Compromise

Soon several children were dragged in by the gang enforcers. Seeing their boss, who had looked so imposing that morning, now stripped of his clothes and limp in his seat like a broken-backed dog, they felt a chill.

In the eyes of the little pickpockets below, unmasked terror was plain.

A teenager with prominent buckteeth swept his gaze over the scattered enforcers around him, spun around the instant he stepped through the door, and bolted. Yet the enforcer beside him was hardly about to let him go.

The short club in the enforcer's hand whipped directly toward the back of the boy's head. If it were before, they might have shown a bit more gentleness toward these hens that laid golden eggs.

After all, if they injured them, no one would make money, and the ones who would suffer in the end were themselves.

Yet the regime had already changed, and wanting to show off their faces before the new boss while also pledging loyalty, how could they possibly let go of this prime opportunity?

"Don't kill him."

An elderly man with a limp standing beside the magistrate, seeing that the thugs under his command were preparing to deal a fatal blow, immediately shouted out.

The crowd of men under him likely only assumed this was about killing the chicken to scare the monkeys, especially since the few brought over now were the minor pickpockets who had stolen the most in recent years.

They had naturally enjoyed greater privileges previously, and these individuals logically counted as confidants of the half-dead former boss over there.

In the moment the enforcers hesitated, the boy with the pair of buckteeth already ducked low, bypassed the few people beside him, and threaded through the crowd as swiftly as an eel.

For a moment the gang enforcers were unable to grab him.

Chaos flared instantly, and the remaining two children also moved at once. Before they could act, however, an arrow pierced straight through the bucktoothed boy as he scrambled toward the side wall after a rolling tumble.

The arrow passed through the boy's calf, and amid a cry of agony, the boy collapsed flat onto the ground. He crawled forward in terror, only to be yanked up by the collar by the magistrate behind him.

With a single blow from a club, the boy was knocked unconscious, causing the remaining two little pickpockets to shrink their necks instantly like a pair of tiny quails watched by a falcon.

"There's still one missing. Where is Heka?"

Fat Pig's reddened eyes swept over the three people in front of him, holding an unmasked ferocity. While not the direct cause, he had suffered such severe torment, and the primary culprit lay among these children.

A limping young man in the crowd stepped out timidly, replying in a low voice.

"I've already sent someone to look for him. He'll be right here."

"You were the one responsible for watching him before. Why wasn't he with you?"

Every eye instantly focused on the young man. The young man touched the pouch filled with copper coins at his waist, his heart brimming with bitterness.

A mere five-day holiday—he had originally thought this was no big deal. After all, for ordinary petty thieves, the money handed in daily was mandatory; without it, they would receive a whipping, or even be beaten with broken legs and thrown out onto the street as a negative example.

Yet for someone like Heka, who already had a high-level pickpocket specifically assigned to supervise and protect him, going a few days without scoring, then hitting a massive haul, was a very common occurrence.

This was why the young man had agreed to the other's five-day break, yet now it was the sixth day, Heka had not returned, and trouble had arrived first instead.

He had just been praying all along that this matter wouldn't implicate him, but he never expected it would end up involving him after all.

"Five days ago, that ugly-looking lackey of Heka's bought a jar of salt over at the salt shop. The last time anyone saw him was five days ago."

Gangs were the fillers of power vacuums, and as one of the largest gangs in Seapeak Port, the Graytooth Gang maintained a tight grip on those beneath them. Before long, Heka's movements had been reconstructed.

"Since it's already determined, then let the rest of them go."

The former boss of the Graytooth Gang, slumped over in his chair, swept his gaze across the three trembling little pickpockets before him. Seemingly remembering his own daughter, he displayed a rare touch of kindness.

"Perhaps that brat who didn't show up simply died. After all, some brats die every street month; this matter is entirely normal and hardly a major issue. Once I find what I'm looking for, I'll naturally release them."

The magistrate waved a hand, and several sharp-eyed bailiffs followed the gang enforcers inside to search that dilapidated room belonging to the little pickpockets.

Elwin followed behind this group of enforcers, stepping with them into the back room that faintly reeked of a foul stench.

There was no door here, only a filthy rag with frayed, stringy edges. On one side of the room lay layer upon layer of dirty bedding spread across the floor, while wooden barrels filled with filth stood on the other.

The two bailiffs clearly showed reluctance to proceed any further. Even imagining their own boots treading within brought a wave of unspeakable nausea.

At that moment, the superior behind them merely pinched his mustache, then extended five fingers toward the pair.

Very well, fifty silver coins; duty called regardless.

The two bailiffs drew their longswords, standing thus one in front and one behind inside the room, which was called a dormitory yet resembled a pigsty far more.

Several gang enforcers were shoved inside, beginning to search piece by piece for the blood-stained money bag the master spoke of.

The inspected bedding was tossed directly behind them. Just as one gang enforcer prepared to shake out a slightly bulging quilt, a hand blocked the enforcer, who was already somewhat dizzy from the foul odor.

Father Elwin gently lifted the sheet, revealing a tiny child inside.

He picked him up in his arms, the entire body still shivering uncontrollably.

"He's sick."

Elwin spoke flatly, and the surrounding enforcers immediately bypassed them, keeping a wide berth from the priest holding the sick person.

The most troublesome matter here was disease. If one carelessly contracted an illness in this place without care, they could only have all their possessions seized by companions before dying a miserable death.

Elwin carried the child, who was little more than a skeleton, out of the room, walking over to the magistrate's side to generously display the child—who wore only a simple layer of cloth with ribs protruding sharply—to the other man.

Certain that this priest had found nothing, the magistrate immediately lost interest in this reserve corpse. It was a pity, however, that his two subordinates who emerged afterward both shook their heads.

"Take all of these people away."

The magistrate's palm circled around the three children, the half-dead Fat Pig, and the limping young man, much like an outbound master chef before a fishmonger, casually tracing out today's ingredients with his finger.

Clearly, he had no intention of conducting an interrogation here; thirty gold coins were simply too many—enough to drive these people mad.

Interrogating here carried far too great a risk of leaks.

At this moment, the only ones who knew of this matter were a few of his colleagues, his superior, and the priest beside him. He did not wish for unexpected variables to let wild dogs in to ravenously snatch the food that rightfully belonged to them.

"Any further instructions, Father?"

The magistrate watched his subordinates shoving rags into the mouths of the several individuals, turning his head to look at the competitor beside him.

In his view, the other's arrival here could only stem from the idea of getting a slice of the pie in this affair. In truth, he rather liked the man.

At least concerning this matter, the other's straightforwardness was far better than the sickening hypocrisy most priests put on publicly versus behind closed doors.

"I am taking him. No children will appear here after this."

The magistrate raised an eyebrow, staring at the man before him. He could not fathom what game the other was playing. Could it be that he was convinced the thief wasn't among these four and intended to buy out the bottom?

"The gangs never raise idlers."

"It doesn't matter; the church can raise them.

Within two years, they will no longer dabble in this sort of business. I will keep this matter sealed and interfere no further, in the name of Velandil."