Greatly anticipating what was about to happen, Roland couldn’t suppress his mischievous grin. A few short hours ago his gifts had been denied as he was given nothing but suspicion and comments of disappointment regarding his physical appearance, right here in front of this very door. And although Roland did not hold needless grudges, who did not enjoy some mild-mannered revenge?

“You are really back,” the old woman sighed exasperatedly, cracking her door open enough to barely look through the gap. “I feel fine. No need for your…” Freezing mid-sentence her eyes widened, mouth hanging open in pure shock.

Unlike his previous plan, Roland only brought one other person along to convince the poor old lady that she better lie down for a couple of hours under the care of a, while sketchy, nonetheless reliable doctor. This singular person however had about as much impact as Thomas if he were stacked on top of Arthur inside the world's largest coat. Arguably even more.

“Good day, Ma’am,” Claire greeted the woman with a brilliant smile. “I have been helping mister Roland out today. Hopefully you don’t mind me tagging along.”

One arm behind her back, the other raised in a small greeting, Claire managed to look like a demure young lady trying to not be a nuisance. Her faithful companion had picked up on its master’s intention and floated close to the ground, appearing as nonthreatening as a floating sword could.

“No, no, no. Of course, you are no bother, Miss Fainbright,” the old lady called out, breaking free of her daze, practically smashing the door open. “It is this old lady's greatest honor to have you care for my health.”

How different of a reaction. That’s some real bias.

Holding back the urge to click his tongue at such blatantly discriminatory behavior, Roland instead observed the old woman in more detail. Her face which had been flushed from too much excitement, slowly returned to normal.

She looks a bit pale, though that might be the quick contrast speaking. It should be about two hours until she collapses. Though we should be able to avoid it coming that far, with a surprise weapon of this caliber there is little chance of her refusing our goodwill now. Go get her tiger!

Mentally cheering on Claire, Roland enjoyed leaving the convincing to someone else for a change. Usually, he and Stephan had to bear the brunt of any grumpy citizen's annoyance whenever they were inconvenienced by him and his companions trying to save their lives. Though it seemed highly doubtful Claire would have to bear anything here, the old woman being a much more likely candidate for that.

Roland had previously told Claire the woman living here was quite stubborn and did not want to take their help despite feeling sick, which is why he hoped Claire could help convince her.

Fire ignited by the good deed right in front of her, the Helper’s newest negotiator did not hesitate whatsoever. Claire very much needed a win in her book, and this would be it, even if she needed to get a bit rough. Verbally speaking.

“Oh my, you truly don’t look well. Absolutely dreadful,” Claire held both hands in front of her mouth in feigned shock, not holding back whatsoever against the old lady. “Are you sure you don’t need help? I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something did end up happening.”

Seeing how Claire actually started getting teary eyed upon finishing her little spectacle, Roland mentally noted to be more careful of her acting prowess. Though if I end up upsetting her when she is actually feeling sad, I’ll be the one in hot water.

It seemed that when the saying ‘better to be safe than sorry’ was applied towards woman, it meant you should always assume they were acting truthfully, otherwise you’d end up being the sorry one. Unfairness truly kept piling on and on.

Unsure whether she should laugh or cry, the old woman simply nodded her head at the earnestly cruel words.

“I felt a little lightheaded previously,” she divulged after some consideration. “Maybe it would be for the best to have someone take a look after all.”

Not about to disagree when the City Lord’s daughter told her to visit a doctor, the old lady agreed, actually starting to feel sicker by the second. Truly a dutiful citizen.

“That’s great. We are going to get a carriage ready downstairs while you get dressed, ma’am,” Claire happily decided the woman’s fate. “The best doctor in Soren is going to take care of you.” The stealthy head-shake Roland gave her sadly came too late. Mister Taylor would have to do his best to live up to such a glorious title.

“Oh, you don’t have to go that far, Miss Fainbright, I wouldn’t want to impose,” the old woman replied in a panic, anxious about the costs. She could count the number of times she had visited a real doctor in her almost half a century long life on the fingers of one hand. “I can’t afford something like that.”

