Chapter 391: The Great One (2)
Oliver approached the towering massive tree in Zone Z to retrieve the bandaged man, just as Ewan had requested.
As he drew nearer, Oliver could again sense the intimidating presence of the tree he’d crafted himself. Although it lacked eyes, a nose, or a mouth, its sheer size and eerie dark-red color lent it an overwhelming aura.
It had merely absorbed the life force and emotions of the bandaged man, and yet...
"Something about this feels familiar… I've felt this before… Oh, Puppet."
Oliver remembered the first time he’d encountered Puppet in the Contaminated Zone—when he was surrounded by an army of zombies and fought Puppet in the underground. Puppet had subdued him and nearly devoured him whole.
"The gateway to hell. I'll swallow you whole."
Whether it truly was the gateway to hell, Oliver still didn’t know, but the energy emanating from the tree now felt uncannily similar to what he’d felt back then.
It might prove rather intriguing.
"Are you unharmed, sir… Oh, you’re all right."
Oliver commanded the massive tree with interwoven branches to release the bandaged man trapped within. The man, who had been severely impaled by the tree’s roots due to Oliver’s attacks, was in a state far beyond what would normally allow someone to survive. Yet he was still alive, and Oliver wasn't particularly surprised by this.
If he had been inclined to be shocked, it would have been earlier—when the man had somehow harnessed enough life force and emotion to power such feats on his own.
While Oliver didn’t know much about the Development Opposition Committee, he did understand one thing: they could not be judged by conventional standards.
“Are you all right?” Oliver asked, placing his hand on the inner wall of the tree.
As if sensing Oliver’s intentions, the tree, which had been draining its host of life force and emotions, suddenly ceased all actions and, on its own, withdrew its roots to release the host.
"Thank you."
Oliver expressed his gratitude to the tree for reading his intent and reached out a hand to support the bandaged man.
The bandaged man politely declined Oliver's hand and asked a question.
"Are you… not going to finish me off?"
"Hmm… should I?"
“I could attack you again, you know?”
“Will you?”
“…I just attacked you moments ago.”
“But you didn’t harm me. Even though you could have.” Oliver replied, recalling how the bandaged man had attacked without inflicting lethal damage. He had clearly had the power to inflict a fatal wound but hadn’t done so.
“…Are you not angry at my actions?”
“Well… given my profession, it seems a bit odd to complain about a sudden attack… Since neither of us was seriously injured, why don’t we just make peace?”
Oliver offered to reconcile, and the bandaged man raised his head to gaze at Oliver’s face intently.
“You truly are a kind person… too much so, even. You are a great one.”
“My name is Dave. I’m a fixer on Street 30 in Zone T… If you don’t mind, may I ask for your name, sir?”
“…It’s Bartholomew.”
…
After exchanging introductions, Oliver emerged from the tree with the bandaged man—no, Bartholomew—as if nothing had just happened.
It was an odd scene, but it had actually taken place.
“Are all those people part of the Development Opposition Committee?”
Noticing dozens of bandaged figures surrounding him, Oliver inquired. Like Bartholomew, they were wrapped in bandages and showed considerable interest in Oliver.
“Yes, indeed. They have come to see the Great One—”
“—Unbelievable. Slightly insane, too. Have you two reconciled already? Quite sociable despite your actions!”
Ewan interrupted as Bartholomew was speaking.
As expected, it seemed Ewan was well acquainted with Bartholomew and the entirety of the Development Opposition Committee.
The dissonance in atmosphere and Ewan's high-pitched voice drew reactions from the committee, evidencing their familiarity.
As usual, he was at it again… Oliver thought it all felt quite familiar.
The conversation had been disrupted, but Oliver didn’t particularly mind. After all, the reason he’d come here in the first place was because of Ewan.
"It seems so, Mr. Ewan."
“Oh, I thought you’d be more worked up about being deceived.”
“Well, to be honest, I am curious about that. But there’s a more pressing matter at hand.”
“A more pressing matter? What would that be?”
Ewan asked, seemingly clueless.
Oliver held up the communication device he’d received from Ewan—a compact, dried head made into a flesh-like cube.
“You said the item I ordered was completed, didn’t you? If it’s all right, may I take a look at it?”
“This is going to be big.”
