Chapter 619: The Druid's Request (3)
In Landa City, it was announced that productive discussions had taken place with members of the Central Council participating as royal envoys, signaling that...
...
Oliver’s residence. The sound of the radio played softly.
The broadcast was yet another account of the prince’s arrival or news of successful exchanges with his entourage, varying only in the specific details but largely echoing previous reports from the days of his visit.
It was the same recycled narrative, claiming that the prince and the royal family aimed to maintain a favorable relationship with Landa, hinting at benefits for both the United Kingdom and Landa.
However, this storyline was hardly convincing to teachers, economic commentators, or political freelancers, who would openly share their theories, predictions, and commentary each time such predictable reports aired.
Then again, maybe Oliver just didn’t understand it; he wasn't exactly well-versed in these matters.
After all, a visit from a royal figure—especially a prince—was an unusual event.
Since the prince’s arrival, it seemed that every day the press in Landa, both newspapers and radio, had been churning out a near-endless supply of articles, as if they had suddenly discovered a magical cornucopia of news.
And Oliver, while listening to one of these broadcasts, prepared to go out.
He put on the “Fake Face” he’d bought from the Black Market, altering his appearance. He didn’t stop there, using some makeup techniques he’d learned at the House of Angels to create an entirely different impression.
At the very least, he made sure not to resemble either Dave the Fixer or Zenon from the Tower of Magic.
"Hm..."
Oliver made a contemplative sound as he examined his reflection in the mirror.
It had been a while since he’d last needed to disguise himself, but the result wasn’t bad; he barely recognized himself in the mirror.
Satisfied with his work, he changed into suitable clothing for his destination—rough, worn brown pants and a matching brown outer garment that looked as if it had been polished by years of use. He pulled a well-used flat cap low over his head.
Next, he used Shrink Magic to reduce the size of his quarterstaff, tucking it away inside his coat, and then cast dark magic on a Corpse Puppet that had been left in a corner.
The Corpse Puppet bore a close resemblance to the Fixer Dave, as it had been crafted that way.
[Memory of Blood]
A creation-type black magic utilizing data accumulated in blood.
Upon activating the spell, the blood in the puppet's artificial blood vessels moved internally like a living creature, animating it. Previously, blood had to be manipulated externally to control the puppet, but after some improvements, it could now be controlled internally, making the process less conspicuous.
Judging by appearance alone, it seemed like Oliver’s enhancements had worked—the puppet looked convincingly human.
Holding a randomly obtained stick out to the blood puppet, Oliver addressed the creature inside the puppet.
“I’ll be stepping out for a bit; could you keep an eye on this place in my stead? Please make sure no one notices my absence.”
Oliver glanced in the direction of the Druid watching him from afar, visible to his black magician's sight.
Since taking on the request, one or two Druids at a time had been monitoring Oliver.
That was why he’d created this Corpse Puppet that mimicked Dave’s physical form and life force.
The blood puppet inside nodded in acknowledgment of Oliver’s request, and he expressed his thanks before heading down to his residence’s basement.
In the basement lay a secret research lab.
As expected of a secret lab, its walls were lined with various security spells and dark magic barriers that even skilled mages would struggle to penetrate.
In the lab, Oliver threw a piece of enchanted paper, activating a spatial magic formula that opened a violet-hued portal, which he then stepped through.
...
With a sound like insect wings buzzing, the scenery around him changed.
He arrived at one of the safehouses within the Forest. Closing the portal behind him, Oliver straightened his clothing, adjusting his breath and stride, so that even someone familiar with him wouldn’t recognize him.
Step... step... step...
In this disguise, appearing as neither Oliver, Dave, nor Zenon, he walked into a pub.
Despite it being daytime, the place was reasonably crowded with soldiers and supers posing as laborers.
At the sight of an unfamiliar face, they all turned to stare, but Oliver ignored their gazes and approached the owner, who was polishing a glass behind the bar.
The barkeep was a middle-aged man with a bald head, a red nose, and a protruding belly. Without looking at Oliver, he asked, "What’ll it be?"
Instead of replying, Oliver drew the blood-colored dagger sheathed at his waist, extending it forward.
The blade, crimson like blood, bore a distinctive checkered pattern, a kind of calling card or introduction.
The barkeep, who hadn’t paid him any attention, now scrutinized the dagger with a flicker of disbelief.
