Chapter 51
Chapter 51
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 51
Chapter Title: Question (2)
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W District’s abandoned, crumbling building.
Noisy clamor echoed through it.
"Ene-! Guh... Ugh!"
The cause of the uproar was a band of intruders who, somehow knowing the boss Kant was away, had stormed the place.
There were a lot of them, all armed with clubs, and a few even carried rusty old shotguns.
Without their leader, Kant’s gang of beggars couldn’t mount any real resistance and were just beaten down one-sidedly.
"Ha...! You morons! Kant’s gang, Kant’s gang. Strutting around like big shots, but you can’t even squeak against this."
The intruder with the shotgun shook it as he spoke.
It looked like total junk that might not even fire, but to street-bottom beggars, its very presence was intimidating.
Right now, everyone in Kant’s gang who could fight had been beaten senseless, leaving only the weak—kids, women, and elders—unharmed.
They cowered in the corner like sheep surrounded by wolves, clinging desperately to one another.
"Heh heh... Cute. Don’t worry. We won’t lay a hand on you. The Mole’ll put you to good use."
"So come quietly if you don’t want it rough."
With that, the intruders grabbed the women and children by the hair and started dragging them off.
A few brave elders tried to block their path, but the intruders answered with clubs.
"Fuck...! You walking corpses, where do you get off sticking your necks out! Useless old geezers.... Ptui!"
An elder took a loogie right to the face.
His frail body couldn’t take even a single blow and went limp.
Still, he staggered toward the intruders.
It wasn’t from any clever plan.
It was pure desperate thrashing—something he had to do.
Bleeding and gasping, the elder rasped,
"Haa... Haa... Don’t you know who runs this place? Turn back now and- Gaaack!"
The intruder booted him in the gut.
He took it square, clutching his chest and twisting in agony—his scrawny frame only making it more heartbreaking.
But the intruders, stripped of even basic pity, just sneered at him and stomped down on his throat.
"Fuckin’ old timer..... We look like pushovers? We know who your boss is. That’s why we’re here. Wanna hear something even better?"
"Hey..."
"What? Fuck.... Fight’s already done. Listen up, worthless geezer. Your boss is probably finished by our pals by now, and you’re all ours from here on. Our property....! Got it?! Telling you special before I bust your skull. Be thankful."
With that, the intruder who’d stomped the elder raised his wooden club, aiming for the man’s head.
His buddies just shook their heads, not bothering to stop him.
"Watch close, all of you! W District’s ours now—Mole gang rules. Anyone who bucks us ends up like this! One.... Two.... Three-"
—Bang!
The intruder who’d hoisted his club sky-high.
On his signal, half his head suddenly exploded.
The damage was worse than a gunshot, and the shock froze not just Kant’s gang but the intruders too.
"Wh-what?!"
"Ambush?!"
Just like the untrained beggars they were, they flailed in panic, unable to react.
That’s when Oliver’s minions slunk in close and blew the heads off the shotgun-armed beggars the same way.
They froze like they’d seen ghosts, terror and dread washing over them.
[Creepy Scream]
A horrific face of black smoke materialized, distorting as it unleashed a scream that rent the air.
Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeekㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ!!!!!
The air-shredding wail sapped the fight from everyone who heard it.
Bombarded by one inexplicable horror after another, the cocky intruders went slack-jawed and brain-dead.
Not that it was surprising—they were just armed amateurs, not pros at violence.
Their will to fight shattered completely.
Once the mess was cleared up perfectly, two figures stepped out.
Oliver, test tube in hand, and Kant, gripping his quarterstaff.
Kant spoke.
"...... Drop all weapons and get on your knees."
A pile of clubs and a handful of shotguns in one corner of the beggar den.
The intruders, so full of themselves moments ago, now huddled bound and quaking in terror.
They stared at the dirt, shivering; whenever one dared glance up, spotting the minions bobbing around, they’d snap their eyes back down.
Those little meatball things had casually decapitated people—like having a gun barrel kissing your skull.
Inside, they were all broken aggression and pure fear.
Which let Kant and Oliver tend to their fellow gang members in peace.
"Luckily, no serious injuries."
The glasses-wearing beggar checked over the beaten ones and nodded.
No doctor by trade, but long years in the gang had taught him to spot broken bones or damaged guts.
Kant nodded without a second thought.
"Good."
"Not quite. They’re out of commission for a while. Need rest."
"That’ll do. Long as no one’s badly hurt."
Kant’s words eased the tension in his frightened comrades.
Then the glasses beggar ventured carefully,
"So.... What the hell happened? That guy.... I mean."
