Chapter 480: Omen (2)
Oliver restrained the Holy Knight's arm and spoke.
“Sorry... I was struggling to breathe.”
But what was important wasn’t Oliver's apology or his trouble breathing.
The critical thing was that a gaunt black magician had overpowered a Holy Knight using sheer physical strength.
It was a sight that was hard to believe even after witnessing it firsthand.
The Holy Knight's body had been honed through natural blessings and strenuous training, yet it was subdued by the gaunt, bone-thin black magician, and that too, barehanded. It was truly an unbelievable sight.
Naturally, the person who found it hardest to accept this fact was none other than the Holy Knight who had been subdued.
The red-haired Holy Knight flexed his arm in a display of humiliation and anger.
Crack, crack, crack...
The muscles in his arm bulged, and veins stood out. However, the more force he exerted, the more he could feel the unnatural strength of Oliver's body.
He looked as though he hadn’t eaten for days, yet his neck was solid like an ancient tree, and his arm didn't budge at all.
It was as if his body resembled that of a dragon—steadfast and immovable, like a living mountain.
The red-haired Holy Knight, forgetting the gazes of those around him, desperately continued to struggle, but Oliver remained standing as before.
Sensing something amiss, the other Holy Knights quietly placed their hands on their weapons and assumed a formation, while Pinkman, feeling uneasy, discreetly stepped back to increase the distance.
In the tense atmosphere, only Joanna moved.
“Hold on a moment. Everyone, calm down. The important thing right now is the mission—”
“—Sir Knight.”
Amid the suspicion, tension, silence, and Joanna's voice, a calm but out-of-place voice echoed.
It was Oliver's voice, which, due to its peculiar atmosphere, attracted everyone's attention even though it was quiet.
“May I have some water?”
Oliver asked, taking out a water canteen. The question seemed out of place given the situation, and everyone remained silent as Oliver added,
“I'm thirsty.”
“...”
Again, no one responded, until Holy Knight Anselm broke the silence.
“Do as you wish. If you’re thirsty, drink.”
“Thank you.”
While everyone wore dumbfounded expressions, Oliver expressed his gratitude to Anselm, opened the canteen, and took a drink.
The water... Ptui.
Despite the breach of etiquette, Oliver spat out the water he had in his mouth.
It was no longer cool or clear.
“Red?”
Someone exclaimed in surprise upon seeing the water that Oliver spat out. Red water... Everyone here had known that the canteen was filled with fresh, cool water, as they had all drunk from Oliver's supply when the water source had been contaminated. But the water Oliver spat out was as red as blood.
“Sorry. It tasted like metal.”
“Metallic taste?”
Pinkman tilted their heads in confusion, not understanding what he meant, but the Holy Knights' faces tensed as if they did.
Since their fundamental purpose was to protect the human realm from demons, the Holy Knights understood what Oliver was implying.
It seemed that the book from the Flesh Chef was indeed a reliable source.
Clack.
Oliver released the red-haired Holy Knight's arm. The Holy Knight tried to pretend he was fine as he withdrew his arm, but it trembled slightly as if in pain.
“My apologies.”
After apologizing to the red-haired Holy Knight, Oliver moved towards where Anselm stood.
A different Holy Knight blocked his path, and the red-haired Holy Knight, shouting for him to stop, gripped his axe with a trembling hand.
The intent to attack was clear if he didn’t stop.
“Everyone, stand down.”
At that moment, Anselm ordered the Holy Knights to back off.
Oliver stood still, silently observing Anselm. Despite the price he had paid for allowing a single attack, which had left him severely weakened, his eyes were calm. There was none of the typical Holy Knight's certainty or arrogance.
Anselm met Oliver's gaze for a moment, then gestured slightly for him to come forward, and the Holy Knights, although not understanding, stepped aside.
Through the open path, Oliver moved forward, using his quarterstaff to tap the ground as he walked.
The entrails that had once covered the abandoned mine had disappeared, returning it to its original state, and with each tap of the quarterstaff...
Tap, tap, tap...
Oliver stopped in front of Anselm and knelt on one knee, meeting the Holy Knight at eye level. This was proper etiquette.
“Is a demon being summoned?”
“Well... I haven't studied it thoroughly... The only thing I know is that when water turns red, it’s the first sign of a demon's descent.”
Oliver answered based on the knowledge he had gained from the demon's tome. The red water was the first omen, with nine more to follow.
Considering that, they were relatively fortunate right now.
The scale of a catastrophe differed depending on the number of omens. Given that there were no frogs in sight, it was still at the first level—the lowest.
“How do you know this?”
Anselm asked while steadying his rough breathing.
