Genius Warlock

"My choice," Oliver replied calmly.

Merlin detected a resolute determination in that tranquil voice, one impervious to any attempts at persuasion or intimidation. It was as though they had forged an unspoken pact, standing before each other in silence so profound it almost seemed artificial.

As the silence lingered, tension mounted, eventually reaching its zenith, at which point Merlin shattered it with hearty laughter.

"Ha ha ha… Ahahahahahaha!"

Oliver cocked his head slightly. Though he couldn't ascertain Merlin's true emotions without seeing his face, the laughter didn't carry a hint of mockery, cynicism, sarcasm, or disdain. It was a genuinely joyful laugh.

In silence, Oliver observed Merlin's laughter, and after some time, the laughter gradually ceased.

Perhaps due to the lingering traces of his joy, Merlin wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye with a refreshing smile.

He appeared genuinely delighted.

"Ha… Truly, it's scary, mate, the recklessness of youth."

"Are you… granting permission?"

"How do you stop someone so determined? Whether I grant it or not, the matter has already left my hands."

"Thank you, and I'm sorry."

Oliver expressed his gratitude sincerely, acknowledging the kindness and consideration Merlin had extended to him.

"However, I have a condition… no, a request."

"A request?"

"Yes, whether you accept it or not, it's entirely up to you."

"Please speak. If it's within my ability, I'll do it."

"Do not take the lives of the Paladins and their servants (soldiers under the Paladins) there."

"Understood."

Without hesitation, Oliver responded. Merlin seemed taken aback.

"You're not asking why?"

"You must have your reasons. And, it seems inappropriate to question when you've shown me so much kindness… I genuinely appreciate the kindness you've shown and won't forget it."

With those words, Oliver retrieved a piece of parchment infused with portal magic from his pocket, conjuring a portal in the air.

"You're leaving right now?"

"Yes, there's one more place I need to visit before I go."

"I see."

Just as Oliver was about to step into the portal, he suddenly turned back.

"Elder… It's truly an honor, even temporarily, to consider you my Master."

As if bidding a final farewell, Merlin expressed sentiments he wouldn't typically voice.

"…Don't you despise me? After all the horrible things I did to Kevin's family."

"I honestly wanted to ask about that. But isn't it not the main concern now? You must have had your reasons back then. Although I don't know about the past, I respect the person you are now."

With this candid response, Oliver vanished into the portal.

Merlin gazed silently at the spot where Oliver had stood, muttering with a troubled expression.

"Ah, it's driving me mad… I'm truly smitten."

***

The Forrest Restaurant, situated on Street 30 in District T, possessed a distinct charm.

Despite being an upscale dining establishment, it was located in District T, a region primarily inhabited by the working class.

Its presence starkly contrasted with its surroundings, leading many to speculate that it would not survive for more than a month without understanding the true circumstances.

Contrary to these predictions, the Forrest Restaurant had flourished since its inception.

Not only did professionals and factory owners in District T frequent this place, but also the affluent from other districts, comprising a diverse group.

From Crime Firm leaders and underworld executives to wealthy corporate CEOs, factory owners, and speculators in the upper echelons of society.

All of them belonged to the city's privileged class, capable of acquiring any service they desired from anywhere. However, their sole reason for choosing this establishment was its owner – Forrest.

Forrest was the exclusive supplier of a paramilitary group called the "Fighter Crew" to the Crime Firm. He had also established himself as a renowned solver and intermediary in the city, handling dealings with influential figures.

For this reason, the city's elite patronized the restaurant to establish connections with Forrest, gather valuable information, and explore potential investment opportunities.

Although it might not make headlines, the role of violence in Landa's economy was more significant than one might assume, making such interactions commonplace.

Forrest was well aware of this reality and treated his guests with the utmost sincerity. He cultivated relationships, exchanged information, and keenly observed the city's overall dynamics.

This was the essence of what intermediaries did.

Beyond just connecting clients with solvers, he deciphered the city's intricate currents, mitigated risks, and seized advantageous moments.

And Forrest excelled at this.

It was only natural.

His innate talent, coupled with a burning desire to escape poverty in his youth, had honed his abilities. Serendipity had played its part as well.

During the height of the redevelopment boom, he had ventured out on his own as an intermediary, amassing wealth beyond his wildest expectations. While there had been a rough patch due to an unsavory incident in his later years, an unexpected encounter with an extraordinary talent had rekindled his middleman career's golden age.

However, regardless of his expertise, income and reputation depended on the skills of the solvers he associated with, making luck a pivotal factor.

Then, out of the blue, Dave, the epitome of his good fortune, revealed a startling revelation.

He declared that his real name was Oliver and that he was temporarily departing from Landa to aid a cult that worshipped him as a deity.

He even removed the leather mask that had concealed his face for years, revealing the visage of a young boy.

"…So I really don't know what to say."

Inside his office, Forrest expressed his bewilderment.

He took a sip of his drink to clear his muddled thoughts, studying the face of Dave—now Oliver.

The face of a youth.

It was beyond his imagination. While he had entertained the possibility that "Dave" might be an alias and the face a facade, the revelation that it was a boy not even 20 years old and revered as a god by a cult exceeded all expectations.

