Chapter 40
Chapter 40
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: Cleanup (2)
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Buuaaaang―――
Three trucks came to a clean stop in front of the factory.
A sign reading [Ham Sausage Factory] hung above the main entrance.
As soon as the trucks halted, everyone working inside rushed out.
"Welcome!"
"""""Welcome!!!""""
Led by Peter, the children who had been working bowed their heads in greeting. Bringing up the rear was Oliver, who had just stepped down from the truck.
"Yeah, we're back. You don't have to do that."
Oliver's response was utterly nonchalant.
But regardless, Peter wouldn't back down.
"Even so, you're the Master... By the way, who are they?"
Peter asked, eyeing the people climbing out of the trucks that had followed.
He hadn't recognized them at first, but soon realized they were remnants of the Anthony and Dominic Families.
"Aren't those Anthony and Dominic Family members?"
"Yeah... The Pharmacist passed along that they wanted to join our Family, so I brought them. Peter, fill them in on their quarters and the rules here."
"......"
Peter was too busy sizing up the surrendered black magicians to respond right away. They all looked utterly deflated.
"Oh, is that a problem?"
"Huh? Oh, no! Not at all. Of course we can... But, Master."
"Yes, Peter?"
"How should we treat them?"
"Treat them?"
"Yeah, people who join like this usually get treated a bit lower."
Oliver glanced at the Anthony and Dominic Family members.
They immediately averted their eyes upon sensing his gaze—a somewhat awkward sight, but not all that strange.
After all, countless remnants and small-time black magicians had already fallen before Oliver without putting up much fight.
To them, Oliver was a walking embodiment of terror, just as Joseph, Dominic, and Anthony had once been to others.
"Do we really need to discriminate? Have Peter collaborate with the others to rank them by skill, then treat them accordingly."
"Ah, got it... All of you! Follow me this way."
Peter called out to the remnants, who looked anxious and lost, and led them off somewhere with his fellow high-grade disciples.
They followed obediently, completely cowed.
"Heh... Impressive."
James, who had come along, remarked as he hopped down from the truck.
"Yeah? What about?"
"Well, what do you think? You really feel like the head of a black magic Family now. One word from you, and everything falls into line."
He was right.
After single-handedly crushing the holy knight and taking over Wineham's sole major black magic organization, the Family members' respect and loyalty had visibly surged.
That was the nature of overwhelming power.
But it wasn't just that.
Oliver had also expanded and systematized training sessions, and extended the weekly stipend—once a privilege for high-grade disciples only—to everyone, earning even more respect.
He hadn't planned it that way; it was simply because it felt right. Still, the results spoke for themselves.
One might expect him to feel proud, but Oliver's reaction was as bland as ever.
"Eh... It's all thanks to everyone working hard."
"Haha..."
James chuckled. He knew it wasn't false modesty or arrogance disguised as humility.
Oliver meant it sincerely.
That made it all the more alien and intimidating.
He had built Wineham's strongest organization ever, yet acted like it was no big deal.
James extended his hand.
"Well, thanks for the help today. Good work."
"Yeah, you too, James."
"Drop the 'sir'—if anything, I should be adding it... Anyway, when can I drop by for lessons?"
"Whenever you're free... Actually, come as soon as you can."
"As soon as possible?"
"Yeah. I'm trying to wrap things up quickly."
"?"
Mysterious words. James tilted his head.
But he didn't press.
Oliver had said things like this before; he just let it slide.
After shaking hands, James climbed back into the truck and left. Even at that point, he had no idea.
That Oliver's words weren't just idle talk.
The addition of the Anthony and Dominic Families didn't change much.
Oliver stuck to his routine: wake up in the morning, clean, eat, then dive straight into black magic training.
Training was tailored to each level, and to free up his own time, he had high-grade disciples rotate through instructing the mid-grade, low-grade, and temporary disciples.
So what did he do with the extra time?
Normally, he'd hole up in the study with a book, but unfortunately, that wasn't the case. Instead, he gathered the high-grade disciples for intensive sessions.
The Joseph Family—which Oliver hadn't bothered renaming—now had 14 high-grade disciples after reorganization.
He split them into two groups based on their aptitudes and trained them separately.
The first group practiced synthesizing the compound emotions needed as raw material for Filterettes.
It might not look impressive at a glance, but the process was tricky, and failures triggered severe backlash, giving everyone no small amount of trouble.
"Guhk...!"
Just then, one high-grade disciple failed at emotion synthesis, collapsing with a groan.
"You okay?"
"Nngh, yeah... I'm fine, Master."
"Then get up and try again... [Black Shield]."
Oliver moved his hands, blocking attacks from three directions.
He was currently training the second group in combat drills.
Led by Marie, they were more interested in black magic's firepower—raw power—than Filterette production.
