Chapter 71
Chapter 71
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 71
Chapter Title: Raid (1)
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Oliver followed Murphy's guidance into a rundown warehouse.
The exterior was caked in grime, with parts of the trim peeling off, and the inside was just as filthy as it looked.
Old, dust-covered wooden crates were stacked like walls here and there throughout the warehouse, and black tarps hung haphazardly in places.
Oliver had no way of knowing for sure, but the place seemed like it hadn't been maintained in quite a while. Or maybe it had been deliberately left like this.
As if reading his mind, Murphy spoke up.
"Pretty filthy, huh?"
"...A bit?"
"Good."
"Pardon?"
"That's the point—to make people think that. Warehouses this messy are a dime a dozen, and they don't get much scrutiny. Nobody likes getting dust on their clothes."
"Ah..."
"Murphy. Who's this guy?"
A third voice cut in—a woman's. Oliver turned to see a middle-aged woman approaching, a binder tucked under one arm. A teenage boy about Oliver's age trailed beside her.
"Aunt Maggie. This is the black mage I told you I'd bring last time."
"This is him...? Younger than I imagined...."
A flicker of doubt crossed her face for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure.
Oliver greeted her politely without showing any reaction, observing her in return.
She had a tough look about her—reminded him a bit of Marie in the past. The kind of person ready to fight the world's hardships.
"Fucking kid? This is really the guy who dragged in that fat-ass associate professor?"
Smack!
The boy next to Maggie spouted off, and Murphy immediately swung his arm, smacking the kid on the back of the head.
The boy grumbled "Sh..." in annoyance but didn't push back further. Murphy apologized to Oliver as he eyed the boy.
"Sorry about that, Black Mage. He's the youngest, so his manners are a bit rough."
"Ah, no problem. He's your little brother?"
"Yeah, Milo. The baby of the family."
Unlike the Black Mage Family, it seemed the Kinbell Family really operated like an actual family unit.
Oliver filed that away as potentially useful information.
"Let me apologize for my nephew's rudeness too, Black Mage. Thanks to you, we can restart the business sooner than expected. We're grateful."
"No worries. It's just work for pay."
"If it's not too rude, could I ask your name? We'll be together for a month, so it feels right to know it."
"Dave."
"Dave?"
"Yes."
"Thank you. If you need anything while you're here, just let me know. I'll do my best to accommodate.... I have some business to attend to—mind if I go?"
Oliver nodded, and Maggie grabbed her nephew Milo by the ear, dragging him off.
"Ow! Ow! Aunt, Aunt! My ear!"
Oliver watched her go with Milo in tow.
"She seems pretty tough."
"Yes, she is. Tough as nails.... Shall I continue the tour?"
Oliver nodded at Murphy's words.
"Thank you. This way, then...."
Murphy led Oliver deeper into the warehouse.
There was a ton of cargo inside, piled up along the walls.
Actually, the walls and paths were made entirely of cargo.
Then Murphy slipped between a pile of crates.
"This way."
Oliver followed into what felt like a narrow path between boxes that could collapse any second.
It went deeper than expected, but he soon realized it was an artificial corridor.
"Here we are."
Murphy opened a secretive door on a massive wooden crate.
"You built the workshop in the center of the warehouse?"
"Yeah. We originally planned for a basement, but we couldn't get the scale we needed."
They stepped inside, and Oliver saw a workshop similar to the one in Sector X.
It wasn't finished yet, but workers were already assembling it bit by bit.
"Mr. Murphy?"
A worker with grease-stained hands tipped his cap in greeting.
"I'm here on other business. Don't mind me. How's it going? The setup?"
"Tweaked a few parts from the blueprint you gave us. No major issues for production, but the changes boost efficiency. It was a pain, but we should finish on time if we push."
"Good to hear."
Murphy sighed in genuine relief.
"Who's that guy?"
"Ah.... He's here to guard the workshop."
All eyes turned to Oliver.
Whispers rippled: "Black mage....", "Too young?", "He good?"
It was getting noisy enough to annoy, when the foreman who'd been talking to Murphy barked.
"Enough chit-chat! Back to work! We ain't paying you to yap!"
The workers returned to setting up. As it quieted, the foreman whispered to Murphy.
"That's the black mage you mentioned?"
"...He's young, huh?"
"Skill's solid. Forrest vouches for him."
"Gangs are one thing, but if a real mage shows up—"
"Don't worry. Odds of that are slim. With a black mage here, even slimmer. Focus on your job. Get this workshop running smooth, and you won't have to work for dog food wages anymore. Got it?"
"...Yes, sir."
The conversation ended, and the foreman went back to work. Murphy approached Oliver.
"This is the spot you'll guard, Black Mage. We bought the warehouse and piled cargo around to hide the central workshop."
Oliver scanned the sizable space. Bigger than Sector X's by several times, with ventilation hoods overhead.
Calling it a factory wasn't exaggeration.
"Entrances?"
"Two total, including the one we took. One for people, one for cargo."
"Got it."
"One request."
"Request?"
"Yeah. I handle small-time gangs myself usually, but while you're here, could you step in?"
"......"
"Not trying to exploit you. Just...."
"To spread the word?"
"...Yes. That I hired a black mage to beef up security. Once word gets out, the half-assed probes will dry up. Make things way easier. Okay?"
"Hm.... That foreman your comrade?"
"Pardon?"
"The one you were talking to."
Oliver pointed at the foreman.
"Ah, yeah. War buddy. Medic.... No real jobs after discharge, so we work together."
