"This damn motherf*****…!" Edith interjected sharply as Oliver sought assistance.
For a solid ten minutes thereafter, he directed a barrage of profanity at Oliver, scarcely pausing to inhale.
What proved astonishing was that amidst his unbroken stream of curses, there existed a certain cadence and tempo. He employed an extensive array of derogatory terms, each distinct from the last, without duplication.
Almost as though he possessed a native fluency in the art of swearing.
During the initial sixty seconds, Oliver maintained a reserved silence, but before long, his focus sharpened.
He came to the realization that he wouldn't be able to perform the task he was engaged in if prompted.
Indeed, individuals truly do shine within their distinct domains of expertise.
"Heh… Why do you appear so captivated when I direct curses at your parents?" Edith's perplexity grew due to Oliver's intrigue.
His visage took on the hue of a fully ripened tomato due to the uninterrupted stream of profanities.
"As you're aware, I am an orphan."
In a composed manner devoid of malice or ulterior motives, Oliver offered his response.
Edith acknowledged this, yet the directness of the statement triggered a small pang of guilt that had long been buried in him.
Oliver discerned this emotion.
"Ah, what I mean is, I'm alright… and the orphanage director once told me that parents of children like us are definitely irresponsible bastards, likely prostitutes. So, your remarks didn't truly insult them. Please don't concern yourself over it."
Edith found himself even more unsettled by Oliver's unexpected retort.
The situation seemed unjust.
After all, he was the one who had been suddenly confronted and subjected to this absurd conversation. Why, then, was he burdened with guilt?
"…? Mr. Edith? Truly, no need to fret—"
"—Shut up. Please."
Eventually, Edith raised a hand to silence Oliver and poured a drink, swiftly downing its contents.
Observing him with quiet attention, Oliver cautiously inquired, "…Did I make a mistake?"
"I wonder, isn't your very existence a mistake?"
"Ah, that's a sentiment I've heard from the orphanage director as well. The notion that orphans like us are the outcomes of our parents' foolishness—"
"—Shut it!"
Edith erupted once more. Despite his outward anger, an increasing unease gnawed at him.
Oliver resolved to remain silent for the present.
For some inexplicable reason, each time he spoke, the situation seemed to deteriorate.
In a short span, Edith had cycled through anger multiple times and now appeared visibly drained, despite his physical recovery owing to Oliver's blood elixir.
He consistently emptied his glass, endeavoring to drown his discomfort.
Silently, Oliver observed him, striving to ascertain where he had faltered.
He thought that perhaps he made a mistake by getting straight to the point when they first met.
According to negotiation books, it's important to create a relaxed atmosphere through humorous banter.
‘Gaining financial support seems to be no small challenge… How did the professors succeed?'
Oliver felt afresh the weight of managing the orphanage's affairs.
After a while, Edith finally broke the silence.
"This level of unfairness, it's been years since I've felt it so strongly."
"…What's causing this sense of unfairness?"
"Being summoned from my rest, subjected to matters unrelated to me, enduring the impertinence of someone soliciting money, feeling as if I'm the one at fault? I even had to tolerate being called fat and lustful."
Realization dawned on Oliver.
"The professor I serve said that."
"You don't share that perspective?"
"I… like you, Mr. Edith."
With this, Edith took another gulp of the potent drink, as though his energy for anger had depleted.
"Should I remain silent once more?"
Edith nodded.
He consumed numerous bottles of liquor, beckoned the attendants of Angel's House, and instructed them to fetch more – the strongest available. When a tray laden with fresh bottles arrived, Edith uncorked one and extended it to Oliver.
"Drink."
"Pardon?"
"So, you need my money, right?"
"Yes, it's quite difficult to fund it myself."
"Then, drink. If you want to get someone else's money, you should be able to fit in."
Oliver readily complied, taking the bottle and beginning to pour it into a cup.
Edith halted him.
"Don't sip, down it all in one go."
“Is there a reason?”
“Because the one who's paying wants it.”
