Chapter 602: The Changing Landa (3)
"Ah, hello there! Oh, no, I mean, hello, Sir Dave!!"
In the Redevelopment Coalition’s X-District office, Oliver greeted Celine, who returned the gesture with a ninety-degree bow, causing her hair to flutter. It was the first time they’d met since Wineham. Whether it was the reason or not, she seemed excessively nervous.
Oliver knelt on one knee, lowering himself to meet her eye level to help ease her tension.
“Yes, nice to see you. How have you been, Celine?”
“A-Yes, yes! Thanks to your grace, Sir Dave, I’ve been doing well! Thank you for your concern.”
Contrary to his intentions, Celine’s tension only grew more severe, but Oliver continued with the conversation, using every bit of conversational skill he had learned at the House of Angels.
“To be honest, I wasn’t all that worried.”
Celine’s eyes wavered, reflecting a sense of loss and a hidden heartache—a stronger reaction than he had anticipated. Oliver immediately followed up.
“Because you’re a braver person than I am, Celine. I figured you’d have been fine.”
“Oh.”
It was a line Oliver had once said to her back in Wineham. Hearing it again brought a radiance of joy to Celine’s face, opposite to her earlier anxious expression. She was genuinely thrilled that he remembered their conversation.
As proof, her face turned red as a beet, and her lips lifted in a blend of shyness and happiness.
The tension in the air dissolved, and the tightness in Celine’s small body vanished.
Building on the momentum, Oliver gestured for Celine to sit.
Tap.
“Do you like cake? Or perhaps cookies?”
Oliver pointed at a pile of sweets on the table, and Celine pointed to the cake. He cut a generous piece and placed it before her. She began nibbling on it like a baby bird.
“Is it good?”
“Yes! It’s delicious, Sir Dave. Thank you.”
She made sure not to leave out the “Sir” or forget to thank him, though Oliver felt slightly disappointed about it.
He didn’t see himself as someone grand enough to warrant “Sir.” However, he couldn’t ask her to stop since they had discussed it back in Wineham, and Celine had said she felt comfortable with it. Reluctantly, he’d accepted, so there was no room to bring up that matter again.
Well, there were other things he wanted to talk about, like whether she still thought of him as a deity. However, conversation requires a sequence, so he asked more ordinary questions instead.
“Is it comfortable living in Landa?”
Halfway through her cake, Celine looked up at him.
“Even though I know you’re brave, that’s separate from feeling at home here. So, is everything alright?”
“Yes, I’m doing well.”
She nodded as she swallowed the cake, and the effect of the sugar seemed to restore her calm. To prove it, she displayed the same clear-eyed look he’d once seen in Wineham.
“At first, everything felt unfamiliar, but now I like it here. There are lots of people, and I’ve made some friends.”
“That’s great to hear.”
“Um, Sir Dave, may I ask you a question?”
Her eyes gleamed with interest, curiosity, and enthusiasm. Oliver permitted the question, knowing it would make for a healthy conversation.
“Can I ask why you called for us? Did we do something wrong?”
“Oh, not at all. I just wanted to chat with you all.”
“Oh… Th-Thank you, Sir Dave.”
Celine expressed her gratitude as if it were an honor to have him show interest in them, and the sight made Oliver’s heart ache slightly.
Because, in truth, his reason for conversing wasn’t for Celine or anyone else’s sake—it was for himself.
Oliver sought conversations to use as a compass toward becoming a better person.
But here she was, thanking him. The thought made the spot where Jane had stabbed him ache. However, quitting now wasn’t an option, so he steadied his heart.
Although his intention might be somewhat self-serving, as long as it was for the betterment of others, he thought it couldn’t hurt. It was similar to business; he gained what he wanted, and others got jobs. There shouldn’t be any issues.
With that resolve, Oliver continued asking Celine small questions about what she’d been doing in Landa, how she’d been spending her time, and her daily life. In return, Celine responded energetically, as if eager to match his interest.
She explained that she had first stayed in the old multi-family housing he had arranged for her but had moved to a decent home when redevelopment started. Mornings were spent learning black magic, afternoons assisting adults, and late afternoons playing with kids from the Fighter Crew. Some kids who couldn’t read or do arithmetic were even being taught by her.
“Are you teaching them, Celine?”
“Usually, there’s a teacher for education, thanks to Director Mari, who believes anyone willing to learn should be taught.”
“Oh… that’s wonderful.”
“Oh, Milo teaches arithmetic.”
