...

Shortly after the Camp took over Part of the Island

The scent of stale ale and smoke hung heavy in the air in a dimly lit corner of the Rambling Raven Bar. Lively chatter and the clinking of glasses created a cacophony that drowned out any semblance of quiet. Amidst the merriment, a young woman and a young man sat laughing and drinking, their spirits high.

"Dammit! I'm finally free—" Ocilia exclaimed, taking a giant gulp and slamming the cheap wooden cup onto the battered table. The liquid sloshed over the rim, spilling onto the stained wood, "—Ugh! This is disgusting, but I love it!"

Aurum chuckled beside her, his black hair disheveled and face flushed from the array of empty cups scattered before them, "Oh man, at last, I have time to look for a girl—" He leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "—Say, do you know any unmarried girls?"

Ocilia's eyes, slightly unfocused, regarded him with amusement. Her dark hair framed her face, her upper spider eyes all in a different color, "Wow, you're really bold, huh?"

Aurum looked puzzled, a lopsided grin on his face, "Huh? What do you mean?"

She smirked, her lips curling playfully, "Bold of you to assume I even have friends, hahaha!"

Caught off guard, Aurum burst into laughter, his joy infectious, "Hehe, now that you mention it, I don't know anybody either!"

Ocilia raised her cup, the dim light glinting off the metallic artifact around her wrist, "Cheers to being friendless losers!"

Aurum lifted his own in response, their cups clinking with a hollow sound, "Cheers!"

As they downed their drinks, Otto observed the scene from a distance, his neatly pressed suit a stark contrast to the rough attire of the bar's patrons. He suppressed a frown, adjusting his tie. His task was to introduce himself to his future colleagues and assess whether he was still interested in joining them—a peculiar method to ensure someone was fit for a position.

However, while those youths looked inconspicuous, Otto saw through them, having analyzed them thoroughly. Ocilia's aura was akin to that of a veteran soldier from a Marquise, full of pride and unquestionable power, 'Extraordinary.'

But she wasn't the only one with unimaginable talent. Aurum, a simple swan kin, the son of a Lady's retainer, always knew what to say and how to act, manipulating their conversation to continue indefinitely, maintaining the mood as if it was a puppet, 'Definitely one of a kind.'

Looking around, everyone knew them and regarded them with respect and admiration—nobody would even dare inconvenience them in any way.

This little observation caused Otto's greed to flare up. He wanted respect, admiration, and prestige—a status he deserved—so he decided to become Alexander's retainer.

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he weaved his way through the crowded room, the floorboards creaking beneath his polished boots. Approaching their table, he offered a polite smile, "Hello. My name is Otto, and I'll be your new colleague."

Ocilia glanced up at him, her gaze sharp despite the haze of alcohol. She exchanged a glance with Aurum, a silent conversation passing between them, "If you're a gay, how about him?" she said, jerking her thumb toward Otto.

Aurum, clearly drunk, chuckled, nearly spilling his drink, "A gay? Haha! Are you a lesbian? Pfff!"

Ocilia, no better off, started giggling uncontrollably, her laughter ringing out above the noise of the bar, "Why not? Haha!"

Otto's frown became more pronounced, but he maintained his composure, "Mr. Alexander sent me to introduce myself and ask you about the work—" He straightened up, smoothing his vest with a practiced hand, "—I'll be the new archivist!"

The nearby conversations hushed for a moment, and several patrons glanced their way. The mention of Alexander commanded attention. His name carried weight—a figure of respect and unimaginable admiration.

However, Ocilia merely smirked, "Shut up—" She extended her hand, fingers splayed, then clenched into a fist, "—and sit down."

Before Otto could react, an unseen force pulled at him. His body moved independently, and a chair slid beneath him as if guided by an invisible hand. He found himself seated at their table, eyes wide with surprise.

"How did you—" he began, but the words caught in his throat, unknown as he didn't sense or see anything—no energy was used.

Ocilia leaned back, a satisfied grin on her face, "Drink up, buddy—" she pushed a full cup of the bar's questionable brew toward him, "Do you really want to be a retainer?"

Eager to make a good impression despite his confusion, Otto lifted the cup and took a cautious sip. Instantly, he regretted it. The cheap alcohol burned like fire, and he couldn't suppress a grimace, "Argh! Why do you drink this? I thought you were well-paid!"

Aurum laughed heartily, his eyes gleaming with delight, "I get ten large gold coins per month—"

Ocilia shrugged, indifferent, "I don't keep track, but I think it's around eight. Most of it's in the bank, though. I don't need it."

