Chapter 28
Chapter 28
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: New Master (2)
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叮叮.
The door to the pharmacy opened, and a beautiful bell chime rang out.
A hunched old woman, wrapped in a tattered scarf, shuffled inside.
"Welcome."
A middle-aged man with thinning hair and gold-rimmed glasses greeted her warmly. He was the owner of the pharmacy, dressed in a suit with a white coat over it.
"Oh, Mr. Pharmacist. Hello?"
The wrinkled old woman greeted him with great delight.
The pharmacist welcomed her just as kindly.
Truly, he was one of the city's most respected figures.
"Yes, I'm always doing well. Come this way..."
The pharmacist approached the elderly woman, who struggled with arthritis, and helped her along.
It was kindness ingrained in his very being. The old woman thanked him profusely.
"Th-thank you, sir. That... Ah! The chicken dish you sent over the other day was absolutely delicious. It was the best meal I've ever had in my life. Thank you so much."
"No need to thank me. I'm just glad you enjoyed it."
The pharmacist replied smoothly.
Of course—he performed countless acts of charity in the city, so he heard such thanks multiple times a day.
Once the gratitude had been expressed, the old woman pulled out a crumpled wad of bills from her bosom.
"Really... this is terribly embarrassing, but... could I buy just one painkiller with this, sir?"
The pharmacist glanced at the money. It was nowhere near enough.
Sensing this, the old woman pleaded again.
"It's getting harder and harder to move around. I can make up the difference later..."
The pharmacist raised a hand. He went into the back of the shop and returned with a newly arrived painkiller.
It was Tanttan, made by John Snow Pharmaceuticals.
"Take it with water before bed. It's a new painkiller, and they say it works well."
"It looks quite expensive..."
The old woman fidgeted. The pharmacist kindly insisted.
"It's fine. Consider it a birthday gift."
"My birthday is still far off..."
"Didn't I miss it last year? Just take it. We can say that money is pocket money for your grandson from me."
Though apologetic, the old woman finally accepted his generosity.
Overwhelmed with gratitude, she kept thanking him, while he smiled benevolently and assured her it was no trouble.
"How old is your grandson?"
"H-he must be about fifteen now."
"If you'd like, I can arrange a job for him. We need hands in the warehouse, and I have connections to restaurants and factories in Randa too."
"Thank you. Thank you so much... You'll surely be blessed for this."
As the old woman turned to leave with her thanks, the bell chimed again, and she nearly collided with the people just entering.
"Oh dear..."
"Are you alright?"
A boy with jet-black hair and pale skin—like a walking corpse—supported the stumbling old woman.
His actions were kind, but his lifeless skin and dead-fish eyes evoked repulsion rather than warmth.
The old woman was no different; she hastily returned the greeting and hurried out like she was fleeing.
"..."
"..."
The pharmacist and the newcomers stared at each other in silence.
Moments later, sensing something amiss, the pharmacist strode over, locked the door with a click, and hung the "Closed" sign outside.
"Just to be sure, you're here to see me, right? Not to buy medicine."
The guest—no, Oliver—replied.
"Yes."
The pharmacist led Oliver, along with his attendants Marie and Peter, to a small room in the back of the pharmacy.
"Sorry, but there are only two chairs. And only water to drink. It wasn't made for receiving guests."
"It's fine, Mr. Pharmacist."
The pharmacist poured water into cups, drank one himself, and got to the point.
"Straight to business. Even if it's urgent, I never close for less than twenty minutes. What brings you here?"
"I came to ask for a favor."
"A favor?"
"Yes."
"If it's Joseph's favor, he should come himself. Why you?"
"Because it's my favor?"
"..."
The pharmacist looked at Oliver wordlessly, trying to gauge his intentions, but found nothing.
He'd been the same when extracting life force, when capturing the attacker, and now—consistent, unchanging.
No hostility, no goodwill, no ulterior motives.
"...Normally, I'd throw you out without listening, but you helped my staff during that fight with the other magician last time, so I'll hear you out... Ah, wait. You did get Joseph's permission first, right? He'd hate this if you didn't."
"Oh, don't worry about that. He's passed away."
"...What?"
"He died. In Randa."
"...Did you see it yourself?"
"Pardon?"
"How did he die?"
"He took a Wrath Boom to the arm—it flew off, and he bled out..."
"Attacked by another black magician? But why are you unscathed... Ah. Did you kill him?"
The pharmacist spoke as if piecing it together. Oliver answered calmly.
"Yes, that's right."
Despite the shocking revelation, the pharmacist wasn't surprised. Somehow, looking at the boy before him, it seemed entirely plausible.
"...Why did you kill him?"
"He tried to kill me. Specifically, to sacrifice me to a demon... So I had no choice."
The pharmacist wasn't fazed. He'd dealt with black magicians for decades and knew their eccentricities well.
Especially someone as powerful as Joseph—dealing with demons was hardly unusual. Nothing new there.
But this boy was different.
A black magician sacrificing to a demon would surely summon a monstrous threat.
