A Crooked Idea in Juneburg

As several eager individuals drew near, Iordera cut straight to the chase:

“A young man, approximately one point eight meters tall, with an injured right arm and rather shabby attire. He arrived just a few days ago…”

“I know, I know!”

“Yes, I know as well.”

Before Iordera could even finish her sentence, the group that had gathered around erupted in a clamor of voices.

“Barely anyone has arrived in the past few days, and he’s the only one with an injured arm.”

“His hair is a tangled mess, yet his beard is surprisingly clean-shaven. I suspect he’s some gigolo (TL Note: A Chinese slang term, ‘xiaobailian,’ referring to a kept man, often young and handsome, supported by a wealthy woman) cast out by a noblewoman.”

“His arm was wrapped so tightly, yet he denied any injury even with blood visibly seeping through the bandages.”

“Truly pathetic.”

Iordera inquired, “Where might he be now?”

“He’s in that dilapidated shack over there, see?”

The Bamboo Hamlet District was small, devoid of towering structures that might obstruct one’s view, making it easy to spot the location by simply following their gaze.

Iordera tossed the gold coin in their direction, saying, “Divide it amongst yourselves.”

A chaotic scramble ensued as several individuals lunged for it.

“Give it to me, I’ll get the change for you!”

“You don’t even possess enough silver coins to make change.”

“Allow me, I’ll take it to the shop to break it.”

“And why not me?”

“Damn you! (TL Note: A strong expletive in Chinese, literally ‘f*ck your mother’) Take this punch!”

While the others were still embroiled in their squabble over the gold coin, Iordera had already slipped away, arriving stealthily beside the dilapidated shack.

The shack was drafty on all sides, yet its interior was so cluttered with miscellaneous items that one could barely discern what lay within. The door itself was little more than a decorative facade, so utterly ruined it offered no true barrier.

With a gentle push from her small, delicate hand, the wooden door creaked open.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

No sooner had her words faded than a fierce gust of wind assailed her. Without a moment to identify its source, Iordera instinctively raised her palm, delivering a swift, knife-like strike.

*Slish—!*

It proved to be nothing more than a broken chair, now cleaved perfectly in two by her lightning-fast hand, its severed edges remarkably smooth.

The assailant, in stark contrast, crumpled to the ground, clutching their head with their left hand. “Don’t kill me, please don’t kill me! I haven’t done anything!” they pleaded.

Iordera gazed at the unkempt young man before her, giving her hand a slight shake. “Are you Frank?”

“Yes… no, no, not at all.”

The truth was so glaringly obvious, yet he persisted in playing the ostrich.

“I haven’t come to apprehend you,” Iordera assured him, deftly hooking a chair with her foot and settling into it. “Do you happen to know Andrew? He specifically asked me to find you.”

Frank slowly lowered his hand, his face breaking into a smile of overwhelming joy, bordering on tears. “Know him? Of course! I used to assist him at his shop!”

Iordera produced two gold coins, extending them towards him. “Andrew sent word for you to take this travel money and return home immediately. You shouldn’t linger here any longer.”

Frank’s eyes lit up with profound delight, and he eagerly reached out, only to find his hand closing on empty air.

“Not so quickly,” Iordera murmured, gently retracting her hand and clutching the gold coins tightly. “First, tell me: how did you come to this unfortunate state? And what of the others?”

Hecate had mentioned that Frank had committed some transgression outside, and was utterly terrified.

Frank hesitated, his words stumbling over each other. “It’s nothing, merely… a spot of trouble, you see…”

Iordera rose to her feet, making as if to depart.

“Wait, wait, wait! I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you everything!”

Frank clutched his injured right hand, leaning wearily against a nearby pile of junk, his expression etched with bitterness:

“The masters from our town brought a few of us to the city for ‘training,’ to broaden our horizons, they said. But the matters they were engaged in proved far too intricate for us to assist with. Furthermore, for the sake of secrecy, we weren’t even permitted to observe, let alone partake in any actual training.”