Such sums surprised Otto. A baron with a humble fief and limited income might earn five to ten large gold coins every three months, "So, what are you doing here, then?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Aurum gestured toward Ocilia, "She said they had something so strong it knocks out all the [Poison Resistance]. Thought I'd give it a try."

Otto raised an eyebrow, "Why do you even have that skill?"

It wasn't unusual for high-ranking nobles to acquire it due to constant threats, but beyond that, no one in their right mind would poison themselves just to gain some [Experience]. There were far easier ways to increase their levels.

Ocilia gestured dismissively, "We have a manual in the library that shows you step by step what to eat and drink to gradually get the standard skill up to level 50. I tried it—a couple of weeks of stomachaches and diarrhea, but I got there."

Aurum nodded enthusiastically, "Yeah, there are manuals for every damn skill. If you're bored, just look through them. But I wouldn't recommend [Curse Resistance]—ugh."

Ocilia grimaced at the memory, "Yeah, that was some nasty stuff."

As Otto listened, he couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and disbelief. The perks of being a retainer sounded like something out of a fable. The rumors weren't lies, after all. Alexander always seemed to find ways for his people to acquire the same skills he possessed, albeit to a lesser degree. It made sense since increasing specific skills to a high level required costly resources or a good amount of [Luck].

Yet, Alexander wasn't famous for giving information about those general skills, but because he freely distributed mana skills. Otto knew many who wanted to join him precisely because of that reason, imagining that they could flee the fate of their [Divinity Line] and become a great mage or alchemist.

Nevertheless, providing skills was one thing; using them was another. Otto spoke with some of the servants while they were delivering food to Alexander, and most, while initially fascinated, regarded spells not as something grand. They were seen as practical tools to simplify their lives by quickly cleaning them, igniting a fire, or conjuring a snack.

Guards and warriors used mana as an additional [Energy] source. Some tried to incorporate spells into their attacks, while one or two were still figuring out how to make them work.

Otto wasn't delusional about becoming the second Merlin. He had no interest in mana skills or manuals, as those were not his primary goal, though they were a nice bonus. He was happy with his specialization and saw no need to learn how to cast a fireball.

The longer he sat and listened to them discuss skills—primarily practical for the Crown or higher nobility—the more he wanted to steer the conversation back to the matter he had come here for, hoping to use the chance to learn more about what it meant to be a retainer for Alexander.

"What nice perks, but I'd like to discuss the work. Mr. Alexander mentioned that I might not like it—" his tone a little firmer, attempting to regain control of the discussion.

Ocilia shrugged, taking another sip from her cup, "It's a lot, but only in bursts."

Aurum nodded, leaning forward, "Somewhat, but since you'll be the archivist, you'll have a massive workload. If you need more people, just ask and get them. Master allows it every time."

Otto nodded cautiously. While he understood that Mr. Alexander had many projects, he had a different goal—to become the estate's archivist.

"So, the work is just that? I have periods of intense stress while other times it's calm?" he asked, seeking clarification.

They both looked at him before bursting into laughter.

"Haha! Easy? Calm? Stress?" Aurum shook his head, his expression of disbelief, "For the last few weeks, we've barely slept. I live in the damn hotel because I don't have time to go back home! Right now, I need to figure out how to get the charity operating more efficiently in the south, north, and west of Moorgrel—" He smirked at Otto, "—So you know, we don't stop once something is finished; we keep going."

Ocilia sighed, a hint of weariness in her eyes, "This isn't a position for coin, skills, or some nonsense, but for ideals—" She met his gaze, her voice firm, "—We do the right thing and help others, bringing this shitty city prosperity and happiness. If you want coin, become a worker, but to be a retainer, you need to share the same ideals, or you'll get cut off and placed in another position."

Aurum's voice softened, filled with conviction, "You don't get it because you're a noble, but Master dearly wants to help every poor soul out here—" He gestured around the bar, encompassing the rough patrons and shabby surroundings, "—Do you think he couldn't just focus on himself and train? We have a greater goal!"

Otto swallowed, choosing his words carefully, "I understand that is Mr. Alexander's goal, but do you think similarly? What is your goal?"

Aurum smiled genuinely, "Mine is helping the poor, of course."

Ocilia agreed, nodding proudly, "At first, I hated the idea, but after seeing how it really changed their lives, I started to like that too."

"This is also Mr. Alexander's main goal? Help the poor?" Otto probed, curiosity piqued.

Aurum shrugged lightly, "Who knows exactly? Master's goal is something like pushing us forward—more prosperity, better quality of life, and more opportunities."

Otto was puzzled, "That's it?"

Ocilia arched an eyebrow, "That's it? Do you understand that those goals are indefinite? They're never-ending. You'll always look for better ways to improve without a break. That's it, you moron—" she looked angry, but still had a smile on her lips.

