Chapter 62
Chapter 62
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: Retrieval (1)
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Magic Tower former associate professor Herbert retrieval.
Oliver took a taxi straight to the entrance of X District the moment he accepted the mission.
The best thing about Randa taxis was that they didn't talk to passengers heading to X District any more than necessary.
From experience, it seemed like they knew the riders were up to something dangerous, or at least involved in it.
Thanks to the taxi driver's consideration, Oliver skimmed through the information Forrest had given him while recalling his explanations.
The moment he accepted the mission, Forrest had gone beyond the brief overview and provided more detailed intel.
'Good, now that you've formally accepted, I'll explain the job in detail. First off, the target Herbert won't require much caution. He's from the Magic Tower, sure, but his specialties are alchemy and herbology. His practical magic skills are extremely poor. That's why he never made full professor.'
Practical magic skills.
It encompassed a mage's real combat prowess: the number of spells they could actually use, their proficiency, mana heart capacity, and so on. It wasn't an absolute rule, but outstanding practical skills generally meant a powerful mage.
Conversely, it meant Herbert himself had low combat ability and wasn't worth worrying about.
'The gang members are the same. Roughly twenty to thirty of them... They're not real guards—more like scarecrows to keep out petty thieves and any idiots who might wander too close. If you fight them properly, they'll probably run at the first sign of trouble.'
'Is that so?'
'Yeah. They're the type with no real skill or resolve to die. Just flies chasing the sweet fruits of violence... Of course, their ignorance plays a part too.'
It sounded like there was some deeper meaning behind his words.
'But the real problem is these guys.'
Forrest pulled three black-and-white photos from a drawer as he spoke.
'From the left—wait, from my side, left, yeah, there... From the left: Knuckle Joe, Nico, and Big Jaw. These are the ones to watch.'
Oliver glanced at each photo in turn and commented.
'...This one's got a pretty unique look.'
He pointed to the third photo, Big Jaw.
As the name suggested, his jaw was enormous. His forehead protruded sharply, and his eyes had more black than white.
It might be harsh, but he looked less like a human and more like a ferocious hound.
'Good eye. He's bound to stand out... He's a mutant.'
Mutant. Oliver had heard about them from Kant.
Twisted humans born from factory pollution or the aftermath of magic experiments.
Most looked different from regular humans, so people treated them as cursed or subhuman variants.
Laws were still being debated on how to classify them legally...
They were mostly born in slums or worker districts near rivers where factories dumped waste.
Many had low intelligence, but some displayed astonishing physical prowess.
'All three belong to Fighter Crew.'
'Fighter Crew?'
'Yeah, a new breed of black mage organization that cropped up recently. Unlike the traditional Family structures with masters and disciples in a vertical hierarchy, they're more horizontal. Not completely flat, of course—they have some ranking.'
'Oh, I see.'
Oliver filed away the new information as he replied.
'Anyway, Fighter Crew is a recent black mage group that does mercenary work instead of brewing drugs. Anything violence-related: raids, destruction, assassinations, protection, guarding, you name it. That's why they don't compete with established black mage Families and have been steadily building strength. They found a niche market, you could say. Though it's more like battle junkies stumbling into it.'
'Impressive, Mr. Forrest. How do you know all this?'
'I'm a broker. This is basic stuff. Thanks for the praise, though.'
With that recap, Forrest got back to the point.
'All three are Fighter Crew members. No surprise—they specialize in combat. Knuckle Joe lives up to his name as a close-quarters expert, so he handles disease magic too, naturally.'
Oliver glanced at his quarterstaff. Close-quarters combat...
'Nico does firearms and disease magic. Word is he can fire twenty Hate Bullets at once. That's some serious firepower. Be careful.'
'......'
'And Big Jaw, as you can see, tears everything apart with that maw. If he bites you even once, you're done—so watch him especially. Any questions?'
'Hm... Not a question, exactly, but could I ask a favor? You don't have to say yes.'
'...What?'
'Could you tell me how you gather this kind of info? Not the method itself—just curious about the system.'
'Planning your own investigation or something?'
'No, just genuinely curious. It feels almost like magic, knowing this much.'
'Not that impressive. It's why I charge a 5% higher commission than other brokers.'
'Still impressive.'
Forrest eyed Oliver for a moment before speaking.
'...Alright, fine. You handled a job that wasn't worth my while, so I owe you. How about this: when you return safely, I'll teach you.'
'Sounds great. Perfect, actually. I'll wrap this up quick and get back.'
With that, Oliver stood, left the restaurant, and hailed a taxi. And...