Indeed, a reasonable explanation. Obeying, Oliver swiftly consumed the potent liquor in a single draught.
Edith uncorked another bottle, handed it to Oliver, who promptly finished its contents.
When the replenished bottle was about half-empty, Edith spoke.
"Damn it… This alcohol is so potent!"
"Is it?"
Despite imbibing enough alcohol to induce inebriation, Oliver displayed no signs of intoxication.
Having encountered diverse individuals in Landa, Edith was certain he wouldn't find anyone more peculiar than the man before him.
What exactly is he? Edith pondered, a sense of helplessness enveloping him.
"Why did you confess that you were using a false identity within the Magic Tower?"
"Um… I needed assistance, and my understanding of the upper class is limited. Moreover, you are aware of my real name, so I believed honesty would be best while seeking your aid."
That was the truth.
During Oliver's encounter with Edith after rescuing Jane, a truth game ensued, during which Oliver disclosed his genuine name, Oliver.
Though seemingly credible, the account was far from it.
The gravity of Oliver's counterfeit identity within the Magic Tower was significant, a potential vulnerability.
Of course, Oliver was in a position to control Edith's life with the elixir, but Edith knew well that he was not the type to do that.
Beyond issues of character or disposition.
So the more they talked, the more confused Edith became. To a frightening extent.
"…If you needed money, you could have asked in a different way. Saying you needed more money for materials?"
“Then I'd have to lie, and that's a bit…”
"……."
“Also, I thought it would be good if you officially support. Then, it seems appropriate to tell you everything and ask for your favor."
Edith's ire had subsided. Fatigue now dominated his emotions, a byproduct of his earlier anger.
“…Fine. Whatever happens, I have no choice but to listen.”
“Thank you… But why do you have no choice but to listen?”
“Because you are the only one who can make the elixir that keeps me alive… How dare I refuse?”
“Oh… Don't worry about that. That's that, and this is this, even if you refuse, I plan to continue to provide the elixir.”
Edith leaned upon the table, hands entwined.
He was truly curious about what was going on in the mind of the warlock in front of him. To the point of wanting to dissect it and see for himself.
"I'm really curious. What would you do if I refused? Your only negotiation card is that. Or do you have a new negotiation card to persuade me?"
“I thought about it but came empty-handed. I thought you would listen if I politely asked.”
“If you were weaker than me, I would have beaten you with a bottle. Until you die. What will you do if I refuse?”
"Then, I would ask Miss Jane—"
"—You despicable bastard!"
***
Edith commenced a barrage of swearing, resembling the rapid fire of a machine gun, persisting for roughly ten minutes.
Oliver mentioned that he and Jane were friends and that it was a request he could certainly make. However, this merely prolonged Edith's tirade by another ten minutes, accompanied by his steady imbibing.
Even though tangible progress eluded them and the count of empty bottles multiplied, Oliver's interest was decidedly piqued.
For a brief interlude, he witnessed Edith's genuine concern for Jane, a momentary revelation borne from Edith's early expenditure of emotions and subsequent emotional fatigue.
Thus, apart from securing financial assistance, Oliver found some contentment in the present circumstances.
He appeared to grasp the wisdom encapsulated in the adage that lending a hand to others often beckons assistance in return.
"Ha… Are you and Jane friends?"
"Yes. Recall our encounter at the investment gathering?"
"I do. How could I forget?"
"We became friends there. I was happy because she accepted more readily than I thought."
"Happy?"
“Yes. I don't have many friends.”
“I think I can see why, looking at you.”
“Ah… Did you have a lot of friends, Mr. Edith?”
Oliver's query emerged spontaneously, an instinctive response rather than a product of contemplation.
However, to his surprise, Edith visibly flinched at the question, as though unintentionally brushing against a tender spot.
"Indeed. It represented a rather innocent period in my life. Belief in Santa Claus, the notion of a watchful deity, the idea that virtue begets eventual blessings, a source of personal pride even in the least. How naive I was. Fuck!"
Edith's confession bore sincerity, resonating with an air of authenticity.
