Chapter 45
Chapter 45
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 45
Chapter Title: Beggar Gang (2)
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The gate opened at the priest's words.
The black door creaked with a harsh metallic screech, and at that sound, the beggars who'd been waiting outside poured in all at once.
It was just like water draining from a sewer.
Oliver got swept up in the crowd and made it into the poorhouse. After a few jostles, he managed to line up.
"Lucky us. Looks like we'll get some..."
"Been a while since I had bread."
"Tell me about it."
The beggars in line muttered to themselves as they eyed the stacks of bread.
But they only whispered—nothing loud enough to grate on the ears.
Oliver noticed they were all watching the poorhouse staff handing out the bread and the overseeing priest.
And for good reason. The staff and the priest alike looked at the beggars with disgust, irritation, and a strange sense of superiority.
It was obvious they'd get kicked out if they did anything to annoy them.
"Heh heh... Don't stare so openly."
An old beggar forced Oliver's head down as he spoke.
"Keep your head low. Eyes on the ground. Just the ground... They hate eye contact or sneaky glances. And don't take anything that could get you in trouble."
Oliver lowered his gaze as instructed. But that didn't satisfy his curiosity.
"...May I ask one question?"
"A question...? Make it quick."
The older beggar glanced at the priest before replying.
"You mentioned earlier that there's a worldly reason for handing out bread... What is it?"
"...You really want to know that now?"
"Yes, please."
The beggar's heart softened at the polite, earnest request, and he grunted.
He checked the priest's expression as the line shortened and they drew closer.
"Ugh... I'll explain later. Later."
"Thank you, Mr. Botti."
"This kid... Makes it hard to say no."
By then, the line had shortened, and it was Oliver's group's turn.
Oliver followed Botti's lead, hunching his back and head obsequiously, staring only at the ground.
Still, he managed to sneak glances at the staff and priest handing out bread.
Now that they were closer, their disdain felt even sharper.
"......"
"Five of you? Here."
The poorhouse staff counted them out and handed over ten loaves.
Botti stashed them in a sack he'd prepared and offered thanks.
"Mahala. Thank you. Thank you. You'll surely be blessed."
"......"
The priest gave no reply.
But Botti, seeming used to it, led the group out of the poorhouse.
"Whew... That was close. Not much bread left. We almost came away empty-handed."
"Empty-handed? What happens if the bread runs out?"
"What happens? You just go home without any... You're full of questions, huh."
"Ah... But do you really just leave?"
"Yeah. No bread, no bread. What're you gonna do, suck your thumb? Think I said to hurry before the sun sets for nothing? Even beggars can't be lazy. Otherwise, you starve to death."
"I see..."
Oliver nodded in response.
Cant's beggar gang was definitely far from lazy.
Scavengers like Harmonica, Red Nose, the old man and his grandson always went begging at set times,
and the other regular beggars collected trash from back alleys or scavenged edible scraps.
The most leisurely thing they had was the club for guarding the gang?
Unlike the journal Oliver had seen in Joseph's study, Cant's beggar gang was remarkably diligent and upright.
The book described them as foolish, greedy creatures who committed all sorts of horrific crimes, like selling out comrades for pennies.
Which made them perfect for black mages to exploit.
But the reality Oliver encountered was different.
It was an intriguing discrepancy between book and reality.
"Ah, everyone stop."
Botti suddenly halted and said.
He looked outside. There were quite a few people milling about.
"Whoops... Time must've passed. Let's go around."
"Around?"
"Yeah. No need to take the main road and risk trouble. It'll be longer, but safer."
Everyone grimaced at Botti's words, but no one objected.
Oliver had seen it a few times before.
When scavenging trash, the beggar gang avoided crowded areas and stuck to deserted back alleys.
Because drawing attention made them targets for crackdowns?
"Come on, less griping and more moving. We scored bread today—no empty hands. Lucky us. Let's go... Oh, right. Oliver."
"Yes?"
"You asked about that worldly reason earlier?"
"Ah, yes."
"I'll tell you once, so listen up. Special because you're one of us now."
"Yes."
"They do it to show the world they're God's proxy and saviors..."
"Saviors...?"
"Yeah. Bread's precious to the starving. Folks have no choice but to listen... Plus, it builds their image as kind helpers of the poor."
"Ah... But that priest didn't seem to like us much."
"Hey, told you—this kid's got sharp eyes."
"Individuals have to follow the organization's flow, like it or not. Plenty like that... Some even skim relief supplies for personal gain."
"Ho..."
Oliver let out an impressed sound at the obvious yet new insight.
Holy knights were remarkably pure and clear, but priests were more two-faced than expected.