Milo, the youngest brother of Landa’s Liquor King, Murphy Kimball, currently visited to learn black magic.
“Milo?”
“Yes, he sometimes hits us on the back of the head if we make mistakes, but he’s a good teacher.”
“Really?”
“He uses sweets as teaching aids.”
“Oh…”
Oliver couldn’t help but feel a bit impressed. Knowing that Milo, who had once been dragged by the ear by his aunt Maggie or scolded by his brother Murphy, now taught kids using candy was a surprise. Then again, people are full of surprises.
Afterward, Oliver delved into more personal matters, asking her about her past and how she met Mari, questions he hadn’t had a chance to ask during Wineham.
As he expected, her story wasn’t bright—her upbringing in a slum, entanglements with dangerous gangs, and her rescue by Mari. It bore a striking resemblance to the story of Mari meeting Joseph. It seemed that the world’s tragedies often unfolded in similar patterns.
“So, that’s why you like Mari.”
“All of us like Director Mari. She’s kind and takes good care of us.”
Celine’s face softened, revealing an innocent, childlike smile. For some reason, Oliver found it heartwarming.
“Of course, we all like you too, Sir Dave!”
Celine’s sincerity shone brightly, childlike and pure, and it filled Oliver with a mixture of gratitude and guilt.
“Thank you, Celine.”
After he spoke, she turned red again and shyly finished the last of her cake.
The conversation felt nearly concluded, and as Oliver was about to let Celine go, he had one last question.
“Celine.”
“Yes, Sir Dave?”
“Do you still… think of me as a god?”
“…?”
“I’m not asking to scold you or place blame. Could you answer honestly? I’m just curious what you think.”
After a brief silence, Celine answered. Upon hearing her response, Oliver took her hand and thanked her for her honesty.
Celine left, and Oliver prepared to speak with the next person...
...
The X-District Redevelopment Coalition office.
Over the past few days, people from the Fighter Crew and members of the Chosen Ones had come in and out of the office one by one.
The common factor was that each had a one-on-one conversation with Oliver. From an outsider’s perspective, it would have seemed like madness.
The Fighter Crew alone had over five hundred members, and the Chosen Ones numbered in the hundreds in Landa alone.
The idea of having a personal conversation with each of them seemed, at best, wildly ambitious—something even a wealthy aristocrat with endless time on their hands wouldn’t consider.
Yet, Oliver didn’t mind. In fact, he welcomed it.
After all, quantity brings its own form of value. For someone like Oliver, who sought to craft his ideal self by interacting with others, having a large number of people to speak with was not a hindrance but a resource.
Just as more samples provide more accurate results, Oliver was willing to engage each person one by one to gain the insights he needed to find his way toward becoming a good person.
Of course, he knew that with limited time, he couldn’t complete the task in a single day. He intended to make it a long-term endeavor, spending as many days as necessary speaking with everyone.
He began by asking each person’s name, age, current studies or work, and general lifestyle. Once he sensed their tension and caution easing, he would probe more deeply.
He asked how they came to join the Chosen Ones or the Fighter Crew, what their past had been like, and who was in their family. And finally, he asked them what they thought of him, Oliver.
It wasn’t an easy task.
The Chosen Ones, filled with reverence and faith, and the Fighter Crew, motivated by awe and respect for strength, were guarded in their responses, making honest conversation challenging.
It was no one’s fault—just a natural phenomenon.
But regardless, having a genuine conversation was difficult. And as word of his questions spread, some people began showing up with carefully rehearsed answers, which made it harder to reach sincere responses.
Oliver, who sought genuine conversation and truthful reflections, wasn’t pleased by this. Instead of complaining, he focused on reading people with his black magic’s insight and drew on his growing rapport to reveal their true feelings.
As a result, while not perfect, he gradually achieved satisfactory outcomes.
He encountered people among the Chosen Ones who didn’t believe he was a god, individuals who respected Mari more deeply, others who felt increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of worshipping Oliver as a living god, and some who were indifferent to the question of his divinity. And he learned the reasons behind these perspectives.
There were various reasons why people who didn’t consider Oliver a deity remained with the Chosen Ones. Some followed Mari, others were there simply for survival, and still others found meaning in the act of believing itself.
A prime example was a grandmother who had five grandchildren.
“Whether Sir Dave is a true god or not doesn’t matter to this old woman. The important thing is that we were saved by Sir Dave’s will, and I believe in that.”
The Fighter Crew members were no different. With the exception of Joe, whom he knew better, Oliver managed to hold genuine discussions with the crew.
