Considering that the walk from the London East End back to Baker Street was a bit long, and considering there was a free carriage involved—it would have been a crime not to take advantage of it—Arna felt no guilt as she hitched a ride with Lawyer Green back to his office in the city center, planning to walk home from there.
However, upon returning to the firm, Lawyer Green stopped Arna just as she was about to leave and eagerly handed her the box containing the old land deed.
“Keep it safe,” he said. “If you ever have any thoughts about… transferring this land to someone else, you are welcome to come to me for consultation.”
Once she received the deed, Arna noticed a new entry light up on her panel.
**[Obtained: Dilapidated Old Factory Land Deed x1]**
**[Dilapidated Old Factory: A precious legacy left to you by your grandfather’s hard work. Of course, even if it is currently overgrown with weeds, land is still land.]**
**[Unlock Profession: Factory Owner?]**
**[Yes/No]**
Arna tucked the box into her Storage Slot and tapped the confirmation button with one hand.
The panel flashed red, bluntly informing her that she did not meet the requirements.
**[Basic requirements not met. Missing essential condition: “Hire Workers.” Missing essential condition: “Clean and Tidy Workshop.” Oh, surely not… surely no one actually thinks that just having a plot of land makes them a factory owner?]**
Below, it even thoughtfully provided the current market rates for hiring workers.
At those prices, Arna’s current savings would only be enough to hire a worker for a few months.
Arna, feeling mocked by the system: …That’s enough! She knew she was poor; there was no need to keep rubbing it in!
Thinking about the locked panel made her feel restless. She wished she could earn all the money today, finish the renovations tomorrow, and have the factory up and running the day after. Even fishing and scavenging for trash no longer held any appeal for her.
She walked back to Baker Street with a heavy heart, climbed the stairs with a heavy heart, and then collapsed onto the sofa with a heavy heart, letting out a long sigh.
“Sigh,” Arna said gloomily. “Making money is so hard.”
Watson, who was sitting by the fireplace annotating his medical journals, nodded in deep agreement.
“It’s always easy to spend but hard to earn,” he lamented. “I still remember my first few months practicing medicine in London, trudging through the foggy streets at night to deliver babies just to save on carriage fare.”
He set down his pen, stood up to stretch, and brought a plate of biscuits over to Arna’s side, along with a cup of hot tea. “Since you’ve already missed lunch, have a bit of afternoon tea first.”
Arna grabbed a biscuit and took a bite, soothing her Stamina/Energy Points which had dropped due to the fight.
“Thank you, Dr. Watson,” she said through a mouthful of crumbs. “You’re so kind.”
“You’re welcome,” Watson said, returning to his seat and taking a leisurely sip of tea.
At this harmonious scene, Sherlock Holmes, who was sitting at the other end of the sofa peering through a magnifying glass at a newspaper, felt his lip twitch.
“Ah,” he said without looking up, “I can hear the clinking of coins in your pocket, Essas. Before the poor doctor is swindled out of all his afternoon tea by you, why don’t you tell us how many ribs you broke today?”
Watson choked. “…What?”
“I don’t know,” Arna said honestly. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
She chewed her biscuit and tossed one to Holmes. “Besides, it wasn’t that much money—at least not enough to repair the factory.”
“So that’s what you’re fretting over now,” Holmes said, catching the biscuit without even looking up. He spoke briskly, “Then sell it.”
He scrutinized the biscuit for a moment. “I accept the bribe.”
With a *clack*, Watson set his teacup down.
He said dryly, “So, would someone mind explaining to me…”
“It’s quite obvious.” Holmes, having eaten the biscuit, held up a finger. “As I mentioned before, Essas inherited a legacy from her grandfather—a factory. However, due to poor management, the factory is in terrible condition and completely out of operation.”
He continued, “And our fishing champion had a rather… spirited exchange with several squatters there and successfully extracted some compensation.”
“Two of them,” Arna said listlessly. “I was thinking about finding their hideout and making some money to fix the workshop. That kid said Fagin sent him.”
Like a bloodhound picking up a scent, Holmes instantly straightened his back and turned toward her.
His keen eyes swept up and down Arna’s frame. Then, he abruptly stood up and began pacing the room, his dressing gown flapping behind him like a hyperactive crow beating its wings.
“Theoretically speaking, you have come into contact with the notorious pickpockets and robbers near Little Red Flower Mountain. They are cunning, shrewd, and leave no tracks. They use nimble-fingered children to do their thieving, while remaining entirely ignorant of the vipers hidden in the nest,” he said slowly, a dangerous light flickering in his eyes; he was clearly intrigued. “But if you intend to continue using the rather ungentlemanly methods you employed today…”
Watson, finally understanding what they were discussing, finally reacted.
“Holmes,” he said quite sternly, “Absolutely not! You cannot encourage—”
“I am not encouraging anything, Doctor,” Holmes said with a breezy wave of his hand, as if brushing away the objection. “Besides, the bravery Essas displayed today has already proven itself, has it not?”
“What we need is something—a false rumor or some world-shattering treasure—to draw their attention,” he continued, his fingers plucking at the air as if arranging an invisible web of connections. He turned to his bookshelf, flipping through the complex maps of power dynamics recorded in his notebooks. “First, we obtain evidence through certain means, then we catch them red-handed with the loot, the police arrive, and we sweep them all up. I have a few acquaintances at the London police station; they would surely be willing to pay a handsome reward for such a service.”
