Chapter 60
Chapter 60
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 60
Chapter Title: New Business (1)
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While Forrest was chatting with Al about various things regarding Oliver, Oliver had moved on to his second task.
The first task had naturally been to get acquainted with Forrest and become a fixer.
The second task was just as important as the first—and in some ways, even more difficult.
It was none other than securing a place to stay.
...I know. This sounds ridiculous. But it was the truth.
For Oliver, who lacked everyday experiences like buying things or having casual conversations, finding lodging was unexpectedly challenging.
It might sound foolish, but it was more daunting than hunting chimeras—though luckily, it wasn't as big a hurdle as he'd feared.
Cant had already recommended several decent inns and explained how to book a room, as well as how much he could negotiate the rate down for long-term stays.
They'd even done a few role-plays. Thanks to that, Oliver managed to secure a room more smoothly than expected at a pretty decent inn a bit away from Forrest's restaurant.
It was open all night for business, so he got the room without any fuss, and following Cant's advice, he paid a month's rent upfront, which knocked the price down a fair bit.
Click.
Oliver stepped inside and looked around the room.
It wasn't luxurious by any means, but it was fairly spacious for the price.
For Oliver, who had slept in a beggars' den until yesterday, it was more than adequate—plenty luxurious, even.
Oliver set down his bag, leaned his quarterstaff against the wall, and took off his outer coat. A small sense of satisfaction washed over him.
For the first day after leaving the beggar gang, it had been a remarkably successful one.
It wasn't quite what he'd planned, but he'd met Forrest, become a fixer, and secured a place to stay for the foreseeable future... Not bad at all.
But the joy was short-lived.
Because this was just the starting point.
Oliver's goal was clear: to use the Black Market on his own to obtain the books and knowledge he desired.
Compared to that, what he'd accomplished today wasn't even the starting line.
Cant had said the Black Market was a mysterious realm not just anyone could access.
If even Cant, with his experience in the underworld, spoke of it that way, it was obvious that Oliver—a total newcomer—would need considerable effort to get there.
And even if he earned the right to use it, that wouldn't be the end. Because he'd need money.
Cant himself had never used the Black Market and didn't know the details, but judging by its reputation, a single visit would cost an astronomical sum.
Especially since what Oliver wanted were rare books on black magic and demons—he'd need far more than that.
Oliver agreed with that assessment.
He wasn't sure if it was a fair comparison, but even Filterettes cost 100,000 landa per vial and 2 million per pack.
And those were something Oliver could produce whenever he wanted.
So it stood to reason that rarer, more dangerous books on black magic and demons would cost even more.
As these thoughts chained together endlessly, Oliver felt a bit tired but couldn't sleep.
Far from it—his mind grew sharper.
He wouldn't be able to rest easy tonight without sorting this out once more.
So, to organize his thoughts, Oliver took off his shirt and picked up the quarterstaff he'd leaned against the wall.
Gripping one end and extending it forward, it reached the opposite wall.
In that stance, he began swinging it back and forth, just like he'd practiced with Cant.
Whoosh—whoosh. The sound of air slicing filled the room. Compared to the beginning, it was a huge improvement.
Oliver mechanically repeated the motions while pondering his next steps.
His first thought, naturally, was his goal.
And that goal went without saying: the Black Market.
It had all started from an overheard conversation, but to learn about the beautiful light, black magic, and demons that now captivated him, the Black Market was an essential stop.
To use it, he'd need to become a skilled fixer, build a reputation, and form connections with big shots.
Capitalists and politicians who dominated Landa, or heads of major crime families like the Crime Firm...
Cant had said Oliver's skills would be in demand, so not to worry too much—but honestly, Oliver doubted it.
Because he had no sense of whether he was truly strong or weak.
Sure, he'd never lost to any black wizard he'd encountered so far, but that didn't make him cocky or boost his confidence.
There had been that lightning mage in the past, or Joseph—people who'd nearly killed him.
And especially that moment facing the old man on horseback... He still couldn't forget it.
Even in its crude form of tangled flesh and guts, Oliver hadn't felt like he could win against it.
The inexplicable familiarity had outweighed the fear, but if it had attacked instead of greeting him, Oliver almost certainly wouldn't be here now.
It was pure instinct, without evidence—but more certain than any proof.
The only reason Oliver had survived was sheer luck.
That's why he planned to be as cautious as possible. Cant had advised the same.
Of course, Oliver didn't want to die.
Death was scary enough, but with so many curiosities right now, it was even more terrifying.
Cant had advised gathering information to avoid such frightening situations.
That's how he'd survived without dying himself.
Oliver fully intended to follow that advice.
Following middleman Forrest's guidance, he'd take on requests step by step, build experience and trust, and learn the ropes of this world.