To them, Oliver was a formidable figure who could stand up to the Crime Firms, and he had since become much more. He was their black magic teacher and the ultimate role model for success.
“When we first met, I was kind of arrogant, but now I consider myself lucky to have survived.”
That was Double-gun Sam speaking.
“I think of Sir Dave as my benefactor. When we were trapped by the flesh chef and had to fight the Crime Firms, he saved us and even gave us good jobs. I’m always grateful. Just say the word, and I’ll do anything.”
That was Owen, the iron-club-wielding Fighter Crew member, offering his heartfelt thanks.
Oliver also spoke to other key figures, including Murphy’s youngest brother, Milo Kimball.
“Thanks for letting me teach the kids? Well, honestly, I’m just doing it so I can learn black magic directly from you. So don’t feel pressured and teach me well, alright? I’m trying to nudge you here.”
After these conversations, Oliver spent time patiently speaking with everyone—learning about their lives, their wishes, and their opinions of him. Over time, the list of people he spoke with grew, though it was still just a fraction compared to the number of people he intended to meet.
“One day, I’ll talk more with people like Mr. Lawrence, who admires Mari, and Joe’s sister, Nora.”
Then, on a certain day, as Oliver was immersed in these dialogues, Kent came to see him.
...
“Kent?”
Kent arrived near the end of the day’s conversations.
He had been the one who helped Oliver when he first left the Joseph Family, showing him where to go, and now led a large organization of beggars called “The Poor Brothers.” He was also the director of the W-District’s welfare center, “The Poor Brothers.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
With his one lame leg and his quarterstaff, Kent stepped into the room. For anyone meeting him for the first time, he might resemble Oliver, but truthfully, it was more accurate to say that Oliver resembled Kent.
After all, it had been Kent who first wielded the quarterstaff.
Though neither of them thought much about it.
“What brings you here?”
Oliver immediately rose from his seat to welcome Kent, who had arrived unannounced.
“Sorry to show up out of the blue. Did I come at a bad time?”
“Oh no, not at all.”
As he replied, Oliver politely saw out the man he had just finished speaking with.
The man bowed respectfully and exited, and Kent, watching him leave, commented.
“So the rumors are true.”
“Pardon?”
“They say the woodcutter Dave is in X-District, talking to his people to build loyalty, with plans to expand his power.”
Oliver was momentarily speechless at the absurdity of the rumor. Such gossip was characteristically Landa-like. Kent, noticing his reaction, laughed.
“I’m just teasing. I heard the rumors, but I don’t believe them.”
Whether to be relieved or not, Oliver decided it wasn’t worth pursuing. Instead, he invited Kent to sit down.
“Did Forest send you?”
Oliver read the emotions behind Kent’s eyes accurately. Forest had sent Kent out of concern for Oliver, aware that despite his strength, he was still quite young.
Kent dodged the question diplomatically.
“Well, I did hear about what you’ve been up to. I heard you’re helping people through your business? Impressive.”
Kent’s praise, offered with genuine admiration, made Oliver feel both embarrassed and slightly uncomfortable. After all, as he had explained before, his actions weren’t purely altruistic but rather motivated by self-interest.
Helping others was his way of guiding himself toward being a better person.
Not wanting to deceive Kent, Oliver admitted this honestly, but Kent simply chuckled, as if to say it was silly to think otherwise.
“What’s so wrong about that?”
“Sorry?”
“If my wife and children were still alive, I’d probably still be seizing homes from helpless people. Running the welfare center is my way of atoning, in a way. Whatever your reason, isn’t helping others what really matters?”
Kent’s casual response wiped away Oliver’s unease.
“You’re too considerate, overthinking simple things and making them complex. A little self-interest is fine; without it, would we even be human?”
Kent continued to reassure him, as if Oliver’s worries were trivial. The words proved to be immensely comforting.
“Well, from what I see, things are going well. But may I ask you a question? Forest practically begged me to ask on his behalf.”
“Please, go ahead.”
“Do you have a specific plan in mind once all these conversations are finished? I have to admit, I’m also a bit curious.”
It was an understandable reaction. Oliver had expressed a focus on business, so anyone with interest would naturally wonder about his plans.
“I do have one in mind. Ideally, it would make the most of my surroundings.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’m considering establishing a black magic academy at the Tower of Magic.”
“Wha—?”
...
The head of the administration had a similar reaction when he heard the news from Kent.
“Wha—?”