Chapter 528: The Debtor (1)
‘This is… quite fascinating.’
Oliver muttered inwardly as he sat in meditation, eyes closed.
When he had visited the small town of Nopton on a special mission from the Tower of Magic to persuade Eve, he witnessed firsthand the ongoing projects in the Tower. Many of these involved the World Tree, with projects focused on long-distance teleportation spells using the World Tree as a medium, energy transformation from the magic contained within the World Tree, and spells to materialize the memories held by the World Tree into reality.
Each project was significant enough to leave a mark in history, and through them, Oliver came to understand exactly what made the Tower of Magic so extraordinary.
Although it wasn’t the Tower itself but rather Lilith who had implemented those technologies, the important thing was that Oliver had seen it all with his own eyes.
Each aspect amazed and impressed him deeply. Upon completing his mission, Oliver documented everything he had observed and remembered in a notebook, reflecting on whether he could apply any of it himself.
Thankfully, he had found a way. The very training he was undergoing right now served that purpose.
Using the power of nature, he was able to connect with the World Tree, communicate with Eve, and receive the refined images she sent him, allowing him to experience the training of a druid indirectly in his mind.
While he had formulated the theory, he hadn’t been sure it would work. Yet, surprisingly, it was proving to be more successful than expected.
‘Eve was a huge help… Although I could theoretically meditate while connected to the Root Net, the process would have been limited by time constraints.’
Oliver thought to himself, accurately assessing the situation.
To use the World Tree, Oliver needed a kind of fee, whether in terms of emotions, magic power, or the forces of nature, and inevitably, that fee involved a time limit.
There were other difficulties as well.
For example, he questioned whether he could extract only the specific memories he wanted from the layers upon layers of memories stored in the World Tree, like geological strata. Also, during his connection with the World Tree, his physical body would be left defenseless, which posed another risk.
Of course, these issues could be resolved with enough time, but time was the problem. Thanks to Eve, however, Oliver was able to bypass all those minor steps and jump straight into his training.
It was like having a fish bone removed and then being spoon-fed.
To make the most of this fortunate opportunity, Oliver focused even more intently on the images projected by Eve, through his closed eyelids.
[Close your eyes and sit up straight. Feel the forces of nature.]
A druid appeared before a young trainee and spoke to him. In one hand, he held a thin branch that was too slender to be a club yet too thick to be called a switch.
Although Oliver’s concentration wavered momentarily as a new image entered his mind, he quickly refocused, concentrating on the young trainee he intended to mimic.
Like Oliver, this boy had not yet succeeded in attuning to nature. But once he did, it would become easier for Oliver to replicate his practice.
‘The forces of nature, the communion with spirits.’
Oliver mentally reaffirmed his goal and focused his awareness.
Of course, he couldn’t feel it immediately, but just having a figure to emulate in front of him made it easier, like having a compass. Thanks to this, even though he didn’t immediately feel any specific transformation or accomplishment, he persisted in his meditation without giving up.
Then, he began to sense a change. Although he didn’t yet feel the forces of nature directly, the images Eve projected shifted from simple lines to clear, defined shapes.
Furthermore, the area of the image expanded outward from the young trainee, revealing other children beyond the boy Oliver was imitating.
There was a girl and another boy, and the commonality they shared was their exhaustion and hunger. The druid holding the long branch struck one of the girls.
[Focus your mind. The adaptation period is almost over. If you don’t feel the blessing of nature by then, you won’t receive your rations.]
Rations. Having grown up in an orphanage and a mine, Oliver knew exactly what that meant. Food. The sustenance of life. The thing one feared lacking the most.
Because of this, Oliver briefly felt as if he were in the same position as these other trainees.
‘But why did the image expand? I specifically asked to see only one person who would be easy to mimic.’
Oliver wondered, but quickly decided not to dwell on it. Eve must have judged this approach to be more beneficial. It felt more immersive, as though he were receiving direct, on-the-ground guidance.
[Gggrrrk…!]
As Oliver continued meditating, a boy suddenly rolled his eyes back and began foaming at the mouth.
No one had explained it to him, but Oliver understood that this boy was having an adverse reaction to the forces of nature.
Just as not everyone could handle magic power properly, the forces of nature required various conditions, such as individual talent, temperament, and a body capable of processing it.
[Defective. Remove him.]
The druid in charge pointed at the boy with his branch and spoke resolutely.
