Chapter 627: The Sound of the Flute (6)
Oliver's captured right arm.
The fading White Flame.
The Pied Piper swings his fist.
Oliver’s face, neck, and upper body twist sharply to the right, as a high-pitched, piercing sound fills his ears.
"...!"
The force is so overwhelming it nearly drives him into oblivion. Though he couldn’t even scream, Oliver clings desperately to his senses, preparing to counterattack.
“Disease Parade━”
━━Bang!!
But his move is immediately blocked by another punch from the Pied Piper.
Holding Oliver's right arm, the Pied Piper begins to pummel him with his free hand.
Face, abdomen, ribs, shoulder, arm… no part is spared.
With each blow, Oliver struggles to maintain his consciousness, futilely attempting to strike back, only to fail every single time.
It was the obvious result. He had no advantage in speed, strength, technique, or stance.
And Oliver knew this better than anyone.
From the moment his right arm, scorched by the previous attack, was blocked, his chances of winning had dwindled close to zero.
Still, Oliver kept himself from passing out for one reason only: to buy time.
To give the prince a chance to escape, and for Merlin or the Holy Knight to arrive with reinforcements.
Fortunately, although the Pied Piper could end this quickly, he refrained, merely delivering blows enough to keep Oliver down.
That “enough” included shattering ribs with punches, breaking his legs underfoot, and disabling his right arm with a strike to the shoulder.
But still, the Pied Piper didn’t go for a killing blow.
Thwack.
Oliver took advantage of this restraint. When the Pied Piper struck his shoulder, he clenched his left hand into a fist and hit him square in the face.
The pain coursing through his broken legs and battered body sapped his strength, but it didn’t matter.
Given the sensation in his fingers, strength wouldn’t have changed the outcome.
‘Completely ineffective.’
Oliver looked at the Pied Piper’s unflinching face, realizing this.
It was like striking a solid wall, or empty air.
Opposite sensations, yet with a shared result—his attack simply didn’t work. He could feel this as clearly as if it were tangible.
Oddly enough, Oliver had experienced this once before.
It was reminiscent of the Burnt One.
That crushing feeling of helplessness, the overwhelming presence that made it seem like no effort could ever succeed. Like facing a being from another dimension.
But if there was a difference between the Burnt One and the Pied Piper, it was in their demeanor toward him.
“You’re quite persistent.”
In a calm voice, the Pied Piper delivered another punch, slamming Oliver’s face to the side, scattering drops of blood through the air as he nearly lost consciousness.
This time, he might have blacked out… if he hadn’t sensed his own shadow stir.
A chill...
Goosebumps rose over his battered skin, still feeling the Pied Piper’s fists.
That sensation from Neverland once more.
At that moment, the shadow, which Oliver had barely suppressed, stirred again, expanding beyond his control.
The shadow extended, reaching as if toward the horizon.
Soon, the shadow pinned to the ground surged upward, opening hundreds of overlapping eyes and baring rows of orderly, skin-crawling teeth that gnawed at the air.
Its disturbing and incomprehensible form defied any description by language, script, or illustration, instilling primal fear and repulsion.
Yet the Pied Piper wasn’t fazed; he only looked at Oliver’s shadow with curious eyes.
As if waiting for something.
Then, Oliver managed to rasp out,
“...Obey my command!”
Falling almost on all fours, Oliver, fighting to maintain consciousness, ordered the shadow back.
He willed it to calm down and return to its place.
Amazingly, the shadow, which had moved on its own moments earlier, halted when it met Oliver’s gaze.
It yielded to his will.
Considering it was a creature that had once consumed an entire island, the sight was astonishing—whether it was Oliver's mental strength, control, or something else.
At that, the Pied Piper spoke.
“You realize that if you keep going like this, it might kill you?”
He spoke calmly, to Oliver, who, in his weakened state, was still suppressing the shadow.
There was no mockery or arrogance in his voice.
Though the shadow was a menacing thing he had to suppress, for Oliver, it was also his only means of defense now.
Having taken countless blows from the Pied Piper, his body was beyond its limits, and his mind wasn’t in a state to activate any techniques.
In fact, suppressing the shadow in this state was a miracle in itself.
Could the shadow stop the Pied Piper? Oliver didn’t know, but without it, he was defenseless.
In other words, holding the shadow back now was akin to inviting death.
Though aware of this, Oliver still suppressed his shadow.
Proof that there was something more precious to him than his own life.
Step.
The Pied Piper approached Oliver, who lay drained on the ground.
He stood close enough to crush Oliver’s skull with a single stomp.
But instead, he looked into the distance and spoke.
“Why are you doing this?”
A vague question, with no clear subject, leaving room for interpretation.
Oliver answered based on his understanding.
He used a technique he learned in Landa’s T-District, something he initially didn’t grasp, but now he understood a little better.
“I am Dave, a fixer of T-District, Block 30, Landa… Just doing my job.”
It was true he was a fixer, but no one had hired him to protect the prince. That was simply how he answered.
A convenient excuse.
The Pied Piper didn’t challenge him on it. Whether or not Oliver was truly hired didn’t matter.
What mattered was how Oliver defined himself.
Dave, the fixer of Block 30, T-District, Landa.
A dark horse who shot to fame, who had defeated legends among fixers, quickly claiming an entire block as his domain and establishing his school in the Tower of Magic.
