Chapter 386: Court (2)
Squeeze.
As Oliver pressed the toothpaste-like tube, a dollop of mashed liver landed on the cracker. He took a bite, chewing on the cracker as he would with other combat rations.
“How does it taste?”
“Pretty good, actually.”
Carver was surprised. “Good, you say…? Well, that’s a relief.” He didn’t sound sarcastic but genuinely taken aback.
Though Carver had served in the military, he had quickly risen through the public service ranks after his discharge, becoming a city minister at an exceptionally young age. With his success came a more refined lifestyle, and combat rations no longer suited his taste. Oliver, too, had experienced a similar shift, but his standards for food and comfort were still grounded in his time in the mines and the orphanage, making their perspectives inevitably different.
After a brief moment of thought, Carver spoke up. “Well, it’s true that the combat rations made in Landa are somewhat edible, so perhaps calling them ‘good’ isn’t entirely wrong.”
“Is that so?”
“Regrettably, yes. Most higher-ups treat soldiers as disposable resources, so they consider the food soldiers eat as more of fuel than actual food. Flavor is an afterthought; they just think as long as it’s caloric, it’s enough. After all, when you’re hungry, everything tastes good.”
“Does Landa have a particular reason for not following that approach?”
“It’s nothing special. They simply concluded that serving tasty food boosts morale, and higher morale leads to better performance in battle… By the way, which of these samples, A, B, C, or D, did you like best?”
Oliver pointed to the third sample, C, from among the four combat ration samples he had finished.
“This one has a good variety and the largest portion.”
“And it’s the most expensive. Thank you for the feedback—I’ll keep it in mind. Now, shall we move on to the main topic?”
The casual air between them shifted instantly. Oliver sensed the sudden change and, realizing the conversation was about to get serious, dabbed his mouth with a napkin and adjusted his posture.
Carver began, “I reviewed the files Mr. Dave provided last time—the records of his past and the profiles of the Chosen Ones, as well as the investigation reports from the Pater Church sent to eradicate them. I’ve reviewed everything.”
“Thank you, Minister, I know you’re busy.”
“Oh, not particularly. As I mentioned before, it’s my staff that are busy; a minister has plenty of free time.”
A lie.
“And, honestly, I found the information intriguing, so it wasn’t too much of a chore.”
The truth.
“First, I’d like to thank you for being so forthright, for sharing with us that you’re regarded as a god by this cult.”
“…Were you surprised?”
“Well… I’ll be honest; it was surprising but not shocking. My emotions were dulled quite a bit after the Magic Tower incident.”
“Ah…”
“When a man once part of secret experiments at the Magic Tower becomes a well-known fixer in the city, then ends up being worshipped as a god in some rural town… well, that’s not too far-fetched, now is it? Even if it doesn’t seem to line up perfectly, let’s leave it at that.”
“Then—”
Just as Oliver was about to speak, Carver raised his hand.
“The world is indeed complex and chaotic. Just look at the stack of newspapers on my desk.”
“Mm… I agree.”
“Glad you see it that way. Sometimes, it’s wise to keep things simple. Would you mind answering a question first?”
“Please, go ahead.”
Carver’s eyes gleamed. “Ultimately, what Mr. Dave wants is for the city to permit the Chosen Ones to settle in Landa and to protect them from the Pater Church, correct?”
“Yes, and I assure you the Chosen Ones, including their leader, will cease all religious activities.”
“I read that in the documents. So, they’ll reorganize as a community instead of a religious sect? If I may be frank, I have my doubts about this.”
Oliver nodded for him to continue.
“I can’t say I believe it will work out that way.”
The truth—Carver was sincere.
“Faith isn’t something that just fades or disappears at a whim. Having lived in Landa, I’ve seen a few cults myself, and they don’t simply vanish just because someone says so. Even if that someone… is the god in question.”
“I am not a god.”
“I understand that, of course. But to them, you are… Just to clarify, I don’t hold any prejudice against you for being revered as a god. It’s not as unusual as it might seem; society’s downtrodden often seek solace in such figures.”
“Oh… I see.”
“Yes. If you’re interested, I can tell you more about it another time. But for now, let’s stay on topic… In essence, the Chosen Ones haven’t abandoned their faith in you. They only intend to stay close by.”