In the training yard, Oliver sparred with them lightly, teaching the instincts and techniques needed for battle.
Of course, he also kept an eye on the emotion synthesizers nearby,
creating a somewhat chaotic scene. But with time so short, it was unavoidable. Fortunately, they were getting the hang of it.
"Don't let your guard down—stay focused until the end. Slack off when you think you're almost done, and the emotions will backlash immediately. Keep concentrating right through completion, and don't relax after... [Hate Bullet]."
Hate Bullets shot off in seven directions, slamming into the stomachs of Marie and the others.
He'd toned down the power, so no one was pierced.
They just clutched their bellies, groaning as if they'd been kicked hard.
"Urk...!"
One high-grade disciple couldn't hold back and vomited up his guts.
For some reason, everyone stopped what they were doing and silently watched. Soon, the training yard filled only with heavy breathing and an eerie silence.
"...... What are you all doing?"
Someone muttered.
"J-just... a bit tired."
"Ah, we have recovery potions and salves from the Pharmacist. Use them if you're hurt or worn out."
Recovery potions and healing salves.
Mass-produced and relatively cheap, but still worth tens of thousands of lanas each.
Oliver's willingness to hand them out freely during training was a sight rare not just in Wineham—no, in all of Landa's black magic circles, or even the magic towers.
Logically, everyone should have been thrilled, but the grueling intensity left them drained instead of grateful.
"?...... Why's everyone like this?"
A sweat-soaked high-grade disciple spoke up.
"H-how about a short break, Master?"
"Why? Pushing your limits is how you improve fastest."
Oliver's voice held genuine bafflement.
"We're all just... exhausted..."
"There are potions right there...? Ah..."
Oliver finally caught on and exclaimed.
"Do you all want to quit? Because it's too hard?"
His innocent question made them all shake their heads.
"N-no, it's just... pushing this hard might get someone seriously hurt..."
"You won't get hurt."
"Pardon?"
"Group one—you're only practicing the amount I specified, right?"
"Ah... Yes."
"Even a major failure will just cause minor burns... As for Marie's group, I'm going easy, so injuries will be light. The potions there are more than enough to keep you safe."
His polite but firm tone carried an unintended pressure, leaving everyone bowing their heads in silence.
Like children caught slacking off.
As the heavy, awkward quiet pressed down, Oliver suddenly spoke.
"If you want to stop, that's fine."
The unexpected words made them all look up. Oliver continued.
"I don't want to force anything on you. I'm just helping because you want to learn and this is my job. If you don't want to, don't."
"""""......""""
"But let me ask: You all came here to become black magicians, right? For whatever reasons. Is slacking off okay? Opportunities like this don't come every day."
"""""......""""
"Really quit?"
Sweat-drenched Marie staggered to her feet, and the other high-grade disciples applied potions and salves before returning.
Peter's Group One resumed extracting emotions. Watching them, Oliver said,
"Alright... Let's start again?"
"""""Yes, Master!!""""
After the day's work,
high-, mid-, low-, and temporary disciples all ate together in the newly built spacious dining hall.
Unlike before, it was large enough for everyone, and the food was abundant in both quality and quantity—no discrimination.
Perhaps because of that, despite the tough training, everyone was more energetic than in the past, and the mood was relaxed rather than tense.
"Today's training was brutal..."
"Just today? Yesterday and the day before were too. Bet tomorrow'll be the same."
The high-grade disciples who'd endured Oliver's harsh regimen burst into shared laughter.
The training was tough, true—but no one complained.
Serving someone younger than themselves as Master no longer felt shameful.
It made sense. Living standards had risen, and their skills had advanced beyond comparison.
At this rate, becoming true black magicians and going independent wasn't a pipe dream.
"...... You all planning to go independent?"
One high-grade disciple asked abruptly.
"A few more years like this, and it might actually be possible... You all gonna?"
Silence fell.
Disciples were disciples—half-slaves to their master.
Independence was a close yet distant concept.
Most masters forbade it or withheld proper training to keep them bound.
But at this pace, most high-grade disciples here could break free soon.
Someone spoke up.
"Dunno... I've thought about it, but never seriously since the setup wasn't there."
"But it is now?"
Right. Now it was. Even setting skills aside, weekly stipends meant they could save money anytime they wanted.
Not enough to live off forever, but seed money to start their own Families.
Ironically, now that the environment allowed it, the high-grade disciples—no, disciples of all ranks—were losing the urge to leave.
Recent events had taught them black magic alone didn't guarantee success, and they were content with their current lives.
Above all, fear and respect for Oliver had unconsciously taken root.
As awkward silence lingered with no clear answer, someone changed the subject.
"By the way, where's Marie? Worn out the worst today and crashed?"
"Nah, she went to bring the Master's meal."