Chapter 42
Chapter 42
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 42
Chapter Title: First Footsteps (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"Mm..."
A dark space reeking of rotting flesh.
Oliver sat there.
And directly across from him sat a corpse, one arm blown clean off, propped against an altar.
"Yeah... I think this is the right call..."
"......"
"Marie did say I could use the Family... but I still think leaving is the better option."
"......"
"That beautiful light isn't something you can just find on command... Besides, I don't want to drag those people into it."
"......"
"Marie or Peter. They're pretty in their own way. That spark of will to do something... it's cute. So before I left, I tried to look out for them a bit, but they just kept getting weirder."
"......"
"At first, they were doing everything for themselves, but as time went on, that drive faded. They just waited for my orders. That pretty light just dimmed away..."
"......"
"That's why I decided to leave. I figured it'd be better for them without me around. Plus, it'd be easier for me to chase that beautiful light on my own. Being tied to an organization meant too many distractions—hard to focus on my own stuff."
"......"
"And the knight's words stuck with me too. Ran into her by chance last time. Name was Johanna, right?"
"......"
"She said I'm broken."
"......"
"Caught me off guard. A few people have said stuff like that, but no one's ever pitied me and offered real help before... What do you think, Master? Am I broken?"
"......"
"Got me wondering. Am I really broken? That's what I'm going to find out. Like she said, I'll try making friends, living in the world... That should tell me."
"......"
"Whether I'm as pitiful as she thinks... Man, she's kind, huh?"
"......"
"Yeah, I think this is right. The beautiful light, black magic, me... So much I want to know, and sticking with the organization would've made it tough. Too many interruptions."
"......"
"James said the Pharmacist wants to expand the business... Wild. He's got plenty of money already, but he wants more. There must be a reason, but spending most of his time chasing it?"
"......"
"Sure, they might be thrown off by me leaving, but the others can synthesize emotions too, so it shouldn't be a big deal. I left a note... Yeah, heading out is definitely the answer."
"......"
"Thanks for listening. Talking it out cleared my head."
With that, Oliver stood, bowing politely to the corpse... no, to the late Joseph.
Of course, it wasn't a real conversation, but talking like this had helped Oliver plenty.
He expressed his gratitude once more and retraced his steps.
"......"
Before leaving the room, Oliver paused and glanced back without a word.
He stared at the altar Joseph leaned against.
The altar engraved with three rectangles and nine circles.
The old man on horseback...
The mysterious entity that appeared when Oliver took down Joseph.
Or rather, not so mysterious. It called itself a demon.
But that was it. Nothing more.
The demon known as the old man on horseback couldn't be found in Joseph's study.
All Oliver uncovered were canned facts: demons threaten the human realm, black mages bargain with them for power.
Not much value to Oliver, who craved specifics that hit close to home.
What the hell was it?
Oliver couldn't shake the alien yet familiar sensation from their first encounter.
But what stuck even more was that it had greeted him.
Courteously, amiably... And it hadn't felt awkward to Oliver at all...
What was it? And what are demons, anyway? Why do they empower black mages and threaten humanity?
He'd asked Joseph and the Pharmacist, but they just said demons are like that.
Even when he asked for related books, they shook their heads.
These were people who helped with almost everything.
'Info and books on demons are too dangerous. The Pater Church manages and watches them directly. Just looking them up on your own is a crime—you can't even keep what you find. You need massive capital, intel networks, risk management. Only huge cults or the Black Market deal in that stuff.'
'Cults... the Black Market...'
Recalling the Pharmacist's words, Oliver ascended to the surface.
Truth be told, demons didn't interest him as much as other things, but curiosity lingered.
If the chance arose, approaching one didn't sound bad.
They supposedly held power and knowledge beyond humans—might even answer his questions.
Ah, but only after some personal digging first, of course.
"Mm... Anyway, where to now?"
Emerging aboveground, Oliver slipped out of the abandoned hospital and beyond the fence.
A serious dilemma.
Why? As weird as it sounded now, this was Oliver's first time stepping out into the world on his own terms.
He'd grown up in an orphanage and mines.
No free outings there.
He left the orphanage when sold to the mines, and the mines when sold to Joseph.