“Most people don't even know about the existence of omens, let alone their types. It's not something one could learn by chance.”
“I read it in a demon's tome.”
Oliver answered without a moment’s hesitation. He, a black magician, had learned it from a demon's tome.
That fact alone was enough for the Holy Knights to execute Oliver on the spot, as the combination of a demon's tome and a black magician was considered extremely dangerous.
However, Anselm did not take that course of action. Instead, he continued the conversation.
“...Are you sure it’s alright to share such information?”
“I have to provide accurate information for the Holy Knights to make the right decisions. Assisting the Holy Knights is my duty right now... With that said, if I may, could I offer a suggestion?”
“...?”
“Wouldn't it be more important to decide whether or not to stop the demon than to question me?”
Anselm's eyes wavered slightly.
“...You’re right.”
...
Holy Knight Anselm accepted Oliver's advice.
He excused himself to confer briefly with the other Holy Knights, while Pinkman also gathered to hold a meeting.
It was only natural since the situation involved a demon.
Even in the present day, stories about the appearance of demons were treated as semi-mythological ancient catastrophes.
Some of the Pinkmen still seemed unable to believe or grasp the reality of a demon’s descent, reacting as if they were being told a dragon was flying outside their window, setting a neighbor’s house ablaze.
However, given the Holy Knights’ serious demeanor and Oliver's nonchalant attitude, it was impossible to dismiss the situation lightly.
Meanwhile, Oliver remained on his own, some distance away. His presence was simply too unsettling.
It was natural, given that in the midst of discussions about demonic summoning, Oliver, a black magician, was an ominous figure in and of himself.
To make matters worse, even his shadow seemed to wriggle as if alive...
“Is your shadow... alright?”
Joanna approached Oliver and asked.
“I think it’s still fine.”
“You think?”
“Yes... I can’t be sure.”
That was true. Even Oliver had no definite answer regarding his shadow.
After subduing the Flesh Chef, the vast emotions, life force, and magic had been absorbed into his shadow and remained there. The reason was unclear.
It could be due to the overwhelming quantity, accumulated over hundreds of years, or perhaps because of the shadow's high capacity for transmitting emotions and life force.
Regardless, the one certainty was that Oliver's shadow contained all of the Flesh Chef's energy.
So far, this had been manageable. Despite the energy's abundance, as long as Oliver didn’t provoke it, the vast power occasionally stirred but didn’t cause any issues.
However, the situation had changed.
After devouring a large number of creatures infused with human souls, Oliver's shadow was undergoing some structural transformation.
Though the changes didn’t seem too drastic, the fact that it was transforming at all was significant and warranted observation.
'Absorbing the Flesh Chef's immense energy into my shadow and adding Pan's creatures to it...'
Despite his relatively limited experience with creation-type black magic, Oliver was still a formidable black magician.
He suspected that the emotions, experiences, and souls used as materials for Pan's creatures would blend into his shadow, potentially turning it into a creature itself.
Since black magic was complex and ambiguous, certain conditions could lead to spontaneous creations.
The most common example was disease-enhancement black magic, which could transform into a catastrophic disaster if a small amount was left in an environment filled with corpses and filth. There was no rule saying that creation-type magic couldn’t behave similarly.
“Then, isn’t that dangerous?”
“Yes, if it occurs naturally without the magician's will, there are more variables, and in some cases, it could be uncontrollable. Especially since some creatures have strong free will.”
“Shouldn’t you eliminate it?”
Joanna asked out of concern. She was right. As of now, it was still within Oliver's ability to dispel it without issue.
The problem was, he didn’t want to.
Safety was important, of course, but so was curiosity.
Oliver was genuinely curious. What kind of creature would emerge if the emotions, life force, magic of the Flesh Chef, and Pan's creatures naturally fused with his shadow?
For someone who lacked imagination and creativity, this might be the best way to create a powerful creature.
Naturally, this entailed risks and variables, but the intrigue and fascination were equally compelling, enough to put his own safety at stake.
Joanna seemed to notice Oliver's thoughts, as her expression displayed shock and concern, wondering if he was serious.
“Are you really serious?”
“Well... More importantly, Joanna, is it alright for you to be here? The other knights are still in their meeting.”
Oliver diverted the conversation.
Joanna turned to look at the Holy Knights.
“...I think it’s better if I stay out of it.”
“Huh? Oh... I’m sorry.”
Oliver apologized belatedly, realizing that the Holy Knights had noticed that he and Joanna knew each other.
A Holy Knight and a black magician... it was a serious matter. Even if the mission were successfully completed, there would still be issues.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault, Dave.”
“Even so—”
“—It’s really okay... But, may I ask you something?”
“A question?”
