goods, forgeries—miscellaneous items. It had become one of his frequent haunts lately.
"Hello?"
"Ah, you're here."
The bald, suited clerk greeted Oliver.
He was staff at this Black Market, mainly handling books.
Not just ordinary ones, but rare tomes with artistic value, black magic and magic texts, even demon books.
"Has that book come in by any chance?"
"That book" meant a demon book, of course. Even when dealing in such items, no one named them directly out of ingrained caution and primal fear.
The clerk shook his head.
"No, not yet. The dealers say it'll be tough to source for a while."
Oliver was genuinely disappointed.
"I see."
"Yes... We'd have to buy from elsewhere or wait for a new find. Not easy. You already finish the one you bought last time?"
The book in question was a translation of a madman's diary who'd made a pact with a demon.
A man from the continent's heartlands, rambling in an unknown tongue, yet it cost 70 million Randa. Honestly, it hadn't been satisfying.
'Couldn't make heads or tails of it, and the book from Lady Edith didn't help either.'
When Oliver mentioned this, the clerk apologized.
"Sorry to disappoint you, sir."
"No, no. I went in with eyes open."
Oliver was telling the truth.
The clerk had warned him before the purchase.
Black Markets didn't make demon books easy to come by.
Quality ones were rare to begin with, and even if found, they went to the elite collectors' market for the higher-ups.
The fact that a black magician like Oliver could even inquire openly was thanks to his reputation built on Randa.
"The real stuff gets snapped up by executive level first, so it's tricky for me to source... If you like, I can mention it to one of the executives."
Oliver thought it over and shook his head.
He couldn't pinpoint why, but it felt like a bad idea.
If they approached him first as a client, fine—but reaching out personally for private matters would entangle him too deeply.
He did want a demon book, but it wasn't urgent.
So Oliver politely declined.
"No, that's alright. If you find something decent, could you hold it for me? I'll match the price."
"Of course, sir."
"Thank you."
With business wrapped up, Oliver finally headed home and crashed...
Rrrrrrring! Rrrrrrring! Rrrrrrring!
No sooner had his eyes closed than Oliver snapped them open. He'd slept a few hours, but it felt like less than a minute.
Rrr—click.
He shut off the alarm and got up.
To shake off the drowsiness, Oliver stretched, turned on the radio, did some light exercise, then showered.
After that, he prepped a simple breakfast.
Knock. Knock.
Just as the food was ready, someone knocked.
Oliver tilted his head and approached the door.
No one visited his place. Who could it be?
The front door slid open smoothly.
Seeing the old man outside, Oliver asked,
"...How did you know I live here, sir?"
"I never spare effort when it comes to burdening my disciples. Mind if I come in? Smells like food."
***
"...What, you too stingy to share breakfast with an old man?"
Merlin, having demolished a grilled steak, thick sausages, black pudding, three eggs, three slices of toast, baked beans, fresh salad and apple, orange juice, and coffee, asked out of the blue.
Oliver, watching him, replied,
"No, I was just staring because I'm dying to know how you found this place, sir."
"I told you earlier. I never spare effort burdening my disciples. It's the joy of my life."
Oliver couldn't tell if Merlin meant it, thanks to the thick magical barrier.
Still, it wouldn't be weird if he did.
"More importantly, do you always eat this much? It's a hefty breakfast."
It was true.
Oliver's portions were generous; no one had pointed it out before.
He wasn't gluttonous, but he could pack it away when needed.
He'd never left food uneaten.
"Dunno. Just always thought you need a solid breakfast."
"Sorry about that. You didn't eat less because of me, did you?"
"No, I'm fine. Apple, bread, and milk would suffice... Anyway, what brings you here?"
"You're the one who wanted to see me, aren't you?"
"Ah... True, but you showed up so suddenly, I thought it was urgent."
"Not wrong. I've got to head out for a bit."
Oliver blinked at the unexpected words.
"Head out?"
"Yeah. Surprised?"
"Honestly, yes. It's so abrupt."
"I agree. But something urgent came up."
"Ah... Mind if I ask where?"
"Personal business, so tough to say. I don't like men showing interest in me... Easy now."
"...? Sorry?"
Oliver tilted his head at the baffling remark and apologized.
Merlin chuckled faintly, swallowed his food, and spoke again.
"...Anyway, I came to let you know I'm leaving for a while. No idea how long. Figured it was polite to warn you ahead... So, what did you want to see me about?"
"Ah... I had a few questions."