That’s how Oliver saw himself.
“What a waste. You know your blood is special, and you suppress your shadow… yet that’s all you call yourself.”
The Pied Piper reacted to his answer, his voice mostly calm, though faintly tinged with emotion.
Sympathy and pity.
Though long discarded like an old, worn-out toy, the Pied Piper felt something for Oliver.
And Oliver, feeling this response, found it hurt more than any punch he’d received.
“Huff... huff…”
With pain building in every bruised area, Oliver’s breaths came in ragged gasps.
The Pied Piper watched him in silence, tilting his head slightly.
A silence settled between them, until, after a moment, the Pied Piper moved again.
For reasons unknown, he seemed to abandon the attack.
But as the Pied Piper turned to leave, Oliver reached out, gripping his ankle.
“Wait.”
“Where are you going?”
Barely able to breathe, Oliver forced out the question.
The Pied Piper answered.
“Work… I tend to keep my promises.”
Oliver could guess what this “work” was. The Pied Piper’s original target had been none other than Prince Albert.
“Was it Puppet who sent you?”
“Does that matter?”
The Pied Piper lightly shook off Oliver’s grip and replied.
“You do what the other wants, and you get what you want in return. Simple as that, isn’t it?”
Desperately lifting his head, Oliver looked at the Pied Piper.
The man held his hands up, as if shrugging something off.
Curious as Oliver was, he had more pressing concerns.
“How can you use such power to kidnap a child?”
His aim was partly to buy time, but it was also an honest question.
The Pied Piper didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let out an unexpected laugh.
“Ha... ha, ha…”
A low, ominous laugh.
Simple yet chilling.
It seemed to mock everything: morals, ethics, laws, convictions, courage, humanity.
A haunting sense of déjà vu.
The Pied Piper didn’t bother to explain his laughter. It seemed he didn’t feel the need to.
Instead, he explained why he abandoned the attack and why he had been leaving children in the forest.
“It’s work, sure, but more than that… it’s my only pleasure in life.”
He spoke as if abandoning the children was his joy, but then he corrected himself.
“No, it’s more of a painkiller.”
Joy—something that brings pleasure or delight in life.
Painkiller—a remedy to relieve or lessen pain.
Hearing both terms, Oliver instinctively sensed the Pied Piper’s reasoning.
And understanding this, Oliver slowly closed his eyes without even realizing it.
Not due to fatigue or pain.
It was because he could sympathize, if only a little, with the Pied Piper.
For Oliver, who was usually indifferent to others’ feelings, understanding this monster’s words, empathizing with him… it was something unexpected.
Slowly, Oliver opened his mouth, cautiously.
“But even so━”
━Snap!
Before Oliver could finish, the Pied Piper reached out and gripped his throat, lifting him into the air.
No longer emotionless, the Pied Piper’s gaze now showed anger directed at Oliver.
“Don’t speak so lightly.”
“...Urgh…”
“You have no idea what it’s like to see your world crumble, do you? And you probably don’t want to know. That’s why you suppressed your shadow.”
The Pied Piper tightened his grip. Oliver could barely breathe, yet his hearing remained sharp.
“Of course, I’m not mocking you. It’s ironic now, but I get it. I was once like that, too—thinking it would be okay if I ignored it.”
Subtle emotion seeped into the Pied Piper’s usually detached voice. He seemed… sad.
“So, watch what you say. Your world hasn’t shattered yet. Unless, of course…”
The Pied Piper paused briefly, then continued.
“...You’d like me to shatter it for you?”
━Smack!
In response, Oliver raised his left hand abruptly.
With that, Oliver, suspended in mid-air, was dropped back to the ground, leaving a shallow cut on the Pied Piper’s hand.
A thin, red trickle of blood appeared on his hand, and the Pied Piper’s eyes widened slightly in interest.
A spark of intrigue in the Pied Piper’s eyes...
As Oliver’s vision dimmed, nearly fading...
In his left hand, a blood-red dagger, formed from his blood and rage, aimed at the Pied Piper.
"My real name is Oliver... orphan, miner, and by luck, a black magic practitioner, then a fixer named Dave, and now Zenon of the Tower... Just a lucky man, that’s all."
“…”
“Just a lucky man… that’s how I define myself. So if you’re going to continue, take me down first.”
Though close to collapse, Oliver defined himself.
For once, this man, who had always adapted and accepted, showed his clearest resolve.
The Pied Piper recognized that Oliver was staking his life.
An ironic thing, really.
Risking his life to protect the prince, yet denying the most effective solution.
Selflessness and selfishness. Two opposing concepts blended together, like two sides of the same coin.
Well, it wasn’t a question of logic or reason.
The Pied Piper had once felt similarly.
“Huff… huff… huff…”
As Oliver gasped, his breaths growing faint, the Pied Piper finally spoke.
“Let’s make a deal. I assume you care about keeping promises.”
Oliver reacted slightly. The Pied Piper went on, suggesting that if Oliver accepted his terms, he’d cease pursuing the prince and leave.
Coincidentally, what the Pied Piper wanted was something Oliver desired as well.
To be left alone.
A generous offer, though seemingly without any trap.
With his body and mind at their limits, Oliver nodded just before losing consciousness, collapsing on the spot.
The Pied Piper looked at Oliver’s fallen form briefly before speaking to the empty air.
"Alright then, come out now."