“Careful not to get cut,” Oliver advised. The barkeep hesitated, glancing at the blade skeptically.
“This isn’t a pawn shop... though I might know someone interested in such a dagger. Mind if I take it for a bit?”
When Oliver nodded in assent, the barkeep left his post briefly. Some patrons pretended to be drinking or passed out, but held guns or daggers concealed in their clothes.
Given their position, their vigilance was understandable.
Shortly afterward, the barkeep returned.
“Someone wants to buy it. Follow me.”
With the barkeep’s voice now a touch more relaxed, the tense atmosphere in the pub eased slightly.
Oliver rose from his seat, following the barkeep to a back room where he encountered Wallace, one of the commanders of the Kel Rebels.
Wallace held the dagger Oliver had handed over to the barkeep, examining it closely.
“What did you do to the dagger I gave you?”
The barkeep stepped out as soon as the conversation began, leaving Oliver and Wallace alone.
“It just turned out that way... Take care with it; it’s dangerous,” Oliver cautioned.
Wallace, who was proficient enough in magic, quickly understood Oliver’s meaning.
“Yes, I should be cautious. Even the smallest cut would be fatal.”
He pushed the dagger across the table, returning it to Oliver, who reached out to retrieve it.
“How did you know I was here?”
“I heard from Mr. Gail.”
Gail, the dark magician known as the Sewer Snake Gang leader, had once been in the business of hiding fugitives in Landa.
Though “once” was the operative term, as he was no longer active in this line of work, it seemed his expertise hadn’t entirely faded, as he had managed to locate Wallace’s hideout.
“Places for Kel folk to hide are few and far between, and it’s easy to spot someone trying to secure passage by sea.”
“Oh, I see... but how did you know I was in Landa?”
Oliver answered honestly, understanding Wallace's intent.
“The Druids accompanying Prince Albert informed me. Technically, I commissioned them.”
“Let me guess. They claimed we’d kidnapped a Druid and asked you to cooperate in locating them, right?”
Wallace's intuition was sharp, hitting the mark instantly.
“I did.”
“You accepted?”
“Yes.”
“That’s surprising.”
“They made an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“What kind of offer?”
“That I could use the Druids’ powers—natural forces and shamanic magic—without complaint.”
“All it took was that? Given Landa’s nature, couldn’t you have ignored them?”
“I’d rather avoid conflict if possible, especially since I need those abilities for some work.”
“Oh? What kind of work?”
“I need it to clear out the Contaminated Zone and for a new business venture. I even plan on teaching it to others.”
“...The Druid powers?”
“More precisely, the power of nature. I’m willing to teach anyone who can learn it. Good things are meant to be shared, after all.”
Indeed, Oliver’s reason for agreeing to the Druids’ request wasn’t purely out of a desire to avoid conflict. The moment the Druids gave their permission, he’d planned to share the Druid training methods, shamanic magic, and botanical knowledge he’d gained through Child-Third with others around him.
It wasn’t out of any particularly noble motivation. He simply wanted to demonstrate that nature’s power wasn’t something exclusive to the Druids and could, in fact, be learned by anyone.
The term "usage" had room for interpretation, so he doubted it would cause any problems. And if it did, he could simply claim ignorance when the time came.
Seeing Oliver’s grin, Wallace burst into laughter.
“You’ve changed a bit. It’s been a while, so my memory is a little hazy, but I don’t remember you having this kind of personality... Or maybe this is who you’ve always been? Either way, you seem different.”
“...”
Oliver didn’t respond to Wallace’s comment. Could he really have changed?
As Oliver pondered, Wallace’s laughter faded, and he shifted back to a serious tone. His hand rested on a longsword at his hip.
“So, are you here to capture me?”
Oliver looked at Wallace’s hand on the longsword, taking note of his emotional state. Wallace was ready to fight if necessary, yet he wasn’t underestimating Oliver in the slightest.
In fact, he recognized Oliver as a serious threat—a powerful opponent.
It was no surprise; Wallace likely had heard about Oliver’s recent reputation. Yet despite the odds, Wallace was prepared to take him on, driven by a sense of duty rather than pride.
Some might have called his resolve foolish, but Oliver thought differently.
After all, if Wallace were the type to avoid a fight based on an opponent’s strength, he would never have joined the Kel Rebels against the United Kingdom in the first place.
In that case, he might have used his advanced magic skills to subdue the Kel Rebels and pursue his own ambitions—a far safer, more successful, and more rewarding path.
