Chapter 47: Kent (2)
There had been a minor skirmish with the Mole Faction, but daily life hadn't changed much.
To survive, Oliver and the other beggars woke up early every morning and roamed the streets. Even as the days grew colder, they went to different districts to collect garbage.
"Is everyone here?"
"Yes," the sweaty, foul-smelling beggars responded in unison.
"Then dump it!"
Countless pieces of garbage poured out of the sacks.
Old pots, broken furniture, worn-out clothes, and bent utensils—things that could still be reused in this place—spilled out. But the most important among them was the paper waste.
More precisely, the torn and shredded paper waste.
The beggars who had collected the trash crouched down and began sorting the paper, making sure it didn’t mix with the trash collected from other places.
After sorting everything, they brought the piles to an old man crouched in the corner and a middle-aged beggar wearing glasses.
"This was collected from the restaurant up front."
"Ah..."
"This one's from the gang hideout in the back."
"Put it there..."
"This one came from the factory dumpster."
A mountain of white and yellow paper quickly piled up, and every time it did, the old man and the bespectacled beggar would merely nod wearily. They looked extremely exhausted, but they still didn’t stop meticulously piecing together the papers.
Oliver had once asked them why they did such work. They replied that it was because they were turning the garbage into something valuable.
It was all about figuring out what their rival shops or factories were up to, whether a new deal had been made, or if a better opportunity had arisen. These papers could be sold for anywhere from tens of thousands to occasionally even hundreds of thousands of Landa. It was a side job, but a significant source of income.
Curious, Oliver asked, "Why are they the only ones doing that job? Shouldn't we help, too?"
"Huh? How are you going to help? Can you read?"
"... Ah. Right."
That was how Oliver had replied. It made sense. He hadn’t learned to read until recently, after all.
It was impressive enough that people like Mari and others around him could read.
Then, a new question arose in his mind.
"How do they know how to read?"
"You sure are full of useless questions. But since you're not slacking off, I'll tell you... The former boss, the priest, taught them."
"The priest?"
"Yeah. Thanks to that, only we can do this job. Lately, we've had some competition, and prices have dropped a bit, but it's still why we don’t starve."
"If the former boss taught them, they've been here for quite a while, haven't they?"
"Yeah, they've been here longer than Mr. Kent. They know everything about this place."
"Hmm..."
Just then, someone yelled angrily.
"What are you all whispering about? Hurry up and sort out the useless trash!"
At those words, the beggars, who had been lazing around, quickly got back to work.
They put aside the usable trash and stuffed the unusable bits back into the sacks to carry outside. They dumped the trash back into the dumpster from which they had taken it, signaling the end of another task.
Though it was simple labor, it was tiring and nauseating work. Once it was done, they were usually allowed some rest, which Oliver would use to catch his breath and regain his strength.
But today wasn’t like most days.
"Excuse me..."
"Hmm?"
Oliver approached the group sorting the papers and spoke.
The group, their eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and irritation, looked at him.
"... What do you want? We’re busy."
"Can I help?"
At those words, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up at Oliver.
Their expressions were one of disbelief, and Oliver, sensing their confusion, quickly added, "I can read. I’ve learned."
A heavy silence fell.
Their faces were painted with emotions—puzzlement, displeasure, suspicion, and wariness. Then, the bespectacled beggar spoke up.
"You can read?"
"Yes, I learned a while ago."
"Why haven’t you mentioned it before?"
"No one asked."
"... That’s a pretty good reason. Then why bring it up now?"
"I wanted to ask something, but I felt it wouldn’t be right to ask without offering something in return... I’ve learned that if you want to ask a favor, you should give something first."
"Smart kid. But I don’t think you can help. This job isn’t just about reading... Look."
The beggar with glasses held up a tiny scrap of paper.
It was about the size of a finger joint, with two small words printed on it.
"Reading is the basic skill. You also have to analyze the shape of the torn paper and fit the pieces together like a puzzle. Sometimes, you have to infer missing words from the context. It’s not just about reading."
"Shape, context... I understand."
"...?"
The bespectacled beggar looked at Oliver with a mix of disbelief and slight irritation.
"Alright... you’re persistent. Fine. Try matching those papers over there. But if you can’t do it properly, expect a slap. We’re busy enough as it is, and you're already distracting us."
"Yes, understood."
Oliver cheerfully responded and approached the pile of shredded paper.
There were hundreds, if not thousands, of pieces, all torn with great care.
Everyone watched as Oliver moved. His actions stood out, after all.
But Oliver didn’t seem to mind. He was completely focused on the task in front of him.
"Shape, context... shape, context..."
Muttering to himself, Oliver began laying out the torn papers one by one on the ground.
Then, just as he had been told, he focused all his attention on the shapes and the context.
...
