Chapter 50: The Question (1)
Oliver, Kent, and King Fist descended below the trash heap, their bodies covered in a slimy substance.
It was impossible to tell how long the filth had accumulated, but it was so thick and foul that even a beggar would be forced to discard their clothes.
However, that wasn’t the pressing issue.
The smell from the sewer below was far worse than the stench emanating from Oliver, Kent, and King Fist.
The scent became so unbearable that it not only hurt their noses but also gave them splitting headaches. Oliver, unable to bear it any longer, activated his Sensitive Nose.
Though the stench still lingered, it was much more tolerable than before.
At least it no longer felt like his head was about to split open.
"Oh my God... I can't believe I'm seeing a secret sewer again," Kent remarked, as if he were familiar with it. Oliver asked him.
"Are there more places like this?"
"Well... despite the fact that Landa had a major collapse in the past, it's an old city. It was a key outpost of the ancient empire and continued to serve as an important city and strategic location afterward. Over the years, the ground beneath the city was developed too. There's the Ancient Sewer, the Medieval Sewer, and even the Modern Sewer. It’s layered, two, sometimes three levels deep."
"Oh..."
"That’s why they say there’s a city beneath the city in Landa. Usually, it’s used by gang organizations, problem solvers, and major figures in the underworld."
"Hmm... Don’t beggars use it? It smells awful, but it seems like a good place to stay since it’s warm."
"Good point. But even so, beggars rarely use it. Most of these sewers are interconnected, so if you’re not careful, you could run into dangerous groups. A beggar dying on the surface isn’t a big deal, but underground? Not even the smallest death would go unnoticed."
"I see... Then why are the Mole Faction using it?"
"... Either they've lost their minds, or they have something they can rely on."
"Something they can rely on?"
"Who knows... Maybe they’ve gained confidence because their numbers have grown, or maybe they’ve found some backing."
"Got it."
As Oliver and Kent exchanged words, King Fist, who had been following behind them, suddenly interrupted.
"Wait a minute... Oliver, you...!"
"Yes?"
"How did you know there was a secret passage here?"
"Uh, could I explain that later? It’s a bit awkward to say right now..."
"No, answer me now. You’re way too suspicious."
"Uh, well..."
Oliver found himself in an awkward position. At that moment, Kent intervened.
"Let’s talk about it later."
"Kent?"
"The important thing right now is finding Harmonica, right? Isn’t that why we’re here?"
"Yeah, but still..."
King Fist tried to argue further, but when his eyes met Kent’s, he immediately closed his mouth and lowered his head.
Along with his silence, an intense anger seemed to bubble up inside him, ready to explode at any moment.
"Oliver. Can you tell where Harmonica is?"
Oliver nodded.
Though he had deactivated his Sensitive Nose because of the overwhelming stench, they had come far enough that it was no longer an issue.
Oliver focused his attention on his eyes.
As his senses sharpened, he saw several glowing emotions in the darkness, a hallmark of black magic.
About a dozen adults, and around twenty children... deep inside the sewer.
"They're further in."
"Phew... That’s a relief."
"But there are other people besides the children."
Others. Most likely the ones who had kidnapped the children.
Kent, as if expecting this, tightened his grip on his Quarterstaff and said, "Doesn’t matter. Lead the way. Quietly."
Oliver nodded and began walking cautiously.
Though the surroundings were pitch-black, it didn’t pose much of a problem for Oliver, who was moving with the enhanced vision of a black magician.
Kent followed closely behind him, moving as if he was used to the darkness, but surprisingly, King Fist struggled to keep up.
Could he not adjust to the darkness?
"Ah, don’t mind me."
King Fist whispered lowly.
His face showed a mix of frustration and shame, but strangely, his emotions hinted more at cunning, like a snake harboring secret thoughts.
However, Kent didn’t seem to notice and continued to instruct Oliver to move forward into the depths of the sewer.
Step... step... step...
As they drew closer to the source of the emotions, faint footsteps began to echo.
Kent placed his hand on Oliver’s shoulder, signaling him to stop, and brought a finger to his lips.
