Arna only opened her eyes when the train slowly pulled into the London station.
One eye closed, one eye open, and her stamina was full. Is that all there is to it?
She walked down the narrow aisle toward the exit, surrounded by people just as desperate to squeeze their way out. Before she knew it, Arna’s boots stepped onto the wide, bright platform.
Sunlight filtered down through the high glass vaulted ceiling, breaking through the gradually dispersing white steam. From beyond the yellow-brick arches, the crisp voices of newsboys hawking newspapers could faintly be heard.
She didn’t know what newspapers they were selling, but… the modeling and rendering were incredible!
Arna stood in place for a moment, curiously craning her neck to look around the platform. She then ran a lap around the bustling area along the floor tiles, searching for a guide NPC.
She didn’t see any special locations or markers, but she almost collided with a nearby porter.
“Hey, country bumpkin, watch where you’re going!” the man snapped, stepping back two paces and glaring at her with a gruff voice.
Before Arna could react, the porter hurried away.
*Is the reception point not here yet?*
Arna paced around the brick walls but couldn’t find a wall-clipping bug to take a shortcut. In the end, she regretfully and honestly walked out through the archway and onto the main street.
The street was called Euston Road, and the station Arna had just arrived at was the quite famous London landmark, King’s Cross Station.
She circled the station once and finally found a small red dot marked on her map.
Standing at that spot was a short, stout man with gray hair. He wore black clothes and a white tie, and he was constantly looking down at his watch, clearly anxious from waiting.
*There you are, reception NPC!*
Arna stepped forward and stood in front of him.
The man looked up at her, and as expected, the dialogue began.
“I take it you are Arna Isaacs?” His tone wasn’t very polite. “Good, you aren’t late. That is a plus.”
Seeing Arna nod, he made a gesture, signaling for her to follow him.
“My name is Green, a solicitor from the Green-Douglas-Knight Firm. I was a friend of your grandfather and handled some of his business affairs in the past. Of course, you weren’t in much contact with him, so you might not have heard of me. Regardless, your grandfather passed away recently and left you an inheritance,” he said slowly, leading Arna down the street and explaining as they went. “I assume you’ve read the letter I sent you. In any case, as the executor of his will, I am obligated to hand over the land deed for the factory to you.”
*A cutscene, then. The usual stuff,* Arna thought. *Some relative dies, the player inherits a farm, manor, yard, or plot of land, and is told to work hard so as not to let the relative down.*
While the plot played out, Arna activated auto-follow mode and began rummaging through her interface, taking stock of her resources.
Her original 999,999 gold coins were locked. Apparently, currencies weren’t interchangeable between different maps, and the developer hadn’t even bothered to implement an exchange mechanism. Talk about peak laziness.
She had ten sandwiches left in her bag, which seemed to be the stacking limit for the item slot. Considering she might get pummeled by mobs the moment she started, she didn’t sell them.
She had made a small profit reselling sandwiches on the train, so she now had 120 units of the new currency called “pennies.”
Her gold hoe, gold axe, gold hammer, and gold sword had survived, but all magic-related items were grayed out. She didn’t know if they could be unlocked later.
Her fishing rod was still there and seemed usable. She hoped she could catch some fish nearby.
There were also two letters stuffed in her bag, clearly in a new, unread state. Since they didn’t show any attached items, she ignored them for now.
This was a single-player survival game, after all. Who cares about the plot? As long as she could dig soil, farm, fish, and feed herself while making some money on the side, that was good enough!
Arna looked around for a bit and realized the man was staring straight at her, obviously waiting for a response.
She tried a one-click skip.
Skip failed.
In fact, this crappy game didn’t even have a skip button.
She tried nodding her head.
Excellent. The man looked satisfied and continued to pop up dialogue boxes.
Satisfied, Arna went back to checking her inventory and the unlocked maps of the surrounding area.
“…This factory land is in the London East End. You’ve probably heard of it; most factories are there, and it’s a residential area where workers congregate. It’s near Whitechapel. The public security isn’t great, but transportation is convenient,” Green explained in detail. “Aside from this, most of your grandfather’s assets were used to pay off his remaining debts. The factory land is the only property he left behind…”
At this point, Lawyer Green looked the twenty-something youth up and down again.
This fellow named Arna had a quite healthy complexion, clearly blessed by the sun. His eyes were bright and spirited, and his features were regular, giving the immediate impression of a young man with decent character.
The tweed coat he wore was well-maintained, and the collar of his white shirt was washed until it was pale. He clearly knew a thing or two about housework; even though the style was quite outdated, he remained fundamentally decent and tidy.
Right now, he was listening very intently, though he seemed a bit taciturn. At the more serious parts, he would occasionally nod to show he was following along.
It seemed that by handing the factory to him, Old Isaacs could finally rest in peace.
“So, do you plan to see the factory first, or wait until tomorrow morning?” Being an old acquaintance, Green didn’t mind being a bit considerate toward his old friend’s child. “If you don’t have a place to stay, I can recommend some reasonably safe inns.”
“…Wait a moment. I inherited a factory?” Arna was stunned.
*Is this the developer’s sick joke, naming a farm a ‘factory’?*
“Not ‘a factory,'” Lawyer Green corrected, lest the young man’s expectations were too high and he suffered a psychological blow upon seeing the reality. “It’s a plot of land where a factory once stood. Strictly speaking, it includes the factory buildings and the remaining scrap. The factory isn’t operational right now. If you want to start it up again, you’ll likely need to re-apply for the relevant permits.”
Arna’s brain whirred.