Strangely, it was the same reaction as when a sick child had emerged from the mine.
Workers dragged the boy away, and as he slowly regained consciousness, he desperately begged for another chance. He shouted that he had nowhere else to go, that he would die if cast out like this.
Yet no one responded to his pleas, and his voice soon faded away in the distance.
[...]
[...]
Silence returned. Although it was merely a projected image in his mind, Oliver could feel the emotions of the children in their roles as trainees.
Although he was merely guessing based on the situation and sensations, Oliver could feel it.
In particular, he could sense the emotions of the boy he had initially observed, the one projected through his closed eyelids.
The boy’s emotions were rising—anger, frustration, determination. As those feelings intensified, the boy’s senses grew razor-sharp, and naturally, Oliver, who was mimicking him, also experienced heightened awareness.
Just as he was on the verge of reaching an accomplishment he had never felt before, Oliver sensed someone’s presence and opened his eyes.
“...Lucien?”
Oliver murmured, looking at the air with his eyes open.
“I apologize. Did I disturb you?”
“...No, not at all.”
Turning his head, Oliver looked at Lucien, who stood a respectful distance away.
Despite being sharp and perceptive, Lucien had stopped at an appropriate distance, as if showing consideration for Oliver.
Yet, even though Lucien had been careful not to intrude, Oliver’s heightened senses had caused his concentration to waver.
It was like when one’s hearing becomes so acute that even the faintest sounds disrupt their awareness.
Though it was disappointing for the meditation to end prematurely, Oliver decided to see it in a positive light.
In his first meditation, he hadn’t achieved anything, but now, he had managed to gain a slight sense of something, and that was a significant improvement.
With a bit more practice, he was confident he would achieve even better results.
Resolving not to dwell on the disruption, Oliver turned his attention to the present.
“I’m really fine. But what brings you here?”
“My business partners would like to meet with Mr. Dave. If it’s convenient, would you mind showing yourself?”
“Yes, of course.”
Oliver agreed without hesitation.
After all, Lucien had freely shared invaluable information with him, such as the location of this dense forest, the various factions coveting the Flesh Chef’s legacy, and the secret alliance between Milieu and the royal family. Lucien had even provided Oliver with access to a portion of the camp area Milieu controlled.
Given all of this, showing his face once seemed a small courtesy.
Without a moment’s delay, Oliver rose, and Lucien expressed his gratitude politely.
“Thank you.”
“No, I’m the one who’s received much assistance.”
Oliver replied earnestly, not just out of politeness but with genuine gratitude. Indeed, he had felt completely at a loss for what to do after Ewan abandoned him. It reminded him of the uncertainty he’d felt when he’d first followed Joseph out into the world, yet meeting someone he knew—like Lucien—had helped him find his footing once again.
“Oh, but would you mind if I took care of one quick matter before we go? It’s important.”
“Oh, of course… and what is it?”
“It’s almost mealtime. I’d like to bring along some stew that’s been simmering.”
Oliver said this while pulling out his watch, his expression serious.
...
Swish… swish… swish…
At the camp Milieu had set up on the forest outskirts, everyone’s attention was drawn to a particularly bizarre scene unfolding in one corner.
“Isn’t that a corpse puppet?”
“Yep, definitely a corpse puppet.”
Just as they were saying, a corpse puppet wearing an apron was standing in front of an enormous cauldron, stirring the stew continuously in one corner of the camp’s outdoor kitchen setup.
Though it was a simple task of stirring, no one could look away.
This use of a corpse puppet was unheard of. After all, who in their right mind would eat food prepared by a corpse puppet?
People speculated that the black magician rumored to have arrived, the one called the ‘Woodcutter,’ might be using this as a form of intimidation, but before anyone could dwell on it, the man himself, Oliver, emerged from the forest alongside Lucien.
“Lucien, would you like some as well?”
Without the slightest hesitation, Oliver naturally approached the giant cauldron being stirred by the puppet and asked. Lucien nodded.
“That would be lovely. Smells fantastic, just like my grandmother’s cooking.”
Reading Lucien’s expression, Oliver replied, “You don’t have to force yourself.”
“No, no, I genuinely want to try it.”
Lucien’s conflicting emotions—part reluctance, part sincerity—were evident, but it was clear his intent was partly to be considerate of Oliver.