The footsteps grew clearer, and soon, they were accompanied by voices.
"Ah... damn it, how much longer do we have to watch these brats?"
"Why are you whining? You’re getting paid to watch them. What’s so hard about that?"
"Their crying is driving me insane. My head’s pounding..."
"Didn’t you beat the hell out of them earlier? Don’t overdo it... You remember how Mr. Henry got mad at you last time, right? Said you’d ruin the merchandise."
"I didn’t hit them that hard. Kids are meant to be raised with a beating, aren’t they? More than anything, I just hate being in this stinking place."
"Thump. Thump. It’s not that bad."
"You’ve just gotten used to it."
"Ugh, stop complaining. Anyway, this job’s worth it... But what are they going to do with these kids? We don’t need them for begging anymore. As much as I hate it, I don’t want to see any more kids getting their limbs chopped off."
"Who knows? Maybe they’ll sell them to a factory or farm. The girls... maybe a brothel?"
"Ugh! That’s horrible. They’re not even pretty. They won’t be going to any nice places."
Their laughter followed, clearly comfortable and unbothered by the cruelty of their situation.
They seemed confident, unaware of the danger approaching.
Oliver looked at Kent.
His emotions were boiling with disgust and fury, but he remained calm and composed.
He silently gestured for Oliver to stay quiet, then pulled out a knife from his coat while gripping his Quarterstaff tightly in his other hand.
Like a cat, Kent lowered himself and crept forward without a sound.
He was as silent as a predator...
Once he was close enough, Kent thrust his Quarterstaff into one man's throat and immediately buried his knife into the neck of another startled target.
“Gurk...!”
Surprisingly, the man who had been stabbed tried to resist, his eyes wide with shock.
But Kent, unfazed, twisted the knife to finish him off, then quickly stabbed the neck of the next beggar.
His movements were fluid and precise, without a hint of hesitation.
Even more astonishing was that despite taking down two people simultaneously, not a single sound of alarm escaped.
Though black magic could have made this easier, Kent had done it all with just his body.
It was an impressive sight.
"Mind helping me move these bodies?" Kent asked.
King Fist stepped forward to hide the corpses in an unseen corner.
The group advanced further.
As they ventured deeper, the light from magic stone lamps illuminated their path, making it harder to move unnoticed.
Kent raised a fist, signaling everyone to hide.
Peeking forward, he observed what lay ahead.
Armed beggars stood guard, equipped with blackjacks and clubs, while terrified children cowered in a corner.
"Dammit..."
Kent muttered under his breath, his voice low.
"What's wrong, Kent?"
"There’s Harmonica."
King Fist stole a glance at the scene and asked, "There’s quite a few of them. What’s the plan?"
"Hmm..."
"With just the three of us, shouldn’t we head back and get reinforcements?"
"Hmm... No, we can’t risk what could happen on the way. Besides, we’ve already killed two on our way in. We’ll have to deal with it here."
"But—"
"I'll draw their attention. You and Oliver sneak over and get Harmonica out of here. Help the other kids escape too."
"The other kids?"
"Yeah. Even if we can’t save them all, we might get a lot out... Can you do it?"
"... Yes, I can."
"Then, I’m counting on you."
With those words, Kent, holding his knife, crouched low again and began to approach the beggars, who were still oblivious to his presence.
Once he was close enough, Kent hurled his knife, and remarkably, it pierced one of the beggars' throats with perfect accuracy.
"....!"
"What the—?"
"...Huh?"
The beggars, shocked and confused, stared at their fallen comrade. Kent wasted no time, rushing into their midst and swinging his Quarterstaff with lethal precision.
He wasn’t merely swinging a stick. His movements were disciplined and refined, showcasing a practiced technique that even an outsider like Oliver could tell was highly skilled.
The ends of the Quarterstaff functioned as both weapon and shield, striking down approaching enemies and deflecting their attacks.
“Damn it! Where the hell did he come from?”
“Surround him! Surround—!”
“Screw you! Why don’t you try? This guy's... argh!”
