Oliver had no idea why he was even here.
To him, a scrawny orphan who had suffered countless beatings, he had only just walked into London on his own two feet last night. Yet today, he had somehow been roped into this “grand undertaking.”
Yesterday, after exchanging a few words with that clever young stranger and being introduced to the old Jewish man, Fagin, and settled in London, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had wandered into somewhere very strange.
When he woke up this morning and heard Fagin muttering to himself over those glittering gold trinkets, he felt even more afraid.
But before his fear could truly take root, Fagin’s friends arrived.
A fellow named Sykes brought another man called Jack. The group huddled together, drinking and talking. They mentioned that Old Isaacs’ factory was still sitting empty and that someone had recently been asking about its condition. They weren’t sure if the heir was coming to clean up the mess.
This was a golden opportunity to make some money. Land was always valuable, and gentlemen were never stingy about tossing a bit of coin to get squatters to move, if only to show off their own “generosity.”
It was a far cry from the kind of business that ended on the gallows, and the source of income was reliable.
Upon hearing this, Fagin wanted to seize the chance to turn a profit.
As it happened, Jack only had Old Tom working under him and was short a hand. Fagin sent Oliver along. A small, thin child couldn’t do much, but he could keep watch and add to their presence. Perhaps he might even garner some sympathy.
Fagin told Oliver that, as luck would have it, there was a job for him, and gave him the nickname “Rat.”
And so, Oliver had ended up here, confused and following the other two into the factory. They crouched in a corner, peering through a hole at the approaching carriage.
However, Oliver had a feeling that despite Jack saying the person likely came from the countryside, this stranger was nothing like the gentlemen he had seen before.
The man didn’t speak with a drawl, nor did he put on an air of profound mystery. He didn’t look down on people from a height; his gaze was simple, restrained, and observant.
Just then, the young man spoke.
“So,” he asked, “you’re trying to blackmail me?”
Of course, anyone who wasn’t blind could see that Jack’s words were utter nonsense.
The holes in the ceiling were clearly visible, and dust lay so thick it could have buried Oliver. Rust crawled over machines that were nothing more than skeletons—everything proved the factory hadn’t seen a hint of maintenance in years.
But Oliver, who had already spent time being “disciplined” by a coffin-maker, knew all too well that speaking the truth would never bring justice or a proper apology—only a never-ending cycle of abuse.
“Don’t be so impolite, Little Mr. Isaacs,” Jack said, waving a hand with feigned ease. “Is a bit of coin really going to ruin our friendship?”
In stark contrast to his words, he and his subordinate, Tom, began to close in.
Standing frozen, Oliver’s heart pounded. He desperately wanted to tell this poor stranger to run!
But before the words could leave his throat, the “poor stranger” reached into the backpack behind her.
“Oh,” the stranger said casually. “Fine then.”
Then, Oliver clearly saw the stranger pull a Large, Golden, Shining Sword out of her backpack.
***
The moment Arna’s fingers gripped the hilt, Jack’s eyes widened. He looked as shocked as a stray dog seeing a human walk on two legs for the first time.
He clearly hadn’t expected a green, clueless country bumpkin to understand the need to come fully armed—like a shipyard brawler—or to have the courage to strike first.
But there was no time for anyone to hesitate.
Tom charged first, throwing open his coat to pull out a knife, cursing as he swung it forward.
But when the sword struck for the first time, Tom’s knife was instantly knocked away, clattering onto the floor. His wrist bent at an unnatural angle.
He howled, staggering back. “My—Boss, ow, my hand!”
In the next second, Arna produced a wooden stick from nowhere and slammed it hard against the ribs of the still-howling Tom.
He collapsed instantly, tumbling into the wreckage of the machinery, leaving behind nothing but faint moans.
“Shit, you crazy, stupid bumpkin!”
Jack, stunned by the sudden turn of events, finally snapped out of it. He rushed forward, grabbing a rusty iron pipe from the surrounding ruins and swinging it wildly like a club.
Arna dodged left and right with ease, catching an opening to deliver a heavy blow with her wooden stick.
The stick struck Jack’s kneecap and snapped in two instantly. However, according to the laws of physics, Jack’s leg didn’t fare any better, letting out a sharp *crack*.
Jack fell, roaring and swearing, clutching his leg as if it were about to fall off his body.