But Wallace had chosen the riskier, less stable path, fighting with the Kel Rebels despite the low odds and great danger.
Out of respect for that commitment, Oliver answered him honestly.
“No, I’m here to talk.”
“To talk about what?”
“To find out if it’s true... that you kidnapped a Druid.”
“No, we didn’t.”
Oliver’s question was answered by a third voice.
The sudden interjection didn’t startle Oliver, who looked toward the source of the voice.
The speaker had concealed themselves with a spell, but with his enhanced vision, Oliver had already noticed them.
He’d merely chosen to pretend otherwise out of courtesy.
Turning in the direction of the voice, Oliver saw a shaggy-haired woman entering through a hidden door.
From her twisted life force and closed eyes, he inferred that the woman was likely blind.
Oliver met her gaze in silence, and the female Druid, sensing his presence, returned his silent regard.
“You must be the Druid Mr. Pierce is looking for,” Oliver said, breaking the silence.
The female Druid, who introduced herself as Fedelm, greeted him.
“Greetings. I’m Fedelm.”
“Hello. I’m Dave, the Fixer from Landa, T-District, Street 30.”
“I know. I heard about you through the World Tree.”
“The World Tree?”
“Yes, it’s my specialty—to use and harness the World Tree.”
“Hmm... Does that have anything to do with why you ran away?”
“Oh? How did you figure that out?”
“You just said you weren’t kidnapped, yet here you are. That leaves only one possible explanation: you escaped on your own. Am I wrong?”
It was a simple deduction, but seeing Oliver come to that conclusion seemed to surprise Wallace, who furrowed his brow.
“I stand corrected. You have changed... definitely.”
“Have I?”
“Yes, you’ve become more analytical.”
“I may be slow-witted, but after spending a few years in Landa, I—”
“You misunderstood. I didn’t mean to imply you were slow.”
Wallace corrected him, his words sincere rather than flattery.
“I never thought of you as slow-witted. In fact, I always thought you were bright, just... you rarely used that sharp mind of yours. You weren’t one to fuss over trivial gains or losses.”
He hit the nail on the head. Oliver’s disinterest in bargaining, calculating profit and loss, or digging into the hidden motives behind events wasn’t due to a lack of intelligence but rather a lack of interest.
In the past, he’d been absorbed only in the beauty of light or dark magic. Anything outside his areas of interest had simply failed to catch his attention.
But now, Oliver was starting to notice those things, too. Rather than being smarter, his personality seemed to have shifted.
This was evident in the way he responded to the new situation.
“Fedelm’s reason for escaping with us is because she discovered a secret about the royal family. I assume you have some idea of what that might be... Are you interested?”
“Hmm... No.”
Oliver’s reply was unexpectedly dismissive, even though he suspected that the secret involved demons and the royal family.
Seeing this response, Wallace became certain that the Oliver he once knew and the one standing before him now were distinctly different.
“Let me correct myself again. You’ve changed a lot.”
“Isn’t it natural for people to change?”
“And you’ve even grown shameless.”
A brief exchange ended in silence before Fedelm spoke up.
“Mr. Dave?”
“Just call me Dave. I’m not a person worthy of any honorifics.”
“Dave, may I offer you a word of advice?”
“Advice?”
“Actually, it’s more of a plea. Based on my knowledge of Fixer Dave, it seems likely that sooner or later, you’ll come after us. You’ve never failed a request, and you’ve never betrayed your reputation.”
“Fedelm isn’t just a Druid who gathers information through the World Tree. She uses that information to predict possible futures.”
Using the World Tree to forecast potential outcomes was something Oliver had read about. Though not exactly prophecy, it was a complex form of foretelling, combining vast amounts of information to project the most probable futures.
Naturally, only a select few could wield this skill, as both accessing the World Tree and interpreting its insights required rare abilities.
Thus, Fedelm was a particularly exceptional Druid, even among her kind.Thus, Fedelm was a particularly exceptional Druid, even among her kind.
“What exactly is it that you’re trying to persuade me of?” Oliver asked.
“It would be in your best interest not to capture us. Landa would benefit from it,” she replied.
“Why do you say that?” Oliver asked, intrigued.
“Because it’s only a matter of time before the royal family pulls some trick,” Wallace interjected, his tone serious. It wasn’t a bluff to sway Oliver but a genuine warning.