Never once considered going anywhere of his own volition. No opportunity either.
So Oliver felt lost now.
Where to go?
He'd decided leaving was right and left, but had zero clue on direction.
He had goals, but no map to them.
Thinking it over, it felt downright stupid. Stepping out without knowing where...
After agonizing, Oliver spoke up.
"Mm... Guess I'll head there for now?"
He muttered, recalling the park where he'd met Joseph.
A place brimming with kindness, leisure, joy—positive emotions unlike most sights he'd known.
Maybe there, the next path would reveal itself.
Decision sort of made, Oliver started walking.
Step. Step. Step.
En route, he observed Randa's X District.
Not that old a neighborhood, yet it felt way different from when he'd come with Joseph.
Street walls covered in more graffiti, more bloodstains, roadside totems smashed to bits.
Quiet on the surface, but churning with emotions underneath—like always.
One thing unchanged: the predators lurking in shadows, eyeing prey.
They'd been watching Oliver, this lone visitor, for a while.
Brimming with malice, cunning, sadism, rage—all manner of ill will.
Oliver halted.
Cause: a gang at the alley corner, waiting to pounce.
Anxiety, anticipation, tension—they awaited his approach.
'Mm...'
Oliver pondered his move.
These guys were a step below the Wineham gang he'd faced.
Couldn't even mask their killing intent or control emotions.
He checked the test tubes in his pocket.
The ones he'd pocketed one by one before leaving Wineham.
Black magic would scatter them easy... but something held him back.
Wasting precious emotions like that? And flashy moves right after stepping out? Nah.
His world knowledge was limited. Best avoid friction. For now, at least.
So Oliver chose option three: detour.
He turned, slipping into another alley.
The gang blinked in surprise, milling about, then gave chase.
"Mm..."
Oliver weighed his options.
First solo outing—no instincts on best play.
Meanwhile, the gang surrounded him.
"Ha... Sharp instincts, punk? Tryna rabbit?"
"Boss, looks spooked."
"Shut it, brat. Boss is talkin'. Hey... You ain't from around here, right?"
Oliver replied.
"Me?"
"Yeah, you little shit... What the hell are you? Not local, so why snoopin'?"
"......Meeting someone?"
"Who?"
"......Someone I owe a debt to?"
"Who the fuck is it?!"
"......"
"Boss, he's shady. Probably a mole."
Mole? Shady? Oliver tilted his head at the nonsense.
Not mere robbers, apparently. The leader thrust his club forward, barking.
"Hey! Answer up! Gotta beat it outta ya first?!"
"Well... Hard to say who exactly... But what's a mole?"
"Playin' dumb! Obvious you're scoutin' for scraps for the mole! Spill now, and I'll go easy!"
No communication. Bad vibe. Then a stranger's voice cut in.
"What's this?"
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Turning, Oliver saw a man approach.
Middle-aged, in a shabby longcoat and beanie. One leg limped; he leaned on a long wooden staff.
The gang knew him.
"Qua—Quarterstaff Kant, sir?"
"That's me. Quarterstaff Kant. Thanks for the polite intro... Anyway, what's goin' on?"
The gang deflated visibly.
Kant clearly held sway over them.
"Caught a shady guy... But what brings you here, Kant?"
"Ah... Dropped off some trash."
Kant pulled a wad of bills from his coat, waving it.
Like a drunk flashing cash—staged, Oliver could tell.
"R-Right. Then carry on..."
"Aww? Kickin' an old man to the curb? We're not strangers."
"No, it's just business..."
"Business? Ah... Interrogatin' this green kid? Lemme see..."
Kant approached without caution, stroking his bearded chin as he eyed Oliver.
"......This the mole's guy?"
"......Can't rule it out. Times being what they are."
"Mm... Dunno. Looks like a clueless kid to me. Lost one at that. How old are ya?"
"......"
"See? Won't even say his age. Haha!"
"Still suspicious, though. And dangerous. You know how sly the mole is. Could be one of his."
"True..."
The two bantered over Oliver's head.
Oliver waited, then quietly raised a hand.
No big gesture, but it drew their eyes mid-chat.
As attention converged, Oliver asked.
"Who's the mole?"