Chapter 63

“Ow, I’m dying here! My nose! Get off me, you little brats! Argh, who hits the same spot twice? Mr. Goodman, help me! Misteeer Goodman!”

As much as I disliked the guy, I couldn’t just stand by and let Rose Bly’s trusted employee get hurt. So, I headed toward the wailing Andrew.

The boys, who had been gleefully biting, kicking, and roughing him up, glanced at each other when they noticed me approaching.

Then, as if on cue, they backed away, leaving Andrew behind.

In a place where quick wits were the key to survival, they knew better than to push their luck.

“That’s enough. Let’s go.”

“Tch, count yourself lucky today.”

“And don’t let us see you around here again!”

When I reached the crumpled Andrew, he was rubbing his battered nose with watery eyes.

“Urgh! For someone like me, born and raised in the slums, to suffer this kind of humiliation… If it weren’t for my career break, brats like that wouldn’t even be worth a fist.”

“……”

A career break? I never knew slum life could be considered a career.

“Ahem, I’ve shown you a rather shameful side of myself, Mr. Goodman.”

“If you’re not hurt, get up.”

I held out a hand to help him to his feet.

Groaning, Andrew stood and brushed the dust off the seat of his pants….only for his face to suddenly go pale.

“Ah! My wallet!”

As if getting beaten up by local kids wasn’t bad enough, Andrew had also been pickpocketed.

In a downcast voice, he tried to console himself.

“I didn’t have much money on me anyway… At least they didn’t take my notebook or pencil. Maybe I’ll just write down every single detail of this and turn it into an article.”

Persistent guy.

“Anyway, cheer up, Mr. Goodman.”

“What now?”

“I found where the orphanage is. When I fell earlier, I happened to see its wall. Over there, between those two buildings…see it?”

A wall, huh.

In a slum full of ramshackle shacks, a proper wall was certainly a conspicuous sight.

As if nothing had happened, Andrew energetically took the lead again, and after a short walk, we arrived at our destination.

“Wow, it’s exactly the same as before. Brings back memories.”

“This is the orphanage?”

“Yeah.”

Miller Orphanage.

That was what the nameplate which looked like the newest thing on the entire building said.

But I felt a flicker of confusion.

Because this was a location used as a base by Sakis Lubas’s faction in the original “Candela’s Judgment “. One of the very places I had planned to visit today.

So… those spies had been running an orphanage too?

I asked Andrew,

“Andrew, how old did you say you were when you were adopted?”

“About eight, I think. I only started keeping track of my age after I met my current parents.”

“And that was how many years ago?”

“Must be around twelve years now.”

Twelve years ago…

Sakis Lubas. The head of the spy unit from the neighboring Republic of Libron.

No matter how sly and thorough those people were, it was hard to imagine them raising kids in a foreign country for over ten years just to maintain one base.

Still, there was always the slim chance, so I kept questioning Andrew.

“Raising children costs money. Do you know how the orphanage was funded?”

“I heard it was originally established by some noble. The orphanage was even named after them. Probably Baron Miller… or maybe Count Miller.”

“I see.”

At least, it wasn’t anyone I recognized.

I stepped into the orphanage yard.

Lines of clothing sagging under the weight of small children’s garments, buckets still damp from use, stones piled neatly in a corner to keep passersby from tripping, and half-pulled weeds scattered about—

A quiet, ordinary scene.

Completely different from the image of the spy group Longsoniere when they had used this place as a base.

Maybe it simply hadn’t fallen into their hands yet.

In Candela’s Judgment, the player only started operating in the royal capital about six months in.

Right now, I was roaming Lambart during those first six months. This was a time I’d never explored as a player.

If the orphanage’s downfall happened in that period, it would explain why I hadn’t known about it.

A faint sense of disappointment crept in.

What if every Sakis Lubas base I planned to investigate today turned out to be like this…a complete bust?

While I was mulling that over—

“Who are you? This isn’t an abandoned building.”

An old woman stepped out from the orphanage.

Her face had aged gracefully, and though her clothes were worn, they were of fine quality. She regarded us with deep suspicion.

I couldn’t blame her.

A masked man wandering around the orphanage yard would look suspicious to anyone.

But there was someone here who could clear up the misunderstanding.

Andrew stepped forward in my place.

Having once lived here, he looked at the woman and said—

“Who are you?”

“……”

I shot Andrew a glare.

***

A chill settled over the air.

Two out of the three of us were glaring at the remaining one…and that one was Andrew.

Realizing his words needed clarification, Andrew hastily added,

“Uh… I mean, the lady who used to take care of the kids before wasn’t her, right?”

“Are you from here, young man?”

At that, the woman from the orphanage finally eased her guard and spoke.

“The person you remember is probably Sorenne. She quit. We couldn’t afford to employ her anymore. Now I take care of the children myself. My name is Agria Miller.”

“Miller… as in Mrs. Miller?”

Andrew had said earlier that the orphanage was named after its founder. Miller Orphanage.

“Please, come inside. It’s humble, but I can at least serve you some tea.”