Screeech—
The car halted, snapping him back to reality.
"We've arrived at the X District entrance, sir. Sorry, but I can't go any farther."
Oliver tucked away the documents and pulled money from his pocket.
"No problem. Thanks for getting me here."
"Not at all. Whoa, that's a lot of cash."
"A little extra for bringing me to such a risky spot. If it's not too much trouble, could I ask one more thing?"
"A favor? What...?"
"Could you swing by here around 9 a.m. tomorrow? I'll double it for the return trip."
"Double?"
"Yeah, taxis are hard to snag around here. Of course, no pressure if it's inconvenient."
Oliver said it smoothly.
After finishing with the driver and stepping out, Oliver felt the usual hidden stares and emotions watching him, just like always.
It had scared him at first, but by the second and third time, he'd gotten used to it. Now it even felt welcoming.
Oliver walked forward casually, naturally extracting emotions from his pocket as he went.
As he passed a shadowed spot, he cast Irregular Exit on himself.
A stealth black magic based on shame.
It was just a mediocre spell that muffled his presence, but it had proven effective in the past.
And it seemed to work now too—as he wandered around under its effect, the gazes on him started fading one by one.
Good news. He hadn't even started the mission yet, and drawing attention was the last thing he needed.
Once he figured he'd shaken off most of the eyes, Oliver checked Forrest's materials again and headed for former associate professor Herbert's magic brew workshop.
X District, 20th Street—not the deepest part, but deeper than anywhere Oliver had ventured before.
He got lost a few times in the maze-like alleys but finally arrived.
True to its reputation for unpermitted buildings, the real X District deviated from the maps in many places.
"Hm..."
Oliver murmured as he observed Herbert's magic brew workshop from afar.
White smoke rose from boxy brick houses—likely the production site.
Gangs milled about or stood guard around it, confirming as much.
Oliver studied the gang members.
As Forrest said, they seemed less like trained pros and more like threats propped up to scare off riffraff—barely better than beggars.
Sloppy appearances, lazy emotions, poor and mismatched gear.
If he wanted, he could swarm them with minions loaded with Wrath Boom and wipe them out in one go.
Of course, that risked hitting the target too, so not ideal.
But it wasn't a problem.
He had endless options.
For instance, instead of heavy-hitting Wrath Boom, he could flood them with minions using Creepy Scream to break their will, then threaten with Hate Bullets and detonate—crushing their morale like with the moles.
Or deploy Hate Bullet minions en masse and pick them off one by one...
Black magic never ceased to amaze him.
Combining basic spells yielded infinite applications.
It was wondrous—not just raw power, but the endless mechanisms.
A book from Joseph's study came to mind.
Unlike magic that overwhelms with firepower, black magic relied on piercing insight into foes and cunning strikes at their blind spots.
Thus, it was arguably more refined and advanced than regular magic.
Oliver couldn't judge since he didn't know real magic, but it rang true.
Lightning mages had that vibe. Wait, was basing it on one example unfair?
"Oops... Daydreaming again."
Snapping back, Oliver refocused on the task.
First things first: complete the mission. Kant stressed success rates and reputation.
Oliver decided to concentrate on the job at hand.
Settling in, he pondered the best approach—effective and fun.
He reviewed his goal: retrieve magic brew maker Herbert safely.
That meant avoiding high-firepower black magic as much as possible.
No risking injury or death to the target.
And causing a ruckus might make him bolt.
Losing him now, with no trail, would be a hassle.
'...Or not. If I memorize all these emotions now, it might make tracking easier later?'
Oliver focused his eyes, committing the emotions around the workshop to memory for insurance.
Total: 60 people, including workshop workers, not just gangsters.
A bit excessive, but Kant urged caution, so better safe.
He etched each emotional glow into his eyes for instant recall.
With that done, he pondered again.
How to neutralize them and grab the target.
Plenty of ways, but he wanted something fresh.
Not just brute force.
Oh, don't misunderstand—he wasn't getting cocky.
It was following Kant's advice.
He'd said to tackle missions in various ways to build versatility if possible.
He stuck to familiar methods due to his limits, but for Oliver's ambitions, mastering diverse approaches was key.
There'd be times when his usual style wouldn't work—like firepower restrictions.
Alternatives like close combat would be needed.
So, practice varied methods in downtime, even if more effort.
Solid advice, logical and sincere.
And right on cue, he faced disease-specialist black mages?
It felt like someone handing him a chance to try.
In the end, Oliver resolved to handle this mission in an unfamiliar, novel way, per Kant's counsel.
For that, he needed darkness—and waited for nightfall.