It was nothing short of astonishing.

"Is it that surprising?"

In response to Oliver's question, Forrest waved his hand somewhat erratically. Clearly, he was shaken.

"To be honest, it's complex. Some of it I can grasp, some of it is just shocking."

"What do you understand, and what shocks you?"

"I can kind of understand you being worshiped by some cult, but you being a boy… It's a bit much."

"If I've inconvenienced you, I apologize. But I thought it courteous to tell you."

"No, that's not what I meant. Don't worry."

Forrest conveyed a blend of regret and sympathy, motivations that eluded Oliver's understanding.

"Anyway, the reason I told you all this is to ensure I don't inadvertently cause any inconvenience to you. And because it felt like the right thing to do."

"Can you give me a moment to think? Just a brief one."

Forrest requested of Oliver.

Oliver consented with a nod, and after taking a sip of his drink, Forrest resumed speaking.

"I have a lot on my mind. I want to ask why you'd choose this, why you won't reconsider, what you're risking by this choice, and what you stand to lose… But if you've shown me your real face and told me all this, I guess my persuasion won't work, will it?"

"Yes… And by the way, I don't think you're bad at persuasion. Quite the opposite, actually."

"Hmm… That's a very you response."

As Oliver observed him, Forrest offered a wry smile.

He found the current situation perplexing, regrettable, saddening, and felt powerless. But most importantly, he was concerned about Oliver.

That sentiment was not lost on Oliver.

‘But I still won't change my decision.'

Oliver collected his thoughts and spoke once more.

"…Mr. Forrest."

"Yes?"

"Firstly, I'll be careful. But I'm concerned that my actions might inadvertently cause you harm. So, while this might sound presumptuous, I'd appreciate it if you could also take precautions."

"Don't worry. I've been in this game long enough to handle myself. So don't stress over me."

"Thank you… Also, could you explain things to Miss Jane, Joe, and Mr. Carver on my behalf?"

"I can, but why?"

"Miss Jane is my friend, and I haven't finished teaching Joe everything yet. I have an informal alliance with Mr. Carver… Ideally, I'd like to speak to them directly, but I'm pressed for time. Could you possibly relay the message on my behalf?"

"You speak as if you're leaving for good."

"That's not the intention. I wish it were the opposite. But this matter is more dangerous than I anticipated."

Forrest couldn't deny it.

In this era of magic and industry, despite the Parter Church's waning influence, its role in worshiping the divine and safeguarding humanity from evil remained undeniable.

‘Especially in these times when the monsters of the Black Hand, including the Human-meat Chef, are on the move.’

Forrest recollected the information he had personally gathered.

Though not publicly acknowledged, ominous rumors abounded. Provoking the Parter Church in such turbulent times could lead to crossing a point of no return.

A situation even the most powerful individuals could not safeguard against.

For a moment, Forrest harbored resentment toward Edith for providing such information, and he felt frustrated by his own helplessness.

"To be frank, as a middleman, I'd like to stop you. But as your middleman, I can't dissuade you. We're bound by a contract. I can't impose my will."

"Yes, and you've always said that's the healthiest approach."

"Right. In the end, middlemen and solvers are connected by mutual need… and by the same logic, let me say upfront that I can't assist beyond a certain point."

He meant that he wouldn't be able to provide any assistance when Oliver embarks on the rescue mission for ‘The Chosen Ones'.

Oliver nodded in understanding.

"I'm aware. You have responsibilities here, including the staff. You shouldn't feel sorry about this."

Oliver perceived Forrest's emotions and addressed them. Forrest felt regret and guilt for not being able to assist, emotions that were deeply unfair.

"·····What do you plan to do next? Head straight to Wineham?"

"Yes."

"Will you be okay? Even if you go directly, you need information to proceed, right?"

He was correct. While raw power had its significance, its true value came to light when it was contextualized correctly.

Going alone to a small town, what could Oliver hope to accomplish?

"Don't worry. I have someone there to seek help from."

"Help?"

"Yes."

Forrest found Oliver's response intriguing but refrained from further inquiry. His mind was already burdened with thoughts.

"Ha… I wish you all the luck."

"Thank you… Oh, by the way, can I make a last request? Or perhaps share an opinion?"

"Request? Opinion?"

"Yes. I wasn't sure how to phrase it. I intended to speak about it later, but if I don't say it now, I might never get the chance… May I speak?"

"What is it?"

"Aren't you thinking of seeking forgiveness from Mr. Kent?"

"Why bring that up suddenly?"

"I recently heard about forgiveness, and I feel it might be necessary for you… Don't you feel tremendous guilt towards Mr. Kent?"

"And so?"

"I've heard that if you acknowledge your wrongdoing, you should directly seek forgiveness. It's about approaching the guilt, not distancing yourself from it."

"That's wise… But I fear whether Kent would meet me or forgive me."

"I heard that's a pain you must bear yourself. Still, I believe you should confront it."

"Why do you think so?"

"Only then will Mr. Kent have an opportunity to forgive you."

Upon hearing those words, driven by emotion rather than rationale, Forrest responded.

"If you return safely, I'll consider it."

Forrest's sincerity was palpable, and noticing it, Oliver replied.

"I will do my best."

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