In response, Oliver ladled out a bowl of stew for him and handed it over.
“Just a bit more salt, please.”
After tasting a spoonful, Oliver made the request to the apron-clad puppet, which promptly added a pinch of salt.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Of course, Oliver could control the puppet directly, but he had grown accustomed to verbally directing it, a habit formed through working alongside Child. It had become something of a routine.
As he shared the stew with Lucien, they proceeded toward the Milieu encampment, with the puppet trailing behind. The bizarre, unsettling sight of Oliver calmly eating food prepared by a corpse puppet led the surrounding Milieu troops to part ways and make room for him and Lucien.
“The stew is delicious,” Lucien complimented.
“Thank you. And I appreciate your patience. I have to stick to a strict eating schedule.”
Since consuming the Flesh Chef’s essence, Oliver had suffered from a lasting side effect—a constant, intense hunger. Although he had always enjoyed food and eaten heartily, his appetite now was on an entirely different level.
Understanding the situation, Lucien had allowed this delay. According to rumors, Oliver had once emptied the pantry of an entire restaurant, so his appetite was anything but ordinary.
Lucien cautiously inquired, “I understand. I’d heard a rumor that your hunger might be an aftereffect of battle.”
In certain circles, this was a sensitive topic. Fortunately, Oliver showed no sign of being offended.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes… I thought it had improved, though, since you don’t seem to eat outside of mealtimes anymore.”
“Well… I suppose you could say it has, in a way.”
His response was ambiguous, yet not entirely incorrect.
Although his intense hunger was partly mitigated by the constant burning pain from his internal injuries, he still needed to consume a set amount of food at specific intervals.
Oliver’s current physical state was like walking a tightrope, precariously balanced between hunger and the burning agony of his wounds. Each condition countered the other just enough to keep him going.
That was also why, even though people had specifically asked to meet him, he had chosen to bring stew along first.
‘Well, that, and the chance to try cooking with the outdoor kitchen setup and a corpse puppet,’ he thought to himself.
...
As he pondered this, he and Lucien arrived at the tent where Milieu’s leader, Caïd, and his close associates had gathered.
Several tents were pitched together, forming a large, mansion-like space, where various figures were waiting—each one dressed uniquely, hinting at their individual prowess.
There was an elderly man clad in full iron armor wielding a massive sword, a youth concealing a whip, daggers, spikes, and nets under a large cloak, a scarred woman in extravagant clothing, a middle-aged gentleman carrying a massive crossbow and enchanted monocle, and a figure in a helmet shaped like a basket, his entire body covered in weapons.
All of them exuded the aura of skilled warriors. Given that Milieu was said to be descended from fallen nobles, warriors, and thieves, it was no surprise.
These individuals had each carved out their own power bases, sharing the criminal underworld of Gallos alongside the Flesh Chef. Their skills were not to be taken lightly.
‘Ah, and that one over there… can’t forget him.’
Oliver noticed a silent figure in a full iron mask seated quietly in a corner of the tent—a mysterious knight known only as the Iron-masked Holy Knight.
Oliver had previously asked Lucien about him, but Lucien knew only that he was a mysterious figure, and even Milieu referred to him simply as the Holy Knight or the Iron-masked Holy Knight.
When Oliver made eye contact with the Iron-masked Holy Knight, he offered a polite nod, and to his surprise, the knight responded in kind without hesitation.
“Mr. Dave, let me introduce my associates. Starting from the left, we have Pierre, Leo, Valery, Nathan, and Aaron.”
Lucien gestured left to right, naming the Milieu leaders who controlled territories within Laville and its surroundings.
Based on their composition, it seemed likely that Milieu also had internal factions.
This wasn’t unusual. Large, sprawling organizations tended to splinter into factions over time. Crime firms like those in Randa were no different, splitting into factions that spanned not only Laville but the entire region of Celland.
After introducing them all, Lucien graciously provided further explanations about each group.
He mentioned each leader’s main sources of income, who held the longest history, and who wielded the most influence.
While this seemed more like Lucien’s attempt to flatter his associates rather than to inform Oliver, the information was intriguing nonetheless.
After he concluded the introductions, Lucien finally introduced Oliver.
“Allow me to introduce you. This is the man who has helped me twice, Mr. Dave, the Woodcutter, famed across the United Kingdom in Randa.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The first to extend her hand was the lone woman among them, Valery. With sharp eyes that radiated intelligence, she openly assessed Oliver, making no attempt to hide her calculations.