It felt a bit urgent, but since things had changed since Cant's working days, it was necessary.
Thus, Oliver planned to steadily approach the Black Market by grasping his position in this underworld.
In the past, he wouldn't have thought this deeply, but Cant's relentless explanations had drilled it into him: this was necessary.
To minimize risks on the path to his goal.
'Well, even to become a fixer worthy of the Black Market, I'll inevitably face dangers.'
Cant's uncertain voice echoed in his ear.
He'd diligently taught Oliver for the past three months, yet he always spoke anxiously of the path to the Black Market as uncharted territory for him.
As if he'd stop Oliver if he could.
"......"
Oliver stopped swinging the quarterstaff and shook his head.
Dwelling on Cant's reluctance was pointless.
This path was one Oliver had to walk.
Curiosity could be endured briefly, but not abandoned.
"Ah... Money's a problem too."
Oliver muttered, sweat dripping from his body.
He leaned the quarterstaff against the wall, then pulled out the glutton pouch and the bundle of cash he'd received from Forrest from the inner pocket of his hanging coat.
The glutton pouch—made from an infant's skin, teeth, eyeballs, and the emotion of greed—opened its eye on the desk and scanned the surroundings.
Checking if there was any money or valuables nearby, of course.
"...!"
The glutton pouch spotted the bundle of cash right next to it.
Limbs sprouted from what had been featureless flesh, and it waddled eagerly toward the bills.
Thud.
Just as the glutton pouch reached for the stack, Oliver blocked it with his hand.
The glutton pouch looked up at him with clear displeasure.
Oliver smiled and made his request.
"Glutton pouch. Sorry, but could you spit out all the money I put in?"
At first, the glutton pouch flailed its arms in anger, but when Oliver just stared silently, it cowered and began forcing its own arm into its mouth to vomit up the cash.
Urk! Uuuurk!
It made grotesque retching sounds as it spewed out bundles of bills.
The money it was disgorging now was the pay from the beggar alliance. Oliver calmly sorted through the pouring stacks, counting them one by one.
Once sorted, he set it aside with the pay from Forrest.
All told, about 80 million landa.
Considering he'd been an orphaned mine laborer not long ago, it was an enormous sum.
Oliver agreed.
But for his current needs, it was still short.
Not just for using the Black Market, but for personal projects he wanted to try as well.
For instance, making a corpse doll...
Among the books he'd obtained from puppeteer Glyph, there were a few detailing corpse preservation, remote control, and conversion into corpse dolls.
Oliver had been itching to try it himself ever since reading them.
Human corpses might be tricky, but animal ones should work—and the problem was that even this would require a hefty sum.
Glyph had been meticulous, listing every cost involved:
From renting a workshop, to preservatives and various drugs, machinery, tools, emotions, life force—nothing was cheap.
A rough estimate put the initial cost of making a corpse doll at tens of millions to hundreds of millions of landa.
Costs would drop once the workshop stabilized, but it still required a fortune—which meant Oliver couldn't start right away.
It was truly regrettable.
Wanting to do something, but held back by lack of money.
He could see why Peter and so many others craved it so desperately.
Money was essential. For everything from one to ten.
Beyond mere desires, it touched every aspect—sleeping, eating, nothing escaped its grip.
For the first time, this obvious truth truly sank in.
"...Interesting."
Oliver murmured unconsciously after a moment of silence.
In the orphanage, mines, black wizard group, beggar gang—until now, he'd just done as told.
No more.
Whether he liked it or not, he had to think for himself now.
How to become a fixer who could access the Black Market. How to secure the funds he needed.
He couldn't deny it was a hassle, something he'd rather dump on someone else—but even so, it felt different from before.
The feeling of plotting his own path forward. It was... intriguing.
"......"
Oliver set aside two million landa in small denominations from his total fortune, then spoke to the glutton pouch again.
"Put the rest back in."
The glutton pouch, tormented by hunger, immediately pounced on the stacks, climbing atop them and gulping them down greedily.
Nom nom. Utterly voracious. Oliver watched silently and muttered.
"First things first, I need to make money. Like this."
The next morning.
Oliver rose early as usual.
Compared to the beggars' den he'd stayed in until yesterday, this place was like a palace—no discomfort at all.
He washed his face, dressed neatly, ate the light breakfast provided by the inn, then left for Forrest's restaurant.
Fortunately, it opened early in the morning, and the waiter Al greeted him as always.
"Mr. Dave... What brings you so early?"
Oliver examined Al's emotions. No malice, but he seemed to be hiding something.
Cant had been right—this was a world where you couldn't read each other easily.
"Good morning, Al. I came by in case there was another job."
"Ah, I see. I'll take you to the boss, then... Oh, and feel free to just call me Al. This way."