Chapter 707: The Question (2)
Inside a building that had lost its original form and name due to a great calamity...
A desolate silence settled, filling the entire space.
This atmosphere was a result of Oliver's question, and it wasn't confined to the building alone; it affected people as well.
Sitting across from Oliver, bandaged and silent, was Mari.
She looked as though she had been shocked, perhaps even pricked to the heart, staring wide-eyed and unable to speak.
Oliver observed Mari quietly.
“...”
“...”
The silence grew heavier, as if it were a price paid for that quietness. Eventually, Mari, unable to bear the weight, broke the silence.
“I-I...”
“-Come to think of it, you’re the first, Mari.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re the first to help me with genuine intentions. It seems you are indeed the first.”
“...”
“Though it was Sir Joseph who rescued me from the mine, he had his reasons for doing so.”
The reason Joseph, a Black Magician who sought wealth and a life of elegance, pulled Oliver from the mine was to offer him to a demon.
Lacking talent as a Black Magician, Joseph sacrificed promising disciples to the demon to enhance his own abilities and enjoy the prosperous life he desired.
Ironically, however, he met his end at the hands of Oliver, one of those very disciples, suffering a fatal injury and dying abandoned by the demon he had served his entire life—a slow, excruciating death.
“But Mari... you weren’t like that. You helped me without any hidden agenda.”
Mari lowered her gaze, remaining silent.
“Don’t you remember? When I was being scolded by Supervisor Tom.”
“...”
“While I was getting hit, you helped me out, didn’t you? With pure intentions. I thought it was Kent at first, but now that I think about it, it was you, Mari.”
“...Yes, I remember.”
“I don’t think I thanked you back then. I just asked what it meant to be an official disciple. Even though it’s very late, let me thank you now.”
“No.”
Mari shook her head, breaking her silence. She looked pained.
“I... I’ve done nothing that warrants your gratitude, Oliver. I didn’t help you with pure intentions.”
“Is that so?”
“The reason I helped you was simply because it was my way of surviving. To gather allies... As a Black Magician lacking talent, the only way I could maintain my position was by increasing my allies and proving my abilities as a supervisor.”
Thinking back, Mari did indeed seem to have had a circle of girls her age around her at that time, which suggested she had gained some popularity. After Joseph’s death, it was largely thanks to Mari that the family kept running smoothly.
“So there’s no need for you to thank me. It was all for my own sake.”
Mari looked as though she was confessing a sin. But Oliver’s view of her remained unchanged.
“Regardless, you’re a good person, Mari. Even if you had such reasons, you still helped me out of compassion. Likely due to your past—when you lived near the dye factory.”
Mari froze momentarily at the mention of the dye factory.
It had been the darkest time of her life.
Back then, Mari’s hair turned purple from the factory's waste, and she lost both her mother and father. She had nearly met a dreadful fate herself, but Joseph had taken her in.
Considering all that, Mari’s reaction was perfectly natural.
It was, in fact, Oliver’s nonchalance in bringing up such memories that was unusual. He’d always been somewhat indifferent, but this time, he had gone a bit too far.
Although the person concerned didn’t seem bothered at all.
“Those people outside, they’re risking harm to protect you. It’s for that reason, isn’t it? To protect the one who truly understands and cares for them. Otherwise, they wouldn’t worship me as a god.”
“That’s not due to my power. It’s because the followers have chosen on their own to...”
“-Worship someone they haven’t even met, all by themselves? Not because of you?”
At Oliver’s question, Mari fell silent again. As the silence threatened to descend once more, Oliver continued the conversation.
“I know that Mari doesn’t have any bad intentions. Quite the opposite, actually. Admiration, respect, longing, gratitude, and...”
Oliver trailed off, turning his gaze back to Mari. More precisely, he observed the powerful emotions she held toward him.
“...Countless other benevolent feelings are there as well. And with that fervor, you inspire others to feel similarly toward me.”
He gestured toward the people beyond the building’s walls.
Though temporarily daunted by Oliver’s peculiar aura, they continued to believe in him, trusting that he would resolve everything.
If Second wasn’t blocking the entrance, they might even have entered to kneel and pray, begging him to save them.
Without any consideration of Oliver’s own desires.
Mari’s face held a glint of guilt over this selfishness.
“I’m sorry.”
“I understand now to some extent. Why you call me a god and kneel before me. The world is difficult and full of hardships, so you need something to believe in. I understand. Everyone does. Even the greatest magician in the world ultimately needed that, too.”
Once, there was a magician who had committed terrible sins but sincerely repented.
“That person knelt before me, begging not to be abandoned, clinging to the hem of my pants. The greatest magician in the world pleaded with me.”
“Did... you answer?”
“I answered that I couldn’t. I wanted to try, but I simply couldn’t. I could see that person’s sins all too clearly.”
Oliver raised his fingers to point at his own eyes.
“The image of them slicing open a person’s stomach while they were still alive to feed their vanity, injecting them with pathogens, and recording the tortured reactions of their loved ones... It was as if it were happening right in front of me.”
Mari listened in silence.
“Of course, I know. I know that the person was sincerely remorseful, and their penance wasn’t just a shallow attempt to absolve their sins. But even so, I couldn’t bring myself to forgive.”