His finger pointed at Oliver.
Kant eyed Oliver quietly, paused in silence, then spoke.
"...... As you all saw, he’s a black magician."
"Black magician...?"
"Yeah.... Black magician. He says he is, showed the proof, so yeah."
Everyone got it, but the shock lingered.
For bottom-feeders like them, black magicians were rumor-only myths from another world.
"Uh.... Mr. Kant. Why’d you bring a black magician here?"
"Didn’t know."
"Why’s a black magician holing up here?"
"Guess we’ll find out by asking."
A woman clutched her child tight and said,
"To snatch our kids?"
"Think he’d help us if that was it?"
"Still, you never know?"
The mothers with kids murmured, hugging tighter.
Fresh anxiety flared.
All eyes turned warily to Oliver.
Then someone piped up.
"Uh.... Where’s that kid headed?"
Everyone watched Harmonica toddle up to Oliver alone.
The child bowed low, murmuring thanks.
Oliver watched wordlessly, then raised a hand and nodded.
An excruciatingly awkward moment.
Yet somehow, seeing it soothed the crowd’s nerves bit by bit.
Kant seized the opening.
"I get you’re all on edge. Leave this to me for now. He’s a black magician, sure—but he helped us, sure. Even those kids."
He gestured to the twenty or so beggar kids he’d brought with Harmonica.
Tiny and filthy as rats, they huddled jittery and together.
"......."
"I know you’ve got plenty to say, but we need his help right now. Desperately."
"His help?"
"Yeah. Moles threatening us direct now—sit still? If we can, grab any hand available.... Objections?"
No one spoke.
They’d nearly been nabbed by the Mole crew minutes back.
Pushed by circumstance and mood, they handed it all to Kant. He nodded and approached Oliver.
"Mind a word?"
"Ah, yes.... Been waiting."
Oliver jumped at Kant’s words.
Kant led him aside, feigning calm but wired inside—not excessively, though.
No blind fear or grudge like the others.
"You alright?"
Kant fished out a cigarette from his pocket gingerly.
Wrinkled and stashed deep, clearly rationed tight.
"Fuu.... Ha-! Kinda. Bear with me—nicotine itch. One okay?"
Oliver shook his head, fine by him.
Kant lit up, white smoke curling out.
"Thanks first off, again. Basement help.... And now this. Sincere."
"Eh, I got favors too, and not pure charity.... No biggie."
"Know it. Paying with answers. Still thanks."
Kant meant it.
Almost losing comrades hit him with massive dread and guilt.
Rescuing them brought equal relief, joy....
"Right.... Shoot—what’s on your mind?"
"...Why ditch the weapons in the sewer? Wouldn’t have mattered much anyway."
"That bug you?"
"And more.... Why help me first meet, keep guarding folks here? Heard you had easier options."
Kant blinked slow.
"...Flip it. You’re top-shelf black magician—why slum in a beggar hole? Retired a bit, but your skill screams cushier life."
"Mm.... Wanted to look into something."
"That it? Then I did ‘cause I felt like it."
"Pardon?"
"Just wanted to...."
"Sorry, doesn’t compute."
"But folks do weird shit unexplained. Spot a life-quitter, drag ‘em home, feed, clothe, nurse, console—no reason, just ‘saw it, God’s will.’"
"...... Talking about the old priest?"
"Me and him, yeah. He dragged me in, cared zero-strings."
"Aren’t you carrying that torch now, per his dying wish?"
"Nah, not a wish. Asked help, but ‘bail anytime.’ Me sticking? My call. Was gonna off myself anyway. Nothing better pressing...."
Kant gave a small smile; Oliver nodded quiet.
Not fully buying it, but not awful either.
"Not super convincing, but appreciate the answer.... So helping me—was that priest too?"
"Partly.... One more thing."
"What?"
"...Sounds off now, but you look like Dave."
"Who?"
"Son I got killed."
".........."
Kant eyed Oliver.
"Lie or not, whatever. Just venting. Brush it off."
"Yes, will...."
Awkward quiet crept in; Kant tested,
"..... Sorry, but—help us out?"
"Sure..... Yeah."
"Godsend..... First, grill these punks. Back me up? Your shadow alone’ll spook ‘em."
Kant nodded at the tied-up intruders.
".... Grill how?"
"Dunno? Mole hideout first."
"They’ll clam up, no?"
"Likely. But gotta ask."
"What if I know the spot and how to drop their guard?"
"..... Ideal. Got a trick?"
Black magic swirled in Oliver’s palm.
"Yeah."