“Consequently, our ‘training’ devolved into mere sightseeing. A few of us simply idled about the streets… The city, it truly is magnificent, brimming with wonders our town lacks, and opportunities to earn money quickly.”

At this juncture, Frank paused, then spoke with marked hesitation, “It was then that someone hatched a rather crooked idea.”

“What ‘crooked idea’?”

“It was… robbery,” Frank admitted, turning his face away. “You see those masked figures on the streets, they simply grab what they want, and heaps of gold and silver coins fall into their pockets.”

“This is your definition of ‘quick money’?” Iordera scoffed, unable to suppress a disdainful click of her tongue. “Wouldn’t taking missions from the mercenary guild be a more expedient way to earn coin? Why stoop to robbery?”

“Those missions carry risks; the compensation is clearly stated on them, and we were afraid,” Frank explained, wiping a hand across his face. “With our meager energy levels, mostly acquired through blacksmithing, we were fine with forging, but we certainly couldn’t win a fight against others.”

Upon hearing this, Iordera immediately understood. This fellow, it seemed, was much like her own initial self: possessing a rudimentary level, yet entirely devoid of any combat skills.

A surge of indignation simultaneously washed over her. ‘Good heavens,’ she thought. ‘Unable to contend with those of equal standing, they turn their sights to powerless common folk, is that it?’

You lack the courage to confront those with power, yet when it comes to preying on ordinary citizens, you not only possess the nerve, but an abundance of it.

Yet, even this approach presented a significant problem—

“Robbery carries no danger?” Iordera questioned, a hint of confusion in her tone. “Are you not afraid of the city’s patrol guards?”

Frank’s eyes suddenly widened, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s precisely the issue. It was never supposed to be like this.”

“Oh?”

“We’ve been in Juneburg (TL Note: A fictional city name) for some time now, and we’ve witnessed masked individuals committing robberies on numerous occasions. Once, a masked man not only robbed and killed someone but also engaged in a skirmish with the city guards. During the struggle, the black cloth concealing his face inadvertently fell away, allowing us to see his features clearly.”

Iordera’s brow furrowed. “And what transpired then?”

“He was subsequently subdued by the guards and led away. We thought, given the severity of his actions, even if he wasn’t executed, he’d surely be imprisoned for at least a decade, wouldn’t he?” Frank recounted. “To our utter astonishment, merely a few days later, we spotted him once more, feasting and drinking to his heart’s content in a tavern!”

“Such a thing occurred?” Iordera asked, momentarily stunned. “Are you certain you weren’t mistaken?”

“The mole and scar upon his face were far too distinctive to be mistaken; besides, there were several of us, could we all have erred?” Frank muttered, warming to his argument. “Moreover, consider how those guards enforce the law: they merely subdue the masked individuals and escort them away. They never inflict grievous wounds or kill them on the spot, do they?”

A subtle twitch rippled through Iordera’s eyelid.

“So, we deliberated and decided to don black cloths ourselves and try our hand. If we escaped after the robbery, it would be a massive gain; even if we were caught, it would only mean a few days in custody,” Frank explained, casting a timid glance at her. “That scarred man, he committed murder, yet he was only detained for a handful of days. We merely robbed, without taking lives, so our sentence ought to be even lighter, surely?”

“And so, you proceeded with the act?”

“Yes, we did. We selected a small merchant’s stall, one clearly devoid of bodyguards. Regrettably, our luck was abysmal; the patrol guards were stationed nearby and swiftly converged upon us.”

A distinct flicker of terror darted through Frank’s eyes. “At that moment,” he recounted, “we simply bemoaned our misfortune, believing we’d endure a few days in a cell and nothing more. But we never, ever anticipated those guards would charge at us, blades raised, hacking without an ounce of mercy. Two of our brothers perished on the spot. The others, quick to react, immediately dropped to their knees in surrender, yet even they had their legs broken before being dragged away.”

“Fortunately, I was hidden deep within the shop at that precise moment, unnoticed by anyone. I swiftly clambered through a window and made my escape.”