Oliver couldn’t refute Carver’s assessment. Indeed, after meeting and parting ways with Jane, Mary had promised to halt the religious activities of the Chosen Ones and transition into a community but requested that individual members’ personal beliefs be respected. Oliver had agreed, understanding that Mary had already compromised significantly, and it would be intrusive to meddle further with their personal convictions.
It was a matter he could work on gradually.
Oliver acknowledged Carver’s point without hesitation.
“Aren’t you being a bit too agreeable?”
“Minister, you once advised me to give advance notice if anything could harm the city. I agreed.”
“I remember.”
“That’s why I’m telling you now. It’s a promise… Besides, it’s only proper to be upfront about everything, given I’m the one seeking your help.”
Carver sighed inwardly.
Honest, upright, foolish, unreadable—it was difficult to define Oliver. The problem was that, regardless of which, he was a bit burdensome. It felt almost inappropriate to attempt any of Landa’s usual schemes on him.
“Minister.”
“Yes?”
“I promise one thing. Regardless of individual beliefs, the Chosen Ones will not cause religious issues while residing in Landa.”
“I trust Mr. Dave, but I don’t feel the same about them. I don’t know them… What would you do if they don’t keep that promise?”
“Then, I will kill them.”
Carver felt a slight chill at the curt yet resolute reply.
“…Kill them?”
“Yes, it’s my promise, and they agreed to it.”
Carver couldn’t find the words to respond.
He suddenly recalled how Oliver had also made similar vows when assisting with the Fighter Crew and Crime Firm contracts… Seeing it in person now, it was both deeply reassuring and unsettling. Interpreted another way, this was also a potential threat to Carver himself.
“One more question, if I may?”
“Yes, go ahead.”
“If we, despite everything, refuse to assist you and instead ask them to leave, what would you do?”
“I would have no choice but to take them and leave.”
Take them and leave.
Oliver had said something shocking with utter calm.
“You’d leave with them?”
“Yes.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but wouldn’t it be a shame to abandon the reputation and career you’ve built as a fixer in Landa?”
After a brief moment of contemplation, Oliver replied.
“To be honest, yes. I do like this city and its people… but if the city cannot accept the Chosen Ones, I understand the burden I would pose.”
“If it were just you, it wouldn’t be an issue. The Magic Tower stands as a guarantor for you—”
“That remains to be seen… And I also want to help the Chosen Ones until they find a new home.”
“You’re worried about them?”
“Mm… Yes, I suppose so.”
Carver was surprised.
Worry—an ordinary feeling, yet strange coming from Oliver, a fixer with such a unique reputation.
It didn’t feel like a lie either.
‘Bewildering… He genuinely seems concerned, yet he’d kill them if they broke their promise… No, no, let’s stick to the essentials—the benefits.’
With his thoughts organized, Carver spoke.
“I reported the information you provided to a few city council members. They expressed a willingness to accept your conditions and protect the Chosen Ones from the Pater Church.”
“Truly?”
Though he could read Carver’s sincerity, Oliver asked for confirmation.
“Yes. Although it’s not fully decided and will require some time. We need to persuade a few more members and coordinate the details, like where the Chosen Ones will stay and what the city will ask of you… I hope you understand. Even in an informal alliance, a deal must be clear and mutually beneficial.”
“I understand completely. I am grateful for the city’s consideration.”
“Good to hear.”
“May I ask how long it might take?”
“It’s hard to say. Politics is like cooking; you have to take your time.”
“Ah… I’ve heard something similar before.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, like how they say that politics is like making sausage—if you know how it’s made…”
“…So, the rumors are true.”
“Rumors?”
“Yes, that Mr. Dave isn’t someone to joke around with.”
Oliver silently observed Minister Carver.
...
Click. Click. Click. Beep! Beep! Beep—Thunk!
[Is that you?]
A warm voice came through the city’s internal communication device.
“Yes, Councilman. Good evening.”
[Ah, good evening to you too. Another day waking up on two feet, so I suppose it’s a good one.]
Joking about his advanced age, the councilman chuckled, but Carver moved straight to business without indulging further.
“I met with him and relayed your instructions.”
[Good. Now let’s hope this turns out to be the right choice.]
“I believe it will be.”
[Not just because of your personal fondness for the fixer, Dave?]
“I won’t deny it. Personally, I find him commendable—skilled, trustworthy. I imagine you agreed to this plan because you see it, too.”