Arna listened intently for a while.
“And then,” she asked, “what will happen to those children?”
Holmes suddenly went still.
“Ah,” he said dryly, letting out a long, slow breath. “I suppose that is the… most unfortunate part of the plan, my dear friend.”
Breaking from his usual demeanor, he carelessly tossed the book aside and sat down in his armchair, pressing his fingertips together.
“Lestrade will arrest these people—including the children—and pat himself on the back for a job well done,” he said. “Then the courts will send the children to reformatories, where they will learn how to be properly exploited by employers as qualified slaves. I have seen this process a hundred times.”
Watson cleared his throat.
“Actually,” he interjected, “there are also charitable orphanages.”
“The overcrowded kind?” Holmes countered sharply. “Like the workhouses where apprentices can be taken for free, made to crawl under machines for a few scraps of food?”
Watson’s mustache twitched. He let out a heavy sigh and fell silent.
The room lapsed into a profound stillness.
After a moment, Arna asked hesitantly, “Isn’t it illegal to employ child labor?”
In truth, she had a new idea.
As if hearing a starting pistol, Holmes’s gaze snapped up. He leaned forward, eyeing Arna with great interest.
“Of course not!” he exclaimed. “The Factory Act only prohibits child labor under the age of nine—and even then, in many cases, only if they haven’t ‘demonstrated sufficient maturity.'”
He shook his head with contempt and looked at Watson. “Actual enforcement versus the law on paper, eh?”
Watson remained noncommittal, exhaling slowly through his nose.
Holmes changed his tone, his fingertips tapping the arm of his chair as he turned back to Arna. “However, you have a better option.”
He said slowly, “Apprenticeship. For children aged nine and up, providing an environment where they can learn a trade under strict supervision is considered quite respectable—”
A message flashed on Arna’s panel, and a new pop-up appeared. She didn’t look at it, having already understood his next point.
“It’s also an excellent excuse for a low wage,” she said.
The solution to her current predicament—a better way than just stealing back loot from a thief—was to take away his most valuable labor force.
And hiring workers under the guise of apprentices was far cheaper than hiring adults.
“Perfectly legal,” Holmes added.
“Good heavens, Holmes,” Watson murmured. “You can’t teach her how to exploit legal loopholes. This is… this is…”
He swallowed the inappropriate words of rebuke. “There must be a better way.”
“No. This method is also an excellent pretext,” Holmes continued. “A cover to wipe out the gang of thieves. Stealing factory property—Watson, you know the law only appears when a gentleman claims his things have been stolen.”
But his next sentence followed immediately, like a hound sniffing out a new scent. “But how do we ensure that a larger monster isn’t lurking in the shadows, waiting to swallow those children whole?”
Arna blinked.
The game panel flashed before her eyes, indicating that this was a major plot node and requiring her to choose her dialogue carefully.
Arna made a quick save and then said solemnly, “Then you two are right to worry.”
Under the stunned expressions of her two NPC roommates, she said with a straight face, “I guarantee they will only have meat once every two days. After they’ve eaten their fill, they must expend enough energy by spending four grueling hours over books and teachers for half the day. Only then can they return to mindless mechanical work and sleep for the other half. They will be drained of every last bit of their souls by hard labor.”
Holmes and Watson looked at each other.
A few seconds later, Holmes burst into laughter.
“Well, it seems the last minor problem has been resolved, Doctor,” he said cheerfully, leaping fluidly from his chair. “The owner of the new factory is a blind, soft-hearted country fool who intends to hire some cheap apprentices to work for him.”
He spun on his heel, pointing dramatically into the distance. “Then, the country fool, in his arrogance, leaves valuable items directly in the factory, forgetting to guard against these little rascals. The most valuable item is on your person, worth enough to send everyone out of the country to start a new life. At that point, the thief-leader appears with his accomplices, ready to welcome their new life. I expect the Doctor would be willing to help you finish the rest of the work, eh, Watson?”
“…While I admit it’s a good plan,” Watson said weakly, “you cannot use the children as a form of evidence.”
“They are coerced young witnesses,” Holmes winked. “And I think we can also have our loyal little squad spread a bit of news.”
He snapped his fingers. “Now, everything is ready, lacking only some valuables. I imagine you could borrow something that looks very expensive to serve as your ancestral treasure…”
At the mention of valuables, Arna perked up.
First, she pulled her Gold Sword—which had lost 1 point of durability—out of her Storage Slot. Then she dashed back to her room and brought out her Hammer, Axe, and Hoe, placing them excitedly on the table.
“These look like they should be quite expensive, right?” she asked.
Looking at the table full of shining golden farm tools, Holmes and Watson exchanged a look of utter astonishment.
Finally, Watson managed to speak. “…This, this isn’t solid gold, is it?”
“No,” Arna said honestly.
“But the gold content appears to be at least over half,” Holmes said, picking up the golden Hammer. After examining it closely, he pointedly glanced at Watson. “Hmm, it’s worth roughly the equivalent of Dr. Watson’s annual salary.”
The next second, he received a fierce glare from the good-natured doctor.