After a long moment of silence, Oliver finally began to move.
He selected a few pieces from the scattered papers and started fitting them together, his hands moving quickly.
In no time, more than half of the pieces were assembled. Oliver examined the context of the text and then pulled out more scraps to complete the document.
"Oh..."
"What the..."
"This is insane..."
The onlookers murmured in amazement.
And with good reason. A task that normally took days was being completed by a newcomer in a matter of minutes.
Having finished piecing together a full document, Oliver looked up as the bespectacled beggar spoke.
"You're fast."
"You taught me the trick, after all."
Oliver’s tone was casual, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
It was so out of the ordinary that no one knew how to react.
Amid the awkward silence, the bespectacled beggar spoke again.
"Well... good. We’ve got plenty of work anyway. Can you help with more?"
"Of course... but can I ask you something?"
"What is it?"
The bespectacled beggar’s eyes narrowed as if trying to see through Oliver’s intentions.
"I was almost beaten up by some beggars recently."
"I heard. Kent helped you, didn’t he?"
"Yes. But who exactly is Mole?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"His name keeps coming up, and I was almost beaten because of him. It seems important to know."
Everyone turned to look at Oliver. Their eyes were filled with suspicion.
Why? It was a perfectly reasonable question.
Perhaps it was because Oliver’s curiosity outweighed any fear.
Rather than being afraid of a predator, it seemed more like he was curious about an ant.
Not that Oliver himself understood why the atmosphere had grown so tense.
After a long pause, the bespectacled beggar finally spoke.
"... Mole settled in this area about two years ago."
"Ah..."
"They say he used to be an enforcer, a former soldier, or part of a gang."
"Is that why people say he’s dangerous?"
"No. Up until a year ago, he wasn’t that bad. He was a bit rough, sure, but not dangerous. But something changed over the past few months."
"How exactly?"
"Somehow, he came into a lot of money. He started recruiting beggars who could fight and forced others in nearby territories to join his faction... He’s even encroaching on other factions' turf."
"Vicious bastard..."
Someone muttered under their breath.
"Once he crushes a territory, he extorts money from the beggars every month as ‘protection.’ Then, he uses that money to hire more muscle... There are even rumors now, dangerous ones."
"Dangerous rumors?"
"Yeah, about kidnapping beggars and selling them... as slaves or test subjects."
"I’ve heard that, too. Some say he’s dealing with black magicians."
Someone else chimed in, but the bespectacled beggar dismissed it as nonsense.
"No, that’s too far-fetched. Why would a black magician come here?"
"Really?"
"Yeah..."
Oliver stayed silent, watching their reactions.
The bespectacled beggar spoke again.
"And black magicians are a no-go. They’re too dangerous."
"Why?"
"Why? Because they use people as ingredients. They’ll even deal with demons if it suits their needs. They’re extremely dangerous..."
Oliver suddenly thought of Joanna. She had said something similar.
Could it be true?
Maybe? Thinking of Joseph, Andrew, and Dominique, it didn’t seem all that far-fetched.
"Why are you interested in this?"
"Oh, I’m just curious."
Once again, an awkward silence fell. Then someone spoke up.
"By the way, what do you think will happen next?"
Both Oliver and the bespectacled beggar turned to face the speaker.
"What do you mean?"
"You know, Mole has been expanding his territory lately. He’s not just taking over small beggar factions anymore... Rumor has it, the Mole Faction has grown so big, it’s not even considered a beggar faction anymore."
As those words spread, unease began to surface among the group, as if they were remembering a fact they had tried to forget.
"Yeah, I’ve heard."
"Boti said even that old man eventually joined them."
"Really? That old guy?"
"He blocked the road and demanded tolls. He said if they didn’t want to pay, they should join his faction."
"Yeah, I heard that, too."
"Wouldn’t it be better to join them? It wouldn’t be a bad move, would it?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I mean, come on. Mole’s taking over W-District anyway, so why bother fighting? If Mr. Kent agrees to join, they’d probably treat him well."
"That’s true... Maybe things would get better for us, too."
The group’s opinions and emotions varied. Some were tempted by the idea of a better life, while others were uneasy. Some simply chose to follow whatever Kent decided.
Amid the commotion, an old man, who had been silently working, spoke up.
"Forget it... Do you really think Kent would team up with Mole just for a bit of comfort? If he wanted an easy life, he would’ve left long ago."
At that, everyone fell silent. It was a quiet agreement, a form of trust in Kent’s character.
"... Does this have something to do with the former boss, the priest?"
Oliver's sudden question drew everyone’s attention.
"Why do you ask?"
"I’m curious."
"And why are you curious?"
A voice interrupted from behind.
Oliver turned to see Kent standing there, holding a quarterstaff in one hand.
Looking at him, Oliver greeted him.
"Oh, hello?"