Chapter 521: The Master of the Fallen Land (4)
Ewan suddenly burst into the scene, shouting without any preamble.
He proposed to Oliver and Bartholomew that they accompany him to Gallos to plunder the legacy of the Flesh Chef.
Ewan’s enthusiastic call echoed hollowly down the corridor, long faded by time, as Oliver and Bartholomew simply maintained their silence.
“Damn it, what’s with the lack of response? Got nothing to say? Like, ‘Oh, sounds great, I’ll follow you right now,’ or ‘Thanks for inviting me to such a fine opportunity, only Ewan could offer this.’ That’s what I mean.”
Ewan showed a bit of disappointment at Oliver’s indifferent response. After all, he’d gone to the trouble of suggesting this in high spirits, so this reaction was rather rude.
“May I ask you a question?”
“Oh, of course! Now that’s more like you, asking if you may. Go on, ask whatever you like.”
“That battering ram—is it a black magic artifact that creates spatial fractures by using a human head as a component?”
“As expected, you noticed! Its official name is Skull Crusher. It creates fractures in space by using a human head, and since the head gets smashed with each use, that’s how it got the name.”
Ewan displayed the crushed head at the end of the Skull Crusher.
“It’s handy, but each use requires replacing the head, making it a hassle, and the replacement heads also need to be quite skilled—damn it! Who asked you to pry about that?!”
Ewan shouted at Oliver, frustrated by the unexpected question. What annoyed him more was that he had kindly explained it all.
“My professionalism and dedication feel wasted here, answering things like this.”
“Hmm... Well, I personally disagree on calling that dedication, but regardless, I apologize. You did tell me to ask anything.”
“When I said anything, I didn’t mean that. There’s usually a flow to conversations, right? You know, questions like, ‘What exactly is the Flesh Chef’s legacy?’ or ‘How much money do you think is in it?’ Those kinds of practical, materialistic things.”
“What is the Flesh Chef’s legacy?”
Oliver asked, following Ewan’s guidance.
If a regular person had done it, it would’ve seemed mocking, but this was Oliver. Ewan restrained his simmering irritation and answered.
“Haa... It’s the wealth left behind by the Flesh Chef who was killed by the Archive, as you know well since you were there.”
Oliver hesitated slightly.
His trip to Gallos wasn’t exactly a secret, yet it wasn’t widely known either. Officially, Oliver’s presence was only on paper. Public focus was solely on Merlin, credited with defeating the Flesh Chef, and on Terrence and Yareli, who helped save the city.
Yet, Ewan mentioned this matter so casually, which was somewhat surprising. Unexpectedly sharp, perhaps.
“Are you thinking something extremely rude right now?”
“...No, I’m not.”
Oliver lied, and Ewan saw right through it.
“If I were just a bit stronger, I’d knock some sense into you, but since I’m weak, I’ll let it slide... Anyway, the point is I want to do business with you. Let’s raid the Flesh Chef’s massive legacy together. You could even thank me.”
“May I ask another question?”
“Can’t you just say thank you?... Go ahead, what is it?”
“Is there really such a thing as the Flesh Chef’s legacy?”
While Ewan didn’t appear to show deceit, Oliver asked to confirm anyway. After all, shortly after the Flesh Chef’s death, newspapers reported that all his assets were confiscated.
The staggering amount involved was hard to forget, having shocked the public.
“It’s true some of the Flesh Chef’s assets were confiscated, but not all of them. Think about it logically. That greedy guy, who once controlled half of Gallos’s underworld, wouldn’t have managed his wealth so sloppily that some lowly government officials could find it all. No chance.”
“Ah…”
Oliver let out a sound of realization. Indeed, the newspaper had claimed all assets were seized, but he’d never seen it firsthand.
One thing Oliver learned in Landa was that newspapers and truth could differ.
“The Flesh Chef stashed his funds all over Gallos. Gallos is a large, wealthy nation.”
“And multiple factions are now fighting to find that wealth.”
Bartholomew, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. His tone, inflection, and emotional state suggested he knew something, which was fascinating, given he remained within Zone Z.
“Multiple factions?”
“Yes… The remnants of the Flesh Chef’s forces, Milieu, mercenaries hired by the government, treasure hunters, and black magicians affiliated with Black Hand. They’re all vying for it.”
“When you say Black Hand, do you mean Puppet and Pan?”
“No, not those two—other people. Ambitious ones aiming to fill the Flesh Chef’s vacant position.”
“Ambitious people?”
“Yes, those who belong to Black Hand but haven’t earned the title of Fingers, so they’re in a somewhat ambiguous position.”
Oliver roughly understood what was meant.
Black Hand, a criminal organization of black magicians, was generally recognized as a single entity, but it had features that made it hard to call a unified organization upon closer inspection.