Finding pride in being virtuous. It seemed like a beautiful thought.
"Do you no longer hold to those ideals?"
"Absolutely not. Alcohol, drugs, women. I'm even seated at the same table as a warlock."
"Ah…"
"The bitch I'm living with now, I bought her with money. I forced her on the first night. When she didn't listen, I slapped her and beat her back with a leather belt. Until she licked my ass, and told me she loved me herself. I'm not particularly sorry. I bought her with my money, so I can do what I want with her, right?"
Edith's tone underwent a transformation from his usual demeanor. His tone wasn't authoritative, but rather in quest of concurrence.
He was inebriated, not solely by alcohol, but also by his memories and emotions.
It was akin to a long-standing dam crumbling under the weight of accumulated pressure.
Driven by curiosity, Oliver probed further.
"Why did you relinquish that sense of pride? Living a virtuous life. It's a great thing."
"……Snort! Are you serious? This is the best joke of the year! A solver who makes a living by pricing people's blood and flesh, and a warlock who uses people as materials, saying such things?"
"That's why it feels more impressive."
"……I thought I had no conscience, but you seem to be without one as well."
"Is that so?"
"In my view. A kind of evil without evil, perhaps?"
Edith proclaimed as he sipped from his drink once again. His emotional restraint had undeniably eroded.
"It traces back to Jane's mother."
"Pardon?"
"My current state of existence, it's all due to Jane's mother."
"Why so?"
"She betrayed me and followed a rich man. Do you know what she said before she left?"
"I'm not sure?"
"She told me that my virtuous acts were a mere facade, masking my incompetence. She said that to my face."
"…So, you delved into investing?"
"Of course. I became curious, whether my goodness was real, or just a cover to hide my incompetence…….. I was consumed by this curiosity. Deliberately orchestrating an accident at a rival's factory in exchange for a bribe, and made money. Then I jumped into the stock market with that money. Surprisingly, I had a talent for stocks."
"You must have been pleased."
"Pleased? It turned out that my goodness was real, not a cover. And I learned a great lesson."
"What's that?"
"People only exhibit respect when you inflict harm upon them."
Edith's sentiments emanated with a profound authenticity, almost akin to a personal doctrine.
"……Why, do you want to say something?"
"No. I don't think I have the right to comment on such a thing."
"……Regardless, when I felt I had amassed ample wealth, I indulged in the ultimate triumph that I had meticulously orchestrated."
"Miss Jane's mother?"
"Yes. I wrecked her house with a lot of effort. I poured money to stop the income of that household, and led the husband into depravity with gambling, alcohol, and women. The head of the household was a decent guy, but I turned him into a cripple. I made him a wretch who couldn't even bark while I was fucking his wife on his bed."
"……"
"It was the best revenge, and then, Jane was born."
Edith chuckled once more, reveling in a sense of elation.
It was an intriguing phenomenon. Edith radiated happiness, yet beneath the surface, he harbored melancholy and rancor.
"And this is the answer to the question you've been curious about for a long time."
"The question?"
"What I think about Jane… She represents a manifestation of my benevolence, retribution, and conquest. That's why I take care of her a bit. It's fun just to watch."
Edith's words resonated with an air of truth, yet Oliver discerned the layers of emotions concealed beneath.
Remorse, culpability, resentment, yearning, and regret all lay veiled.
Yet Oliver chose not to explicitly address them. He had solved what he was curious about.
Initially arriving for financial backing, he now reaped an unforeseen harvest.
"It's a big deal. I've revealed my most important card. Fuck! …Alcohol is the enemy."
"I'm all the more grateful for that. Thanks to you, my curiosity has been somewhat satisfied. Regardless of whether you talk or not, I will continue to give you the elixir, so don't worry."
Edith, who had bared his emotions and memories, appeared untroubled, contentedly upending an empty bottle.
"I appreciate it. You're consistently crazy. I'm so grateful I don't know what to do.”
"Then, regarding this Magic tower—"
"—This damn motherf*****…!."