“We are the ones imposing on you with our worries,” Claire declared righteously, fully prepared to carry the woman in her arms if required. “I would take offense if you so much as paid a single copper today.”

She is really into it. I pity the people who have no doubt been scared senseless by the most earnest handing out of fruits imaginable. The sword also doesn’t help her case.

Mentally apologizing for the monstrosity he had unleashed upon the people here today, Roland excused himself to get the carriage ready. The brief happiness he felt upon seeing the old lady flustered slowly turned into pity.

It’s easy to forget what a big deal Claire actually is when we have her buzzing around constantly, throwing food and behaving like the little girl she is.

Descending the stairs, Roland’s face scrunched up when he heard Claire offer to help the woman get ready, no doubt already forcing her way into the apartment at this very moment. Weaponized sincerity at its finest.

The rest of Roland’s companions waited in anticipation outside on the street. They seemed so interested in what had happened inside that the moment their leader exited the building a tense silence enveloped them. Interrupted only by frequent stomping sounds, caused by Thomas jumping across faint chalk lines drawn on the street, ignoring any rules the children’s game originally had.

On a further look it seemed Arthur wasn’t silent in anticipation but due a good part of his soul having left his body, ascending towards a hopefully brighter place. One where nobody forced him to spend hours talking with weird strangers.

His last companion however did not disappoint, bloodshot eyes staring at Roland, eagerly awaiting his last orders. And the glorious freedom which would follow.

Haphazardly nail wood together for half a day and they are completely fine. A couple hours of socialization with fellow citizens and they end up like this. What a sad sight.

“Get a carriage ready, Stephan,” Roland commanded, smiling wryly upon seeing that his companions had already turned around and started running before he even finished his sentence. “Arthur you can go back home and rest. I’ll meet you there later so we can leave together.”

Endless hope blossomed in Arthur’s eyes. The future suddenly seemed to be filled with endless possibilities and happiness. Saluting his leader, somehow still crisp despite his demolished willpower, Arthur left towards the Orphanage without turning back.

The happily skipping Thomas seemed to not have noticed the other two’s hasty departure, much to absorbed in the groundbreaking new rule set he was creating. The easily entertained boy didn’t require any orders, because he would stick around Roland for now, leaving for greener pastures once the latter went towards the training grounds.

The chaos created by forcing Thomas to participate in the public training at previous times had discouraged them from ever trying it again. While the pudgy boy could take quite a lot of hard work and punishment when it came to completing their mission, the slightest bit of physical exercise whose only goal was to improve his strength and Thomas would turn into a cat that didn’t feel like bathing. If said cat could spout distracting nonsense loud enough for everyone in a hundred-yard radius to hear.

Ultimately, it was not worth the hassle. Any situation which actually required Thomas’ physical prowess to save them was doomed to begin with anyways. Letting the brat run around unsupervised for a bit ended up being the way things went down usually.

How can a person even be bad at jumping into giant squares?

Contemplating the mysteries of Thomas’ footwork made Roland gain newfound appreciation for the fact that his friend could walk at all. He sadly had to stop his enlightenment short when the door behind him opened to reveal a mismatched pair.

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Claire happily lent her arm to the old woman she was escorting. Apparently there arose no need for carrying of any kind, preserving dignity for all those involved.

Still nervous about being escorted by such an important person, the woman looked around anxiously, hoping people wouldn't make too much of a commotion. She’d much rather tell this tale at a little get together, adding a few appropriate modifications of her own, than have people start gossiping about it. Luckily for her they did not need to stand around for long, because a carriage already approached them from the distance.

“Get over here Thomas,” Roland called out. “We are leaving.”

Skipping over quickly, Thomas took a long look at the old woman. Their purpose and chivalry briefly fought inside of him, reaching a questionable compromise.

“Hello, ma’am. You look beautiful today,” Thomas greeted the old woman politely as any good boy should do. “Just like someone who is about to die.” But good boys should also help their Boss. Responsibilities and all that.

Casually being assigned the ‘at death’s door’ status, the old woman swallowed any greeting of her own, giving the smiling fatty a disturbed look instead.