*Got it. The factory building is my starting house, the remaining scrap is the starter seed kit given to players, and applying for permits means I have to visit all the residents before I can start taking quests.*
However, this game seemed to allow free dialogue. Time for a test.
“Oh. I see,” Arna nodded. “I have a question. Can I rename this ‘factory’ farm?”
A nameplate was very important and was usually given by the initial guide NPC. She had to ask clearly. Of course, if the required materials were too expensive, she’d forget it.
“Of course… what?”
Green’s words choked in his throat. For the first time, he found himself at a loss for words.
***
Ten minutes.
Green spent a full ten minutes telling this young person, Arna, that a factory was a factory, not a farm. He explained that leveling the factory buildings to plant vegetables was incredibly unwise and unrealistic. Even if she had the money, it wasn’t worth it—not to mention the idea of using a hammer to personally demolish the entire factory.
It seemed Old Isaacs wouldn’t be resting in peace anytime soon.
Forget Old Isaacs; even Green found it hard to understand why this was so difficult for her to grasp.
Why was this fellow so obsessed with planting vegetables? She even asked him if she could find some wasteland in the suburban wilderness to reclaim since the factory couldn’t be used for crops.
What kind of person thinks about reclaiming wasteland to grow vegetables near Whitechapel? She even seriously consulted him on what kinds of vegetables London residents usually had on their dining tables.
He didn’t even want to imagine the look on a gang member’s face if they stepped into soft, freshly fertilized soil during a turf war in that area…
Lawyer Green exhausted all his effort and eloquence but could not defeat Arna’s bizarre ideas.
*Did this child spend all day farming in the countryside until his brain turned to mush?*
For his own sake, he decided to take her to the factory the next morning.
Lawyer Green brought Arna to the entrance of a relatively safe inn. He gave the young man the address of the firm for their meeting the next day, writing it on a notepad he carried and handing it over. After warning her not to wander around at night to avoid being robbed or swindled, he left in a flash.
Left alone, Arna stared blankly at the words on her interface.
**[Profession: Landless Farmer]**
Arna clicked on it, and a prompt popped up.
**[Clearly, you are an unlucky farmer who has lost their land. Don’t worry, many farmers in the nineteenth century are like this! Fortunately for you, you inherited a piece of land, and this land is in London—even London’s scrap metal is worth more than the trash in the countryside, isn’t it?]**
For the first time, Arna read through the plot information seriously.
After discovering that the plot of land could not be sold, she silently cursed the developer three hundred times.
The nineteenth century, London, farming… were they serious? The rent alone would be several times the value of the crops!
Why didn’t they just drop her on a desert island in the nineteenth century for a survival challenge? She might have even run into Lilliput or Brobdingnag!
But then again, she often played management games. She had tried restaurant simulators and clothing store simulators, but she hadn’t tried a factory simulator yet.
Fine, she’d give it a shot.
Arna took out the two letters from her bag.
One was sent by the NPC who had just left. It was clearly the game’s introductory story. It said a lot, but the summary was that she had inherited a factory—though this factory had absolutely nothing and was just a pile of scrap metal that the heir needed to figure out how to deal with.
The other letter was signed “Your Loving Aunt.” The letter stated that she knew about the player’s recent situation and heard she was coming to London to handle her inheritance. She welcomed Arna to stay at her home for a while.
It seemed this was the initial lodging point.
Normally, if the guide NPC didn’t take the player to the lodging point, there would be transportation nearby that went straight there.
Arna looked around and sure enough, she saw a carriage parked nearby. The driver was leaning against a wall chatting with others, while the horse stood tamely in place, its tail swishing leisurely.
Arna sprinted forward.
Arna leaped gallantly onto the carriage—and overshot it.
She jumped back and landed precisely on the carriage step before ducking inside.
Arna gave her aunt’s address.
The driver was stunned. He looked this uninvited, bizarre fellow up and down with a look as if he were seeing a lunatic.
“From the country, aren’t you?” his tone was disdainful. “Get out, get out! Can you even pay?”
*What? They actually charge for this!*
As long as it wasn’t a mandatory game deduction and there was a second option that didn’t cost money, a player would inevitably choose the free one.
Arna hopped off the carriage sheepishly and ran off in a flash.
So what if she had to walk? She loved walking!
…Walking didn’t consume stamina anyway. And she might find some resources along the way.
Thinking this, she grabbed a random NPC to ask for directions and then, carrying her bag, jogged toward the lodging point.
Because there were too many trash cans along the way, Arna stopped and started constantly. Her backpack was stuffed to the brim by the time she finally reached the destination just before dark.
Following her intuition, Arna picked a building at random and interacted with the door.
Good, it was locked. She couldn’t pull it open.
She knocked loudly on the door.
With a creak, the door opened.
“Who are you looking for?” an old lady asked.
“I’m looking for Aunt,” Arna said with total confidence.
The landlady of No. 219 was momentarily speechless at the young man’s words.
“What is your aunt’s name?” she asked.
Since the grandfather’s name was “Grandfather,” then the aunt’s name must be “Aunt”!
Arna said decisively, “Aunt.”
“…Lunatic! Stop messing with me!”
The door slammed shut in her face.
Arna stood at the door, baffled.
*Did I say something wrong? Do I have to repeat it twice, ‘Aunt Aunt,’ for the password to be correct?*
She looked again and noticed the house number was “219.”
So she had the wrong place. This wasn’t Baker Street 221B.
No matter. Getting lost was a standard operation. In any case, once she moved a certain distance away, the NPC would forget what happened.
Arna quickly changed direction. Before she had walked two steps, she saw thick smoke billowing from the windows of the small apartment building she had assumed was her residence.
—No way. Does the lodging point just spontaneously combust at the start of the game?