“Pardon?”
“I always thought of myself as a madman, and I was proud of it. But seeing you, it makes me think I’m not even close. Can a fake ever surpass the real thing?”
“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”
“Not getting it is proof you’re truly insane. Pathetic… Hold on a sec.”
Ewan rummaged through his thick cloak.
The cloak, adorned with a hodgepodge of trinkets, clattered noisily. It was a wonder he managed to carry so many things with him.
After a moment, the clattering ceased, and Ewan pulled something from his cloak.
It was none other than a vest, made of pieces of human skin sewn together.
“Is this the item I requested?”
“Yes.”
Ewan replied with a rare, serious demeanor.
Understandably so. While he’d introduced himself in a lighthearted manner as a master craftsman, he approached his work with genuine dedication.
Though playful when taking orders, Ewan always delivered the goods in due time, as evidenced by the timely completion of the tonfas Oliver had requested in exchange for his meat mallet.
Ewan spread the vest out and began explaining.
“Just as you requested, it’s an item designed to store large amounts of blood while keeping it fresh. I used my innate sense to craft it as a wearable piece of clothing for ease of carrying. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Oliver replied sincerely. He had only mentioned the functions he wanted, simply calling it an item, without specifying its form.
Indeed, the wearable design seemed advantageous in several ways.
“Through testing, I’ve found that the amount of blood this vest can hold ranges between sixty and seventy-two liters—about twelve people’s worth.”
Oliver examined the vest. Coincidentally, it appeared that the vest was made of around twelve pieces of human skin, six on the front alone.
“Your craftsmanship is impressive.”
Oliver remarked as he inspected the vest made from stitched-together facial skins of men and women. Although the skins had their eyes sewn shut, they were so realistic that the vest seemed almost alive.
Particularly with the gums and teeth intact, it appeared ready to spring to life at any moment.
“Well, the materials were good too. Landa has plenty of high-quality scam artists.”
“Scam artists?”
“Yes, you know, people who leech off others. Perfect for making items like this.”
“Oh…”
Though no further explanation was offered, Oliver intuitively grasped what he meant.
“Now, I’ve confirmed that it’s possible to ignore the blood’s individual properties and mix it all together, but whether that will yield the results you want is up to you. You’ll have to check it yourself.”
“Yes, I understand. Thank you for crafting it this way.”
Oliver replied with genuine gratitude.
Honestly, he was quite satisfied with the item already.
While it couldn’t increase the production of blood elixirs by mixing the blood, simply storing twelve people's worth of blood was enough to make it invaluable for his Corpse Puppet—Bathory.
After all, Bathory specialized in blood magic.
Even though it currently received blood through artificial blood vessels, the sheer functionality and storage capacity of the vest made it far superior.
Just as Oliver reached to take the vest, Ewan pulled it back, slyly hinting it wouldn’t be that simple.
When Oliver cocked his head, unsure of Ewan’s intentions, Ewan remarked, “We did make a trade, didn’t we?”
“Oh… my apologies.”
As if suddenly remembering, Oliver took out Big Mouth from a leather case strapped to his back.
Once unfolded, Big Mouth swelled like dough, sprouting limbs and opening its eyes.
Oliver politely asked Big Mouth, “Could you fetch that for me?”
Obliging instantly, Big Mouth regurgitated a thick brown envelope from the mouth on its head.
“Grawwwgh!”
It was none other than a copy of the observation journal on Child.
As agreed, Oliver had offered to share his findings on Child in exchange for the item—payment, in a way.
He handed over the journal first.
Ewan took the envelope and quickly skimmed the pages inside, his gaze and emotional responses indicating that he was absorbing more than just surface details.
It seemed Ewan’s expertise extended into black magic as well.
“Find anything interesting?” Oliver inquired, curious about his reaction and keen to gain insights from Ewan’s perspective.
“Well, I’ll need a closer look… Anyway, deal’s done. Here.”
Ewan tossed the skin vest to Oliver.
He caught it reflexively.
The vest shifted, each face on its surface contorting briefly before returning to a neutral expression.
“Oh, that’s impressive. Out of all my items, that one has quite a nasty disposition.”
Ewan remarked as he tucked the journal into his cloak.
“Does it, now?”
