“Darius!” Abei yelled over the noise of the parade.

Firana hid behind me before Holst turned his head. I felt her pressing her face against my back, and anger simmered inside me. Holst’s keen eyes scanned the crowd until his sight fell upon Abei. For a fleeting moment, Holst’s facial expression softened upon finding Abei's face among the guardsmen and nobles. The moment passed, though, and his stern and rapacious expression returned to his face.

Then, his eyes fell upon me. I held my breath, hoping that he wouldn’t recognize me. Then I remembered we were perfect strangers. Almost. Holst didn’t know me, but I was never going to forget the marks of cruelty he had left in Elincia and the kids. I clenched my jaw. The silhouette of the man who had left the orphanage to die of hunger now had a face.

I could understand the scheme to evade royal taxes, but I could never forgive a teacher who mistreated their students and conspired against their well-being.

“Is it okay if I give you the robes back later, Master Abei? I think it’s my time to go.” I said.

Abei nodded and put his skeletal hand on my shoulder—the hand of the man who had raised Holst. “I’ll send one of my Scribes to retrieve them, Master Clarke. Send my regards to the Governess and arrive safely.”

I grabbed Firana’s hand and dragged her towards the lateral gate, away from the parede. Firana trembled beside me, and her grip tightened on my hand. I didn’t know what was going through her mind, but I could tell she was distressed.

“Are you alright?” I stopped at the shadow of the black wall, glancing over Firana’s shoulder to ensure Holst hadn’t caught a glimpse of the girl. Everyone was too focused on the parade to notice us.

Firana nodded, but her eyes betrayed her fear. “I just didn’t expect him to be here.”

My mind jumped back to the days before my arrival. The harsh discipline that Holst imposed, his disdain for those whom he deemed unworthy, and the cruel treatment towards those who failed. Remembering the stories surrounding Holst made my blood boil. However, something didn’t fit. Firana was the only orphan Holst deemed worthy of his teachings. She was the only one he treated remotely well.

“I won’t let him hurt you, Firana. You can rest assured I’ll do anything to protect you.” I said.

Firana shook her head, failing to find the right words. “It’s not that. Holst never mistreated me. Can we go elsewhere?”

We left the inner wall behind and walked away from the busy main street into the labyrinthine alleys. The atmosphere promptly shifted from the military parade's pomp to the Northern District's depressing abandonment. Firana’s hand stayed nestled into mine until we emerged into the old boulevard where Elincia and I had eaten pastries for the first time. There wasn’t a better place to talk in the Northern District, so I guided Firana toward a stone bench with views of a dry stone fountain.

Firana’s gaze got lost in the tiles of washed-away colors, her brows furrowed in deep contemplation. The parade sounds were distant echoes of horns, drums, and the noise of a sea of commoners watching the shiny soldiers and their exotic mounts. I remained silent, waiting for the girl to organize his thoughts.

“Being an Aias used to be a weight on my shoulders; I hated it,” Firana finally said, a lump in the throat. I couldn’t see the connection with Holst, so I let her continue. “I grew up listening to stories of my father’s feats and the feats of my grandfather before him. I tried hard to live up to the expectations, yet I failed to learn any martial skills from him. I didn’t enjoy fencing until I arrived at the orphanage and started training under Holst’s wing...”

Firana’s words hung heavy in the boulevard’s silence.

“I was having fun while Zaon and Ilya suffered because of him… I knew it was happening and ignored it because I was finally gaining the skills that would make me a true Aias.” Firana’s voice broke. “Miss Elincia was delighted with my progress. It was probably my fault that she allowed Holst to teach in the orphanage for so long despite how he treated everyone else.”

I nodded in silence. Firana’s story was far from what I expected, but it made sense. Firana felt betrayed when Holst left because she had found someone to show her the way towards her goals. Now, guilt was coming back to bite her.

“Holst behavior isn’t your responsibility, Firana,” I said softly. “It’s not your fault at all. Elincia allowed Holst to teach because she knew the chance of you all ending up in the army was real. From her standpoint, it was better to endure the abuse in exchange for improving your chances to survive the army and the Farlands.”

The picture of Captain Garibal appeared in my mind. The man had stopped dozens of mana blades with a single spell, yet he had lost his arm. If a high-level warrior with access to great spells and the best healing potions and magic this world had to offer had been permanently maimed, I couldn’t imagine what would happen to a low-level kid.

“Ilya is still resentful…” Firana said.

“Ilya is constantly mad at you because you skip your chores. She doesn’t blame you for your closeness to Holst.” I pointed out.

“That’s… logical.” Firana gave me a weak smile.

“You shouldn’t carry the weight of Holst’s mistakes, Firana. Nor the mistakes of your family. And certainly not my mistakes. You have a great sense of responsibility, but you can’t atone for the wrongdoings of others.” I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t let the memory of Holst cast a shadow over the fact you are an important member of the orphanage… even if you don’t do your chores.”