Of course, Oliver hadn't met all holy knights and priests, but from what he'd seen... It was quite amusing.
The fun of uncovering new facts, perhaps?
And the best part was it sparked even more curiosity.
"But does everyone know this?"
"Yeah... No big deal. I just heard it myself, even if I bluffed."
"From who?"
"The old boss... the priest..."
"The priest?"
"Not sure if he was a real one, but that's what we called him... He's passed now, but he kept us together and taught us all sorts. Good man."
Oliver saw respect in Botti's tone. The others felt it too—an unusual level.
A dead man earning respect. Death should've been the end.
As if to prove it, someone chimed in.
"Real or not, he was something. Mediated fights with other gangs through talk alone, even brought in Cant."
"Cant?"
"Yeah. Truth is, the priest brought Cant in. He's slick now, but back then? Temper like you wouldn't believe."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Like a walking corpse—lose it at the slightest touch. Total opposite of now."
Opposite of now. Oliver's curiosity spiked.
So different from the cheerful present. He wanted to know why.
Just as he was about to ask, Botti cut in.
"Alright, enough of that. No talking behind backs. Especially us beggars. Who's without a story in this life? Drop it."
Everyone fell silent at Botti's words, Oliver included.
It was clearly a sore spot. Still, Oliver itched to dig deeper.
Didn't you have to scratch an itch?
"Uh... What's that over there?"
One of the group pointed to a narrow alley in the distance.
A few beggars were gathered there.
"That's..."
"The Mole gang..."
Botti said quietly.
Moles.
Oliver had heard the name a few times but knew little about them.
To satisfy his curiosity, he quickly scanned them.
Many had fists like king's fists—fierce-looking. Among them, an old man with huge dogs.
The vibe was off. Intimidating presence, murderous aura.
They looked more like gangsters than beggars. Sure enough, some captured beggars were having their poorhouse bread taken.
Oliver observed silently.
"......"
"...What do we do, Botti? Turn back?"
"Hmm... No, we're too deep, and they've seen us. Acting scared might make it worse. We walk forward boldly."
With that, Botti stepped ahead.
His forced bravado was obvious, underscoring how dangerous they were.
Come to think of it, when Oliver first met Cant, the pursuers had been wary of the Moles too.
"Halt right there."
A burly man with a bushy beard stopped Oliver's group.
He wore a battered fedora.
"Gotta pay toll here. Coming from the poorhouse, right? Hand over half."
His attitude was absurdly brazen. Botti pushed back.
"I've lived on these streets over thirty years. Toll? What nonsense is this?"
"Hah! Lived a long beggar life, huh? Bragging about that?"
"Aren't you a beggar too?"
"Not just any beggar. Don't lump me in... Anyway, no owner in this alley till recently. Now there is. Pay to pass."
"How can an alley have an owner?"
"Does now. The Mole gang. So, beat you senseless and take it all? Or hand over half without a fight? Personally, I prefer the first. Hands itching."
The fedora beggar cracked his knuckles threateningly.
His style reminded Oliver of the Dominic Family. Botti trembled inwardly but mustered courage.
"Hey, you dare—"
"—Hold on."
An old man allied with the fedora beggar interrupted.
He was squatting with several large dogs at his side.
The dogs panted happily as he petted them.
The old man spoke.
"...Aren't you the priest's... no, Cant's gang?"
Botti answered quickly.
"Yes... And you're the old dog man, right?"
"Yeah... Eh, let 'em go, Henry. It's Cant's crew."
"Cant? The quarterstaff Cant? The fixer?"
"Yeah, let 'em pass."
Henry, the fedora beggar, narrowed his eyes and leaned in.
"Quarterstaff Cant... But his underlings look weak compared to rumors. All look like pushovers. Especially that one."
He pointed at Oliver.
Fair enough, appearance-wise.
"Just the grunts... Let 'em go. Moles aren't ready to clash yet."
Things seemed to be resolving, but Henry grumbled.
"I wanna, but this old man's eyes bug me."
He glared down at Botti.
"Lumped me with regular beggars. Gramps."
"Aren't you?"
"Not just any... High-earning beggar pro? Mood's soured anyway. What if I touch you? Gramps?"
At that, the watching beggars gripped clubs and fists, closing in.
"...I said no, Moles. I'm against it."
"What if I go solo?"
"Hah... Do what you want. Not my problem. Why's this mutt whining?"
The dog old man petted the whimpering dog, pretending otherwise.
Henry tilted his fedora forward.
"Hear that? He said do what you want."
The surrounding beggars tightened the circle. Tension peaked—then, clap. Clap.
"Yeah, go ahead and do what you want. I'm curious."
Cant appeared from the other side.