"I see.... Alright. I'll handle any intruders as discussed."
Murphy beamed at Oliver's straightforward agreement.
"Thank you. Not all the time, but show your face often and flash some black magic now and then?"
"Sure. But won't mages still come?"
Murphy's face darkened at "mage."
Not just the name scaring him—something more specific.
"...A skilled black mage might deter them. They don't want the hassle either."
Oliver doubted it. Only seen the lightning mage, unsure if they'd care.
And something else bugged him. Murphy had gone to great lengths to hire him, yet didn't seem to expect victory over a mage.
He knew black mages were seen as fake by real mages, but this reaction was odd.
"Ever seen a mage up close?"
"Pardon?"
"You seem to know more than most."
"...Saw a few during service."
"Could you tell me about them? The mages from your military days. Might help with the job."
"Sure.... Happy to."
War mages.
That's what Murphy called the mages who joined the battlefield as soldiers.
Some were actual military, others enlisted like him. All lumped as war mages for convenience.
Each pulled their weight as one mage, varying by individual power, but all had firepower equivalent to at least dozens—hundreds—of soldiers.
Multiple mages cooperating could even vaporize thousands with proper prep.
Even for Oliver, who fought on emotion alone, it was staggering.
He wondered if it was bluffing, but Murphy's sincerity killed that thought.
Outwardly calm, he was deeply uneasy at the prospect of clashing with one.
Murphy continued.
Mages brought hope to allies, terror to foes. They aided resource scouting and research too. Most ex-soldiers had seen at least one.
Oliver immediately asked to speak with all war vet workers.
Murphy obliged, puzzled but compliant. While on guard, Oliver heard details from warehouse laborers, magic brew workers, guards—even Murphy's brothers Martin and Mayer.
All here were vets, so stories flowed endlessly.
They said mages' main role was devastating firepower to break enemy morale.
Shined in mage-less New World or eastern unknowns.
Legend: Three mages routed 5,000 troops.
Oliver had felt it against the lightning mage—tough opponents.
It scared him honestly. But he wouldn't sit idle.
Job accepted, so best effort.
Patrolling the warehouse, he memorized terrain, plotted intrusion routes.
His own "how would I?" guesses.
He picked seven prime routes, planting Gray Market senses along them—from warehouse vicinity to distant rooftops.
Didn't forget etching black magic circles on test tubes with senses.
Black magic circles from Anthony Family books: remote activation aids.
Originally control-type, Oliver tweaked for versatility.
Firepower might lag magic, but surprise could bridge it.
Based on past fights, at least.
Over days, repelled small gangs while prepping for mages. Coworkers still doubted him.
Fear of possible mage raids, really.
"That black mage is better than he looks. Chased off three gang hits solo."
"Yeah, was worried 'cause he's so young, but surprising."
"Personality's fine too. Black mages I saw in war were scarier than enemies."
"Still, you think? Gangs we could handle, but mages?"
"Nah, days passed, workshop's almost done. Won't show."
"Hope so, but if a mage hits? They'd be crazy or confident."
"Black mage here, should be fine?"
"Dude, black mages and mages? Firepower's worlds apart. Why call 'em fake otherwise?"
"They must be confident to come."
"Nah, intimidation hire. 'We're ready, stay away.' Real black mages who can hang with mages? Rare. They'd do better than fixer gigs."
"Ah, shit if you're right."
Oliver sat in his corner space, eavesdropping.
Not planned at first.
Just planted Eavesdropping Ears for security, stumbled on chit-chat.
Fun, so he kept listening.
Trust in him had grown since first meeting, but mage fears lingered.
"You okay?"
Murphy reappeared after a while.
"Oh, Mr. Murphy. Hey. Been a bit."
"Yeah, was at a client. All antsy about launch date.... No issues?"
"Nope, all quiet."
"Relief."
Murphy relaxed at Oliver's calm.
Odd. Oliver had seen him slaughter night-raiding gangs with knife alone—superhuman strength, speed, reflexes black magic level. Yet so deferential.
Magic brew workshop must be crucial.
Curiosity struck.
"Mr. Murphy."
"Yes, Black Mage."
"Any special reason for the magic brew workshop?"
Murphy frowned at the out-of-left-field question but couldn't ignore.
Oliver had exceeded expectations these two weeks.
"Sorry, what's the angle?"
"Curious."
"Pardon?"
"Curious. Overheard folks—tons of cash poured in. Risky if wrecked. With five districts, why risk it?"
"......"
Murphy lit a cigarette, pondering. Finally exhaled smoke and spoke.
"...Know why I enlisted?"
"Patriot?"
"No. Couldn't pay exemption fee."
"Exemption fee?"
"Yeah, 300 million Randa. 'Economic service.' Not many can afford it."
"Huh."
"Yeah. So we poor bastards got drafted, dodging bullets in the mud. Nation calls us patriots. Then what?"
"...?"
"Unlucky? Limbs gone, head scrambled by 'bombs'.... Survivors? Home poorer, wife shacked with another. Factories cut pay 'cause 'taters enough.' Protest? They send guys like me to beat you.... No money here, you're nothing."
Pure conviction. Strongest truth and rage Oliver had sensed.
"That's why this business. To get rich. Filthy rich. Kids skip draft, give broke buddies real jobs. No groveling to draft-dodgers. Pushed hard to build here."
Oliver nodded like it made sense. Thought money alone, but deeper roots.
Intriguing. Gangs all about cash.... Then a reaction from his minion network nearby.
"Hm?"
"What?"
Oliver closed one eye, focusing.
"Someone's coming."