Chapter 44
Chapter 44
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 44
Chapter Title: Beggar Gang (1)
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After finishing his self-introduction, Oliver headed with Cant's colleagues to their beggar den.
It was inside an abandoned building where few people passed by, but it didn't seem like everyone was welcoming Oliver.
"Are you insane? Why the hell did you bring a half-baked punk like this?!"
A short, stocky man bellowed.
Known as Fist King, he may have been dressed like a beggar, but his fists looked massive and vicious. Cant grinned shamelessly and tried to calm him down.
"Well... why? Our take was pretty good today, so I was in a good mood. And I just happened to run into this kid. If it weren't for one or the other, I wouldn't have brought him... Isn't this the will of the gods?"
"Gods? We already have enough useless mouths to feed. Why go out of your way to add another?"
"Hey, don't get so worked up. I'm just following the boss's dying wish. If you've got a problem, take it up with the guy who left me those last words. I'm not exactly thrilled about it myself."
"Then don't do it!"
"Come on, buddy. How can you just toss aside a promise like that because you don't like it?"
"Promise? It was just a request."
Cant rubbed his cheek. After a long silence, he pulled a wad of bills from his bosom.
"...Alright, enough nagging. I'm beat from the trip back. More importantly, aren't you curious how much we made today?"
Money held a certain power.
The lesson Joseph had taught him held true here as well. Fist King's anger deflated the moment he laid eyes on the bundle.
He reached out for it reverently, only for Cant to yank it back.
"Ah..."
"Just so you know, I may have brought the cash, but it was those guys who turned trash into something valuable. The same ones you called useless mouths..."
Fist King clamped his jaw shut. Even so, he looked like he had more to say.
Greed and frustration—those dark emotions were plain as day in Oliver's eyes.
"Didn't you bring me in too? You're the one I can count on most right now... And this kid can pull his weight if he plays his cards right."
Cant said, rapping Oliver lightly on the head.
In the end, Fist King spoke up reluctantly.
"...Yes. Sorry. I spoke out of turn."
"Thanks for understanding. Appreciate it! Here's the money. Let's all check it over, then stash it in the communal safe."
"Got it... So, what's the kid's name again?"
"Oliver. Oliver. No parents, came from Wineham. You get the picture?"
"Yeah."
"Oliver?"
"Yes?"
"Introduce yourself. These are the clubs that protect our beggar gang."
"Clubs?"
"Yeah, clubs. It's slang for the guys who guard our beggar gang."
"Ah... Hello, sirs."
Oliver bowed at the waist. But Fist King and the other burly beggars didn't look too pleased.
Wary of outsiders. Annoyed at the extra baggage. Those feelings shone through.
What was it... It felt similar to his first time at Joseph's Family, yet somehow different.
"..."
"..."
"Alright then. Introductions are done. Time to show you the others. Follow me."
Oliver trailed after Cant as directed.
There were the red-nosed man and the blond boy he'd met on the way, along with the blind old man and the girl.
"You already know these two from the road, right?"
"Yes... Red Nose and Harmonica..."
Red Nose let out a booming laugh.
"'Sir'? Can't remember the last time anyone called me that. Gloomy little guy, but polite as hell!"
"Thank you for the compliment."
Once the chat with Red Nose wrapped up, Cant spoke again.
"This is the old man, and that's his grandson... Just call 'em old man and grandson."
"...Grandson?"
"Yeah."
"But she's a girl. Why call her grandson?"
Everyone shot Oliver a slightly surprised glance.
Red Nose spoke up first.
"This kid... I figured he was a dimwit, but he's got sharp eyes."
"How'd you know?"
Oliver shrugged.
He could roughly tell gender from their emotions, but he couldn't exactly say that outright.
"Uh... just did?"
Cant eyed Oliver for a moment before speaking.
"...Right. The grandson's a girl. But don't go blabbing about it. The streets are no place for women. You slip up, and I'll smash that mouth of yours."
Oliver could tell Cant meant every word. He nodded. It wasn't just anger—there was genuine worry for the girl.
Cant really cared about the people here.
"Hm... These folks are pro scroungers. Harmonica plays her harmonica, Red Nose hawks matches with that silver tongue of his. Old man and grandson work the streets begging together."
Oliver nodded on autopilot.
Cant wondered if he'd gotten it but didn't bother explaining further.
"They bring in steady cash for the beggar gang through scrounging. In other words, they're the precious ones keeping us fed. So treat 'em with respect while you're here."
"Yes, sir. Understood."
Cant watched Oliver in silence. After a pause, he led him to a dim corner.
There was a makeshift shelter set up in one part of the abandoned building. Calling it a shelter was generous—just some slapped-together tents and battered old furnishings.
Around a dozen beggars milled about, including a few old folks, women, and kids.
The standout feature was the trash piles stacked against both walls.
"These are the beggar gang's regular beggars... No fixed jobs, but they're no different from the ones we met earlier. Comrades all the same."
"I see."
"Yeah. They scrounge when needed and fight off intruders with the rest of us."
"Intruders?"
"Yeah... Randa ain't kind to the poor. Other places too, but it's worse here. Don't sweat it, though. Nothing's happened lately."
Lately...
It had an ominous ring to it.
