6 Confession and Penguin's Unexpected Response

After driving far away from the scene of the crime, Chris finally stopped. He used his practical spell - [Call of Delicacies] - to summon some red wine and steak, and began to eat voraciously.

After replenishing his energy, the food disappeared as soon as he finished eating, and even the dishes disappeared without him having to wash them!

Belching full, Chris took out a cigarette and lit it, taking a deep drag to stimulate his nerves with the scalding smoke.

It wasn't the first time he'd killed, just the first time he'd killed so many. It made Chris feel a little overwhelmed, but it was a necessary experience - he had to force himself to get used to it.

When the cigarette was finished, Chris realized his magic progress bar had leveled up! And his mana was already at the dangerous orange level, almost red - a sign his magic power was nearly overloaded.

Casting spells in an overloaded state would lead to magical backlash, that is - using them and getting yourself killed by your own magic spell!

Chris opened the spellbook icon below his magic progress bar. It contained a plethora of magical talents, and the reward for leveling up was "Skill Points"(SP). They represented his magical proficiency.

Different spells required different levels to learn. Self-taught spells had no level restrictions.

Chris was still just a "Sorcerer Apprentice", barely even a beginner before.

The level one talents he could choose included: "Increases Success Rate And Manufacturing Speed Of Alchemy", "Faster Reading Of Magic Tomes", "More Experience Gained From Practicing Spell", "Practicing Spell Could Lead To Comprehending New Spells" - a vital skill for the poor!

The other talent was "Drain Charge" - removing mana charge every four hours to avoid overload.

Chris didn't commit to a choice yet. No need to waste SP now, sleep would restore his mana anyway.

...

Back at the bar, Chris handed over the goods to Oswald.

Upstairs in a private booth, they drank wine. Oswald poured a glass of red and asked, "You worked fast - how'd you do it?"

"I burned them all. Simple as that." Chris stated matter-of-factly.

He felt no remorse for Oswald now. Even though just a few hours ago he had hook up with Oswald's mother in her apartment! Unprotected with a condom and cummed inside her! In other words, Chris was Oswald's "stepfather"!(lol)

Of course he couldn't say that. Bad for their partnership!

"Ruthless methods!" Oswald laughed, unconcerned. No good people existed in Gotham. He was a bonafide native.

Chris asked meaningfully, "What would you do if I had my eye on something you hold dear?"

Oswald's eyes flickered in alarm, "Are you trying to take something from me?" he asked sharply.

"I only mean that if you had a precious wine that I coveted, and I wanted to drink it, I would offer a reward. Would you give it to me? I'd pay." Chris declared, testing the waters.

Oswald's expression turned sinister, and he stared at Chris like a stalking hyena. But then he laughed out loud again, "We're friends, aren't we?"

"We are friends, and friends with an exchange of benefits." Chris nodded.

Oswald leaned back casually and lit a cigar, "Well, if we're friends, why not share? You want into the mob life? Not an easy road."

"No interest in the mob, but I need mob helpers. With money, anything is possible in this world. White becomes black, black becomes white. No money? You're just an asshole that everybody looks down on, even the whores don't look at me!" Chris roared intensely.

Oswald smiled broadly, "That's the ruffian I know! Oh right, my mom's fine?"

Chris's expression was odd. He could hardly say to Oswald, "Hey buddy, I have fucked your mom! Her mature pussy was so tight and she milked my cock so good! I blew my load inside your your "hometown" (place of birth) bareback! It really felt amazing!"

This would make them not even friends in a minute and end their partnership quickly with bullets flying.

Oswald's face darkened, "What is it, did something happen to her?!"

His mother was Oswald's most cherished person. She gave him the strength to cling to sanity and purpose. Without her, Oswald might have died a long time ago.

Chris shook his head, "She's fine. I just feel weird about it. Don't get mad, I'm confused and need your help, Oswald!"

Oswald waved dismissively and handed him a cigarette, "Keep calling me Penguin, we're friends, partners through thick and thin. Using my name feels weird."

"Didn't you say you didn't like me calling you that?" Chris asked in surprise as he lit the cigarette.  Pneumonia? He wasn't worried. His Conqueror Store had so many things to exchange, a panacea for every ailment. Mere smoking was child's play!

"That's because you're the only friend I've got, so cut the crap and get right to it." Oswald sneered.

"I like mature women, and your mother - Aunt Esther - is beautiful, with an alluring worldly charm. I'm finding myself rather fond of her. All this drinking isn't good for her health." Chris smoked thoughtfully, gaze drifting.

Oswald's brow quirked in surprise, but he wasn't angry, "My mom quite enjoys your visits as well. Spend time with her when you can."

"Hey, that's not what I meant, you're missing the point!" Chris downed some wine and made it clear.

Oswald flicked the ash from his cigar and gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Of course I know. And I know she needs company. I don't trust others, but you're a decent choice."

Now it was Chris' turn to be confused. "Why is that? I feel like I'm being set up."

Oswald guffawed loudly. "It's inconvenient for me to visit with so many enemies. I don't want to put my mother in danger. Second, I trust you. You're no casual playboy. We've worked together for so long, and you haven't gone after any whores. That proves you're not playing around. Good enough for me."

"Alright, thanks for the villainous endorsement. Bottoms up!" Chris raised his glass.

Oswald clinked heartily, whether out of some Oedipal tendency with the cuckservative, or really wishing his mom happiness, Chris couldn't say for sure. But he had his suspicions.