Firana giggled, but her smile promptly died. “I feel ashamed for not realizing the others were suffering. I was selfish, and it was my mistake, not another’s.”

I smiled. My past mistakes had also weighed on my shoulders for a long time before I could shake them off. I didn’t want the same for Firana.

“The past is the past; don’t let it drag you down. You fought Captain Kiln to help the orphanage. You didn’t hesitate to fight those bandits when I was attacked. Even when Raudhan Kiln tried to enter the orphanage forcefully, you were there at the other side of the door, sword and shield in hand, ready to defend us.” I replied. “You have done many things for the orphanage, and everyone respects you for that. You just need to start doing your chores.”

Firana playfully bumped my shoulder. Her cheeks burned red. “You are our teacher! You are not supposed to mess with us!”

“Give me a break, kiddo. I can’t be a teacher twenty-four hours a day. I’m also the orphanage’s caretaker. I can joke a little, can’t I?” I replied.

Firana smiled. “I’m sorry for causing so much trouble. Because of me, the Corruption got worse.”

“Don’t worry, it’s getting better now. I just need a couple of titles and a few levels, and my mana pool will be completely healed in no time,” I replied.

To make my assertion count, I channeled mana and cast an assortment of illusory kites and miniature hot air balloons of all shapes and forms. It was much more than I could cast yesterday. Firana’s eyes shot open as the illusions flew away from us like a flock of birds.

“Captain Garibal had to intervene so I wouldn’t kick Kellaren’s ass, so yeah, the ‘trouble’ you had caused is something I can easily deal with,” I said.

“But you said violence is bad.” Firana pointed out with a smile on her face. Kids seemed to love those small ‘gotcha’ moments both here and on Earth.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Once you reach adulthood, you’ll see violence is sometimes necessary to defend yourself and those you cherish. However, it should be your last resort, not the first one. Got it?” I said.

“Last resort. Got it.” Firana said, back to her usual festive demeanor. She gave me a mischievous smile before continuing. “I was thinking. If you are so good at dealing with problems, it would be a shame not to cause more.”

“I’m telling Miss Elincia.” I threatened back.

“I’ll behave, I promise.” Firana quickly backtracked. “And… thank you… again.”

“I’m here to help you all.”

I couldn’t help but feel I was lecturing myself. Holst was a bad actor with some level of contact with high-positioned nobles. I had to tell Elincia. We will have to tread carefully during the tournament. The orphanage’s work would be exposed to Farcrest nobility and the whole kingdom.

“Let’s go, Firana. We have lots of things to do.” I said as I walked down the boulevard back to the main street.

“The orphanage is the other way,” the girl pointed out.

“I need to meet Ginz,” I replied. With the tournament just around the corner, I expected to spend more time far from the orphanage. It would be the perfect opportunity for any bad actors to make their move, so I wanted Elincia to have access to Byrne’s shotgun. “You can go back to the orphanage if you want.”

“I’ll go with you,” Firana replied.

“And I appreciate the company,” I said.

We returned to the main street. The market stands had been pushed to the sidelines because of the long retinue of carts that followed the army’s parade. We used the dark lateral alleys to move down the main street. It was almost empty. Everyone was too busy watching the parade.

Outside the workshop, three men were frantically knocking on the door. They didn’t look like Kellaren’s loan sharks. Their clothing, similar to Ginz’s, made me think they were craftsmen too. I sighed. I didn’t have time for trouble. I wanted to go home already.

Before I could turn around, I was spotted.

“You! You are the orphanage’s caretaker! We have been looking for you all morning!” One of the men angrily shouted as we came close to the workshop. “Ginz has barricaded himself inside our workshop and won’t let anyone inside. He has a knife, and we fear he might hurt himself. He won’t talk with anyone but you.”

I reminded myself that violence was the last resort of a wise man.

“We have been wasting time because you were nowhere to be found! We are entitled to compensation. I have a shipment of belts ready to be delivered.” A second craftsman said.

I sighed. This was also my fault, apparently. Dealing with the emotional aftermath of Holst’s betrayal had consumed most of my mental resilience. I wished [Intimidate] was one of the uncorrupted skills so I could sort this quickly.

“What’s happening?” I asked, choosing the peaceful way.

“Already told you. Ginz had a psychotic outbreak and barricaded inside the workshop.” The third craftsman replied.

Firana glared at the craftsmen.

The situation was strange. Ginz was the definition of a safe person, and I couldn’t imagine a reason for him to act this way. I tried to zone out the complaints, but the cackling of the craftsmen prevented me from focusing. I missed [Awareness].

If Ginz wanted to see me, I was going in. I took a deep breath to calm myself down and opened my robe. The craftsmen stepped back as they saw the shiny handle of my rapier. Spineless. I untied my belt and dismissively gave them the sword before walking towards the door. If Ginz was so disturbed, I was better off disarmed.

“Ginz?! It’s me, buddy! I’m unarmed.” I yelled.

“Tell them to step back!” Ginz yelled from the other side.

