Chapter 87
Chapter 87
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 87
Chapter Title: Puppet (3)
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Falling Oliver.
Just before he plummeted, Oliver scanned his surroundings.
Joseph, Arthur, and Sam rushed over to help, but the basement wall suddenly crumbled, unleashing a horde of zombies that seized their ankles.
A meticulously calculated move.
Oliver cast Targeting on his hand and the wall, halting his own descent.
Then he thrust his quarterstaff into the Puppet, who was falling alongside him, impaling it.
Puk!
The Puppet, its torso half-blown away by Wrath Boom and now skewered through the chest by the quarterstaff, chuckled as it spoke.
"This is a bit awkward... I put so much effort into preparing this, but I didn't expect you'd counter like that. It's almost embarrassing."
"Did you lie?"
"Huh? About what?"
"You said you'd let me go if I won."
"Ah... right, I did. But you didn't win, did you? You're not seriously claiming victory over me just because you wrecked this hunk of meat, are you?"
The Puppet shook its head slowly.
"Ah, please... please don't do that. It's been ages since I met someone fun—don't act like all those other idiots. Taking me down with this is like saying you won because you stubbed my finger."
The Puppet spoke with utter sincerity.
He wasn't overly attached to winning or losing battles, nor did he consider himself defeated.
His mindset was lighter than that, as if this weren't even a fight.
It wasn't bravado; it was genuine—a rare type that sparked genuine curiosity.
"...Why are you doing this?"
"Call it curiosity. To truly understand someone, you have to push them to the brink a little. At least, that's been my experience... Embarrassing as it is, could I ask a favor? Would you mind pretending you beat me and coming down here? I'd love to have a proper chat. Pretty please."
Oliver glanced upward.
"...What about up there?"
"The fixers are handling it. They're putting up a fight, but they'll be subdued soon enough."
And indeed they were. Joseph, Sam, and Arthur were resisting, but the zombies seemed endless.
In such a confined space, suppression was only a matter of time.
"Are you going to kill them?"
"Hmm... not right now. Why, want me to?"
"No, I'd prefer if you didn't."
The Puppet's face twisted in exaggerated surprise.
"Ho... so that's your type, huh?"
"I was taught to look after the colleagues I work with."
"Colleagues you work with? Heh heh heh... you sound just like a ten-year-old kid. Who taught you that? Anyway, how about this? I'll try not to kill your crew up there. In exchange, you come down here nice and easy. Don't worry—no traps down below. I just want to talk."
"It's a tempting offer, but what exactly are you curious about?"
"Oh, who knows? Come down and I'll tell you."
Oliver pondered for a second, then nodded.
He released the Targeting and dropped straight down.
Even in the basement, the drop was considerable, but thankfully, the landing was soft—no impact.
Partly thanks to his Black Suit, but mostly because of the cushion below.
Something squishy.
It was too dark to see clearly, but Oliver burned a tiny bit of emotion to illuminate the area.
Beneath his feet lay chunks of severely decayed flesh.
"........."
"Strong stomach, eh? Colin and David hurled the second they saw this. Colin especially—even though he's from the Mjolnir Elementary faction, he was bawling and puking like a scared kid. Heh heh heh."
Oliver neither teared up nor retched, but he could somewhat understand their reaction.
This flesh wasn't merely rotten; it was indescribably grotesque.
How to put it? It looked like humans kneaded together like dough.
Their twisted, mingled faces bore raw agony and despair.
As Oliver examined the decayed flesh, he spotted something intriguing on the wall.
A pattern—one he'd seen before, in similar form.
At Joseph's secret altar.
"A circle. Two crescent moons, an X mark, candelabra, and cross... Is this a devil-worship site?"
"Wrong. But half right."
"This flesh here... your handiwork, Puppet?"
"Hmm... no. I'm old and shameless, but as a scholar, I won't steal someone else's credit. This is the work of the original owners."
Original owners?
"The mages?"
"Correct. You're sharper than you look when you talk. Though you sure beat around the bush."
Oliver accepted the Puppet's words at face value.
Partly because it rang true, but also because he could guess a reasonable explanation.
"...Mages make deals with devils too?"
"Yep. They study them, and sometimes trade. Devils are terrifying beings bent on rotting and destroying the human realm, but they also hold wisdom beyond human grasp. Can't deny they're convenient and useful."
Oliver wasn't particularly surprised.
The notion that only black mages could use devils felt a bit discriminatory anyway.
Mages could surely tap into them if needed.
'Though I don't know how.'
Oliver nodded as if satisfied, prompting a laugh from the Puppet impaled at the base of the quarterstaff.
"Heh heh. Fascinating... Most folks—even black mages—wouldn't believe mages dabbled with devils."
"Really?"
"Of course. That's the scary thing about common sense—it blocks free thinking and rational guesses. Magic and black magic share the same roots, after all."
Oliver glanced back at the flesh piles and the myriad patterns etched on the walls.
He couldn't guess what experiment this was.
Seemed related to living beings, though.