Accepting Mrs. Miller’s invitation, we stepped inside.

Just as she’d said, the orphanage was humble.

Everything in sight bore the marks of long years. Wooden furniture rotted, and fabric wore thin.

Only the broad and sturdy stone foundation seemed to have held up well enough for children to run and play safely.

Before long, Mrs. Miller brought out tea, though one sip told me it was hardly deserving of the name.

The teapot held no whole leaves, only scraps floating in the water. Mrs. Miller closed her eyes in embarrassment.

“I’ve just run out of tea leaves, so I could only serve this. Please forgive the discourtesy.”

“Oh, not at all. We’re grateful for anything we’re offered, right, Mr. Goodman? Haha.”

The tea carried a stale taste.

Judging by it, I suspected she hadn’t had proper tea leaves for quite some time.

Sensing the heavy mood, Andrew changed the subject.

“But more than that, could you tell me about the orphanage? This is my first time here since I was adopted, so I really have no idea what’s happened.”

“Well… where should I begin? This orphanage was founded by Anthony Miller—my husband.”

Mrs. Miller was a widow.

“Do you know the Dobre region, south of Lambar? It’s where the kingdom’s largest wheat fields stretch as far as the eye can see. When the wheat ripens, it looks like a golden sea rippling in the wind, and massive windmills and mills work without rest. Anthony was the overseer there. He’s the supervisor in charge of managing Dobre’s wheat production. That was, at least, until a great fire swept through.”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you for saying that. It’s been so long since I’ve heard such polite words. Especially in this part of town.”

Andrew asked carefully.

“I’ve heard you care for the children here yourself. Does that mean you also live at the orphanage?”

“Yes.”

“It can’t have been an easy decision for a lady of your standing to move into a place like this.”

“I didn’t plan for it from the start. Honestly… I don’t even know how I ended up telling all this to someone I’ve just met.”

“Please don’t think of me as a stranger. In a way, I’m only here today thanks to you and your late husband.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.”

Mrs. Miller took a sip of tea.

It was a fine teacup, far too elegant for the orphanage’s humble means, but its rim was chipped and the glaze worn away.

Seeing how carefully Mrs. Miller handled something most would have thrown away said a great deal.

Even when circumstances change, there are some things one can’t easily let go of.

Her eyes grew distant.

“Even after my husband passed away, I continued living much as before. I woke in the morning, had my meals, met friends, bought paintings, and paid my servants’ wages. I also sent money to the orphanage. I lived like that for several years, until the inevitable finally came.”

“What was that?”

“My husband’s inheritance began to run out.”

“Ah…”

“My plan had been to live that way until I grew old and died. What I hadn’t expected was that the heavens had granted me a longer life than I’d imagined, and… that I still had more attachments to life than I thought.”

“Attachments?”

“At first, I tried to cut unnecessary expenses. Then I began selling off the household possessions one by one. In the end, I sold the manor itself, divided the money among the servants who had been with me all those years, and parted ways with them. Only then did I realize….I had never once let go of the orphanage.”

“If I may be blunt, was there truly a reason to go to such lengths for nothing more than an orphanage?”

“No.”

Mrs. Miller let out a small wry laugh.

“The orphanage had been my husband’s charity project. I suppose it was a lighthearted endeavor for him. We had no children of our own, and I knew he was trying to fill that emptiness through the orphanage. As for me, I neither particularly liked the place nor disliked it. …And yet, somehow, I’ve come this far.”

Before their own feelings, people are sometimes like lost sailors.

They don’t know the shape of the sea, where they are, or which direction they are heading.

All they can see is the wake they’ve left behind.

Perhaps that is why, when looking back after many years, Mrs. Miller was able to understand the meaning of what she had done.

“Mrs. Miller, if it’s not too forward, may I write an article about your work?”

“An article?”

Mrs. Miller did not look pleased.

It was only natural.

To others, she must have seemed like nothing more than a former noblewoman, once living in luxury, now fallen into ruin and waiting out her final days in the slums.

“I’m very interested in bringing the realities of the slums to the attention of the city. I’d like people to know that someone as admirable as you is here.”

“I can’t say I’m entirely comfortable with that.”

Andrew pressed on, refusing to give up.

“If the article gets published, you might receive donations. With more money, you could better provide for the orphanage children.”

“That would be welcome, but… Andrew, was it?”

“Andrew Gibson, trainee reporter for the Lambart Daily!”

Mrs. Miller considered for a long moment, with the calm deliberation of someone who had lived a great many years, before she spoke.

“I’ve made up my mind. Please write your article. If it goes well for you and the orphanage benefits as a result, I’ll be grateful.”

“Leave it to me!”

Andrew declared with almost ceremonial determination.

Then, quite naturally, he turned to me.

“And you, Mr. Nice Goodman…?”

“……”

Why is he looking at me?

“Ahem, no reason. It’s just… well, helping the orphanage is a good deed, and good deeds are even better when done together. I was wondering if, perhaps, Mr. Nice Goodman might happen to have a little extra money to spare. Hahaha.”

So this guy’s trying to do a good deed…with my money?