It had no clear leader and no strict chain of command.
Rather than a single organization, it was more of an alliance or coalition of numerous black magician factions.
Only the strongest black magicians were called the Fingers.
‘The Eternal Puppet, the Flesh Chef, the Eternal Child Pan, the Piper.’
Oliver recalled the four black magicians representing Black Hand after a long time.
Interestingly, Oliver had already met three of them, one of whom was dead, and another who’d suffered significant physical and mental damage at the hands of a demon.
Ewan pointed this out.
“Now that’s why Gallos is in an uproar. After all, creatures who have reigned as predators for decades, even centuries, have disappeared. How could they not want to rampage?”
“Yes, I’ve heard... But it almost sounds as if peace was maintained thanks to the Flesh Chef and Pan.”
“It’s not just how it sounds; that’s exactly it. Although it wasn’t intentional.”
“Is that so?”
Oliver asked with interest. The idea that peace was maintained by the Fingers was ironic.
“It may sound strange and contradictory, but it’s a plain fact. With the Fingers present, other black magicians couldn’t act out. It’s like how other animals watch their step when there’s a lion.”
“Fascinating story. It’s the first I’ve heard of it, though.”
“Adults rarely tell children uncomfortable truths. They prefer teaching things as black and white, good and evil. It’s simple and easy. But, as I mentioned earlier, it’s a fact. The Flesh Chef was particularly skilled at such tasks. He had a strong territorial awareness.”
Oliver thought of the Flesh Chef.
A figure who declared humans ate humans, and turned Gallos’s capital, Laville, into a living hell for his purpose...
A prototypical black magician, yet amusingly enough, he valued his sister’s life more than his own. Even as he was being pierced, he raged to save her.
“Of course, it was never done with noble intentions. That guy was as monstrous as they come. He just protected his own turf.”
“By ‘turf,’ do you mean Gallos?”
“Yes. Since Gallos, the largest territory in the region, was his base, the Flesh Chef suppressed black magicians as effectively as the holy knights did. Not just within Gallos but even those from nearby countries. The moment he deemed them dangerous, he’d make them dinner.”
“But it’s not like that anymore?”
Bartholomew answered.
“Indeed. With the Flesh Chef gone, his organization and influence have effectively collapsed, creating a massive vacuum in Gallos’s underworld. Both dark and light forces, including black magicians who’ve been lurking in the shadows, are now fighting each other to seize the Flesh Chef’s legacy and position. All in the hope of becoming the next Flesh Chef.”
Oliver nodded. He had heard something along those lines right after taking down the Flesh Chef, so he was somewhat aware.
Yet, exploring the details revealed a different feeling.
While he’d anticipated some turmoil in the Flesh Chef’s absence, he hadn’t expected the Flesh Chef to play a suppressive role as well.
“...This is quite interesting.”
“There’s a purpose behind every existence; nothing exists without a role... So, you’ll come with me, right?”
Ewan proposed to Oliver, almost as naturally as if he’d sign a contract if he let his guard down.
“Well, I’m not sure...”
Oliver pondered. Normally, he would’ve declined the offer.
He knew the Flesh Chef’s legacy had immense value and enjoyed money, but he hadn’t felt the need for that much money.
This time, however, was different...
“...Does the Flesh Chef’s legacy include any demon tomes?”
“Finally, you’re starting to make sense... Although I can’t say for sure, there’s a rumor. The Flesh Chef’s legacy is said to contain not just massive wealth but also the unique entities, black magic books, and demon tomes he collected.”
“Not a certainty, then.”
“If it were certain, I’d have seen it myself, and I wouldn’t be asking you to join me. Would I be sane?”
It made sense. These kinds of things always involved a degree of uncertainty.
“...Could I have all the demon tomes we find?”
"Then, does that mean I can take everything else? Artifacts, rare materials, and the wealth?”
Oliver hesitated briefly.
“Hmm...”
“Don’t think too long about it. It’s making me anxious.”
“What if I suggest that you keep the artifacts and rare materials, but we split the wealth evenly, fifty-fifty?”
“Oh, come on. Why? Why split it?”
“Well, it’s not that I urgently need money, but I do have some situations where I’ll need funds.”
Oliver recalled his recent conversation with Mary.
The Chosen Ones’ branch was struggling financially, which was no surprise. In the past, their biggest income source had been Filgaret, but since it was technically an illegal business that risked attracting negative attention, Mary had ceased production immediately upon settling in Landa. This was, in fact, done at Oliver’s request.
‘Now, they’re trying to recover financially through redevelopment projects, but it’s still tight. The organization has grown too large to manage otherwise.’
So Oliver proposed to split any wealth they acquired from the Flesh Chef’s legacy in half. Oliver already had a considerable fortune, but it seemed unwise to turn down any potential earnings.