When he asked, the Puppet replied.
"Well, I could tell you, but not here. Mind coming this way like I ask? I'd rather chat face-to-face."
Without hesitation, Oliver followed the Puppet's directions, stepping out of the room and into the corridor.
He focused his eyes to scan around, but detected nothing.
Just like when he'd first entered the basement and met the Puppet—no anomalies.
"I don't see anything."
"I care about my labs, so I put some security measures in place."
"This is a lab too?"
"Most of F District basement is labs. Mostly illegal ones. I always think Randa's underground is handy for both贡者 and palace folk. Difference is, the former use it as a hideout, the latter to bury their secrets."
Oliver listened quietly.
The way it spoke suggested vast knowledge.
Made sense for a centuries-old being.
"...May I ask what you do here?"
Oliver asked as they passed a lab.
Inside lay countless corpses.
Not plain ones—traces of surgery. Some cleverly stitched from human parts, others kneaded like dough.
Just like where he'd landed.
The difference? These looked far more humanlike.
"Obviously, experiments."
"Experiments?"
"Yeah. Why else would a scholar like me waste time here?"
Scholar... seemed accurate enough.
A scholar was someone versed in learning, or one who pursued it.
Mages and black mages alike were scholars in the broad sense.
"Sure, the world calls me a high-risk criminal, underworld boss, grand black mage—but that's a huge misunderstanding. I just want to research. Any fuss was merely a byproduct. Kinda unfair, really."
Sincere.
The Puppet didn't care much for its reputation.
That explained why it didn't fight for keeps.
Yet it showed immense obsession with its research.
Oliver couldn't help but wonder what it was.
"...What kind of research?"
"Heh heh... telling you straight would spoil the fun. Let me flip it: why are you a fixer? You don't strike me as the type scraping by with crude black magic for easy cash."
Oliver paused to reflect. Why was he a fixer?
Pretty complicated, on second thought.
It started with Holy Knight Joanna's advice to venture out, then meeting Kant and deciding to become one.
To stay independent from organizations and use the Black Market.
When he explained briefly, the Puppet asked, baffled.
"Why avoid organizations? Joining one makes Black Market access easier."
"Dunno. Sometimes you get forced into jobs you hate."
Oliver recalled the puppeteer Gleep trying to hand over beggar kids and a woman to the Black Hand.
Still felt off.
"Or raid some weak Family, take it over, then sit back while underlings do the work and you skim the profits."
"Eh, that feels off too."
"...What's off about it?"
"Been there before. My colleagues worked hard, but over time, they sidelined their own stuff to chase my whims."
"Sounds good to me."
"Convenient, yeah, but... something about it bugged me. They all had their own pretty lights, and poof—they were gone."
"Lights...?"
"Yeah, lights. You know, as a black mage yourself, Puppet. That pretty, beautiful light some people carry... That's why I left the organization and became a fixer—to explore it. Feels like a good call now, anyway."
Oliver spoke from the heart.
He hadn't learned much about those lights since leaving, but it had been fun.
Meeting Kant, others.
Learned bits about the world—not everything, but enough.
Like brokers, fixers, underworld, retired soldiers.
Even the inn errand boy mustering courage to learn letters.
Fun stuff.
The Puppet, intrigued, asked.
"I don't get it. What is this beautiful light?"
A first-of-its-kind question.
Oliver didn't know how to answer.
How do you describe a beautiful light?
"A beautiful light... is a beautiful light."
Even he struggled to buy it, but that was it.
He'd had a chance to ask Joanna once, but missed it—the talk derailed.
What'd she say? Oh, right—Oliver was broken.
He suddenly wondered what she was up to.
Apparently safe back at the Pater Church's Seland branch via the Pharmacist's negotiations.
Then the Puppet spoke.
"You're like a moth."
"Pardon?"
"Flying toward light. Funny part is, you don't even know why. Just instinct... But I don't hate that attitude. Essential for scholars."
"Glad to hear it. So, will you tell me now? What you're researching here?"
He hadn't said it expecting an answer, but surprisingly, the Puppet obliged readily.
"...Methods to create humans."
"Humans?"
"Yeah... more precisely, resurrection. But research showed no real difference between making or reviving. Both beyond human domain."
Oliver, intrigued, pressed.
"Beyond human domain?"
"Yep. Turn left here... My personal take, anyway. Shell's imitable, but the inside? Priests' nonsense about souls being divine territory holds some truth."
Oliver turned left as directed.
At the end, a door—evoking memories of Joseph's X District secret altar.
"Thanks for the explanation. Bit rude after asking, but... why so forthcoming?"
"Call it courtesy? Living centuries gets boring. So I treat young folks who bring small joys kindly."
The Puppet paused a beat.
"...But also, I want to test something."
"Test what?"
No answer. Instead, the Puppet slumped like a marionette with cut strings.
Oliver opened the door unfazed.
A man sat in a chair, slumped.
He lifted his head slightly and spoke.
"Whether to hand you over, or use you myself."
With that, black flames lit the room.