I glared at the three craftsmen, and they reluctantly stepped back. Then the door opened, and a hand dragged me inside. As soon as I crossed the doorway, Ginz slammed the door shut and turned the key. The workshop was shrouded in darkness. The skylight couldn’t gather enough light on a cloudy winter day. However, I noticed something strange with Ginz. Three deep scars covered his left cheek, and his eyebrows had been singed off.

“Put the knife down, Ginz,” I said with my best soothing voice.

“Don’t sweat it. It’s a putty knife.” Ginz replied, throwing the tool on the center table. Then, he walked towards the fire stove and threw a stack of parchment inside.

“What is all of this about? What happened to your face?” I asked.

The scars were recent.

“I tried replicating a smaller version of your shooty gun, but it didn’t go well. A healer pulled out the metallic shards, so I’m okay now.” Ginz replied, downplaying the matter. “Good news is that I crafted these.”

He pulled a small bag from his coat and opened it on the table. Twenty shotgun shells made of paper and copper, half marked with a red and the other half with a black stripe. Despite my worries about the craftsman's mental health, I smiled.

“The red ones are filled with a precise mixture of sulfur, fire beetle glands, and powdered slime core. The black ones are filled with powdered flare crystals soaked in dragonfire fruit oil. Both work… most of the time. Try not to smell them, though. They might be slightly toxic.” Ginz said with a glint of madness in his eyes. “I have been leveling up like crazy.” He quickly added, seeing my worried expression.

I grabbed the bag of shells and tucked it inside my robe. I couldn’t wait to teach Elincia how to shoot. First, I had to reveal that I came from a world without magic, of course.

“Are the shells safe?” I asked, looking at Ginz’s scars.

“They didn’t destroy the second test barrel, so yeah, they are safe. The worst thing that can happen is the primer not working.” Ginz replied as he continued throwing things inside the stove. “Regarding the money you gave me. I spent almost all of it. Milking fire beetle glands don’t come cheap.”

The craftsman disappeared behind the door and returned a moment later with another stack of parchment. I raised my eyebrow. Ginz was acting strange, considering his usual fearful and indecisive demeanor.

“These idiots tried to steal my designs. As if I would let them!” Ginz continued fueling the stove with what I assumed were schematics and diagrams.

I wondered if I had turned Ginz into a mad scientist, although I didn’t get to voice my worries because Ginz continued with his tirade.

“Ilya’s birthday is soon. Look inside that drawer over there. I made a gift for her.” Ginz said.

I opened the drawer to find a diorama of a lumberjack doll made of cloth and copper sawing a log. I grabbed the wooden mount and put it over the table. It was well done, but I didn’t see how it was a good gift for a gnome. Then, I noticed a brass mechanism hidden inside the wood. There was a copper-plated with a waxed wick in the middle.

“Light the wick,” Ginz said.

I hesitated, worried I would burn the whole diorama. It took a moment to get started. Suddenly, the lumberjack moved by itself, rocking the little saw back and forth. My jaw dropped as I recognized the mechanism.

“A steam engine?!”

“Yes. I used the rest of the money to adapt one of Byrne’s machines to this. Then I caught my idiot roommates rummaging through my trunk for the schematics.” Ginz angrily grunted. “I paid a lot of silver for that padlock!”

I looked at the tiny lumberjack again.

“This is huge! We can’t let them have them.” I quickly replied. Ideas of rails and locomotives, steam pumps, sawmills, and hammers raced across my mind. If we could build a working prototype, the noble houses would fight to fund the projects. Ginz will become famous, and I’ll get a powerful patron for the orphanage.

“I know! That’s why I wanted you to come. I can’t escape without them stealing the lumberjack and reversing the process, but you are a great craftsman bully.” Ginz replied.

“I’m very sorry about that.” I pointed out, suddenly my cheeks burning.

“Don’t worry, I have leveled up seven times just by crafting your stuff. If anything, I’m grateful you came to intimidate me that day. I’d fight a fat Slime barehanded for you!” Ginz said, the glint of madness in his eyes even more patent now.

I hold my laugh, envisioning the thin craftsmen fighting a Multicore Slime.

Suddenly, an idea hit me. A great idea. Having a resident craftsman at the orphanage would be profitable for everyone. Ginz would have space to develop new machines far from prying eyes, and we would have an extra pair of hands to help with the kids. Not to mention someone who could fix the hundred broken things lying around in the shed.

“What about moving to the orphanage? We have plenty of space. You’ll have your room and a workshop of your own. I’m fairly sure I can convince Elincia if you don’t go around acting like an asshole.” I said.

Ginz stopped fueling the stove.

“What’s the deal?” He asked.

“Half of what you pay here for accommodations and food, and you’ll have to teach ten hours a week plus helping with the kids in your free time,” I said.

“In that case, stop idling and help me pack, dear landlord,” Ginz grinned as he shoved one last stack of parchment into the stove and started gathering his tools. “I’m going back home.”