The councilman remained silent, indirectly acknowledging Carver’s assessment.
While Carver had advocated for Dave’s request, ultimately, it was the councilman’s decision to agree. In short, the councilman also found Dave too valuable to simply turn away.
“Personally, I think your choice was right. Gallos’ Roquli University, the Northland rebels, red mages in the New World, an opposition committee springing back to life, constant pressure from the Central Council, not to mention the Royal Family—there’s too much chaos these days… Losing a reliable fixer now would be a serious blow.”
[But in exchange, we’re risking conflict with the Pater Church, aren’t we?]
Feigning ignorance, the councilman quipped. But they both knew he had already weighed the risks.
Playing along was part of the game. Carver replied immediately, “I think we’ll be fine. We have leverage over the Pater Church ourselves… and, of course, we’re Landa—a free city with no reason to bow to religious zealots.”
No sound came from the other end, but Carver sensed the councilman’s approving smile.
That was Landa’s pride—freedom, dignity, prosperity, and the defiance to tell nobility and the pious exactly where they could go.
Carver delivered the finishing touch.
"From a long-term perspective, supporting Dave is advantageous for Landa as well. Whether intentional or not, he’s built positive relations with various city factions—the Fixer Association, the Sisterhood, Crime Firms, and even some influential investors. He’s been handling difficult tasks willingly, like a reliable pillar. But if we cast him aside without hesitation, people will lose faith in the city. Just as we judge others, they, too, judge us."
[-Alright, alright, I get it. Didn’t expect a lecture at my age.]
“Then, what about the other council members…?”
[I’ll see to persuading them. In the meantime, you prepare the official report and keep an eye on Dave.]
“Understood, sir.”
[And be sure to keep a close eye on him. Don’t underestimate the situation.]
“Sir? What do you mean by that…?”
[Oh, just that you might think Dave will be easier to control now that he has more to protect... Or am I mistaken?]
Carver couldn’t deny it. He had indeed considered that having something to protect might make Dave more manageable. Although he hadn’t intended to control him as a pawn, he had believed it would, if necessary, restrain him.
After all, a person with something to protect tends to be more vulnerable.
[It’s not entirely wrong, but be cautious. While those with something to protect may be weaker, they can also be dangerous—like a double-edged sword… Understood?]
“…Understood, and I’ll keep that in mind.”
[Good. It’s a healthy attitude to adopt, especially in these troubled times.]
...
In a small village in the central continent…
Once upon a time, this place had a name, but no longer—because it was dying.
Only seven people remained, all elderly, and even they were on the verge of passing, with only one still clinging to life.
This last survivor, an eighty-year-old man, lay in a ramshackle hut, so weak that breathing itself was an effort. He was so feeble he could not even brush away the fly resting on his eyelid.
A living corpse.
All he could do was wait for death to claim him, or gaze at the strange hooded figure standing beyond the broken door.
The man seemed to be waiting for someone, and soon, that someone arrived.
A man stepped out of an opulent car, accompanied by a young boy riding a strange bird with a human face and insect wings.
Ha-ha…
The old man chuckled feebly, feeling as though he was trapped in a nightmare. Even his life had been a nightmare, and now, it seemed, he would meet his end in one as well.
Despair filled him as he closed his eyes, and he did not open them again.
"Thank you all for coming," said the hooded figure in the dying village.
The figure was an extraordinarily old man—one you might encounter anywhere.
“It seems we’ve been meeting often lately, Puppet,” said the sturdy man who had stepped out of the car. Even though he wore a clean suit, his strength was obvious.
“It’s because you wanted to see me, Chef.”
“I had a few things to ask… By the way, did you call that kid over?”
The Flesh Chef pointed to the night sky.
A monstrous black-feathered bird was descending from above. It had a woman’s face and insect wings. Although the chef’s focus was actually on the orange-haired boy riding atop the creature.
“Ha-ha! Nice to see you, old folks!” greeted the lively orange-haired boy, jumping down from the bird.
The boy, representing one of Black Hand’s key members, showed no fear or hesitation, despite facing two of its most dangerous operatives.
After all, he, too, was one of Black Hand's “Fingers.”
“Thank you for coming, Pan,” Puppet greeted the orange-haired boy, who grinned.
“Looked like there’d be something fun going on. Heh!”