Yet here was a boy who looked fifteen or sixteen, claiming he'd defeated such a monster.
And he showed no joy or pride in it.
It wasn't malice, arrogance, or cruelty—it was something alien, profoundly unsettling.
"Alright, I get it. Joseph tried to kill you, so you killed him to survive. Right?"
"Yes... I'm glad you understand."
"...What I don't get is why you're here. What's your business?"
Oliver whispered a few words to Peter before answering.
"Ah, sorry. Somehow, I've ended up taking over the Family after the Master... Others said that if they find out he's gone, they might attack us."
"That could happen... Are you asking me to mediate?"
"Yes. Can you help?"
Such an innocent question. The pharmacist sensed something beyond simple malice or cunning.
"No."
"Ah... May I ask why?"
"No matter the reason, I've done business with Joseph for years. If one of his underlings suddenly claims to have killed him and asks for help, do you think I'd just agree? For all I know, everything you're saying is a lie."
"Ah... That could be true."
Oliver said it as if he genuinely agreed.
Peter spoke to Oliver again.
"...Even so, we hope you'll help. If black magicians fight among themselves, wouldn't it disrupt your business too, sir?"
"Are you threatening me?"
"No, absolutely not."
Oliver waved his hands in denial. The pharmacist sighed.
"Haa... You have a point, but mediation like this is break-even at best, loss at worst. Helping you could lead to misunderstandings and bigger losses."
"But you've helped before, haven't you?"
"That time, everyone wanted to stop fighting, and it benefited me."
"Then, if I can offer you a benefit, would you help?"
About to dismiss it as nonsense, the pharmacist met Oliver's eyes and fell silent.
His business instincts told him it wasn't empty words.
"...I can't help fully, but I could arrange a meeting for you to talk. After that, it's on you."
"Ah, that would be enough. Thank you."
"I haven't agreed yet. What can you offer me?"
"Ah, that is..."
Oliver pulled out a Filterette and began to explain.
Two days after the meeting with the pharmacist.
True to his word, he had summoned the heads of the Anthony Family and Dominic Family to a tavern he owned.
Anthony was a gaunt man with pale skin and brown hair swept to the right.
Dominic boasted a chiseled jaw and sturdy build, like a manual laborer.
Both were around Joseph's age, so they looked down on Oliver, who seemed no older than fifteen.
Still, at the pharmacist's invitation, they held their silence and observed.
"......"
"......"
"......"
In the heavy, awkward silence, Oliver stood and greeted them.
"Hello, everyone. Thank you for coming."
No reply came.
But there were reactions aplenty—curiosity, irritation, confusion, speculation, scrutiny, cunning.
As Oliver opened his mouth again, Anthony raised a hand.
"Ah, yes. What do you have to say...?"
"...I have many questions, but let's start with the basics. Who are you?"
"Ah, sorry. This is my first time in a meeting like this... I'm Oliver."
"Oliver?"
Dominic, his oiled hair slicked back, stroked his stubbly beard.
"Ahh...! You're Oliver? I've heard the name. The one who backstabbed those magicians and made a name for himself!"
"Yes."
"Haha! You look as scrawny as they said! Did you really take down magicians?"
"I got lucky."
"What a guy... But I came because Joseph called. Why are you here?"
Dominic suddenly stopped laughing and scowled.
It wasn't genuine anger—just a deliberate show of intimidation.
Indeed, Marie and Peter flinched.
Dominic seemed skilled at such threats.
"Mr. Pharmacist. Explain. You said Joseph would be here. I don't like being toyed with."
Dominic's arrogant, menacing attitude made the pharmacist's staff tense, prompting his men to growl.
The atmosphere turned hostile in an instant.
The pharmacist calmed his staff and spoke.
"I said precisely that the head of Joseph's Family wanted to meet."
"Exactly. Joseph, right? Wait... Huh?"
Dominic trailed off, realizing something, and looked at Oliver.
Anthony, who had been watching, sharpened his gaze. Then Oliver spoke.
"Hello. I'm Oliver, the new head of Joseph's Family."
Oliver bowed politely, but the response was ice-cold.
They seemed stunned, processing the info. Then Dominic grinned savagely.
"What the hell is this dogshit situation?"
"I'm the head of Joseph's Fami—"
"—No, no. Fuck... That's not it. Fuck, kid. With Joseph around, why the hell are you prancing around like the boss?"
"Ah..."
Oliver glanced at the pharmacist, who shook his head. Finally getting it, he explained again.
"The Master has passed away."
"Passed away? That guy?"
Anthony was genuinely shocked, as if he couldn't believe it.
"Yes."
"Who killed him? That old man had real power even in Randa."
"I did. He tried to kill me."
"So you killed Joseph?"
"Yes."
Oliver's answer didn't improve things.
Dominic's face grew fiercer, and Anthony chuckled disbelievingly before asking abruptly.
"How old are you?"
"My age?"
"Yes, your age."
"I... don't really know. I worked in the orphanage and the mines, never kept track."
"Ha... Right. Orphan, mine worker. Let me ask again. You killed Joseph?"
"Yes."