“Mari?”
“Yes, Oliver?”
“I’m grateful that you think highly of me, but honestly, I’m not all that extraordinary. Back at the orphanage and the mine, survival was my only goal. I was the type to eat my potato soup without a second thought, even if someone next to me starved to death.”
“Oliver, you saved me. And everyone here.”
“Yes, there were a few times I risked my life as well.”
Oliver acknowledged it readily.
“But that was only when facing a situation worse than death. At heart, I’m a coward. Afraid of my destiny, of my future... That fear is why I’m doing all of this.”
Indeed, Oliver was a coward. So fearful of his fate that he didn’t even try to save the orphanage director, who was suffering, trapped in the tree.
Mari wanted to refute him but couldn’t. Oliver’s slightly twisted expression revealed the pain and burden he was carrying.
“I didn’t originally plan on coming here. I was just going to sit quietly, whether the world ended or not.”
“Then, why did you come?”
“I thought that maybe meeting people I know would change something—my will, my resolve. But I don’t know.”
Mari wanted to ask what he meant by that but couldn’t bring herself to.
“It’s not that I’ve come to dislike you all. You’re still amazing—striving to do what you must, improving yourselves, even as the world faces its end.”
Though Mari couldn’t fully grasp Oliver’s emotions, she could sense he was speaking from the heart.
“But I don’t have the courage to fulfill the Elder’s request. I see your sins too clearly. I don’t know what to do, and I just... I just don’t want to do anything. Whether the world ends or not.”
Oliver had barely managed to stand after collapsing, making his way to Landa, yet the situation hadn’t changed much.
While coming to Landa might have been a major shift, there was nothing beyond that.
“May I ask you a question?”
Mari felt a pang in her chest at Oliver’s question, but she couldn’t refuse. She’d done worse to him before.
“You don’t have to answer, Mari, but I’d like to hear your opinion. What should I do from here?”
“...”
“Though I may be a Prince of Hell, it’s all due to pure coincidence. Just like my talent. Thanks to that talent, I’ve enjoyed the blessings of life, but isn’t this too much? I didn’t choose to be born as a prince.”
“...”
“If you have any insight, please tell me. What should I do?”
“I...”
“Right you are! It’s not like you chose to be born that way!”
Just as Mari struggled to answer, a boisterous third voice cut in.
It was a voice Oliver hadn’t heard frequently but recognized instantly.
“Ewan?”
Oliver stepped outside. As expected, Ewan was there.
The Black Magician master, his beard unkempt, dark circles under his eyes, and clad in fine clothes beneath a worn cloak. Oliver looked at him without a word. To his surprise, no sin could be seen in him.
“Yes, it’s me! A genius negotiator who trades beans for cattle, a debt-ridden wanderer who’s traversed deserts across the sea, lands of dragons in the East, insane realms where mice shoot guns, and even giant-inhabited skies. Don’t forget any of my feats. Now, save me, will you?”
Pinned to the ground with a gun pressed to his head by Second, who had intercepted him, Ewan was sprawled out, shamelessly pleading for his life.
One of the Development Opposition Committee members, wrapped in bandages and prepared to intervene to help Ewan, took a step forward, but Second aimed his gun-shaped arm at them, stopping them in their tracks.
“I’ll shoot.”
It was clear that, with the slightest signal, he would pull the trigger. However, Oliver didn’t let him.
After all, it was Ewan who had ensured Mari’s safety by getting her here.
“...My apologies,” Oliver said, motioning for Second to step back and offering Ewan a polite apology. Ewan, unperturbed, rose to his feet.
“Think nothing of it. It’s only right for a weak man like me to endure. Besides, we have more important matters to discuss… You’re absolutely correct. Few people would choose to be born as you were. Only an extreme masochist would wish for such a fate.”
Ewan’s tone was as casual as always, but Oliver sensed an unexpected sympathy.
Then, Ewan continued, “And, just as you didn’t choose to be born this way, neither did they.”
“Who do you mean?”
“Who else? The thug, the delusional kid, the petty grudge-holder, the sleeping old hag.”
These crude nicknames made it easy to understand who he was talking about. Ewan had explained this himself long ago.
The "thug" was the Flesh Chef, the "delusional kid" was Pan, the "petty grudge-holder" was the Piper, and the "sleeping old hag" likely referred to the Sleeping Princess.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean it literally. Do you think they wanted to be born just to become fodder for someone else?”
Oliver understood Ewan’s point. In fact, he had known it for a while.
They had all lived and died so that they could become stepping stones for Oliver.
For instance, he had devoured the Flesh Chef’s flesh to gain immense strength, absorbed Pan’s Neverland dream to acquire the Shadow Creature, and extracted the Piper’s fury to shatter his own limitations.
The Sleeping Princess was no different. She had waited alone for Oliver, for hundreds of years before his birth.
Given the end result, Ewan’s words were fitting. It could indeed be said that they had all been born for Oliver, even through their pain and suffering.
“What are you getting at?” Oliver asked.
“That fate is like the army. You should dodge it whenever you can.”
“...What do you mean?”
“I mean that a compassionate person like me might just be able to show you a way to escape. To flee from all the chains and shackles of fate. Just like I did.”