The gangster who kicked open the door to Lucian's house, finding no reaction inside, rushed in for a look, then backed out and reported to the boss with a plain, forgettable face: "Boss Jackson, no one's inside. Everything's tidy."
Boss Jackson wore an amiable smile: "It took a lot of time to trick the old fool Koen into spilling this kid's details. Thought we'd be late, heh heh. Mag and Andrei are idiots, good-for-nothings, but at least they still have a smidge of use."
The gangsters around him shuddered involuntarily when he mentioned Mag and Andrei, recalling Mag's howling agony as he clutched his groin. Andrei, standing at the front, silently rejoiced that if the kid had escaped with his valuables, his own fate would have been terrible. Of course, it would still be far better than Mag's, who'd been told by the doctor he'd need to spend a week in bed.
"Andrei, go inside and look around. See if there's anything strange," Boss Jackson ordered.
Eager to prove himself, Andrei walked in without a moment's hesitation.
After a few minutes, Andrei emerged with a strange expression, cradling a collection of odds and ends: "Boss Jackson, there's a lot of 'trash' in this kid's trunk."
Lucian sighed inwardly. These were things he hadn't had time to process yet. At first glance, anyone would associate them with garbage. And if they knew he'd been selling goods in the Market District recently, anyone with half a brain could figure out his method for making money.
He was alone, and afraid of being discovered, so he could only bring back small amounts each time, earning a pittance in Copper Fel. But if the Allen Gang controlled the trash heaps by the river, with their manpower and their familiarity and control over the Market District, it could become a surprisingly lucrative "channel." This way, they certainly wouldn't give up, and he'd have to find another way to make money.
Boss Jackson glanced at the junk in Andrei's arms, shaking his head with a smirk: "I think I know where he got the Seton. Tch, the Church only clears it out every three days. We never imagined the trash heaps by the River Belen could hide such 'treasure.' The palace, the Nobility District, the estates outside the city, the Musicians' Association, the Blacksmith Guild, the Mercenary Union—all their trash gets dumped by the River Belen. Heh, what nobles consider trash isn't necessarily trash at all."
Actually, after hearing from Andrei and Mag that Lucian had once taken trash from the Musicians' Association to the outskirts, Boss Jackson had already suspected this. Now it was merely confirmed.
Having delivered this little speech, Boss Jackson smiled amiably: "Thank you, Lucian, for showing us another path that glitters with the alluring light of money. So, let's thank him with our enthusiasm. Go smash everything in his house! Any Copper Fel or Silver Nal you find, keep it for yourselves. From now on, whoever finds him and gives him a proper 'thank you' can come to me for a handsome reward."
In Boss Jackson's eyes, Lucian wasn't worth staking out. As an organized, disciplined, and genuine gang, they had plenty to do every day—why waste time and manpower on a nobody like this?
The gangsters cheered. If Lucian's house weren't so small, limiting how many could fit inside, they probably would have all rushed in at once.
The clatter of breaking things echoed continuously.
Hiding nearby, Lucian could identify the sounds: "The jar shattered... the table's been smashed... they're looking for the money I stowed away..." He clenched his fists, teeth gritted, speaking silently in his mind.
But Lucian also understood—with over a dozen gangsters there, trying to stop them would only result in a brutal beating, maybe even death. So no matter how angry, how stifled, how furious he felt, he had to force himself to endure.
Without status, without fists, without strength, there was nothing he could do against these thugs, hooligans, scoundrels, and scum. As for the law, their brazen behavior made it obvious that if he stood up, it would be utterly useless.
"If that Witch hadn't gone to the graveyard to steal bones, she wouldn't have been burned alive."
"Since Arcane Magic still exists, and dark creatures and heretics still exist, then there are probably places where magic isn't so discriminated against or rejected. If I study magic carefully, once I have the power to protect myself, I can find a true safe haven."
"The danger is great, but the potential reward is also great. How can anyone achieve wealth and enjoy life without taking any risks? Even in business, you have to endure the extortion of nobles and gangs, plus the competition of rivals. One small mistake and you go bankrupt—or worse."
Countless thoughts he'd usually kept pressed down in his heart finally burst their cage, echoing through his mind like a devil's temptation, making him completely ignore one question: if a safe place to study magic truly existed, why would the Witch have come to Altor in the first place?
Countless ideas, countless desires, swirled in Lucian's mind, but before he could make up his mind, he suddenly heard Aunt Elisa's voice: "What are you damn scoundrels doing?!"
The Textile Guild didn't collect the laundry that needed washing until ten o'clock. After arranging for Evan to go gather mushrooms outside the city, Elisa hadn't left yet when she heard the sounds of things being smashed.
She grabbed a long wooden soup spoon, brandishing it, and marched toward the Allen Gangsters, trying to stop them from destroying Lucian's cottage.
"Get her out of the way," Boss Jackson said, pointing at Elisa.
Two gangsters who hadn't managed to get inside for a share of the spoils darted out, rolling up their sleeves, and stalked menacingly toward Aunt Elisa, intending to carry her aside.
But they underestimated Aunt Elisa's strength. Her arm, capable of a bear-like strike, swung the soup spoon, bringing it down hard on the gangster in front, sending him stumbling with a howl of pain.