Chapter 662: Dawn

Click. Click. Click. Click…

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch…

The capital of the United Kingdom.

A deep underground basement.

There, mechanical and repetitive sounds echoed continuously.

The sounds were not just one, but many, overlapping to form a harmony.

Naturally, such a harmony, born by chance, had no name. But, if anyone here were asked to name it, they would all call it the same.

The Harmony of Information.

There were two main reasons for this.

One was that the ‘click, click’ sound was made by the telegraphs.

Telegraphs that transmitted messages over long distances using radio waves and codes.

After the invention of voice communication devices, telegraphs fell into decline, but they didn’t disappear completely.

Due to their wide range and security advantages over voice communication, they were still used in some places. The most prominent example being the Intelligence Department of the Kingdom’s Secretariat.

This place collected all domestic and international information for the Royal Family of the United Kingdom.

Thus, every ‘click, click’ sound carried information. It deserved to be called the Harmony of Information.

Then, what was the ‘scratch, scratch’ sound?

It was the sound of transcribing the decoded information from the telegraphs onto paper, along the walls.

They divided the information according to type, integrated overlapping data, and organized the chaotic details systematically.

This organized information would be reported to the Kingdom’s Secretary-General through weekly regular reports.

Originally, the Secretary-General only coordinated the work of the secretaries, but at some point, they began to involve themselves in the affairs of the Royal Family.

Click. Click. Click. Click…

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch… -Stop.

The mechanical and repetitive harmony suddenly broke.

Someone had stopped their hand.

The secretaries of the Intelligence Department, almost like parts of a machine, all turned their heads towards the anomaly.

It was a sight that sent chills down the spine.

However, the secretary who had broken the harmony continued to read the decoded message calmly.

Letter by letter, carefully.

The other observers’ gazes changed.

They realized that this wasn’t a mistake due to laziness or inexperience, but something serious.

As if to confirm their instincts, the secretary got up and headed towards the door.

The sudden vacancy was immediately filled by another waiting secretary.

In the meantime, the secretary calmly but quickly exited the Intelligence Department, and the Harmony of Information resumed mechanically.

Click. Click. Click. Click…

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch…

***

Knock. Knock.

The secretary knocked on the door located in one part of the palace.

“What’s the matter?”

“I have something to report.”

“Come in.”

After a mechanical exchange, the secretary entered the room.

The room was none other than the office of the Kingdom’s Secretary-General. Despite being within the grand and splendid palace, the office was surprisingly modest.

However, what felt even more out of place were the people inside.

“I apologize, everyone. Could we pause the discussion and continue it later?”

The Secretary-General requested politely from those who were already present.

The guests were diverse and carried a significant presence.

Among them were high-ranking magicians from the Traditional Factions like Sarlas, representative nobles, politicians of the Kingdom, and even corporate figures like the representative of the Pinkman who dealt directly with the Royal Family.

Each of them was a giant in their own right.

However, upon hearing that the secretary had urgent news, the Secretary-General dismissed them. Though his words were polite, the implication was clear: their meeting had to wait.

Was this possible because the Secretary-General was backed by the Royal Family?

The reason wasn’t clear, but what was certain was that these influential figures left without any complaints.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The departing footsteps of the guests echoed evenly.

The secretary stood aside, then entered the Secretary-General’s office after the guests had all left.

With the guests gone, the room returned to its original plain, bland, and featureless atmosphere.

“What is it?”

The Secretary-General asked.

Despite being in charge of a hundred Royal Secretaries, his appearance was so plain it was almost indescribable.

If one wasn’t careful, his face would blur from memory. It was made that way intentionally.

The secretary handed over the message they had written down.

“It’s a telegram from the Central Continent… Woodsman Dave is participating in the hunt for the Pied Piper.”

“…”

The Pied Piper.

For centuries, he’d been abducting people across the Central Continent, unchecked and unchallenged—a walking disaster.

Although the Archive had constrained his activities, reducing his once overwhelming reputation, he remained a monster among monsters that no one dared to oppose.

In the past, even when all countries, including the United Kingdom, sent their armies to hunt him, they failed.

It was an event that happened centuries ago but remained burned into everyone’s memory.

And now, they wanted to confront him again?

With just a coalition of second-rate nations and some of the Pater Church? It was—

“—Desperation.”

The Secretary-General—no, Puppet Immortal—spoke.

“Desperation, Master?”

The secretary, who was also Puppet’s disciple, asked.