“Do you have any evidence of this?” Oliver pressed.
“No solid evidence, but I’m certain. The royal family always operates this way. They smile on the surface while scheming behind the scenes.”
Oliver didn’t respond immediately—not because he doubted Wallace’s words, but rather because he agreed to some extent.
Prince Albert’s unexpected visit, the warm rapport developing between Landa and the royal entourage, and the sudden cordial exchanges had all come about far too quickly, even to the point of feeling unnatural.
Even Oliver sensed that something was amiss.
Above all, the strangest part was the prince who had come to Landa. Repairing relations with Landa was no small task, and even without formal political training, Oliver could guess that Prince Edward X would have been a more logical envoy.
Politically and personally, it would have made more sense, yet it was Prince Albert who had arrived instead, which suggested there might be a deeper purpose.
Perhaps, it involved creating a diversion or setting up some unexpected event.
“If the royal family is planning something, what kind of trick would it be?” Oliver asked, addressing Fedelm directly.
“I’m afraid I don’t know. But it would be wise to prepare for the worst.”
“And by the worst, you mean?”
“The most unfavorable scenario possible,” she answered simply.
The worst scenario... Oliver pondered this, recalling the impression he’d gotten from Prince Albert and the royal entourage he’d seen in the newspapers.
The combination of the prince and his royal staff formed a strange mix that made Oliver think of the worst possible outcome—a scenario where the positive relations between the royal family and Landa might suddenly be shattered.
It seemed far-fetched, almost unbelievable, but it was the worst scenario Oliver could imagine.
By nature, the worst outcomes often defied common sense.
“Wallace, you were planning to leave Landa, weren’t you?” Oliver asked, piecing together his thoughts.
Wallace didn’t deny it.
“Yes, I was checking out ships for that exact reason. If I stay in Celand, it’s only a matter of time before I get caught. My plan was to escape overseas.”
“But you haven’t been able to leave because of the surveillance, right?”
Wallace nodded in confirmation.
Currently, both the legal and underground shipping routes in Landa were under close watch by Pinkman’s men and the Druids, making it nearly impossible to secure a safe escape.
The moment he boarded a ship, he’d likely be discovered and apprehended.
Oliver reached into his coat and pulled out a small folded paper boat.
“What’s that?” Wallace asked, his eyes narrowing.
“It’s a type of passage. I wasn’t sure if it would come in handy, but it looks like it might,” Oliver explained.
Wallace’s keen sense of magic immediately detected that the paper boat was a magical item, and he grasped Oliver’s intent.
“What’s the catch?”
“On the day I specify, would you be able to stage an escape for everyone to see? Make sure it’s obvious.”
“While being chased by Druids?”
“Yes.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Wallace asked, almost incredulous. And it wasn’t hard to see why—Prince Albert had brought along more than twenty Druids, making escape nearly impossible.
Instead of responding with words, Oliver released his magic, letting it spread across the floor. From the rippling energy emerged a single spirit.
The spirit had a green-glowing head, a grayish body, and limbs tinged with brown.
“This spirit will assist you,” Oliver said, watching Wallace's confused expression.
Fedelm, equally baffled, asked, “How did you form a pact with a spirit?”
“I didn’t make a pact. I just agreed to help it once, and in return, it agreed to help me once.”
As Oliver explained, he remembered the circumstances: he had once rescued this spirit when it was near death, left weakened by a former Gaia mage.
Oliver had patched up the spirit’s injuries using his magic and life force as an emergency measure.
At that time, Oliver had wanted to form a contract with the spirit, but due to its fragile state, he’d had to settle for a simple promise—once it recovered, it would lend him its strength in return.
Luckily, after much consideration, the spirit had accepted.
“With the spirit’s help, your odds of escape should improve,” Oliver assured Wallace, who couldn’t entirely disagree.
Either way, attempting to escape on his own was a near-certain capture if he encountered the Druids. Better to strengthen his forces and try his luck with Oliver’s assistance.
“This seems like it might work, but—”
“Oh, I’m not done,” Oliver interrupted, rolling up his sleeves and pulling out another piece of paper infused with spatial magic.
“Wallace, would you allow me to assist with some additional training?”
...
“Unbelievable! You’ve been hiding power like this?” exclaimed one of the Druids, shocked by the intensity of the firestorm as they clashed with Wallace on the day of his planned escape.
“We’re being consumed by fury!”