“Don’t mind him,” Roland reassured her. “Half of what he says is nonsense most of the time.” I’ll let you decide which half for yourself.

“Thomas is our little jokester,” Claire added, giving Thomas a warning look. “Pretend he is an untrained puppy, Irma. Yipping and yapping even when he should not.” She had evidently asked the woman for her name. How much use she would get out of it remained to be seen.

Upon Claire’s admonishment, Thomas actually started physically trembling, seeing a myriad of sweets fly away in his mind’s eye. Mouth turning into a thin line, he resolved himself to never speak again, lest he actually lose the queen of sweets' favor.

That is a convenient ability to have. Roland mentally praised Claire for getting Thomas to quiet down. His ability to read the room usually approached negative levels when nothing of note was going on.

The carriage stopped next to them, Stephan swinging open one of its doors, beckoning them inside. The driver stole a couple glances at the resident nobility, though he remained surprisingly calm.

Looks like Stephan told him beforehand, how surprisingly thoughtful. Question is whether he haggled out some discount for it or not. Well, he probably did, though it’s fine. Being able to boast about chauffeuring the City Lord’s daughter around should give him quite a boost in business. Fair exchange.

Everyone including the one non-human member having alighted, the driver whipped his horses lightly, steering them to their destination. The carriage’s inside held two padded benches, of which Claire and Irma took one, whereas the three boys sat down on the other.

Thomas had been the first to enthusiastically enter earlier. Something he greatly regretted, because he ended up in the middle of the bench, unable to look out of the windows without Roland giving him a flick on the forehead or him inconveniencing Stephan. The latter sat straight, polite smile on his face, trying his best to not get angry when his neighbor literally tried climbing over him.

Some pushing and shoving later, Stephan switched positions with the curious Thomas, who briefly looked out of the window, before quickly losing interest in the all too familiar streets. Digging through his pockets Thomas managed to fish out an orange, which he cautiously offered to the others, getting teary eyed when Roland actually took him up on his offer. The latter promptly put it into his own pocket, wondering why Thomas even went through the motions to begin with.

If he behaves, I’ll give it back later. If not, one of the horses gets it.

Everything going on in the carriage couldn’t help but seem slightly sketchy. Irma might have started to get nervous about possible nefarious plots, if not for the ride alone easily costing more than she made in a whole week.

If she included her ‘helpers’ young age and public renown, and most importantly, the fact that abducting women about to reach their fifties was not a particularly lucrative business, there ultimately wasn’t much reason for her to be afraid. Claire’s presence might have helped too.

“Where exactly are we going?” Irma inquired after a couple minutes of silence.

“Doctor Taylor, a good friend of ours. Highly professional,” Stephan answered, still doing his best to sell something despite their customer having already bought in. “His clinic is close to the Red Market by the south gate.”

His answer seemed to be a relief to Irma, who had feared they would head towards the hospital, or worse, one of the clinics by the noble district.

After living here for such a long time there were some social norms ingrained deeply into herself. The idea of going to the more exclusive areas of town, even with Claire as a chaperon, made her feel uneasy.

Things often looked drastically different depending on what kind of upbringing one had. Case in point, unlike the relieved woman next to her, Claire tensed up at the mention of where they were heading.

“Isn’t that in the Backstreets?” Claire asked, trying to seem nonchalant but failing to completely hide her nervousness.

“Uh, yes, it is” Stephan hesitantly replied. He could have understood it if Claire showed a distaste for a place like that, her being nervous felt very strange however. “Is there a problem?”

Instead of answering immediately, Claire looked around the carriage, seeing intrigued and puzzled gazes directed at her. As well as one singular gaze which bore into Roland’s pocket. She felt confused about how everyone seemed fine with the situation.

“Father doesn’t want me to go to the Backstreets,” she finally explained. “He says it’s too dangerous.”

Trying to disguise his snort as a cough, Stephan averted his face from the little miss. The latter turned red upon seeing that even Irma smiled a little at her last statement.

Roland too sported a barely suppressed grin, as much at Claire’s embarrassment as how overprotective the City Lord was being.