Otto had never cared much about ideological pursuits; practical matters always took precedence in his life. But apparently, such ideals were crucial to these youths. He was fine with it as long as their enthusiasm didn't cross into extremism.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Yet he remained skeptical, suspecting that Aurum and Ocilia might be exceptions rather than the norm among Alexander's retainers. They were young and full of vigor, undeniably more radical than pragmatic—a quality often tempered by age and experience.

Also, being natives of Wolfsteeth and clearly attached to its people, perhaps they were more idealistically driven to improve the city because of that personal connection. Their passion was palpable, and while admirable, it made Otto question whether others shared their motivations in Alexander's circle.

But he sensed that Aurum and Ocilia had somewhat different motivations, which only deepened his curiosity about the young noble's true intentions. Was Alexander genuinely committed to these lofty ideals, or was there another agenda at play?

'Actually, his idea of me speaking with his other retainers first makes much more sense now—' Otto mused, '—By talking to his people, I can gain a better understanding of Alexander, learn about their perspectives, and perhaps deduce his real intent. There's no need to form an opinion just yet; it's best to withhold judgment until I've met everyone else...'

While Otto didn't think there was a need to dig too deeply—assuming that Alexander was simply philanthropically inclined—he still preferred to see the whole picture if given the chance. After all, aligning himself with a noble whose true motives were unclear could have unforeseen consequences.

"I see—" He raised his cup, deciding to play along for now, "—To Mr. Alexander!"

Suddenly, the entire bar erupted in cheers, catching him off guard.

"To the damn saint!"

"Yeah, let the archmage puppy build a mage tower! Buhahaha!"

"To Leonandra's man! What a great hatchling!"

"Buhahaha! Let's show that scum like us is worth the Paw!"

"Hear, hear!"

Otto looked around, astonished. The esteem these people had for Alexander was palpable, something he wished to be a part of.

...

The Next Day

Otto stood before the grand entrance of the Helping Paw headquarters, momentarily awed by its sheer size. The building loomed over the bustling streets of Wolfsteeth, still expanding as it bought out neighboring properties to accommodate its ever-growing workforce. The facade was a mix of new stone and hastily erected scaffolding, trying to satisfy its rapid growth.

'How wealthy is he?' Otto mused, adjusting his copper-colored necktie, making it more perceptible. He had always known that Alexander possessed significant wealth, but this was on the level of a Viscount specializing in trade. Such operations were costly, which made him even more eager for the archivist position.

Outside, he saw people from all different walks of life walking in and out, proudly wearing small pins shaped like paws inside hearts that symbolized their affiliation—mainly used as a security measure.

When they ventured into the more dangerous parts of Wolfsteeth, no one dared touch them, knowing they would be hunted down. Those who tried to steal were put a hit on them and pursued relentlessly. Now, many thieves would go straight to the Copper House and admit their faults—it was better than facing the consequences.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the heavy oak doors and stepped inside. The interior was a hive of activity. Workers bustled about, papers in hand, while messenger birds and other avian creatures darted overhead, delivering messages and small packages. The air was filled with discussions, fights, and the distant hammering from the ongoing construction.

'Right, that's a trend, too, now—' he watched as a small hawk swooped down to a clerk, who took something out of the pouch the bird had hanging around its neck, pulling out some food, and continued his day while eating it—a sandwich.

They had devised a new method of using delivery animals to bring food and supplies, especially since the headquarters lacked space for a proper restaurant. Alexander would cover any expenses up to a point, and because of this, many restaurants and kitchens opened up nearby, flooding the Southern District.

The headquarters looked barely finished, but that was to be expected. They had already expanded for the fourth time, and as soon as craftsmen were free, they were immediately hired to work here.

Cooks, artisans, tailors, scribes, accountants—anyone with useful skills was immediately hired and put to work. Otto understood the impact; prices for goods and services had soared, making it difficult to find anything. It had become such a mess that even people outside the city were coming here, looking to make good coin with their skills, hearing about such an opportunity.

This, in turn, meant that Wolfsteeth needed to expand again, ready to accommodate even more people. It was astounding how much Alexander stirred up the city and changed the landscape in such a short amount of time.

He approached the reception desk, where a young raccoon-kin woman was buried in paperwork, her quill scratching furiously across a document. She had short, chestnut hair and wore simple spectacles with simple glass inside that framed sharp, green eyes. She didn't acknowledge him as he stood there, so he cleared his throat softly.

"Excuse me—" he tried to get her attention.

"Wait—" she said curtly, not looking up.