"This damn motherf*****…!" Edith interjected sharply as Oliver sought assistance.
For a solid ten minutes thereafter, he directed a barrage of profanity at Oliver, scarcely pausing to inhale.
What proved astonishing was that amidst his unbroken stream of curses, there existed a certain cadence and tempo. He employed an extensive array of derogatory terms, each distinct from the last, without duplication.
Almost as though he possessed a native fluency in the art of swearing.
During the initial sixty seconds, Oliver maintained a reserved silence, but before long, his focus sharpened.
He came to the realization that he wouldn't be able to perform the task he was engaged in if prompted.
Indeed, individuals truly do shine within their distinct domains of expertise.
"Heh… Why do you appear so captivated when I direct curses at your parents?" Edith's perplexity grew due to Oliver's intrigue.
His visage took on the hue of a fully ripened tomato due to the uninterrupted stream of profanities.
"As you're aware, I am an orphan."
In a composed manner devoid of malice or ulterior motives, Oliver offered his response.
Edith acknowledged this, yet the directness of the statement triggered a small pang of guilt that had long been buried in him.
Oliver discerned this emotion.
"Ah, what I mean is, I'm alright… and the orphanage director once told me that parents of children like us are definitely irresponsible bastards, likely prostitutes. So, your remarks didn't truly insult them. Please don't concern yourself over it."
Edith found himself even more unsettled by Oliver's unexpected retort.
The situation seemed unjust.
After all, he was the one who had been suddenly confronted and subjected to this absurd conversation. Why, then, was he burdened with guilt?
"…? Mr. Edith? Truly, no need to fret—"
"—Shut up. Please."
Eventually, Edith raised a hand to silence Oliver and poured a drink, swiftly downing its contents.
Observing him with quiet attention, Oliver cautiously inquired, "…Did I make a mistake?"
"I wonder, isn't your very existence a mistake?"
"Ah, that's a sentiment I've heard from the orphanage director as well. The notion that orphans like us are the outcomes of our parents' foolishness—"
"—Shut it!"
Edith erupted once more. Despite his outward anger, an increasing unease gnawed at him.
Oliver resolved to remain silent for the present.
For some inexplicable reason, each time he spoke, the situation seemed to deteriorate.
In a short span, Edith had cycled through anger multiple times and now appeared visibly drained, despite his physical recovery owing to Oliver's blood elixir.
He consistently emptied his glass, endeavoring to drown his discomfort.
Silently, Oliver observed him, striving to ascertain where he had faltered.
He thought that perhaps he made a mistake by getting straight to the point when they first met.
According to negotiation books, it's important to create a relaxed atmosphere through humorous banter.
‘Gaining financial support seems to be no small challenge… How did the professors succeed?'
Oliver felt afresh the weight of managing the orphanage's affairs.
After a while, Edith finally broke the silence.
"This level of unfairness, it's been years since I've felt it so strongly."
"…What's causing this sense of unfairness?"
"Being summoned from my rest, subjected to matters unrelated to me, enduring the impertinence of someone soliciting money, feeling as if I'm the one at fault? I even had to tolerate being called fat and lustful."
Realization dawned on Oliver.
"The professor I serve said that."
"You don't share that perspective?"
"I… like you, Mr. Edith."
With this, Edith took another gulp of the potent drink, as though his energy for anger had depleted.
"Should I remain silent once more?"
Edith nodded.
He consumed numerous bottles of liquor, beckoned the attendants of Angel's House, and instructed them to fetch more – the strongest available. When a tray laden with fresh bottles arrived, Edith uncorked one and extended it to Oliver.
"Drink."
"Pardon?"
"So, you need my money, right?"
"Yes, it's quite difficult to fund it myself."
"Then, drink. If you want to get someone else's money, you should be able to fit in."
Oliver readily complied, taking the bottle and beginning to pour it into a cup.
Edith halted him.
"Don't sip, down it all in one go."
“Is there a reason?”
“Because the one who's paying wants it.”