The Backstreets might have a bad reputation, but in truth they were no more than the second center of commerce of Soren. Only involving a lot more shouting, drinking and a plethora of sketchy people.

To think her father would stop Claire from going there but be perfectly fine with her running around in the slums. I guess it makes sense in a way. There is a lot of smoke and mirrors going on in the Backstreets, so he might not have the clearest idea. The slums are quite cut and dry in comparison. Though I feel like they hold some sketchy secrets of their own.

The quick exchange between Claire and Stephan had not only amused Roland, it also made him wonder about something he took for granted, which seemed to actually not be a thing at all.

Does he not know what happens around her?

“The Backstreets have their seedy parts, but the one we are going to is fine,” Roland explained, eager to prove his theory. “However, if your father doesn’t want you to go there, then it’s fine to leave the rest of the work to us. We’ll catch up later today anyway.”

“No need, seems like I had some mistaken assumptions. Sorry about that,” Claire apologized needlessly, realizing her naivety. After all, there was no way a good fifth of the town could be some lawless war zone. “I would still appreciate if you did not talk about this unless necessary. I do not want father to worry.”

Much nodding and many voices of agreements followed her request. A shy Claire possessed about as much persuasive power as a fully armed battalion. The fanatic look in Irma’s eyes left no doubt she wouldn’t give up a single word, even under moderately uncomfortable interrogation. Roland too gave a quick nod of his own, mentally focusing on something else entirely however.

Seems like the sword surprisingly doesn’t report to the City Lord. Roland had always assumed the City Lord controlled Claire’s sword. Now however it seemed he either was not its actual owner or more far-fetched, the sword possessed enough of a will on its own to protect Claire.

Roland didn’t know a lot about magic, much less Artifacts, but everyone who had studied a bit of history knew that real intelligent Artifacts were things only the mightiest of Knights and Mages used.

“Many areas in the backstreets are actually more strictly policed and safer than the cheap residential district I have been living in,” Irma told Claire.

Her information served to both reassure the girl, as well as creating a good excuse to talk more. Not like there would be many chances for her to interact with someone like Claire again. “They actually have their own knockoff noble district over there.”

“Emphasis on knockoff,” Stephan chimed in, ignoring the fact that he never actually set foot into the real noble district for comparison. Though in a way that supported his statement, seeing he practically strolled through the Backstreets’ ‘noble district’ on a weekly basis. “Think of it as a place where everything is cheaper, even the people. And in exchange a third of everything is also fake, maybe a bit more for the people.”

Roland couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Stephan had a tendency to start to think himself wittier than he actually was when people started paying attention to him. Thomas being tamer than usual after getting burned twice in a short amount of time, did not throw Stephan out of his rhythm like he usually would.

Nobody there to stop him, the talkative boy started extolling the benefits and drawbacks of the Backstreets, using his own interesting anecdotes to go into detail about more dangerous aspects. Roland had little interest in any of that, although he was forced to admit that Stephan could entertain the average citizen quite easily.

Irma listened intently to the convincing boy, amazed at hearing about things so far removed from her daily life, despite being no more than half an hour’s walk away in reality.

Claire noticed Roland wasn’t putting much stock in Stephan’s tales, and she herself could do without him trying to insert witty remarks he had heard somewhere else. They were nonetheless interesting to her, as she, unlike Irma, actually was extremely disconnected from basically everything Stephan talked about.

Much less the difference between noble life and whatever could be considered living in the Backstreets, Claire had not even been in Soren long enough to build a real image of it inside her head.

Passing the time with Stephan’s tales, they soon reached their destination, a shabby two-story building that looked quite elongated. Most likely because it had been multiply separate buildings in the distant past. And just when Roland was about to open the door, they were all treated to a surprise, one a lot more unexpected than your average one.

Claire’s wooden sword, which had been hovering by her side the whole time, suddenly started shining, faint white runes running across the blade.

An almost indiscernible ripple went through the air as the sword suddenly vanished alongside its owner. In their stead an inconspicuous girl with black hair appeared, looking so wholly unremarkable, it would be a miracle if anybody could remember any detail about her appearance or clothes for longer than a moment.