"Hm... Anyway, that's the rundown. You'll be working with them from here on out. You're part of the beggar gang now, like it or not. One more thing—just in case. No whining if it's tough. You wouldn't know, but getting into a beggar gang ain't easy. So hustle and earn your keep."
Oliver could tell it was the truth.
There was no cunning or deceit in Cant's emotions.
"Yes, sir... I'll work hard. So, what exactly should I do?"
"Plenty to go around. Digging through trash, collecting relief aid, grabbing donated clothes, running errands... You're green, so we'll start you on the easy stuff."
"Yes, sir. Got it."
"Any more questions? I'll say it again—I let you in 'cause I was in a good mood, but you're gonna have to pull your own weight."
"Yes, sir. I'll work hard."
"Hmph. Good attitude. Let's see how long that lasts."
As Cant turned to leave, Oliver called out.
"Ah, wait. Cant, sir."
"Yeah?"
"You said I could ask questions earlier."
"Yeah... It was offhand, but go on. What's on your mind?"
"...Why are you helping me out like this? For real?"
"......"
Cant stared at Oliver without a word. Oliver stared back, pleading for an answer.
After a brief silence, Cant finally spoke.
"...When you start pulling your weight like a real member, I'll tell you."
Sincerity. Oliver nodded in response.
"Yes, sir. I'll work hard."
From that day on, Oliver's unintended life as a beggar began.
He hadn't planned it at all, but it wasn't half bad.
His goals were vague to begin with—no compass, no map.
Might as well use the time to learn about life in the city.
Beggar life or not, there was plenty to pick up.
And that wasn't a bad way of thinking at all.
"Hey, get up... What? You're already up and ready?"
The fellow beggar who'd come to wake Oliver gawked at the sight.
He looked genuinely shocked.
"Yes, sir. You said to get up early..."
"Right, we did. Still, early risers are rare around here... Impressive."
"I always wake up early... So, what's next?"
"We've gotta hit the church poorhouse for the bread line. Throw on those rags and let's move."
"Yes, sir."
Oliver threw on the rags they'd given him after he joined Cant's crew. They weren't much use otherwise, but they sure sold the beggar look.
He followed his senior beggars to the church poorhouse without even washing his face.
One of them—a kid just two or three years older than Oliver—grumbled.
"Ugh... So sleepy. Sun's not even up yet. Hey, newbie. You not tired?"
"Huh? Ah... Yeah, tired."
Oliver answered, but it was a lie.
Sure, sleeping, eating, washing—none of it compared to his time with the Family. But it wasn't that uncomfortable.
Oliver couldn't quite pinpoint why.
Maybe it was his orphanage and mine days making him used to rough conditions. Or maybe he was just the type not to care much. Either way, no real hardship.
He didn't dwell on it—never had much interest in the first place.
The only downside was not washing, but even that got easier with time.
So Oliver didn't find beggar life particularly uncomfortable or dissatisfying.
If anything, tallying up the little bits of knowledge he picked up each day made it feel like a net gain.
"This the poorhouse?"
Oliver asked, eyeing the brown brick building with its dust-caked windows and rusted iron cross.
It looked like three boxes stacked together, surrounded by a black iron fence.
But what really stood out was the horde of beggars milling around the fence.
"Yeah, this is the poorhouse. Damn, it's packed."
"Ugh... Yeah. Everyone's way too eager for no reason."
"Hungry season's kicking in... Let's line up. No spacing out."
At the urging, Oliver joined the cluster with his fellow beggars. It was less a line and more a mob hugging the door.
Everyone stood there clutching their empty bellies in threadbare clothes, waiting for the poorhouse to open. Oliver suddenly grew curious.
"Why does the poorhouse give out bread and money for free anyway?"
The older beggar held up a finger.
"'Cause the Father in heaven sees charity to the poor as a virtue."
"Oh..."
"In return, we've gotta grovel and say how much we love the Father."
The younger one cut in with a cynical smirk.
The older beggar spoke again.
"But why you asking?"
"Ah... First time at a poorhouse."
"Right. You've just been digging trash and sorting till now... No poorhouse in Wineham?"
"...Dunno. Wasn't paying attention back then."
"Tsk tsk... That's why you kids end up like us. Parents won't baby you forever. Gotta keep your eyes peeled and learn how the world works."
"Yes... I'm realizing that now."
Oliver meant it.
Back in the orphanage and mines, he hadn't realized how little he knew.
But after the black mage group and striking out on his own, his ignorance of the world hit him hard.
In a way, he was more clueless than a beggar.
His earnest reply left the beggars a bit sheepish. They stopped ribbing him.
They'd all grumbled about the sudden newcomer at first, but he'd handled every task without complaint. Some minimal camaraderie had formed.
Not everyone, of course.
Oliver asked.
"So, the church hands out bread because God sees it as virtuous?"
"Ah... That's the official line. There's a more direct, worldly reason too."
"Direct and worldly?"
"Yeah, and that's..."
Dong—dong—dong—
The bell tolled from the church poorhouse.
The beggars, who'd been standing around listlessly, snapped to attention like dogs at mealtime.
Staff emerged carrying bread. It was old, the smell faint, but the beggars drooled anyway.
Then a man in crisp priestly robes stepped out.
"We will now begin the distribution."