“It’s desperation against the impending doom. The Pater Church is not foolish, so they’re trying something, much like we are.”

A look of confusion spread across the secretary’s face.

“Forgive me, Master, but I’m not sure I understand. What does hunting the Pied Piper have to do with the end of the world?”

“I don’t know either.”

Puppet replied, placing the paper back on the desk. But the secretary wasn’t convinced.

Despite being a Dark Sorcerer scorned by the world, Puppet had risen to the highest ranks, even challenging the Archive.

He had a presence that extended from the lowest places to the highest reaches.

The secretary was certain that someone like Puppet would be privy to the inner workings of the Pater Church.

Of course, knowing was different from asking, but the secretary couldn’t bring himself to question him.

This wasn’t because the secretary was Puppet’s disciple or lacked power.

The real reason was more fundamental.

The secretary considered Puppet, who had raised him since childhood, as a father figure, so he couldn’t possibly doubt him. Doing so would be unfilial.

As was the case with all the other disciples.

All the secretary could do was express concern.

“Will everything be alright?”

“What do you mean?”

“Woodsman Dave. Isn’t he someone you’ve taken an interest in, Master? Is it alright for him to fight the Pied Piper?”

The secretary recalled how Puppet had previously warned them not to interfere with Dave.

“Why do you assume that Dave will lose?”

“Well…”

For the first time, the secretary hesitated. There were plenty of reasons.

After all, the opponent was the Pied Piper.

Yet, the secretary didn’t answer because they sensed the underlying thoughts of Puppet.

“Do you believe he will win, Master?”

“No, it’s almost certain the Pied Piper will win. The Piper is unbeatable by humans… But there are always exceptions. I live for those exceptions.”

“Even if he wins, there’s a problem.”

For the first time, the secretary’s usually calm voice held emotion.

“He’s already being called the New Finger.”

“A name I created half in jest.”

“But that name now holds power. Some of the Dark Sorcerers affiliated with the Black Hand are secretly meeting with this New Finger.”

It was true.

The Black Hand was a massive organization composed of Dark Sorcerers, but it was also a loose federation.

Yet, despite its loose nature, the Black Hand had endured for so long because of the Fingers who ruled for tens if not hundreds of years.

Their overwhelming power, greed, and madness kept the organization together.

That’s why the Black Hand, despite being a loose group, could last longer than any other organization.

But as if mocking that history, recently, Fingers had been falling one by one.

The Flesh Cook, who moved with overwhelming personal strength, greed, patience, and planning, was eradicated by the Archive after embarking on a reckless endeavor.

Fen, who created his own Dream Kingdom, was also eradicated along with the monster he created.

As the seemingly eternal Fingers fell, the very foundation of the Black Hand began to crumble, and now, people were even beginning to defect.

That’s why someone who wasn’t a Finger was now absorbing the Black Hand’s power while being called such.

This trend had accelerated even more after the formation of the organization known as The Selectors in Gallos.

It was a catastrophe that couldn’t be overlooked.

“Why do you think so?”

“Because, Master, you created the Black Hand.”

The secretary spoke. Surprisingly, it was the truth.

While it may not have been his original goal, Puppet had essentially created the Black Hand.

Spreading Dark Magic as if planting seeds in talented and ambitious children, supporting them, helping them form families, and binding those families together.

It couldn’t be said that the Black Hand was solely Puppet’s creation, but his fingerprints were all over it.

“If Dave defeats the Pied Piper, it will be dangerous. While we disciples will continue to follow you, the others won’t. The Pied Piper, despite his power, never became a leader because he was only interested in abduction. But if Dave, who has his own following, defeats him and gains fame, the Black Hand as an organization, and all Dark Sorcerers as a whole—”

“—Maybe.”

Puppet cut off the secretary’s increasingly agitated words.

Unlike the secretary, who was becoming more frantic as if something was being taken from him, Puppet remained calm, even detached.

“Maybe that was the original purpose.”

“…What?”

“It just occurred to me. Perhaps this Black Hand organization was created for someone else, guided by someone very sinister.”

The secretary looked stunned, a reaction they would never normally have had.

Puppet’s words were so far beyond the norm.

Suggesting that the Black Hand, which had existed for centuries, was created to be handed over to a single person born centuries later?

It was a statement that would seem like the ramblings of a senile old man… If it wasn’t, it would be even worse. That level of absurdity couldn’t be justified.

By what right could anyone do such a thing…

Yet it was Puppet, the de facto founder of the Black Hand, who had said it. Why wouldn’t he mind if someone else took over the Black Hand?

