Omniscient First-Person’s Viewpoint-Chapter 490: Going All the Way

Gluta, the head chef of Kitchen Gluta and a renowned businessman in Ende, lived by the motto of diligence and integrity. As strict with others as he was with himself, he was lucky that his profession required him to be hospitable—otherwise, he would have become a cantankerous old man, spouting harsh words wherever he went.

Even so, there was one person, far older than him, whom even he dared not treat harshly—a certain elderly pig beastwoman.

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.

"Madam Mig, could you show some restraint?"

"Restraint? Is that something you eat?"

"That’s not what I meant—"

"Then go eat shit! I’ve lived this way for eighty years, and I’ll keep living like this until I drop dead!"

She had already been middle-aged when he was a child. Even Gluta had been a guest at her table a couple of times in his youth. Being strict was one thing, but even he couldn't bring himself to impose that same severity on an eighty-year-old woman.

The old pig beastwoman swung a ladle over her head and shouted.

"The only crime I’ve committed is feeding hungry children without a home! If that’s a crime, why don’t you start by blaming your own mother, huh? The way you’re blaming me!"

"This isn’t just about feeding people, is it?"

Gluta glanced around Madam Mig’s dining area. A single household table, with a railing added for extra seating. It had around ten seats—not quite enough to call it a restaurant, but more than what a lone elderly woman needed in her home.

"You say you serve Orc Soul Food, but let’s be honest—this place is a restaurant. Beastmen come here, eat, and leave you money in return, don’t they?"

"They eat, and some toss a few coins my way, that’s all!"

"With all the other meat-serving restaurants being targeted by Orcma and struggling, the only places still running are pig beastmen’s establishments like yours. Even if that wasn’t your intention... it doesn’t look good."

"You think I make a profit from this? I can barely afford to eat every day, let alone save anything!"

"And yet, recently, pig beastmen have been coming in groups to eat here, haven’t they?"

Clang!

Madam Mig hurled her ladle onto the floor, splattering thick stew across the rug. She glared at Gluta and jabbed a finger at him.

"So what? Am I not allowed to run a business now? Who else is going to hire an eighty-year-old?"

"That’s—"

"I’m no use as meat anymore. I’m so old that the only thing left to chew is bone! And even that’s been sucked dry, tasteless as hell! The best thing I can do is die quietly somewhere, out of sight! So go on, kill me now! Grind my bones into feed!"

Gluta knew her circumstances all too well.

The pig beastmen’s rampage had left their own kind untouched. While other beastmen communities were shaken, the pig beastmen’s society was growing more tightly knit. Gluta found this suspicious, which was why he had come to investigate Madam Mig’s table.

But that was all it was—suspicion.

He already knew she had been running a dining space for years. He also knew that if she stopped, she would have nothing left but death. He wasn’t cruel enough to tell an old woman to just roll over and die.

But... that didn’t mean he was willing to die, either.

"In that case, at least rein in your customers a little. I can’t keep holding out like this."

Madam Mig’s glare bore into him before she finally spoke.

"If I knew how to properly rein people in, my own kid wouldn’t have died like a stray."

She had been through too much in life to waver now. Gluta sighed, unable to say any more, and left the dining area. It would be difficult for a while longer... but he had to endure.

Once Gluta was gone, Madam Mig spat onto the ground and slammed her door shut.

"Damn fool. What does he expect me to do...? Ugh. The real crime here is that I’m still alive."

Gluta’s suspicions were half right. Madam Mig was, in fact, cooperating with Orcma—but only reluctantly. She convinced herself that she was simply doing what she had always done: feeding the hungry. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was now involved in something dangerous.

"I should just die peacefully. Hah... Tch."

"Come on now. No one really wants to die, no matter how old they are."

A new voice spoke.

Madam Mig flinched.

The table where she had been speaking with Gluta just moments ago—there should have been no one there.

But now, a stranger sat in one of the chairs, eating her stew.

A human.

He scooped up mouthfuls greedily, blowing on them before slurping them down.

"Ah, hot! Delicious, but hot."

"Who the hell are you, stealing my food?!"

She forced herself to remain calm, but the human simply continued savoring the stew, rolling it around in his mouth.

"Huh, this taste... It’s pork, isn’t it?"

"You’ve got some nerve, shoveling food into your mouth and then nitpicking about the ingredients!"

"It’s curious, isn’t it? A known Orcma support hub, and yet you’re serving pork? Did Orcma forget their so-called beliefs when it came to filling their own bellies? Or are they just too easily fooled by a kind old lady?"

Her uneasy feeling had become reality.

A human showing up at a back-alley eatery like this? That alone was strange.

Humans were finicky about hygiene, about safety. The only reason one would take interest in her was—

Because of Orcma.

The troublemakers she housed.

"Oh, two pots? One for pork to serve other beastmen, and another... something else for pig beastmen?"

The human’s lips curled into a smirk.

"Ah, I see. With all the other pork suppliers blocked off, you get exclusive access to it, huh?"

"Damn kids these days, running their mouths all they want. I’ve been eating pork for eighty years! I don’t give a damn about any of this!"

