Chapter 5: The Factory

Never mind how she managed it, and never mind the driver’s reaction upon seeing someone crawl out from under his carriage; one way or another, Alna arrived at Lawyer Green’s office right on time.

She scanned her surroundings before locking onto a brass plaque hanging on the door in front of her, which bore a single line of text:

*Nemo me impune lacessit.*

...Surely that doesn’t mean “No entry for Asas and dogs,” does it?

As a curious illiterate, Alna stood at the door for a while, staring at the plaque and furiously spamming the system translation function. Three seconds later, the translation popped up:

【No one provokes me with impunity. (Latin)】

The meaning was actually quite cool! She wanted it!

Alna began frantically hitting the interaction key on the brass plaque, hoping for a miracle through sheer force. There were no miracles, only friction that left her sleeves covered in dust.

Before she could pry at it much longer, the door was pushed open. A noblewoman emerged from within.

Wearing a veil hat, the lady glanced with considerable astonishment at Alna’s hand, which was still welded to the plaque. She swept past her, not forgetting to remark, “Are cleaners these days so unprofessional that they don’t even bring their own tools to work?”

Alna: ...

She silently pulled her hand back.

It is common knowledge that interacting with someone else's property in their presence is just like picking something up from a trash can—you’re either going to be called “disgusting” or a “thief,” and it’s an easy way to lower your reputation.

She peered inside and caught sight of the portly NPC lawyer bracing himself as he stood up from behind an oak desk.

“Hey, little Asas!” he greeted. “Come on in.”

To be honest, the lawyer NPC’s appearance really did resemble a walrus.

Alna answered and walked in, treading across the somewhat grimy Turkish rug on the floor until she saw a massive map of London.

Noticing Alna’s gaze, Lawyer Green smiled.

“An old relic from several years ago, but fortunately there haven’t been any major urban projects in these few years, so it’s still usable,” he remarked, pointing out a spot near the east side. “Here, this is the location of your grandfather’s factory, a reasonably safe street near Whitechapel.”

He pulled at the corner of his mouth as if tasting something bitter. “Of course, the building is still standing, but it’s no longer the same as when your grandfather picked up his first bucket of nails near Whitechapel. After he fell ill, the stubborn old man had to sell off these things to pay for his expenses.”

Tracing the somewhat worn map of London, Lawyer Green circled the surrounding area. “In his final years, we discussed renting the factory space to others to maintain its upkeep. Unfortunately, the other party soon breached the contract due to a carriage accident.”

Alna nodded, having gained a general understanding of the situation, and asked casually, “Any suggestions?”

“My suggestions? You’ve come to the right person; your grandfather often consulted me too,” Lawyer Green said, stroking his mustache with pride. “I suggest you rent the land to those... Socialists.”

He blinked, looking even more like a villainous walrus. “Although these fellows love to gather the rabble and hold inexplicable speeches, it’s still better than leaving goods alone inside, right? Considering... certain factors.”

These Socialists were jumping everywhere, pushing for workers’ housing movements, but somehow they had money—and were certainly better than leaving the place to be looted or “accidently set on fire.”

According to Lawyer Green’s friends, they were even planning to build a new city around London! In Green’s view, these people clearly had too much money and nowhere to spend it.

Alna: ...In reality, she just wanted to ask where to start the renovations and, by the way, who the best carpenter in London was.

She scratched her head and remained silent.

“Fine,” Green said, reading her expression and shaking his head. “Same stubborn temper as your grandfather.”

He thought for a moment and lowered his voice. “If you plan to repaint the house, I suggest you hire a night watchman. You don’t want to be in that area at night; I heard that just last Thursday, two gangs got into a fight near the Ten Bells pub.”

“...A night watchman?” Alna asked blankly. “What is that?”

For some reason, she felt an instinctive resistance to the suggestion of paying someone to watch over the place.

...Perhaps it was because her wallet, containing only a few coins, was screaming in agony!

Lawyer Green sighed at this layperson.

“Think of it as someone responsible for patrolling the area at night to maintain local safety,” he explained, picking up his teacup for a sip. “For you, being a stranger in a strange land, it’s safer to hire someone to watch the warehouse. Of course, that’s only after your goods arrive.”

Looking at the bewildered little Asas, Lawyer Green chuckled to himself, feeling that he was truly getting old, worrying about things that hadn’t even happened yet.

Rebuilding a factory—how difficult could that be? The young person probably hadn’t saved much money over the years anyway.

Setting the matter aside, Lawyer Green stood up, leaning on his cane. “Alright, let’s go take a look at your factory first.”

He led Alna to the door, hailed a carriage, and climbed in first.

Alna and the carriage driver stared at each other.

This man, he looked so familiar—wasn’t he the same driver who let her ride for free this morning?