“Yes.”
It was an abrupt request. Oliver observed Joanna's emotions—fear, curiosity, and a deep sense of urgency. She wanted to confirm something just in case.
“What are you curious about?”
“Will you help us? To stop the demon summoning?”
“Yes, that’s my job.”
“Hm... How did you get that demon's tome?”
“In Gallos.”
Joanna asked a series of seemingly hollow questions, to which Oliver answered faithfully, though she didn’t seem entirely satisfied.
“Joanna.”
“Yes?”
“It may be presumptuous of me, and if I’m wrong, I apologize... Could you ask what you’re really curious about?”
“...”
“I’m curious, too.”
Oliver's words caused Joanna's emotions to stir slightly, and from those emotions, she expressed her true question.
“If it’s not too rude, may I ask what you did after we parted at the cathedral?”
There was only one cathedral that Joanna could have meant.
Oliver was about to answer immediately but hesitated as he considered the emotions Joanna had displayed at the time, the current situation, and his own thoughts.
“Hm...”
“Why... is that?”
“Joanna, may I answer after the mission is over?”
“Why...?”
“It could be a long story, and I also have some questions for you. Besides, I think we need to move now.”
Oliver politely pointed to the Holy Knights behind Joanna. They had finished their meeting.
“We’ve made our decision. We will fulfill our mission.”
Anselm said as he led the Holy Knights forward. It wasn’t surprising. All of the Holy Knights had already resolved to stop the demon.
They had simply confirmed each other's intent, steeled their resolve, and planned their strategy.
“Have the Pinkmen decided?”
“We will participate as well.”
Ricky replied on behalf of the Pinkmen, who had lost a significant number of their members in the previous battle. Since the team leader had died, he had taken command.
“Are you sure?”
Oliver asked in surprise. For the Holy Knights, this was their duty, and they had the blessings of the sacred law, but that wasn’t the case for the Pinkmen.
To be honest, Oliver had expected them to leave now that the entrails encircling the mine had vanished.
“Pinkmen uphold their contracts.”
Ricky answered simply, displaying his firm principles, determination, and a certain pride. It was rather admirable.
“Understood.”
“Before we move, may I ask one more question?”
Anselm called out to Oliver.
“...Yes, go ahead.”
“Are you truly unconnected to Pan?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Then, let us proceed.”
Holy Knight Anselm responded without a moment's hesitation and began to lead the way.
...
Woof! Woof! Grrrr...!
“Goodness, what’s gotten into the dog?”
At the headquarters of Prometheus Corporation, where the shareholders' meeting was underway, an elderly and affluent woman occupying a seat at the grand long table spoke.
Her name was Catherine Bingley. She was the head of a prestigious noble family whose dignity had not waned despite the influx of capitalists and magicians—the new elite.
Explaining how much land she owned, her influence within noble society, and how many relatives coveted her inheritance would take quite some time, but for the moment, that was not important.
What mattered was that during the process of appointing Edward X as the new executive of Prometheus Corporation, her pet dog had started barking uncontrollably.
It was so intense that one might have worried it was having a seizure.
No matter how high her status, or how many noble shareholders were on her side, she couldn't avoid the glances of others, especially in front of Edward X's representative, a brown-haired boy seated at the candidate’s table.
Eventually, unable to withstand the awkwardness, Catherine resorted to a desperate measure.
She activated the magical collar around her pet’s neck, delivering an electric shock that rendered it unconscious.
“Ah, finally quiet.”
She said brazenly, as if it had nothing to do with her, trying to dispel the embarrassment.
Perhaps that was indeed the proper approach.
Unbeknownst to the people in the meeting room, all the animals in the city were experiencing seizures.
Horses neighed madly, flailing about to break free from their harnesses, pigs rammed against their enclosures to escape, and dogs barked frantically, attempting to bite anyone who approached.
However, the most unusual behavior was seen in the city's rats, which ran either inland or towards the sea, as if they would be content to escape the city at any cost.
The dark clouds hanging over the sky only heightened the sense of unease, yet the people gathered to appoint the new executive at Prometheus Corporation were still unaware.
The chairman of the shareholders’ meeting cleared his throat.
“Ahem... My apologies, shareholders. Let’s resume the meeting—”
“What... What is that?”
The dog had stopped barking, but now it was a person who had lost their composure.
The chairman, maintaining a professional demeanor, turned his head towards the commotion while feeling a surge of irritation.
“What in the world...”
He trailed off with a vacant expression as he took in the sight.
The teapot and cups filled with tea had turned crimson, and from them, countless frogs were leaping out. It was a scene that defied belief.
A frog perched atop the teapot and locked eyes with the chairman.
Ribbit.