“Sure. Like any black magic item, mine are temperamental. They function excellently, but… let’s say they’re finicky, just like me. But this one seems to have taken a liking to you.”
Oliver recalled his encounter with the meat mallet. Although it had tried to take chunks out of other people, it never posed much danger to him. In fact, it had even cooperated.
“Not sure why, but that’s fortunate,” he replied.
“Is it?”
Ewan asked with a hint of intrigue, while Oliver responded as he typically would.
“Yes… Mr. Ewan, if you don’t mind, I’d like to impose for just a moment. I have one more task at hand.”
“Whatever it is, go ahead. Sounds entertaining.”
With Ewan’s consent, Oliver turned to face Big Mouth.
Despite his desire to ask Ewan a slew of questions, he had a more pressing matter to attend to first.
Personal curiosity would have to take a back seat to his current duty.
“Big Mouth, could you bring that out?”
Obliging once more, Big Mouth spat out a gift-wrapped wine bottle and a cake.
Everyone looked on with puzzled expressions at the unexpected items, while Oliver approached Bartholomew, who had fought him just moments ago, and politely handed him the wine and cake as if it were the most ordinary gesture.
The surrounding onlookers were even more bewildered.
“What is this, O Great One?”
“A cake and wine. It’s a housewarming gift.”
“Goodness, are you moving to this dump in Zone Z?” Ewan asked, surprised and genuinely curious.
“Not exactly. Technically, it’s Zone X. I’m not the one moving, but some acquaintances of mine are. It’d take a while to explain.”
“Sounds like it. I wouldn’t peg you as the ‘friends’ type.”
Ewan continued with his jokes, while Oliver sought permission to address Bartholomew again.
“I intended to greet you more formally, but I’m afraid we’re meeting under these circumstances… A sudden request, but may I ask a favor if it’s all right?”
“Please, go ahead.”
Bartholomew replied, accepting the wine and cake Oliver had given him.
“As I mentioned, some acquaintances of mine have settled in Zone X, but the building they’re staying in is still incomplete. The cement powder… it’s still missing some finishing touches. If you wouldn’t mind, could you grant permission for this?”
Oliver recalled Forest’s mention of the Development Opposition Committee’s interference whenever construction was underway in Zone X.
Initially, Oliver hadn’t planned to resolve it this way, but now that he was here, he felt he might as well get an answer on the issue.
Whether he received permission or not, it would help him move forward.
Fortunately, luck seemed to be on his side.
“Do as you please, O Great One. Whatever you wish to do, we shall not hinder you.”
It was a satisfying answer, although a certain term lingered in Oliver’s mind.
“Thank you, Mr. Bartholomew… But, may I ask about this ‘Great One’? It seems you might have mistaken me for someone else.”
“Though I am but a lowly sinner, I would never fail to recognize the Great One.”
“A sinner, you say?”
“Yes.”
“What sin led you to call yourself a sinner?”
“The sin of being born as a wretched human.”
Bartholomew replied with resolute conviction. It reminded Oliver of Mari’s resolve, though it was unsettling—regular conversation didn’t seem possible with him.
“Mr. Bartholomew, may I ask what this ‘Great One’ means? I can’t help but feel lost on the matter.”
“Forgive me, but it is not my place to speak of it. The Great One must come to that realization on their own.”
Bartholomew’s voice was as serious and certain as it had been from the start.
It didn’t seem as though he was simply dodging the question, but even so, Oliver felt little stirrings of curiosity.
It was quite strange.
Normally, he would have been intrigued by something like this “Great One,” but for some reason, he wasn’t particularly drawn or puzzled by it.
Perhaps it was because he already knew the answer.
“I apologize, Mr. Bartholomew. I don’t wish to give the wrong impression to those who have kindly granted me their understanding, but… I am not the Great One you refer to. I am simply myself—”
“—O Great One, even if a dragon conceals its fangs and claws, folds its wings, curls up, and drapes itself in a rat's hide that doesn’t fit, it does not become a rat.”
“…?”
“The sun is the sun, the earth is the earth, and the sea is the sea. Essence does not change simply because one denies it. It is an absolute truth, indifferent to good or evil.”
“What, then, is my essence?”
“You will realize it in time. Whether you wish it or not, O Great One.”