The beggars tried to fight back with their clubs, but their weapons were no match for Kent’s Quarterstaff in both reach and technique. Their advantage in numbers quickly became irrelevant.
Every time they tried to encircle him, Kent would break their formation by swinging his Quarterstaff in wide arcs, knocking them down one by one.
Even though he was alone, he easily overwhelmed the larger group of beggars.
And then, suddenly...
Bang!
The sound of a gunshot rang out, freezing everyone in place. All eyes turned toward the source of the noise.
A beggar wearing a fedora had stepped forward, holding a pistol.
“That’s far enough.”
With the appearance of the gun, the other beggars quickly backed away, fearing they might get caught in the crossfire.
"Hmm... Oh! I remember now. You’re the guy I beat up not too long ago," Kent taunted, hitting a sore spot.
The fedora-wearing beggar's face twisted in rage.
He swung the gun in the air like a blade and shouted, “Hah...! Still putting on that tough act. Let’s see if you can keep it up with a hole in your body! Hmm?”
"Why? You planning to shoot? From the way you’re holding that gun, I’m guessing you don’t even know how to use it properly... You sure about this? You’ll just embarrass yourself more. Getting humiliated by an old man with a limp and a gun?" Kent goaded as he inched closer.
But then, the man in the fedora pointed behind Kent and sneered.
"Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got something to rely on."
There was a sinister undertone in his voice.
Sensing something wrong, Kent glanced back.
It was then that his eyes met Oliver’s.
More accurately, they met the sight of Oliver being restrained by King Fist.
“What the…?”
The man in the fedora let out a mocking laugh.
"Things didn’t go exactly as planned, but it doesn’t matter. I didn’t think anyone in your group had brains, but I was wrong. Turns out, one of them can think ahead and see the future."
Kent looked at King Fist, his expression betraying a sense of disbelief.
"...Why are you doing this?"
“Look, Kent... I’m grateful you took me in, but you didn’t really expect me to spend my entire life taking care of beggars, did you? I don’t want to be a beggar for the rest of my life, not if I can help it... Now drop your weapon.”
King Fist’s voice echoed through the sewer, his words laced with bitterness.
His voice, filled with frustration and desperation, reverberated off the walls of the sewer. Kent looked at him for a long moment, then slowly closed his eyes.
To everyone’s surprise, a faint but radiant light seemed to emanate from Kent as he gently let his Quarterstaff fall to the ground.
‘...Why?’
Bang! Thud...
The sound of the Quarterstaff hitting the floor was followed by the sound of laughter from the kidnappers.
“Pfft... Hahaha! What an idiot! He actually dropped his weapon for a worthless beggar!”
"Seriously... Hahaha! Did you hear that? That fool doesn’t know the plan. By now, your whole crew's probably wiped out. We had everything set from the start."
"Yeah! Our friends already took care of them!"
Oliver silently watched the scene unfold before him.
He saw a man who had given up his weapon for his sake and the kidnappers who mocked him for it.
In all honesty, Oliver shared some of the kidnappers' thoughts.
Kent's decision to discard his weapon made little sense to him.
Why would anyone risk themselves for someone they had no real connection to? Then again, this was typical of Kent—he had taken Oliver in, with no hidden agenda, and given him a place among his group of beggars.
A selfless attitude, but one that Oliver found incomprehensible. Altruism... Oliver found himself filled with an overwhelming desire to understand this moment.
“Damn it... If it were up to me, I’d take my time torturing you. But we’re on a schedule, so just die already.”
The man in the fedora took a few steps forward, leveling his gun at Kent as he pulled the trigger.
Bang!
"...Huh?"
Everyone, beggars and kidnappers alike, stood in shock.
A mysterious black barrier had appeared, shielding Kent from the gunshot.
Then, a voice broke the stunned silence.
"Excuse me, but there’s something I’d like to ask him."
All eyes turned toward the source of the voice.
Standing there, unharmed, was Oliver, and at his feet lay the body of King Fist, impaled by black spikes.
Everyone stared in silence, gripped by a sudden, chilling fear.