"Proof?"
"No... I didn't think to cut off the Master's head."
"This guy's completely nuts."
Dominic muttered. Oliver couldn't grasp what was crazy about it.
"Mr. Pharmacist. You called us believing this lunatic?"
"Doesn't sound like a lie. And he made an interesting proposal. Hard to believe, but it'd benefit us all."
"Fuck, seriously—"
"—Hear him out first."
Anthony calmed Dominic, who was about to erupt.
"We can get mad after. Listen, Oliver? We'll hear you out, so speak."
"Thank you."
Oliver sincerely thanked him and continued.
"The reason I'm here is to ask you all a favor."
"A favor?"
"Yes. Even though the Master is gone, I want to keep living peacefully like now. I hate fighting."
Dominic and Anthony's men snickered.
"If you let me, I'll repay you humbly."
"Repay how?"
Oliver pulled a Filterette from his bosom.
"I'll share a recipe for making higher-quality Filterettes."
Dominic and Anthony reflexively eyed the Filterette. Its glow was indeed superior.
"What is it?"
"One I made. Better quality than before. The pharmacist confirmed it."
The pharmacist nodded in agreement.
"No, not that—what even is that Filterette?"
"Ah, it's made by synthesizing Maternal Love and Rage. About 8:2."
Everyone looked up at Oliver in silent shock.
"Of course, single emotions work fine, but mixing opposites boosts the effect instantly. The clashing also increases the yield slightly. This way, you get more high-quality emotions, which will surely benefit you all."
In the face of Oliver's earnest explanation, silence reigned. The reactions were intense; Anthony raised a hand.
"Not a bad idea. But why haven't we thought of it?"
"...Why not?"
"Because it's not as easy as it sounds. Emotions are delicate energies. Similar ones are one thing, but mixing opposites is impossib..."
Anthony couldn't finish. Oliver had pulled out two test tubes and synthesized emotions on the spot.
The clashing energies sparked—pachi-pachi—but stabilized in his hands, blending beautifully into a radiant whole.
"...It works for me."
No one could speak.
Oliver scanned the room and continued.
"If not, provide emotions, and I'll synthesize and deliver regularly. Then we can all make better Filterettes and profit greatly—"
"—What the fuck!"
Someone cut Oliver off.
A muscular subordinate of Dominic barked like a feral dog.
"Think a few tricks make you equal to the Master? 'It works for me'?! You arrogant little shit don't know manners."
Oliver looked at the suddenly enraged man.
He appeared angrier than anyone, but cunning gleamed beneath.
Testing how far he could push with intimidation.
The muscular man downed a test tube of potion—Life Force laced with Muscle Up. His muscles bulged massively.
'Ah, Life Force cancels the side effects of Muscle Up.'
As Oliver thought this, the man charged with a roar.
"I'll teach you manners myself, punk!"
Anthony and Dominic watched. So did the pharmacist.
As the brute approached, only Marie moved.
"The heads are speaking—how dare you—gurk!"
The brute grabbed Marie's throat with one massive hand and sneered.
"One question, kid. If you're really Joseph's Family head, why bring just two lackeys? Scared?"
"Yes, I told the rest to stay because they're scared."
"Kuhahaha! This guy's insane!"
"Is he? Could you let go of her hand? She looks like she's suffering."
Oliver said, eyeing Marie's paling face.
The brute shook her mockingly.
"Begging? You took down Joseph, right? Make me let go with your own power! Kuhahaha!!"
"...Yes. Alright."
Oliver shrugged.
From the shadow on the floor, black tentacles erupted, instantly binding the brute—arms, legs, waist, shoulders, neck, without gap.
He panicked wildly.
"Wh-what?!"
Ignoring him, Oliver asked Marie.
"You okay?"
"Guh! Gack—! Yes... But this?"
"Learned it fighting the Master."
It wasn't a lie. Anthony and Dominic knew it too—they'd fought Joseph.
They remembered his opening move: Binding Shadow to exploit openings.
"Wh-who's scared of this crap...!"
The brute tried to snap the tentacles with brute force, but they only tightened, crushing muscle and snapping bone.
"...... Gah! Urk!"
He couldn't even scream. Oliver apologized to the writhing man.
"Sorry. Could you not struggle so much? Hard to control the strength..."
Sensing danger, each Family's men drew test tubes and potions, ready to fight.
Oliver matched them, pulling out his own.
"Ah, are we fighting after all?"
"......"
"......"
Surprisingly, Anthony and Dominic hesitated, unlike before.
After a moment, Anthony asked.
"...Why? If we say fight, you'll fight?"
"I hate it... but no choice."
"Ha... You hate it?"
"Yes. I don't like killing. Plus, fighting wastes study time... Sorry, but is there no peaceful way?"
On the brink of bloodshed.
Yet Oliver's words rang distant, as if life-or-death battles were irrelevant to him.
More chilling: it wasn't bravado or arrogance.
All eyes fixed on him, tension thick as a fuse burned.
As it reached the breaking point, someone urgently spoke.
"Filterette...! Can we talk it over again?"