“You disappoint me. Where’s the pushover I used to know? Now you’re all shrewd and calculating. Give me back my pushover!”
“I’m sorry. If I didn’t need money right now, I’d happily give it to you. But I think I might need it.”
“And what if I say no?”
“Hmm... Then I might go to Gallos alone. I know someone there who might even work with me.”
Oliver thought of Lucien Myra, whom he had met in Gallos.
Lucien was the head of the Myra family within the crime syndicate Milieu, and Oliver was acquainted with him. Considering the likely chance that Milieu was involved in the struggle over the Flesh Chef’s legacy, Lucien could be a useful partner.
At this, Ewan burst out, shouting as if betrayed.
“Hey, that’s not fair! I’m the one who brought you this information, and now you’re thinking of betraying me?”
“Sorry... But I didn’t promise anything before you told me, so I think it’s fine.”
“Damn, that’s logical.”
“Apologies. I think I’ll need money soon.”
Oliver replied, mindful of the financial situation of the Chosen Ones and his role as a joint representative of the organization.
Still, Ewan was not to be outdone, shouting in response.
“I need money too! For my dream!”
“Your dream? And what might that be?”
“To blow through hundreds of billions of randa in one night, on gambling, booze, and entertainment.”
Ewan responded with a resolute gleam in his eyes. Remarkably, he was completely sincere, and Oliver narrowed his eyes as he looked at him.
...
After hearing about Ewan’s dream, Oliver talked with him for a few more minutes and managed to find some common ground.
Negotiations like this were usually handled by Forrest, but since this required a quick decision, Oliver stepped up instead.
Fortunately, he’d picked up a few tricks from Forrest, resulting in a relatively satisfactory agreement.
Ewan’s disgruntled expression and frustrated feelings confirmed it.
“Damn it.”
“Thank you for the compliment. If it’s not too much trouble, could you tell me when we’ll be departing?”
“The sooner, the better. Even at this moment, someone might be getting their hands on the Flesh Chef’s legacy.”
At Ewan’s words, Oliver glanced in the direction of the corridor they had followed under Bartholomew’s guidance.
A long, seemingly endless hallway lay before him, tinged with a vaguely familiar but unsettling energy, much like that of the Development Opposition Committee.
Oddly enough, Oliver felt both a hint of curiosity and an unfamiliar sense of unease upon seeing it.
He couldn’t tell why. Was it because time was short and there was so much to do?
“Hmm... Would you mind giving me a little time? I have things to attend to and preparations to make.”
“Preparations?”
“Yes. Since there will be numerous black magicians, I should make some arrangements.”
“Not a bad idea. Fine. I’ve got some tasks to handle myself… Plus, it’s still early days in the hunt for the Flesh Chef’s legacy. Sometimes it’s better to wait until the dust settles a bit, then swoop in and take advantage.”
Ewan unexpectedly agreed without much resistance. After expressing his gratitude, Oliver turned to Bartholomew.
“Mr. Bartholomew... I’m sorry, but something urgent has come up. Would you mind if I excuse myself?”
Despite the effort Bartholomew had put into guiding him, Oliver was now asking to leave. Though Bartholomew showed a hint of regret, he soon concealed it and nodded.
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
With permission granted, Oliver promptly retraced his steps alone down the path he had come.
As Oliver disappeared into the shadows, Ewan spoke slyly.
“Did I just interfere?”
“...No.”
After a brief silence, Bartholomew replied, then resumed his original path, opposite Oliver’s direction.
“Really?”
Ewan trailed after Bartholomew, asking again. Although it might have been annoying, Bartholomew seemed unbothered.
“Didn’t you intend to discuss your secret with him, though?”
Bartholomew replied.
“True… but if he left midway, it just means his interest in us ends here. No need to be disappointed.”
“Haha... Impressive. So, the one you’ve been waiting for, the savior, has no interest in you?”
Bartholomew’s face, hidden beneath his bandages, showed a brief flicker of regret. After all, he knew from the beginning that Dave held only minor interest in them. Yet, he had still led Oliver to this place, motivated by a selfish desire.
“Well, it can’t be helped. We’re the ones who caused this situation in the first place. It would be wrong to ask someone who already bears an unjust fate to take on even more.”
Bartholomew spoke with a calm acceptance, though deep down he still clung to a sliver of hope.
Shortly after, Bartholomew and Ewan arrived in front of a door deep underground. It was an old, decrepit yet dignified door. As they opened it with a creak, a twisted, dark space reminiscent of flesh stretched out before them.
Inside this eerie and unsettling realm, twisted humans were hard at work, carving a massive dark red tree into a doorway.
“All we can do is hope for salvation, accept whatever outcome comes, and carry on with our task.”