Chapter 147: Volunteering for the Golden Week (5)

Chapter 147: Volunteering for the Golden Week (5)

The days are bright and sunny.

Vikir is pulling weeds that have sprouted in the yard.

But even while doing the dirty work, Vikir's eyes and ears are always open.

He wants to make sure he doesn't miss a single detail about Guilty, so he does his best to gather information.

It's almost impossible for a volunteer to meet Guilty in person, instead relying on information about his work and daily routine from a distance or from those around him.

This was made all the more annoying by the fact that he was often interrupted by Geronto, Fedo, Hebe, and Ephebo, who were always at his side.

"They're strong guys. Especially that Geronto girl....'

Vikir turned his attention to the smallest of Guilty's four shadows, a mage woman.

She exuded strong magic, probably at least fifth class.

Her body clearly belonged to a girl who appeared to be about Vikir's age, but the power she possessed was definitely unnatural.

The black sack she was wearing was also quite ominous, emitting an unpleasant odor.

It seemed to be a relic from a distant and ancient time.

In any case, unless we can somehow deal with those four sack people who are escorting Guilty, the purpose of the mission will not be fulfilled.

'Alright, let's just focus on what I can see for now.'

Vikir began to think with only the information he had at hand.

After analyzing the circumstances, Guilty's job was nothing special.

His primary job was to sell indulgences and plenaries to nobles and merchants visiting the church, and he occasionally mailed investment reports and indulgence sales ledgers to the Quovadis family.

The recipients of the mail were almost always Cardinal Humbert L Quovadis of the Old Order.

Vikir would sneak over the barrier at night and intercept the mail by shooting pigeons and owls flying away from Guilty's office with arrows.

The letters usually contained the following.

Viscount Beckin: Murdered parents who wanted to donate their inheritance instead of passing it on to their children, faked an accidental death, and stole the inheritance = all sins are forgiven by paying 1.5 billion gold in tribute.

Baron Lageso: Terrified and murdered his twin sisters, who were working as maids, and buried them in the sewers = All sins are forgiven with a 200 million gold tribute.

Lord Finnegieg: Murdered a business partner and stole his investments, while his family suffered and committed mass suicide = 800 million gold.

Count Eisel: Charged with massive tax evasion, nearly 100 billion gold in tax evasion alone = Pardoned by paying 300 million gold in tribute.

CEO Quarkar: Accused of stock price manipulation, driving over 10,000 ant investors to suicide = Pardoned by paying 5 billion gold.

.

.

For example, a rich man evaded taxes, a high-ranking noble intimidated a servant, a merchant murdered a business associate, or a trader bought and sold indulgences for... whatever.

Vikir read each and every one of these letters while pulling weeds in the yard.

He concluded.

"... I don't need to know about this."

These were bad guys, sure, but at least they weren't in league with the demons and betraying humanity.

At least they weren't being hunted by the Night Hounds. Nêww chapters will be fully updated at novelhall.com

Vikir was about to throw the letters away when he paused.

Confessions of the criminals the Old Order priests were dealing with, and their secret crimes against humanity.

"Maybe it would be a good gift for someone."

This "blacklist" would be a politically potent weapon.

Vikir set the letters aside for a moment. He'd tuck them away somewhere.

Then.

...Wiggle!

Something moved in the pocket of Vikir's arm.

"...?"

Vikir felt a rare moment of panic.

What had just wriggled out of his pocket was enough to make even the usually expressionless Vikir's eyes widen.

An egg. It was a rather large black egg.

The egg of Madame Eight-Legged, the one he had saved when he was adrift for two years in the depth of the Black Mountain with his former enemy.

I've always carried it in my pocket, just in case, but why is it wriggling now?

"...?"

Vikir looked up.

In the direction of the egg's wiggling, a group of children were running a lead race.

St. Dolores stood before him, her face slightly flushed.

Vikir quickly snatched up Guilty's ledgers from his side and tucked them into his arms.

Dolores narrowed her eyes at the sight.

"Studying for a writing exam? Are you studying while doing volunteer work? ... Hmm, you're surprisingly diligent."

"What is it?"

Vikir asks in a stern tone, and Dolores coughs once more, averting her gaze.

"Uhm, uhm, just, uhm. I was wondering what your volunteer work is like, and from what I've heard from some of my friends, you seem pretty dedicated to it. Is it worth it?"

"Yeah."

"...."

"...."

"...Ah, is that it, answer?"

"Yeah."

"...I see."

Dolores couldn't help but notice that Vikir's short answers didn't sit well with her.

She was used to asking one word questions and getting ten or a hundred answers.

Dolores twisted the ends of her hair around her fingers a few times before she forced herself to speak.

"..., actually. I came to talk to you about what happened yesterday."

"...?"

Vikir's brow furrowed slightly.

"Yesterday?

It was unimportant, so he must have forgotten about it right away.

As Vikir was trying to recall what had happened with Dolores yesterday, Dolores hesitantly continued.

"Well, I guess it's because we have a bit of a family situation... and I think I overreacted to you yesterday, but I'm sure you were just trying to help me, and I'm really sorry for the way I yelled at you yesterday....."

Dolores was apparently referring to yesterday when she was pushed down the hallway by Vikir with her mouth covered.

But.

"...!"

Vikir wasn't paying attention to Dolores at all right now.

Because something much bigger than that was happening right now.

Bam!

Madame's egg, kicked by the Nymphet, flew high into the air this time.

But he had chosen the wrong trajectory.

...Pow!

He fell into the deep sewers at the edge of the playground.

The kids all screamed.

"Ouch! No! That's the last ball!"

"We're not going to make it without it!"

"Pick it up! We have to pick it up or...!"

The problem is that the filth and wastewater flowing in that sewer is being sucked straight into an underground sewage treatment plant, and the ball that fell into it isn't just any ball.

Purrrrrr...

Even as the kids are panicking, Madame's egg is making its way to the sewage treatment plant.

The sewer is too deep for them to get into and the flow is too fast.

A dire situation in more ways than one.

So Dolores couldn't finish her sentence.

"I'm sorry... okay?"

Vikir, the object of her apology, scurried out onto the playground as she spoke.

"It's deep. Move."

Vikir gave a quick warning to the kids who had gathered in front of the sewer and were scrambling to get out of the way.

And then.

...a puff of air!

Without a moment's hesitation, Vikir dove into the filthy, floating sewer.