He frowned, coughing louder this time, "Excuse me—" he repeated, hoping to garner her attention.

She finally glanced up, a smirk forming on her lips, "A judge? Who cares? We get plenty of you around here—" She returned to her work, leaving Otto slightly embarrassed.

He reached into his pouch and produced the Leonandra sigil Alexander had given him, holding it up for her to see. Her eyes widened slightly, and she looked at him more intently.

"A sigil? What do you want? And just so you know, we won't take any bribes, make deals, or anything shady just because you got your hands on that."

"Bribes? Deals?" Otto was taken aback.

She nodded, her gaze scrutinizing, "Yeah, we get people who like to flaunt their connections—" She suddenly smirked, "—But if you try something, Ariana or Aurum will make you regret it. So think carefully about what you need."

Otto felt a mix of confusion and understanding. Many people were probably trying to become partners or gain favor through bribery, which was an unfortunate reality in his line of work—but this wasn't the time to delve into that, "I came to visit Ariana, actually."

The receptionist rolled her eyes, "Third floor, room 308. Good luck; she's in a bad mood."

"Thank you—" he said, nodding politely before making his way to the stairs.

As he climbed, the sounds of construction grew louder. Artisans were hard at work, hammering and sawing, the smell of fresh wood and sawdust permeating the air. The building was a labyrinth of half-finished hallways and temporary partitions, forcing him even to walk on boards that, if slipped up, one would fall, regretting their clumsiness.

Arriving at the third floor, he navigated through the maze until he found door 308. A simple piece of paper was glued to it, bearing the words Ariana scrawled hastily.

Seeing that name, he didn't forget that he also needed to understand Alexander's motivations. Yesterday, he met Aurum and Ocilia—Alexander's first retainers. But today, Otto was to meet someone who had joined much later, someone from central Mal-Gil like himself. Perhaps she would offer another perspective.

He knocked a couple of times, and a voice immediately called out, "Come in! Damn it! Can't you read?"

Glancing back at the sign, he realized he had missed the writing in small letters further down: Just Come In. He became a little embarrassed but still pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The office was a study in contrast to what he saw at the entrance hall. One side was chaotic—plates stacked haphazardly, half-filled glasses, and crumpled papers strewn about. The other side was meticulously clean, with neatly organized stacks of documents and a well-maintained workspace.

Behind the desk sat a tanned lizard-kin woman in a casual suit, a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves revealing toned arms covered in patches of shimmering emerald and ruby scales. Her pinkish-red eyes fixed on him with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.

"What?" she asked bluntly, tapping her fingers impatiently on the desk.

Otto took a step forward, clearing his throat, "Ahem! My name is Otto M. Melodias, and I—"

She cut him off abruptly, "Melodias? Like the failed knighthood under that loser Viscount?"

He flinched but tried to maintain his composure, "I see. You're also from central Mal-Gil?" He knew this but decided to act surprised.

She leaned back in her chair, studying him, "Ariana Leonandra. And I'm a commoner, so no worries—" She rubbed her chin thoughtfully, "—Copper-colored necktie with stripes... That means you're from the Copper Courthouse. Since Lia mentioned you yesterday, you're probably running around trying to talk to all of Mr. Alexander's retainers?"

Otto tilted his head slightly, "Does Mr. Alexander do this often?"

Ariana nodded, her expression indifferent, "I was the first, and be thankful. Some decided to take normal positions after introducing themselves—" Her eyes hardened, "—Well, whatever. I'm his retainer for education, charity, or whatever he feels like."

Otto offered a polite smile, "Nice to meet you. I'm a judge and hopefully soon to be the archivist."

Ariana shook her head firmly, "Don't."

"Excuse me?" He blinked, taken aback by her bluntness.

"You think it's great to work for Mr. Alexander, but look at this—" She gestured, and several pieces of paper wobbled into the air, floating toward her and stacking haphazardly on the desk. It was a crude display of alchemy, far less sophisticated than what Otto had seen from Alexander. She seemed to be concentrating heavily, a slight furrow in her brow.

After a moment, a sizable stack of at least 150 pages lay before her. She looked back at him, annoyance evident, "Guess."

"Guess what?"

"Guess when I did this work."

He hesitated. Alexander had a reputation for being demanding, so he made a conservative estimate, "Over the last month?"

She scoffed a hint of arrogance in her expression, "Yesterday. And this is only the proposal for the schools in the Western District—" She floated a single piece of paper toward him, "—I only learned how to manipulate ink contraptions so I could write many times faster. Otherwise, it would be impossible."

"I see... But don't you have access to hundreds of workers?" Otto asked, perplexed.

