Old Ford tapped his fingers lightly on his thigh, deep in thought. In fact, Old Ford had learned about Dodge's disappearance far earlier than Arthur had imagined. Four years ago, Old Ford regularly communicated with Dodge via the telegraph in Ford Town. Just days before Hobick arrived at the White House, Dodge had failed to reply as scheduled. This had immediately raised Old Ford's suspicions.
Consequently, four years ago, he had instructed a snake-faced orc to investigate Dodge's whereabouts discreetly. Despite spending three whole months on the task, the skilled tracker failed to uncover any clues. This left Old Ford planning a trip to Brighton City much earlier than Arthur thought, although the reason for the four-year delay remains a mystery.
At the moment, Old John was in the back room adjusting the straps on Lizzy's new schoolbag. Observing Old John, Katerina, and Lizzy closely to ensure they wouldn't emerge anytime soon, Old Ford concluded his friendly chat with Arthur. His affable demeanor shifted as he asked:
"Has anyone here learned your surname yet?"
"No, no one has ever asked—not even Mrs. Lily."
Nodding, Old Ford waited a moment to ensure no one could overhear them before lowering his voice:
"I know you've started a new life here and are doing quite well. But I want to ask—do you still wish to avenge Green Village and your parents?"
Arthur initially wanted to respond with a resolute "yes," but Old Ford raised a finger to silence him before the words could leave his mouth.
"Before you answer, keep in mind: what I'm about to tell you may very likely cost you your life. I know Mrs. Lily forms bonds easily, and I suspect she already sees you as family. If you die so recklessly, I hope you'll consider how those who care about you would feel."
This statement shook Arthur's resolve. He knew that the mystery surrounding his parents' deaths in Green Village was as intricate as a spider's web. Before finding a new home and family at the Etzikri Charity, he wouldn't have cared about risking his life for revenge. But now, with new bonds, a new life, and new knowledge, could he truly abandon everything for vengeance?
His father's final words echoed in his ears: Remember, you are a Hebrew.
Arthur had no idea what the Hebrew name truly signified. Apart from the actions of the black-robed orcs, which revealed the weight of the name, he understood little about it. Was it merely about resilience, independence, and self-reliance? Or did it carry a deeper meaning? Compared to four years ago, Arthur had developed more of his own ideas and could now make decisions for himself.
"If I could grow strong enough to survive even after hearing what you're about to tell me, would that be enough?" Arthur asked, clenching his fists and speaking with the determination of a twelve-year-old.
A flicker of light passed through Old Ford's eyes. He shifted his hand from his thigh to his large belly, which had grown substantially since four years ago—by at least the weight of a whole roasted pig.
"Of course, child. But as far as I know, the only way for you to grow stronger now is to join the war against the orcs."
Arthur thought of the water mage he'd recently encountered but decided not to mention this to Old Ford. As he observed Old Ford's increasingly sparse hair and shiny scalp, he also recalled the legend of the Sun God he'd read about in the charity's library.
"Warfields sharpen all sorts of abilities—whether survival skills or combat prowess. At your age, you'd be eligible to join the logistics division, where you'd also find some degree of protection," Old Ford continued, oblivious to Arthur's distraction. He spoke with growing seriousness:
"Now, let me tell you why your parents fled to Green Village—it's tied to an incident from seven years ago…"
Old Ford was just getting to the heart of the matter when noises from the back room interrupted him. He swallowed his words and, with great effort, stood up. Leaning closer to Arthur, he whispered, "Meet me later at 16 Templar Street, East District." Then, he resumed his kindly elder persona, engaging Old John in casual conversation.
With Lizzy's new schoolbag in hand, there was no reason to linger at the shop. Arthur, Katerina, and Lizzy left. As they walked down Etzikri Street, Lizzy and Katerina launched into a spirited debate about dinner—arguing even over how many spoonfuls of salt should go into pea and lamb soup. Normally, Arthur would have joined in, laughing and teasing them. But after meeting Old Ford, and agreeing to meet him again at 16 Templar Street, he had no energy for such trivialities.
"Katerina, you and Lizzy go to the post office and pick up George's letter. I just remembered something I need to discuss with Old John. I'll meet you at the White House later," Arthur said, improvising an excuse. Without waiting for a response, he sprinted eastward.
"Wait, isn't Old John's shop behind us?" Lizzy asked, puzzled as she watched Arthur's retreating figure. Katerina, however, didn't think much of it and replied, "Maybe Arthur has other things to do first. Let's grab the letter, and we can read it together when he's back. By the way, Lizzy, five spoonfuls of salt really isn't enough—just wait until you try it at home."
Sixteen Templar Street lay in the East District's slums—a derelict house abandoned long ago. Its dilapidated roof offered a clear view of the interior, making it a frequent gathering place for vagrants. The local enforcers rarely patrolled this deep into the slums. Old Ford knew the location from his time as an enforcer captain, having once carried out a mission there.
When Arthur arrived, Old Ford was already inside, running his hand over a broken beam, lost in thought.
Hearing the crunch of food scraps under Arthur's feet, Old Ford, his back still to the boy, began to speak:
"What I wanted to tell you earlier… I'm hesitant now. I'm old and can't help you much. If Dodge were still around, he could protect you with his strength."
"It's fine, Grandpa Ford. I'm ready to hear it," Arthur reassured him.
With a heavy sigh, Old Ford steeled himself and revealed the secret he'd kept for twelve years.
"The year you were born—twelve years ago—there was a noble family in Brighton City bearing the surname Hebrew. They were an earl's household, and your ancestors were among the city's rulers. Your great-grandfather, Rhine Hebrew, was Brighton City's sixth governor."
"But on the night of October 32nd in New Calendar Year 94—your birthday—the Hebrew family's Rose Manor on Garthas Street was attacked by five black-robed individuals. The same kind who pursued you that night."
"Everyone in Rose Manor—your grandparents, Albert and Elena Hebrew, along with 43 servants—perished at the hands of a hybrid orc with a left arm like a tentacle. Only your parents, Joe and Jane, managed to escape with you, a newborn."