"Of course you don’t. A pig beastwoman living in a shack like this—how much pork could you have really eaten over eighty years? Not much, I bet. Only recently, huh?"

The human tossed his spoon aside and propped his feet up on the table.

His ease—his sheer arrogance—sent a wave of pressure through Madam Mig.

She snapped.

"The only crime I’ve committed is feeding the homeless! If that’s a crime, then fine! I should just die, huh?!"

The human’s gaze darkened.

"Do you really want to die?"

As he flicked his wrist, a card embedded itself into the wooden table. Its quivering edge gleamed like the blade of a knife.

Madam Mig sucked in a sharp breath, and the human smiled at her.

"Don't worry. I don’t care whether you’re an elderly grandmother, a pig beastwoman who’s been through hardships, someone with a tragic past, or a shameless liar who refuses to admit the obvious truth even when it’s staring her in the face."

Madam Mig was a reluctant collaborator. But naturally, there were those backing her. Someone had to be supplying the pork, funding her, maintaining contact in case things went south.

And those people? They weren’t the true head of Orcma either.

But if I kept tracing them back, one thread at a time, I’d eventually find my way there.

"Because to me, you’re just another person."

"Quit talking nonsense and get out before I call the authorities!"

"Hah. And who exactly would you call? Your Orcma brats? Or perhaps someone who swore you to secrecy?"

If she was trying this hard to deny it, that meant there was someone she wanted to protect. Madam Mig clung to the idea that as long as she kept denying it, they would remain safe.

Too bad I had already read her mind.

Nothing can be hidden from me. The only way to keep a secret from me is to forget it entirely—so thoroughly that even the person keeping it no longer remembers what it is.

"How do you know all this...?!"

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I clapped my hands.

The metal-edged card sparked against the table for an instant.

Madam Mig flinched, squeezing her eyes shut in fear.

And when {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} she opened them—

I was already gone, swallowed by the chaos of Ende.

Meanwhile, at the Pig Vault

The most secretive stronghold within the pig beastmen community.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

The poor and persecuted tend to grow more reclusive over time. Even among their own kind, they trust nothing—not even the money in their hands. After all, in the underbelly of society, it’s not uncommon for someone to bash your head in and walk away with everything you own.

And so, naturally, pig beastmen formed tight-knit clans, pooling their wealth into hidden vaults rather than keeping it on their person. The most trusted member of each clan was tasked with guarding these vaults.

This was the Pig Vault—a small, beastman-run bank.

"Sniff. The Table was attacked?"

"The Matrons are in a panic. Just the thought of that stranger has them breaking into fits."

The world had changed. Society had advanced. The spread of financial knowledge had made the Pig Vault less isolated than before. They even learned how to invest, generating profits in their own way.

The problem was... their methods were dirty.

Shallock, the vault keeper, wrinkled his nose in irritation.

"One guy? Just a single human?"

"That’s what we heard."

"Description?"

"W-we don’t know."

"An outsider? Could it be that new resident in the manor?"

Even in a city as vast as Ende, it was impossible to ignore the human who had purchased an entire estate with a mountain of cash. If something suspicious happened, the first suspect would naturally be the unusual newcomer.

But the subordinate shook his head.

"No. The descriptions don’t match. Besides, that human was in Obeli at the time."

"Tch. So we have no leads? Not even a face to go with the name?"

A single human was throwing their entire community into disarray.

Where had he gotten his information?

What kind of abilities did he have?

They didn’t even know his name.

It was suffocating—like being trapped in fog.

Most of all, for a mere human, his methods were too quick and too precise. Even with an inside informant, this level of efficiency shouldn’t have been possible.

An ominous feeling crept into Shallock’s gut. He sniffed the air.

"Release the Mothers. Gather the best trackers and have them hunt him down."

"Understood. And what about the funds?"

Shallock turned to the vault.

To deal with this, he would have to open it.

He pulled out the key, fitting it into the lock.

"Not much. I’ll decide whether to offer more once I see how things go. Pass that along—"

Click.

The moment he turned the key—

The entire vault collapsed.

When faced with overwhelming shock, the body freezes.

As Shallock stood paralyzed, the vault door slid off its hinges, falling away without resistance.

The steel walls that had once safely guarded the pig beastmen’s wealth were now exposed.

Or rather—

Completely gone.

A flood of cards spilled out onto the floor, as if the vault itself had been reduced to mere scraps of paper. With the supporting structures gone, the entire chamber crumbled, metal and wood cascading down in ruin.

Shallock’s wide, disbelieving eyes stared into the now-empty vault.

The gold and valuables that should have been there...

Were gone.

Replaced instead with a mountain of pork.

And atop that pile of meat—

A single smiling card lay waiting.

Mocking them.

Whispers spread across Ende.

The hushed murmurs of frightened beastmen overlapped, weaving themselves into a legend of fear.

No one knew where he had come from.

No one knew how he had learned their secrets.

No one knew how powerful he truly was.

A phantom in the shadows—an unseen force that tore through Ende’s underworld without leaving a trace.

No one could catch him.

No one could even find him.

But those who had encountered him—

Without fail, all of them muttered the same thing.

The Magician has appeared.