Chapter 32
Chapter 32
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: Guest (3)
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Times so peaceful they bordered on boring.
While working at the pharmacy, the Pharmacist waited for any potential customers, tending to his 'side hustle' in the meantime.
Though calling it a side hustle was generous—this venture brought in far more income.
"Hmm..."
The Pharmacist groaned as he surveyed the orders that had surged in volume recently.
He had spent what felt like a lifetime in this line of work, but this level of boom was unprecedented.
The Filterettes, synthesized from Maternal Love and rage, didn't just provide relief—they healed the fury buried deep in the heart. Orders were pouring in from everywhere.
Business had expanded beyond established clients to new ones reaching out eagerly.
Some even offered to pay a premium if he'd sell exclusively to them...
Of course, he'd rejected all such arrogant proposals, but regardless, it was good news.
High demand meant not just more revenue, but broader options for the business.
Yet, the Pharmacist couldn't simply rejoice for two reasons.
First, he couldn't scale supply to match the exploding demand.
Second, this dazzling success wasn't due to his own ingenuity, but to one boy.
A third-rate businessman might celebrate the cash, but not a first-rate one.
True achievement stemmed from one's own capabilities.
Luck stumbled upon by chance could vanish just as suddenly.
If Oliver abruptly disappeared, the Filterettes in circulation would be discontinued, and the Pharmacist's reputation and trust would plummet accordingly.
Thus, he couldn't bask in the joy.
Not when he had no idea how long this fortune would last.
"Hmm... Even if I want to get closer to him, I don't know how."
As the Pharmacist pondered stable production of the synthesized Filterettes, the bell tinkled.
A customer had arrived.
"Good day?"
A balding middle-aged man entered, speaking as he did.
At a glance, he seemed like just another potbellied uncle, but his aura was different.
Slick, yet carrying a subtle oppressive weight?
"What brings Inspector Harry here?"
"Skipped lunch properly, stomach's all queasy... Mind if I get a dose of your digestive?"
The Pharmacist pulled the lever on the machine by the counter, dispensing a cup of digestive aid.
He handed it over.
"Thanks."
"It's an honor to serve those who protect the city."
As he passed the cup, Inspector Harry leaned in and whispered softly.
"...Have fireflies ever appeared in this city?"
"No. But they did yesterday."
Inspector Harry straightened up and gulped down the digestive.
"Ah...! Tastes great too. Feels like I make my stomach upset just for this."
"Have another if you'd like."
"Ah, then I feel bad... Not paying and all."
"It's fine. For those who serve the community."
"Even so, one should pay. Whatever the service, proper compensation is right."
A third voice cut in abruptly.
The Pharmacist and Inspector Harry turned simultaneously.
By the door stood a beautiful woman accompanied by a hulking man.
How had they entered unnoticed?
The woman spoke again.
"If you've used the goods, you should pay the fair price."
"I don't know who you are, miss, but I'm fine—don't worry. It's not much."
"It's not about the money. It's about justice and order."
From a few exchanges, the Pharmacist gauged her personality: inflexible, unyielding to what she deemed right.
The type who knew one truth and mistook it for the world's only one.
Such people were rare these days.
The Pharmacist glanced at Inspector Harry, who nodded confirmation.
"...You're right, miss. Here's a thousand Landa."
As the Pharmacist spoke, the Inspector pulled a bill from his worn wallet.
He moved to leave, but the woman blocked his path.
"But why come here?"
"Well..."
"Folks around here drop by often. For medicine, company, or a quick rest... It's a small neighborhood, isn't it?"
The Pharmacist interjected. She glanced between them, then stepped aside.
"My apologies."
"...No harm done. Pharmacist, do good business."
Inspector Harry departed, leaving the Pharmacist with the mysterious woman and her giant companion.
They stared silently until the Pharmacist, finishing some paperwork, asked.
"Need something...?"
The woman approached with clicking heels.
"Yes. I need assistance."
"What medicine?"
"Not medicine."
"Oh...? Then?"
"I'm Joanna, a holy knight from the Celland branch of the Pater Church. Might we speak briefly?"
The Pharmacist hung a sign on the door and led Holy Knight Joanna to the break room.
"Only two chairs here... And you, sir...?"
The giant following Joanna shook his head, indicating it was fine.
"Good. Drink? The digestive's surprisingly palatable straight. Miss—no, not miss... Knight? Or Lady Joanna?"
"Just Joanna. And no drink, thanks."
The Pharmacist sat. The cramped space made them closer than expected.
"Sorry. It's my solo lounge... So, what brings a Pater Church representative to me?"
"A few questions."
"Ask away. Guardians against evil—happy to help... But could we wrap in 20 minutes? Never closed shop that long. My little brag."
"I'll try. First: Is your real name Donald Mason?"
"Yes, Joanna. But call me Pharmacist or sir. Everyone does."
"You own five pharmacies and properties in Wineham—local notable?"
"Pharmacies, land, buildings—yes. Got some money, but 'notable' embarrasses me."
"You've a fine reputation."
"Just donations and aid to the needy. Neighbors, after all."
"Impressive. Generosity in sharing one's own. Admirable."
"Thanks. Father's teaching: Live diligently, protect wealth, but give."
"Fine man."
"Yes. But why this?"
"Just baseline info before the real inquiry."
"Inquiry?"
"Yes."
"Hmm... Mind sharing what? Quiet town, as you see."
"Yes, too quiet. Such places breed evil unexpectedly."
"Holy knight means serious. Devil worshippers?"
"Sorry, confidential."
"More questions?"
