Chapter 7 007
The Port Mafia trio, who had just been slapped in the face, did not look pleased.
The three of them were so focused on dealing with the unreasonable, humanoid chariot Don Quixote that they were caught off guard and attacked from the sidelines, with something hitting them in the face.
Although the thing wasn't harmful—it just played a short, VR-like horror game that the group managed to get rid of—the three were still extremely annoyed, having been startled by the sudden plunge.
Looking at the unidentified creature in front of him, which was torn off by gravity (universal gravitation) and made of a material similar to rice paper or silk, with a dark green color that gave people the feeling that "this thing is a ghost" at first glance, Chuuya Nakahara's face was as dark as if he had just been soaked in ink.
After calming himself down in front of the deserted empty space for a long time, Chuuya Nakahara gritted his teeth for a while before finally uttering a sentence.
"So, those guys don't know how to fight properly?"
First, there was the mole desperately throwing dirt as it ran away with its head covered; then there was Don Quixote, who couldn't speak or fight properly; and finally, there was this thing that suddenly slapped someone in the face...
Birds of a feather flock together; they're all a bunch of guys who don't know how to fight properly!
Ryunosuke Akutagawa, who had strung together two unidentified creatures (including Koyo Ozaki's) with Rashomon, looked even more displeased than Chuuya Nakahara—he hadn't even had a chance to report the troubles he'd just been called a patient.
On the other side, Ozaki Kouyou ignored the two people who were about to explode with anger. Instead, she took her knife and poked the two unidentified substances that had been skewered by Akutagawa Ryunosuke's Rashomon, successfully cutting off a small piece.
"It feels like paper cutting." Ozaki Koyo reached out and took the light, fluttering fragment in the wind. She frowned as she examined the part she was holding. "It looks... like paper that has been soaked in ink."
Is that why it has an ominous, dark green hue?
Chuuya Nakahara used the tip of his shoe to crush the unidentified creature he had thrown to the ground, successfully creating a pile of shredded paper.
"So what is this?"
On the other side, in a green field quite far from the port mafia's stronghold.
Romain Rolland emerged from the field, carrying a person in each hand.
It was as if there were steps beneath my feet, and I climbed up step by step.
As Romain Rolland stepped onto the flat ground, sand swirled around him, and he quickly shed his Jules Verne appearance, transforming back into a young man with heterochromatic eyes.
With a forceful lift, Romain Rolland placed the people on his left and right sides aside, and couldn't help but shake his hands.
These two are quite heavy.
"Finally out." Romain Rolland took out his handkerchief to wipe his sweat and let out a long sigh of relief.
"Honestly, if it weren't for Don Quixote causing trouble, none of this would have happened."
To Romain Rolland's left, a rather thin, unkempt middle-aged man gave an awkward laugh and scratched his head with his huge, metallic left hand, which seemed completely out of place with his overall style.
That metal arm was a knight's gauntlet, exactly the same color and style as Don Quixote's armor.
"I'll try to manage it... I'm sorry."
The unkempt man, Cervantes, apologized to the other two people, feeling quite embarrassed.
Romain Rolland and another person glanced at Cervantes, who was awkwardly apologizing, and sighed simultaneously.
“Never mind, it’s not your fault.” Romain Rolland, scratching his head in exasperation just like Cervantes, shrugged at him and turned to look at the Faceless Man on the other side.
"Pu Songling, can those ghosts still be recovered?"
Upon hearing this, the faceless man reached behind him and pulled out a huge, heavy book.
Or rather, the enormous book floated out of his hand.
The faceless man, known as Pu Songling, laid the enormous book out in front of him and tentatively reached for the torn portion of the book, then shook his head helplessly.
"The 'Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio' isn't responding at all; those few 'ghost-blinded' characters must have been killed."
"Hmm... I guess that's to be expected, since it's a mass-produced product."
Reaching out, he took the backpack off his back. This package, which had accompanied Romain Rolland through mountains, into the earth, and into lava, was completely unharmed under the protection of "Journey to the Center of the Earth".
"Luckily, Verne had specifically arranged for the items to be moved while in 'Journey to the Center of the Earth' to protect those geological devices; otherwise, this data would have been lost."
Romain Rolland pushed Cervantes, who was peeking in their direction, back to his seat and looked at Pu Songling, the more reliable of the two—"Are you two coming back with me or wandering around outside on your own?"
“Let’s take a stroll outside.” Pu Songling put the huge book back on his back, then took off his glasses, picked up a writing brush from a pouch at his waist, and painted on his face—“Cervantes and I are both very interested in the local customs and traditions.”
The unkempt old man standing nearby really wanted to say that he just wanted to read novels. But after glancing at Pu Songling, who was painting on his face, he wisely retreated to his spot and remained silent.
They're doing something important, so let's not disturb them.
With just a few strokes, Pu Songling sketched the face of an old man, capturing seven or eight tenths of the spirit of a real person, on what was originally an empty face. Then the ink on his face rippled and spread slightly, and the skin and the bone structure beneath it seemed to sway together.
When Pu Songling's face stopped shaking, an old man's face appeared on his face.
Seeing that Pu Songling had already painted his face, Cervantes leaned over.
"That...my left hand..."
Raising his strikingly metallic left hand, Cervantes smiled sheepishly at Pu Songling—"Thank you for your help."
Pu Songling shrugged indifferently, reached down and pulled out a piece of flesh-colored silk from his own arm, placing it on Cervantes' left hand to wrap the entire metal arm.
Then, Pu Songling picked up his paintbrush again and casually sketched a couple of lines, turning the piece of silk into a flawless arm.
Romain Rolland, who witnessed all this, remained noncommittal—although both Pu Songling and Cervantes were wanted criminals, neither of them were local wanted criminals, and both were the kind who could change their faces (Cervantes's wanted status was more obvious, like Don Quixote's, while Pu Songling had no face at all), and both of them were in a state where no one would recognize them if they went out on the street.
Under these circumstances, it would be very safe for the two of them to go out on the street.
“You two are welcome to go and have some fun if you’re interested, but…” Romain Rolland pointed to his ear—“Keep in touch, every half hour.”
He's a wanted criminal after all, so it's best to be cautious.
Pu Songling and Cervantes simultaneously gave him a "no problem" gesture.
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