Indeed, a reasonable explanation. Obeying, Oliver swiftly consumed the potent liquor in a single draught.
Edith uncorked another bottle, handed it to Oliver, who promptly finished its contents.
When the replenished bottle was about half-empty, Edith spoke.
"Damn it… This alcohol is so potent!"
"Is it?"
Despite imbibing enough alcohol to induce inebriation, Oliver displayed no signs of intoxication.
Having encountered diverse individuals in Landa, Edith was certain he wouldn't find anyone more peculiar than the man before him.
What exactly is he? Edith pondered, a sense of helplessness enveloping him.
"Why did you confess that you were using a false identity within the Magic Tower?"
"Um… I needed assistance, and my understanding of the upper class is limited. Moreover, you are aware of my real name, so I believed honesty would be best while seeking your aid."
That was the truth.
During Oliver's encounter with Edith after rescuing Jane, a truth game ensued, during which Oliver disclosed his genuine name, Oliver.
Though seemingly credible, the account was far from it.
The gravity of Oliver's counterfeit identity within the Magic Tower was significant, a potential vulnerability.
Of course, Oliver was in a position to control Edith's life with the elixir, but Edith knew well that he was not the type to do that.
Beyond issues of character or disposition.
So the more they talked, the more confused Edith became. To a frightening extent.
"…If you needed money, you could have asked in a different way. Saying you needed more money for materials?"
“Then I'd have to lie, and that's a bit…”
"……."
“Also, I thought it would be good if you officially support. Then, it seems appropriate to tell you everything and ask for your favor."
Edith's ire had subsided. Fatigue now dominated his emotions, a byproduct of his earlier anger.
“…Fine. Whatever happens, I have no choice but to listen.”
“Thank you… But why do you have no choice but to listen?”
“Because you are the only one who can make the elixir that keeps me alive… How dare I refuse?”
“Oh… Don't worry about that. That's that, and this is this, even if you refuse, I plan to continue to provide the elixir.”
Edith leaned upon the table, hands entwined.
He was truly curious about what was going on in the mind of the warlock in front of him. To the point of wanting to dissect it and see for himself.
"I'm really curious. What would you do if I refused? Your only negotiation card is that. Or do you have a new negotiation card to persuade me?"
“I thought about it but came empty-handed. I thought you would listen if I politely asked.”
“If you were weaker than me, I would have beaten you with a bottle. Until you die. What will you do if I refuse?”
"Then, I would ask Miss Jane—"
"—You despicable bastard!"
***
Edith commenced a barrage of swearing, resembling the rapid fire of a machine gun, persisting for roughly ten minutes.
Oliver mentioned that he and Jane were friends and that it was a request he could certainly make. However, this merely prolonged Edith's tirade by another ten minutes, accompanied by his steady imbibing.
Even though tangible progress eluded them and the count of empty bottles multiplied, Oliver's interest was decidedly piqued.
For a brief interlude, he witnessed Edith's genuine concern for Jane, a momentary revelation borne from Edith's early expenditure of emotions and subsequent emotional fatigue.
Thus, apart from securing financial assistance, Oliver found some contentment in the present circumstances.
He appeared to grasp the wisdom encapsulated in the adage that lending a hand to others often beckons assistance in return.
"Ha… Are you and Jane friends?"
"Yes. Recall our encounter at the investment gathering?"
"I do. How could I forget?"
"We became friends there. I was happy because she accepted more readily than I thought."
"Happy?"
“Yes. I don't have many friends.”
“I think I can see why, looking at you.”
“Ah… Did you have a lot of friends, Mr. Edith?”
Oliver's query emerged spontaneously, an instinctive response rather than a product of contemplation.
However, to his surprise, Edith visibly flinched at the question, as though unintentionally brushing against a tender spot.
"Indeed. It represented a rather innocent period in my life. Belief in Santa Claus, the notion of a watchful deity, the idea that virtue begets eventual blessings, a source of personal pride even in the least. How naive I was. Fuck!"
Edith's confession bore sincerity, resonating with an air of authenticity.