*Damn it, how is this bumpkin so ruthless?*
*What exactly did she do in the countryside? Is she a fellow crook who just happened to inherit an estate?*
The battle was over in less than ten minutes.
Now, both men lay on the floor in various states of agony. Only two people remained standing in the factory: Arna and the child who hadn’t made a move the entire time.
Arna watched warily for a moment, wondering if this green-named friendly child would suddenly transform into a hidden boss because he saw his associates getting beaten.
But the entire time, the roughly ten-year-old boy remained a steady green. He stood in the center, looking completely dazed by the brawl.
Arna put the sword back into her storage slot and tossed the broken wood she’d ripped from the machine aside with a thud. He didn’t react at all.
It wasn’t until Arna walked up and pushed back the hat covering his face that the boy seemed to snap out of a dream, staggering backward.
Up close, Arna realized the child was likely even younger than she had first estimated. He was scrawny, only looking older because he was wearing oversized, ill-fitting clothes.
When Arna’s warm fingertips touched his forehead, Oliver couldn’t help but shiver, terrified that this gentleman was about to slap him or do something even worse.
But the hand only brushed the hair away from his forehead. After staring at him for a moment, she straightened his hat and gently patted the dust off his clothes.
“You’re actually quite handsome,” Arna said. “How old are you?”
“Nine, respected sir,” Oliver said tremulously. “I only arrived in London yesterday. Before that, I was in the country—I swear, I swear on my life. Mr. Fagin said this was just a bit of basic lookout work, the most honest kind…”
Behind him, the two fallen men groaned, nearly tangled in the pile of broken wood.
Oliver shivered again and swallowed hard. “I didn’t steal anything from you, sir, truly.”
Arna couldn’t resist pinching the boy’s cheek.
“Alright, I get it,” she said. She turned to the other two, crouching down to grab the leader, Jack, by his hair, forcing him to look up. “Like this payment? Is it generous enough?”
Her words provoked a violent reaction from Jack.
He unleashed a string of curses, but after Arna pointedly gripped a nearby steel pipe, the memory of the beating he’d just received caused the words to vanish as quickly as smoke.
Jack huffed for a long time before asking, “What are you going to do with us?”
The police station? He knew that for a small matter like this, they wouldn’t face the gallows—at most, they’d spend a few days in prison.
Arna knew exactly what came next; it was her favorite part.
“You’ve trashed my factory like this,” she said with righteous indignation. “Is there no compensation?”
She gestured wildly at the surrounding mess. “Everything! You’ve broken everything!”
In the end, this one-sided blackmail attempt concluded with Jack and Tom handing over every scrap of wealth they had as “compensation” before dragging Oliver away and fleeing from the corner.
As Arna stepped out of the factory doors, she saw Lawyer Green standing there, holding his breath and peering behind her as if expecting a gang of thugs to be lurking in her shadow.
As expected, most guide NPCs were useless during a combat round; she had to handle it herself.
She stood before Lawyer Green with a satisfied expression, waiting for her reward.
The two of them stood there, staring at each other.
After a moment, Lawyer Green, misinterpreting her silence, couldn’t hold back any longer.
“What is it, Little Mr. Isaacs?” he asked.
“I thought you would approve of my actions?” Arna hinted obliquely. “You were a loyal friend to my grandfather, and you are to me as well, aren’t you?”
The weight in Lawyer Green’s heart finally lifted.
So, she was blaming him for not explaining things clearly and for not going in to help.
“The word ‘loyal,’ Little Mr. Isaacs,” he joked instinctively, “is best used to describe dogs and… monarchs.”
Returning to the subject of the factory, Lawyer Green coughed nervously and adjusted his glasses, looking somewhat ashamed.
“…Fine, I admit, I had heard some rumors,” he said dryly. “But, er, considering the nature of property in the East End, I felt it was reasonable to let you cautiously perform your own assessment first.”
He paused, glancing at Arna before adding, “And, my dear young man, I am a lawyer, not a policeman—and an old one at that. If I had known you were so skilled at handling things this way… I would have given you different advice.”
Arna: *Understood. No reward.*
She sighed and locked the factory. “Let’s head back first.”
Judging by that group’s behavior and their level of experience—even bringing along a child who might be a liability—this certainly wasn’t their first time doing something like this.
They were organized, premeditated… a criminal syndicate. She wondered if she could find their hideout and wipe them out in one go. That would surely be a massive payday!
With that money, wouldn’t repairing the factory be a piece of cake?