She chuckled dryly, "Do I?—" He caught the paper she had sent his way and glanced at it, "—Do you think just anyone can handle this?"

Otto became slightly confused, only seeing complex tables and lists. It was filled with itemized equipment, quantities, costs, and specifications.

"What does it mean?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"It's the equipment list for the first school we're about to open. I must find suppliers for all these items and ensure each school has similar furniture and equipment."

"Why is that important?"

"Because people like good-looking things and think it has more prestige if their table is made of mahogany rather than walnut, that's why—" She shrugged, "—Right now, everything is chaotic. We need people who can identify furniture, artisans to craft them, educators who understand how hatchlings behave and what they need, and negotiators to bargain for the best prices."

Otto raised a hand to stop her, "I get it. You need a variety of people and workshops capable of mass-producing furniture and supplies."

She nodded, "Exactly. I didn't just say to complain but as a warning. As the archivist, your job won't just be overseeing trivial matters like contracts. You'll advise others, ensure everything is properly documented, and likely manage a team of around fifty people initially."

Otto frowned, "Wouldn't I just handle Mr. Alexander's private matters?"

Ariana arched an eyebrow, "Why the fuck would we need you then?"

He blinked, his confidence wavering, "I thought—"

"You thought wrong—" she cut him off, "—Mr. Alexander trusts you, apparently, and this position comes with a lot of power and prestige—but just as much responsibility."

She leaned forward, her gaze piercing, "While I respect Noriken, he only manages what's already built, tweaking it piece by piece. But we're creating something new and need creativity and boldness to make it work."

Otto frowned, immediately understanding what she wanted from him. He would basically try to find loopholes so they could act more straightforwardly, "You know that even the honorable Noriken doesn't focus on every field in law, but at most three or so. It's impossible to know all the laws in every field."

She shrugged, "I'm a scribe, but that doesn't matter right now. Everyone needs to do everything and learn new things in their field or another area altogether since we're growing insanely fast and doing something untried. We need all hands on deck, and that's why we get paid so well."

He interrupted, "I heard eight to ten large gold coins."

She smirked, "Oh no, that's just the wage. You also get all expenses paid for food and clothes, we'll help you find living space, and you get an education in anything you desire—" She looked proud, "—I have bonus checks lying around worth hundreds of gold coins—all useless, since what would I need them for? To buy a damn fief?"

Otto looked at her skeptically, seeing that she was apparently not here because of the gold, "So, do you do this for idealistic reasons?"

Ariana tapped her cheek thoughtfully and shrugged, "Yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

"It's simple. Imagine getting everything you want, plus you're helping and doing something that actually matters. Isn't that great?"

"I..." he began, unsure how to respond.

She cut him off again, "I get it. This isn't central Mal-Gil, and people here are a little crazy. But they appreciate nobility here, at least in our territory. They like us, and it's a great feeling to do something the subjects value and admire you for instead of working somewhere they would fear you while your Master or Mistress doesn't push you—making you bored and frustrated because of the fear if they change something, it would just become worse."

Otto frowned slightly. "Hm, I think I understand."

She shook her head, "You don't because you don't have everything you want yet. Once you're wealthy beyond reason and have power with the appropriate knowledge, you will crave prestige—not the kind where people fear or respect you but where they love you. Nothing is better than knowing the work I do actually helps and has meaning. Don't you think?"

He hesitated, feeling a knot in his stomach, "I suppose..."

She shrugged, "Listen, if you just want gold and some power, become a worker. We pay them well enough, especially those with great skills. But only become a retainer if you actually care because you'll get stripped of your position the moment you become lazy and uncaring if you want to enjoy being known as a retainer to Mr. Alexander."

Otto felt a flush of embarrassment mixed with frustration, "I..."

"Yeah, yeah—" she waved dismissively, "—Now get out and think about it before accepting the position."

He stood there for a moment, processing everything she had said. The weight of responsibility, the relentless pace, and the expectation of genuine commitment were a lot to take in. He nodded slowly, "Thank you for your time."

She didn't respond, already turning back to her work, but before that, all the papers slowly floated back to their proper place.

As he made his way back through the bustling headquarters, he couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions—ambition, doubt, curiosity—swirling within him. The scope of Alexander's projects was staggering, and the impact was undeniable.

He paused by a window overlooking the city. The streets below were alive with activity—people moving with purpose, buildings rising, and life-improving. Messenger birds darted between rooftops, and the distant hum of conversations floated up to him.

Perhaps there was more to this than prestige and gold. Perhaps, he thought, there was a chance to be part of something greater.

'Do I really want this?' he wondered. The question lingered as he descended the stairs and stepped back into the city streets, needing to talk to more people to understand their motivation.