Finding pride in being virtuous. It seemed like a beautiful thought.
"Do you no longer hold to those ideals?"
"Absolutely not. Alcohol, drugs, women. I'm even seated at the same table as a warlock."
"Ah…"
"The bitch I'm living with now, I bought her with money. I forced her on the first night. When she didn't listen, I slapped her and beat her back with a leather belt. Until she licked my ass, and told me she loved me herself. I'm not particularly sorry. I bought her with my money, so I can do what I want with her, right?"
Edith's tone underwent a transformation from his usual demeanor. His tone wasn't authoritative, but rather in quest of concurrence.
He was inebriated, not solely by alcohol, but also by his memories and emotions.
It was akin to a long-standing dam crumbling under the weight of accumulated pressure.
Driven by curiosity, Oliver probed further.
"Why did you relinquish that sense of pride? Living a virtuous life. It's a great thing."
"……Snort! Are you serious? This is the best joke of the year! A solver who makes a living by pricing people's blood and flesh, and a warlock who uses people as materials, saying such things?"
"That's why it feels more impressive."
"……I thought I had no conscience, but you seem to be without one as well."
"Is that so?"
"In my view. A kind of evil without evil, perhaps?"
Edith proclaimed as he sipped from his drink once again. His emotional restraint had undeniably eroded.
"It traces back to Jane's mother."
"Pardon?"
"My current state of existence, it's all due to Jane's mother."
"Why so?"
"She betrayed me and followed a rich man. Do you know what she said before she left?"
"I'm not sure?"
"She told me that my virtuous acts were a mere facade, masking my incompetence. She said that to my face."
"…So, you delved into investing?"
"Of course. I became curious, whether my goodness was real, or just a cover to hide my incompetence…….. I was consumed by this curiosity. Deliberately orchestrating an accident at a rival's factory in exchange for a bribe, and made money. Then I jumped into the stock market with that money. Surprisingly, I had a talent for stocks."
"You must have been pleased."
"Pleased? It turned out that my goodness was real, not a cover. And I learned a great lesson."
"What's that?"
"People only exhibit respect when you inflict harm upon them."
Edith's sentiments emanated with a profound authenticity, almost akin to a personal doctrine.
"……Why, do you want to say something?"
"No. I don't think I have the right to comment on such a thing."
"……Regardless, when I felt I had amassed ample wealth, I indulged in the ultimate triumph that I had meticulously orchestrated."
"Miss Jane's mother?"
"Yes. I wrecked her house with a lot of effort. I poured money to stop the income of that household, and led the husband into depravity with gambling, alcohol, and women. The head of the household was a decent guy, but I turned him into a cripple. I made him a wretch who couldn't even bark while I was fucking his wife on his bed."
"……"
"It was the best revenge, and then, Jane was born."
Edith chuckled once more, reveling in a sense of elation.
It was an intriguing phenomenon. Edith radiated happiness, yet beneath the surface, he harbored melancholy and rancor.
"And this is the answer to the question you've been curious about for a long time."
"The question?"
"What I think about Jane… She represents a manifestation of my benevolence, retribution, and conquest. That's why I take care of her a bit. It's fun just to watch."
Edith's words resonated with an air of truth, yet Oliver discerned the layers of emotions concealed beneath.
Remorse, culpability, resentment, yearning, and regret all lay veiled.
Yet Oliver chose not to explicitly address them. He had solved what he was curious about.
Initially arriving for financial backing, he now reaped an unforeseen harvest.
"It's a big deal. I've revealed my most important card. Fuck! …Alcohol is the enemy."
"I'm all the more grateful for that. Thanks to you, my curiosity has been somewhat satisfied. Regardless of whether you talk or not, I will continue to give you the elixir, so don't worry."
Edith, who had bared his emotions and memories, appeared untroubled, contentedly upending an empty bottle.
"I appreciate it. You're consistently crazy. I'm so grateful I don't know what to do.”
"Then, regarding this Magic tower—"
"—This damn motherf*****…!."
