Proof of identity

The room was silent.

Only the occasional clink of cutlery broke the quiet.

The old man finished first and silently watched Lorry wolf down his meal, alternating between bites of rye bread and pork ham.

Once Lorry put down his knife and fork, the old man said softly, "When he was young, he was just as wayward as you. He spent all day hanging around gang members and nearly ended up in court."

"I realized things couldn't go on like that, or sooner or later he'd cause some terrible disaster. So I resigned from the police and returned to my family."

"Praise the Goddess!"

"Fortunately, he'd only lacked discipline. He wasn't born rotten. Once he recognized his past mistakes, he began learning to repent and volunteered for military service to wash away his shameful past."

The old man spoke slowly, his gaze fixed on Lorry.

"I can tell you're a good lad."

"You could have taken the valuables in my house and left, but you didn't. You chose to work for your food instead."

A good lad? Me? Lorry inwardly shook his head, unsure how to respond.

The old man picked up the kettle and poured two cups of warm water. After blowing on his cup and taking a sip, he asked, "What are you planning to do next?"

That question hit precisely the point Lorry had no answer for. Confusion surfaced in his eyes despite himself, and he shook his head gently. "I haven't decided yet."

"But I suppose I'll go back to Backlund first."

The old man narrowed his eyes, his gaze turning stern.

Bitterness filled Lorry's eyes as he explained, "Please don't misunderstand. I'm not planning to get involved with the pickpocket gang again. It's just..."

"I don't have any proof of identity. I'm afraid the East Borough is the only place I can survive."

Backlund's East Borough was where the poorest people gathered, unlike the other districts, which housed businesses, nobles, and churches.

Police patrols were extensive there. Renting a house, or even staying at an inn for a single night, required valid proof of identity.

"Besides, living in those places costs a great deal."

The mere thought of money gave Lorry a headache.

"Work, proof of identity..."

The old man murmured to himself, then fell into thought. He took a pipe from the drawer beneath the table, lit it with a match, and took a deep drag.

"Phew-"

A great cloud of smoke billowed out.

Through the smoke, his expression looked somewhat grave.

"I can try contacting an old colleague and get you legal proof of identity, but you'll have to find work yourself."

"And it won't be free."

"I'll cover the initial expenses, and you'll pay me back in installments."

"Really?"

Lorry froze, almost wondering whether something had gone wrong with his ears.

Seeing the slight upward curl of the old man's lips, he offered his heartfelt thanks. "Praise the Goddess! Thank you for your help. I'll work hard and repay this debt as soon as possible!"

Proof of identity was enormously important, encompassing every aspect of a person's life. It was something you might never use, but absolutely could not do without.

Renting a house or staying at an inn were merely two examples.

Finding a decent job, joining a club, and even taking the metro during certain periods all required it.

It was, quite literally, a key that opened doors.

"Don't thank me just yet." The old man's lips curled slightly as he happily blew out a great mouthful of smoke. "You'll also have to clear all the weeds from my two mu of farmland outside the village."

"Hmm... sending a letter from here to Backlund takes a day and a half for the round trip. Add in the time he'll need to pull a few strings, and it should be done in about three days."

"You'd better get started."

"..."

Lorry didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but nodded and accepted the task.

"I'll take an afternoon nap, then write the letter when I wake up." Having finished his pipe, the old man refilled it with tobacco. Rather than lighting it, however, he simply held it beneath his nose and sniffed.

He reached for the used tray, but Lorry picked it up first.

The old man shrugged and headed toward his bed.

As they passed each other, Lorry finally couldn't resist asking, "Actually, I've been wondering all along. Why are you helping me like this?"

Without looking back, the old man spoke as he walked.

"I think I told you yesterday that I was a policeman, and a fairly good one at that. Tell me, what do you think a policeman's most important duty is?"

"Uh, fighting crime?"

Lorry casually offered an answer that seemed unlikely to be wrong.

"Fighting crime... heh." The old man gave a derisive chuckle. "I once arrested more than twenty people in a single day, but crime in my district never stopped."

"Lock up one batch, and they'd carry on committing crimes once they got out."

"Sometimes they'd even get worse."

"Because they'd already lost every other way of surviving."

"So after what happened with my son, I changed my mind. As long as someone isn't a hopelessly vicious thug and hasn't threatened anyone else's life, they deserve a chance to repent, even if they've strayed from the right path."

"A policeman's most important duty is to guide people toward goodness."

"The Goddess will also forgive every believer who loses their way and then returns to Her."

"Like my son."

"And like you."

The old man was a man of decisive action. After an afternoon nap of about half an hour, he got up, immediately found some paper and ink, and wrote to his former colleague.

With his pipe hanging from his waist and swaying as he walked, he led the way while Lorry followed carrying a hoe.

After handing the letter to the postman, the two headed for the farmland.

The old man's farmland lay outside the village, not too far from his house. It took a little over twenty minutes to walk there.

"Why are those fields abandoned?"

Lorry pointed to some neglected fields nearby and asked curiously.

He couldn't identify the crops, but that didn't stop him from distinguishing them from the weeds.

In the fields Lorry pointed out, the weeds had grown even taller than the crops.

They had clearly been abandoned for a long time.

"****!"

The old man muttered angrily.

Lorry didn't understand, but the old man's tone made it easy to guess that it was a curse. Even though the body's original owner had grown up in Backlund, he couldn't possibly have known every bit of rural slang.

"After the Corn Laws were repealed, those merchants with hearts as black

as pitch imported huge quantities of cheap foreign grain. A lot of farmers could no longer survive on farming alone, so they had to work in Backlund's factories."

"Naturally, their fields were abandoned."

"Over there!" The old man pointed with his pipe, then found a shady spot beneath a tree and sat down. He lit his tobacco and blew out a great mouthful of smoke, his gentle gaze following Lorry, whose head was covered in sweat.

He took a deep drag, the corners of his mouth lifting with pleasure.

Two days passed quickly.

The old man only accompanied Lorry to the fields on the first day. For the next two days, Lorry went alone. Although the weather was hot and muggy, and even a little work left his clothes soaked with sweat, he remained full of enthusiasm.

The last day!

Once I clear these remaining weeds, I can go to Backlund tomorrow!

Lorry sweated buckets, but inwardly he was delighted.

As he was about to leave that morning, the postman had arrived with a letter. The old man told him that his former colleague had already arranged his proof of identity. All Lorry needed to do was go and see him.

This is my first step toward becoming part of this world and exploring the path of the Beyonder!

Lorry told himself, feeling strength fill his entire body. He swung the hoe, uprooting weeds one after another and tossing them into piles beside the path, where they would dry out and be used as fuel.

Dark clouds gathered, and the sky gradually dimmed.

Before night fell, Lorry finished the job completely.

With an irrepressible smile on his lips, he strode toward the old man's house.

The Crimson Moon rose, its pale red light spilling across the earth, passing through the closely packed houses and trees to cast patches of shadow.

Lorry rounded the last corner and entered the alley he had walked through several times already. With light steps, he approached the old man's door.

Just as he was about to push it open, his nose suddenly twitched. He smelled a strong scent of rust.

Lorry froze for a moment, then activated Exceptional Observation without hesitation.

His vision immediately grew hazy. His gaze seemed to pierce the walls, sensing one white cluster of light after another inside.

One, two, three, four!

The largest white cluster was especially dazzling, as though it were scorching his eyes.