“I don’t mind. After all, the Black Hand is just a means to an end for me.”

“…”

“Hmm… Still, this is news I can’t just ignore. No matter the reason, a promise has been broken.”

Puppet mumbled as he rose from his seat.

The secretary didn’t understand what he meant by that, but Puppet didn’t bother to explain.

There was no need to inform as a more pressing matter had arisen.

Oliver always kept his promises. Breaking his agreement with the Pied Piper to not interfere with each other meant that even he was not exempt.

The first time was difficult, but the second was easier.

Precautions needed to be taken.

“I need to take a walk.”

“Where to, Master?”

“Randa… The excuse might as well be… the Rift. It hasn’t closed yet. Will you come along?”

As those words passed, the air in the office twisted, and someone appeared.

It was Lilith, who had taken on the body of the Unbent Knee with discolored, blotchy skin and Thistle Crown on his head, as well as Gretel, the sister of the Flesh Cook.

***

Shhh… Shhh…

A modestly furnished room, neither too shabby nor too extravagant.

There, with his shirt off, Oliver was using a basin of water to wash his head.

Even with clothes on, Oliver looked emaciated, but with his shirt off, his thinness stood out even more.

His ribs protruded as if starved for days, and his spine stuck out in a way that wasn’t just pitiful but downright eerie.

This was exactly what it looked like to be reduced to skin and bones.

A truly wretched appearance, yet one that exuded a kind of overwhelming presence.

At least in this City, no one underestimated Oliver.

Not civilians, not soldiers, not Holy Knights, not priests, not even kings.

Drip. Drip.

As he used up the water in the basin, droplets began to drip down from his soaked hair.

Oliver used his hand to slick back his hair, then wiped the droplets off the mirror to check his reflection.

Fortunately, thanks to a well-applied dye, the bleached part of his hair had returned to full black.

It didn’t make sense. How could the dye that had faded so quickly over the past few nights suddenly be completely gone?

‘Had the bleached area grown larger?’

Oliver recalled the bleached portion before he dyed it. It might have just been his imagination, but it seemed like the bleached area had expanded. Well, since he had dyed it, it didn’t matter now.

After confirming the dye had set, Oliver dried his damp hair and body with a towel, then began dressing himself.

He put on a shirt and trousers, ironed to perfection, fastened the cuffs, and tied a tie.

All according to the method taught by the employees at the Angel’s House.

Then he put on the matching waistcoat, sprayed some cologne, and donned his overcoat.

Because his body was so thin, his expensive clothes didn’t quite fit, but it didn’t matter since he was wearing them out of respect.

After tidying up his outfit one last time, Oliver grabbed his Quarterstaff, checked the Dagger at his waist, and stepped outside.

Kevin, Yareli, and Rosburn were waiting for him.

They were the ones who had come with Oliver this time. Who would have thought they’d be involved in something like this?

“Don’t worry about this and just focus on your task.”

Perhaps sensing Oliver’s thoughts, Kevin spoke.

Although not as perceptive as Merlin, Kevin also had a deep insight into Oliver’s thoughts.

“Don’t worry.”

“Yes, Teacher!”

Yareli and Rosburn echoed Kevin’s sentiment.

“Thank you.”

After expressing heartfelt thanks to them, Oliver began walking down the corridor.

Kevin, Yareli, and Rosburn followed closely behind.

Oliver led them outside.

Creak.

As soon as they stepped outside, they were met with countless eyes all focusing on Oliver.

The eyes of the townspeople who had lost their children,

the eyes of the soldiers filled with tension and fear,

the eyes of the nuns brimming with hope,

the eyes of the Holy Knights who couldn’t believe the situation,

the eyes of the kings filled with jealousy yet fear,

the eyes of Roderick filled with complicated emotions.

In the midst of suffocatingly many gazes, Oliver silently continued walking.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

With each of Oliver’s steps, countless eyes followed.

In this moment, everyone—whether ordinary people, superhumans, the rich, the poor, the humble, or the noble—was the same.

Because of one person.

That person climbed up the stairs of the statue in the center of the square.

The steps were only a few centimeters higher than the ground, practically insignificant, but for some reason, everyone felt as if they had to look up at Oliver.

As if words failed them, everyone fell silent, and the City, more than at any time the Pied Piper had struck, was engulfed in a deafening silence.

It was so quiet it felt like their ears might pop, like they were about to drown in silence.

And in that moment, Oliver spoke.

“Let’s go.”