It was clear to everyone that she was evaluating their potential alliance, so she chose to be forthright to establish trust.
In keeping with her direct approach, she went straight to the point.
“Lucien mentioned that you might consider working with us. Is that correct?”
Caught off guard by the question, Oliver glanced at Lucien, who corrected her.
“I said it was a possibility, not a certainty.”
“Close enough… And besides, it wouldn’t be a bad offer from your perspective.”
Just as Lucien was about to say something, Oliver raised his hand, taking the floor.
“May I ask why you think so?”
Valery’s eyes lit up like a hunter who had found her prey.
“Well, pursuing the Flesh Chef’s legacy would be far easier with a group than alone.”
Her answer was sincere, without a trace of boastfulness, and Oliver asked her to elaborate.
“You may have already heard, but a significant number of factions have entered this forest, and they’re formidable. We’re dealing with mercenary bands, treasure hunters, black magicians from central Gallos, and even Puppet’s disciples… No matter how skilled one is, going solo would be a challenge.”
She spoke confidently, but Oliver merely continued eating his stew without showing much reaction.
He had worked with groups before but had never placed much value on it. Instead, he raised his hand.
“What is it?”
“Most likely, Puppet has not joined this operation.”
Her unexpected statement made them all pause, but she soon noticed their curiosity. Puppet’s involvement or absence was indeed crucial information.
“What makes you say that? His disciple, the Bomber Bay, is here.”
“That’s precisely why I think Puppet isn’t participating.”
“...?”
“At first, I assumed Puppet was involved, but on second thought, it seems unlikely.”
Valery asked for clarification.
“There’s no concrete evidence, but if Puppet were here, he’d most likely be working alone rather than with his disciples.”
Though his reasoning seemed vague, Oliver explained further.
“Puppet commands corpse puppets by the hundreds. It would be unusual for someone like him to need a disciple’s assistance, wouldn’t it?”
Oliver had struck right at the heart of the matter.
For someone at the pinnacle of manipulation magic, Puppet’s concepts of numbers and manpower differed significantly from those of an average person.
Able to control an army of undead singlehandedly, he didn’t need the added hassle of managing disciples, who would likely only be a hindrance.
Only Oliver, who had met Puppet a few times, could make this assumption with confidence.
It was a reasonable theory, and the others, including Lucien, took it seriously, their regard for Oliver deepening.
The once vague rumors from overseas now seemed more palpable, making even his frail frame and mismatched black-and-white hair appear like defining features.
As Lucien’s demeanor and Oliver’s reputation continued to impress, Valery decided to press the invitation again, emphasizing the potential advantages.
But Oliver could only shake his head.
“I’m afraid I must decline.”
“What doesn’t appeal to you? We’re based here on the outskirts, not because we lack strength.”
She was being honest. Oliver replied.
“It’s not that I have a problem with your offer. It’s simply that this isn’t a decision I can make alone.”
“Oh, right, you mentioned having a partner?”
“Not exactly a partner, just a temporary collaborator.”
“Didn’t he leave you behind?”
“Regardless, he’s still a collaborator. I’d need to ask his opinion first.”
“Hmm… Might we know who he is? We may have heard of him.”
Just as Oliver was debating whether or not to answer, a familiar shattering sound filled the tent.
Crash!
Everyone turned their heads. Cracks appeared in the air itself, and faced with this strange sight, Milieu’s leaders instinctively readied their weapons. Then Oliver spoke.
“That would be him.”
“...?”
“The one I’m working with to secure the Flesh Chef’s legacy.”
The shattering noise struck again, and this time, the air itself broke apart, revealing a man emerging from within.
“Allow me to introduce Mr. Ewan Branham—the master craftsman who creates miraculous artifacts, the great negotiator who could trade beans for cows, and, indeed, the…”
“Get him!”
“Seize him!”
“Tie him up!”
“Kill him!”
At the sight of Ewan, Lucien and the leaders inside the tent shouted in unison, blocking his escape and surrounding him with whips, iron nets, and weapons.
They pounced on him with all the fury of people confronting a long-lost debtor.
At that moment, Lucien remarked,
“Yes, he’s not just like a debtor. He really is one. He owes all of us… Excuse me for a moment.”
And with that, Lucien resumed beating Ewan.