"Ah, my turn to answer... Go ahead."
"Might sound rude, but this town seems declining."
"Can't deny it. True enough."
"Yet you stay, without selling assets. Special reason?"
"Well... Could you clarify the intent first?"
"Just puzzled. Celland booms fastest; all flock to Landa for opportunity. Why not you? If sensitive, no need."
"No, it's fine. Several reasons. I'm not young. Selling assets worth less for a crowded, unfamiliar Landa? Plus... I love my birthplace. Memories with Father. That's why."
"Doesn't maintenance cost more holding on?"
"True. But Landa connections via Father and school help. They buy our meds, tip investments—restaurants, theaters. Scraping by... Answer enough?"
Joanna's sapphire-blue eyes fixed on him, then she nodded.
"Yes... Time's up. Thank you."
"My pleasure. Glad to help."
The Pharmacist escorted her out, unlocking the door.
"Safe travels."
"Yes... Oh! One more thing."
"What?"
"Why we're here. You seem trustworthy."
"If important, fine."
"No, I want to tell. My team hunts a black magician distributing drugs."
"...Drugs?"
"Yes. Filterette—that vile drug wrung from people. Heard mass production here recently."
"Ah, I see... Odd, though."
"What?"
"Such drugs would flow heavier in Landa. Sending here seems inefficient."
Joanna's picture-perfect face twitched faintly.
"...Justice doesn't weigh efficiency."
"True. Righteous. I pray success."
The public cemetery on Wineham's outskirts.
In its secret basement, a small commotion erupted.
"Pack it quick! Faster!"
Anthony Family's Master Anthony urged his low-grade disciples quietly.
Despite the yells, they hurriedly stuffed money from the safe into 'Glutton Pouches.'
Black magic items made from human skin, teeth, and greed—holding volumes many times their size.
Anthony asked.
"Still not done?"
"S-Sorry, Master... Too much money."
"Ugh...!"
Anthony held his tongue.
Deals with that Oliver punk had raked in fortunes lately—even bought an extra safe.
Blissful then; now, a shackle.
Worse: Knowing it, yet unable to discard.
Anthony pressed again.
"Faster. Faster."
Then, a mid-grade disciple monitoring via rats shouted.
"Master! Unknown outsiders approaching!"
"What?!"
Anthony recoiled.
Prepped to flee the moment Pharmacist mentioned fireflies (holy knights), but faster than expected.
"Damn pests. Overly diligent... Mid-grades, share vision with high-grades. High-grades, activate prepared black magic."
High-grade disciples knelt, clasping hands in prayer.
Mid-grades placed hands on their shoulders, sharing sight.
Soon, high-grades saw outside via rats.
Invaders: dozen-plus.
Formed up, armed with cold and hot weapons—pros syncing perfectly.
High-grades invoked as ordered.
Incantations triggered prepped magic circles around cemetery test tubes, spewing life force.
Irregularly buried corpses revived—dozens at least.
But not over.
Circles reacted, wringing emotions from tubes; emotions gifted hatred and explosive power to dazed corpses.
Zombies charged [Object Hate]'s targets: invaders.
Burning life force granted speed.
But foes weren't pushovers.
Zombies burned standing, shrieking metallic wails in agony.
Meanwhile, invaders mowed them with oversized guns, axes, swords.
"Master...?"
"I see. Money packed?"
"Almost!"
Low-grades hauled mountain-like Glutton Pouches.
Should've heeded Pharmacist's advice on storage sooner. Regret surged.
"Stall. Attack with corpses again."
"Useless?"
"Doesn't matter. Buy time... You, fetch that."
"That?"
"Yeah. Escaping empty-handed galls me. Even holy knights can't invade a manipulation black magician's turf lightly. Time to teach."
High-grades revived, empowered, attacked corpses again.
Parried same way. Anthony confirmed:
No holy knight instantly vaporized zombies.
High skill. Per Pharmacist, fresh-faced girl. Unlikely mastered. If so, genius.
"Master, cemetery emotions and life force depleted."
"Invaders entering entrance."
Urgent reports. Then, awaited voice.
"Master, got it."
Mid-grades dragged a massive coffin—like for giants.
War contingency item.
"Money all?"
"Yes, Master."
"Take it to spot. You too."
A high-grade hesitated.
"But..."
"Clear out."
Disciples fled secret passage with stuffed pouches.
Anthony calmly awaited, craving blood to restore black magician pride.
Soon, uninvited guests.
"There!"
Muzzle flashes, bullets flew.
Anthony, as family head, blocked casually with corpses.
Often better than Black Shield. Then extracted mass emotions, life force.
Chained coffin thrashed; boom—something awakened.
A corpse golem: multiple bodies woven.
"Kyarrlrlrlrl―!!"
"Kek―!"
"Uuuuuh...!"
"Euuuh..."
Central head and eight around wailed in unison.
Anthony gestured; golem rose, joints cracking grotesquely—crack! crack!
Six massive arms from myriad limbs, tipped with hammers, blades, axes—vicious, spirit-crushing.
This bulk in narrow hall? Dodging impossible.
Anthony ordered: eliminate intruders.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Golem charged.
Anthony slipped away leisurely—but ominous aura hit.
Brighter than cemetery light blinded eyes.
Labor-of-love golem crumbled to ash.
"...!!!"
As golem ashed, a woman appeared corridor's end.
Beauty alien to reality: longcoat, round shield one hand, mace other.
Anthony met her eyes in dread; she flashed from sight, reappearing nose-to-nose.
With those words, Anthony saw the mace.
Then nothing.
Nothing at all.