Looking at the driver’s narrowed eyes, then back at Lawyer Green, who was urging her to hurry inside, Alna chose to sit down without changing her expression.

It’s fine; as long as she wasn’t embarrassed, the person who was embarrassed would be someone else.

But wait, did this game have such a strong memory for background NPCs?

—This was getting even more interesting!

***

Regardless, the carriage ride from a respectable law firm in the city to Whitechapel could by no means be described as comfortable or pleasant.

The closer they got to the East End of London, the heavier the smell of coal smoke became. When the carriage turned onto the uneven cobblestone road, rattling Alna’s teeth until they clicked together, Lawyer Green produced a handkerchief from somewhere and covered his nose with great fastidiousness.

Alna, meanwhile, peered curiously out the open window.

In the distance, the factories looked like packs of beasts crouching in the shrubbery, looming in the murky fog and continuously pouring thick, billowing smoke into the already murky sky.

The streets were swarming with people: men in flat caps with sunken cheeks walked in groups toward the factories, while women wrapped tightly in shawls led toddlers by the hand. Nearby, a group of older children pushed handcarts in silence, moving slowly and cautiously like little animals long since tamed and accustomed to struggling through danger.

Although the industrial focus was constantly shifting toward the expanding railways and docks, the East End remained an important and mature industrial district.

“Not the finest legacy,” Lawyer Green said with a disgusted click of his tongue, indifferent to the scene. “But land is land, even here.”

The carriage turned onto a small road, gradually approaching the factory. He let out a breath. “Oh, right, there’s one more thing I haven’t told you.”

He gestured. “The factory hasn’t been managed for three years. Since your grandfather passed away, considering the security of the area, there have been some... squatters from time to time.”

“Squatters?” Alna said, looking a bit excited. “Robbers?”

“Not exactly,” Lawyer Green said vaguely. “You’ll see when you get there.”

The carriage stopped near the factory gate. He stepped out and handed the keys to Alna, clearly unwilling to take the risk. “I won’t go in. Be careful.”

He glanced at his watch. “About... an hour. If I don’t hear anything from you, I’ll have someone go to Scotland Yard.”

Alna, who had hopped off the carriage in a flash, gave an affirmative nod and approached the gate, clutching the keys.

The rusted iron gate hung on mottled hinges, with faint traces of old markings still visible. She inserted the key into the lock and gave it a firm turn.

It opened.

Alna pushed the heavy gate with effort, the rusted hinges dragging along the ground and screaming like a small animal caught in a door.

A cloud of dust fell from above, nearly hitting her in the face; fortunately, Alna dodged quickly and escaped being covered.

The air inside smelled musty. Dilapidated machines stood in the empty hall like lingering ghosts, decaying to the point of being unusable. There were spiderwebs everywhere, the windows were boarded up, and only a sliver of dim light filtered in through a large hole in the ceiling.

Of course, on a rainy day, it was likely rain that would filter in instead.

Alna walked around the machines and eventually slowed her pace unconsciously as she reached a corner near the west side.

It was a temporary area cordoned off by rags and wooden frames, hidden away and arguably cleaner than the rest of the factory.

Before she could approach any further, the rags were suddenly swept aside by someone inside.

“It took you long enough to find this place,” a burly man said in a rough, low voice, clearly unfriendly.

There was a distinct scar on one side of his cheek, a gray beard covered half his face, and his arms were crossed over his chest, his clothes covered in layers of grime. “Looks like you’re the little Asas. We’ve waited long enough for you.”

Behind him, two other men, equally ragged, also stood up.

Alna: “...Hello?”

What is this, do the homeless NPC of London not live in tents by the bridge anymore, but have moved into the protagonist’s house instead?

The burly man seemed to find this polite greeting suspicious. He exchanged a look with his two underlings before turning back to Alna, pointing a thumb at himself. “Jack.”

He nodded toward the other, thinner person. “That’s Tom. The one on the side is Rat.”

The young boy known as Rat looked only about ten years old; he flinched instinctively at the nickname but did not protest.

Surrounded by two red-named NPCs, his name, glowing in green, seemed remarkably gentle, causing Alna to take an involuntary second look.

This glance didn’t attract Jack’s attention. He scratched his beard, eyeing Alna up and down with considerable shrewdness.

“Didn’t hear old Asas mention he had a grandchild,” he grinned. “So, let me assume, it seems you have no idea what you’ve walked into.”

He took a step forward, and the smell of gin and rotting food wafted toward her.

“Now, here’s how things are, Mr. Asas,” he paused deliberately, speaking with a threatening tone. “We’ve been maintaining this place. Chasing away thieves, cleaning off rust, patching the leaking roof.”

He snorted. “In my view, such actions are enough to earn a man some... due compensation, right?”

Standing slightly behind him, Tom also stepped forward, a flash of a blade catching the light from within his slightly open coat.