"Later, I don't know who set Rose Manor ablaze, but your father, with your mother and newborn you, managed to reach the village governed by my family for generations—Green Village—under my protection."
Arthur listened silently to Old Ford recounting the tragic events that befell the Hebrew family seven years ago, pressing his knuckles until they cracked. Tears welled up in his eyes—not just because of the warm smiles of his parents that appeared vividly in his mind, but also for the innocent lives that had been lost.
"I don't quite understand, Grandpa Old Ford. If they had a grudge against the Hebrew family, I could understand that. But why did they have to kill those innocent uncles and aunts?" Arthur purposefully referred to the former servants and stewards of his family as "uncles and aunts." Even in small ways, Arthur wanted to honor those who had sacrificed themselves for his family.
Yet, there were a few things Arthur couldn't make sense of. Why had Old Ford warned that knowing this would put his life, and even those around him, in danger? Furthermore, why had Old Ford appeared in a jurisdiction managed by the arbitrators? How had he managed to escape, especially when the synthetic beast could corrode anything? Arthur couldn't imagine the portly old man in front of him fending off corrosive acid.
From Arthur's gaze, Old Ford caught the suspicion. Naturally, he assumed Arthur was questioning the motives of the black-robed figures rather than wondering how he himself had escaped from Rose Manor.
"Grandpa Old Ford, you mentioned earlier that knowing this could endanger my life. But this is just a past event. How could it have any impact now? It's been seven years. Are there still people investigating it?"
"You reminded me," Old Ford said, pulling Arthur into the deeper part of the dilapidated house, away from its distinctive skylight. Lowering his voice, he continued:
"This isn't just about the black-robed figures. It involves humans—humans in high places, the kind of high places you can't even begin to imagine. The whole incident was never made known to the public, and all witnesses from that night have disappeared. Why did I return to Ford Town? To stay out of the way of those big shots investigating the case. Seven years, you say? Well, when I came back to Brighton City after eleven years, the first thing I did was check around Rose Manor. I was followed almost immediately. If not for acting as if everything was completely normal and using some counter-surveillance skills, well... let's just say I wouldn't be here. What you need to understand is that even now, officials are still investigating this case. If I hadn't bumped into you at John's today, I would have come to Mrs. Lily's to take you away and tell you all this. Perhaps it's fate, though—tonight, I'll be leaving Brighton City. Better to avoid those investigators tracing things back to you."
After hearing Old Ford's explanation, a chill ran through Arthur. A gnawing fear settled in—a sense of being watched from the shadows. Could his enemies include those in the upper echelons of human society? For someone to suppress news of an earl's death—that kind of power was at the pinnacle of human authority in Arthur's eyes.
Old Ford placed a comforting hand on Arthur's back, offering him a shred of warmth to dispel his fears. Unlike Arthur, Old Ford didn't dwell on the deeper implications. "Don't worry, kid. Like you said yourself before: if you grow strong enough, you'll be able to protect yourself—even avenge them."
Revenge. Who am I supposed to seek revenge on? The synthetic beast? Or those unknown entities?
After leaving the rundown house at 16 Tapler Street, Arthur returned to the Etzikri Charity. Inside, Lizzy, lounging on the sofa, was chatting with Katerina, who was sitting on the floor, about the letter from George Cavendish. Spotting Arthur entering through the front door, Lizzy quickly called out, "Where have you been? We've been waiting for you! Come read George's letter!"
Forcing a smile, Arthur joined them. Having just learned the fate of his family seven years ago, his thoughts were far from the letter. However, out of habit developed over the past four years, he sat beside Lizzy, motioning for her to read the letter herself. It was obvious to everyone that Arthur was distracted. He frequently glanced around, uneasy and restless.
Concerned, Katerina placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Are you alright, Arthur? You seem... off."
Her worried gaze only deepened Arthur's uncertainty about his future. His original plan had been to join the military to track down the orcs and personally bury them for the villagers of Green Village and his parents. But now, having learned from Old Ford that even his family's loyal servants had been brutally eliminated, Arthur found himself paralyzed by fear. What if his identity as a Hebrew was discovered? Would the military even be safe? What would happen to Mrs. Lily, George, or even the others at the charity?
The more he thought, the more terrified he became. In his mind's eye, large, unblinking eyes watched him from every corner of the room. Flames roared in the corner of the hall. The cruel laughter of the orcs, the agonized cries of Green Village's villagers—all unfolded in terrifying clarity. Shadows lurked behind the curtains, and the world around him dissolved into a singular nightmare. Alone, clutching his head, Arthur trembled uncontrollably, silently begging for it all to stop.
A clear, feminine voice called to him from somewhere far away, and suddenly he felt himself being embraced—grounded once again in reality.
Lizzy clung to Arthur's back, pouting in frustration. "Arthur! You weren't even listening to me read! I just asked you what this word meant!"
Arthur snapped out of his trance, the terrifying visions dissipating into Lizzy's annoyed complaints. "What?" he asked, turning to see her pointing at a word in the letter.
"Sorry, Lizzy. I'm not feeling well today. Ask Katerina," Arthur said, but he still gently lifted Lizzy onto his back. She had unknowingly broken through his fear. After carrying her to Katerina, he apologized and climbed the stairs, muttering about needing rest.
He wasn't a seven-year-old child anymore. At twelve, it was time to shoulder more responsibility.
Speaking of being twelve, Arthur suddenly remembered what George had told him before he left: to open George's pillow when Arthur turned twelve—there was something left for him.
Returning to his room, Arthur habitually stood in front of the large mirror, slapping his cheeks until they turned red. Then, climbing to the second bunk—George's bed—he opened the pillow.
Inside, apart from the stuffing, there was only a slip of paper.
It bore an address and a single word:
114 Tapler Street, Underground, Nighthawk.