"What? Spit out the urgent ones first. Planning to head out right after eating like a proper guest."
Sudden proposal.
Oliver eyed his half-eaten breakfast. He had plenty to ask, but time was short.
'Still, him coming over is a win, right?'
Forcing positivity, Oliver started with the priorities.
"Have you heard about my teaching method?"
"I have. From Kevin. It gives a sense of it indirectly, right?"
"Yes. Can I use it to teach the students?"
"No reason not to."
"Really?"
Oliver was stunned by the straightforward answer. He'd expected a no, given Kevin's reaction.
Merlin added a condition.
"Just don't overuse it. Keep it minimal. And if anyone asks, say you learned it from someone in the desert or the far east."
"Ah... Do they have something similar there?"
"Nah. But 'desert' or 'far east technique' sounds exotic, doesn't it?"
Another unforeseen reply left Oliver tilting his head.
"Sir... You don't actually know a similar technique either, do you?"
"I could answer, but you sure? I'm almost done eating."
Merlin pointed to his nearly empty plate. It was spotless.
"Please eat slower."
"I don't listen to disciples. Especially temporary ones... Stop looking at me like that. You'll hurt this old man's feelings."
"Sorry. Uh... Then, may I ask about the World Tree?"
"Wondering if it can reveal the future?"
"How did you know?"
"I read the papers too. ABC Investment... It's been buzzing lately. Figured you'd ask."
"I see... Is it possible?"
"In theory."
Merlin's curt response was unexpected; Oliver had braced for impossibility.
"But purely theoretical. No successful cases yet."
"How would it work? I've thought about it, but even with vast data, it's all past events—there must be limits to predicting the future."
"Sharp question. I could explain, but I'm a proponent of self-directed learning. Here."
Merlin pulled an old book from his robes.
It looked homemade, simply bound.
"World Tree... Evolution Theory?"
Oliver read the cover as he took it.
"It's a book on one theory about the World Tree. Should clear up your questions."
"Ah, thank you."
Oliver flipped through it gratefully.
Astonishingly, it was all handwritten. When he mentioned it, Merlin nodded.
"That's why it's valuable. Normally I'd charge, but the food was good—call it even."
"You sure?"
"Of course. Your cooking's decent."
At the praise, Oliver thanked him and skimmed the book. He didn't grasp it fully yet, but instinct said it was no ordinary text.
'Might even help with work...'
"Well, time for me to head out."
Merlin said, plate empty.
"Already?"
"Food's done. No reason to linger."
Oliver looked at him again.
"Ah, not that look... Hold on."
Merlin rummaged in his robes mid-sentence.
"I must be getting old. Forgot this."
"Forgot what?"
"Just a sec... There."
Merlin handed over a bundle of letters.
"Take these. Mail for you."
"For me?"
"Yeah. Why the question mark?"
"Who'd write to me?"
Oliver asked sincerely. He couldn't think of anyone.
But Merlin's answer cleared it up.
"Who else? Rosburn and the kids."
***
"...So I won't be able to come out for a while."
In the Elemental School Tower's physical training room, Oliver addressed about thirty students.
He explained he'd be taking leave for personal reasons and missing classes for a bit.
He hated doing it with duties pending, but it couldn't be helped.
At least the students didn't seem too disappointed.
'Is that a good thing?'
Oliver wondered, eyeing their lackluster enthusiasm.
He'd put in effort, but igniting motivation was harder than expected.
"...The professor's finding a replacement, so classes won't be disrupted. Still, sorry again. I know it's my personal issue causing this neglect."
The students nodded perfunctorily.
Utter disinterest.
But Oliver wasn't angry or upset. It was his fault.
Once he finished, the students shuffled out as usual.
Felix was among them.
"Felix?"
Oliver called him back.
He stopped amid the crowd and turned.
"...Yes?"
"Got another class after this?"
"...Why?"
"Didn't want to interrupt if you did."
"Not busy. What's up?"
"I need a favor. Could you help for a moment?"
A staffer asking a student for help wasn't unheard of, but rare. Felix frowned, weighing it.
"...What is it?"
After a pause, he sent his friends ahead and approached.
"Before I go, I'd like to check your mana flow one more time. Possible?"
"Now?"
"Yes."
"What's the point?"
"Probably. Got an experiment in mind."
"Experiment? No... What?"
"There's this method from the far eastern desert lands."
"...Pardon?"
Felix gave a look of utter confusion, like he'd spotted a snake oil salesman.