Orphanage Sponsorship (1)

A space entirely white from floor to ceiling. Damp, eerie air filled the corridors. Walking slowly through it was Ariel, the vice-leader of Black Raven and a high elf.

With each step she took, the clank of iron chains echoed alongside leaking groans.

"Uwaaack! No, please... spare me! I don't know anything!"

"Hiiik! P-please, stop!"

Desperate screams bounced off the walls. Someone gripped the iron bars with all their might, shaking them furiously. Bloodcurdling wails battered Ariel's ears.

She paused impassively, gazing at the scene.

"Hic... no, no! Please spare me... please!"

A man's eyes trembled in terror. He reached toward Ariel beyond the bars, but men in white robes dragged him away.

"N-no! I was wrong! Just kill meee-!!"

Walter, who had accompanied Ariel, frowned at the sight.

"It's been quite some time since I last visited this place."

The place Ariel and Walter had come to in person was an underground prison. It was Mist, the organization that imprisoned and interrogated enemies or traitors opposing Black Raven.

Not only the prison but everyone belonging to it wore white robes, earning them the nickname "White Reapers."

It had been a long time for Walter, but not for Ariel. By the time she became vice-leader, the leader had already vanished.

Naturally, Black Raven's activities had dwindled, and Mist's operations had scaled back accordingly.

As they walked, Walter cautioned Ariel.

"Never show any weakness here. These folk thrive on fear."

"I shall take care, Sir Walter."

Ariel replied and continued onward. Soon, they reached the heart of Mist.

There, an elderly man in a white robe came out to greet them.

"Heh heh, what an honor for the vice-leader to grace our humble abode in person. I am Kazas, head of Mist."

The old man who introduced himself as Kazas bowed to Ariel and guided them through Mist.

"Had we known the vice-leader would visit, that one would have been delighted too, alas, they are lost in deep slumber now, heh heh."

Kazas led Ariel and Walter with a kindly smile. Their destination was the depths of Mist. The pristine white space had gradually turned gray.

After walking some distance, Kazas stopped. An iron-barred door appeared.

"The interrogation just wrapped up, as it happens. They dared to interfere with the leader's plans, you see?"

The ones Kazas had interrogated were the bandits Reaper had captured. They had raided the Golden Wing Merchant Company, which was on the list the leader had ordered secured.

The leader never issued orders without purpose. Securing that list was likely a foundation for some grand scheme.

Yet those petty bandits had disrupted it.

Anyone who interfered with the leader's plans warranted interrogation first.

"Now, please verify, Vice-Leader."

Kazas opened the barred door with a sinister grin.

Inside lay a gruesome sight.

The bandits captured by Mist were covered in wounds from head to toe, without a single intact spot. Their ragged clothes were stained with blood, and their sunken eyes stared vacantly, devoid of all hope.

Above all, their limbs were gone. Only torsos dangled from hooks like pendulums.

Kazas chuckled at the scene.

"Ah, no need for concern. We pulled all their nails before chopping off the limbs. Heh heh heh."

The suffering of others was Kazas's pleasure.

Ariel frowned involuntarily at the bandits' state.

"Next, I'll report what we learned from the interrogation. They received a commission to raid the Golden Wing Merchant Company. They claim not to know who commissioned it."

Given the state they were in after interrogation, it was hard to imagine the bandits lying. Their current condition made death seem merciful.

"A commission, hm..."

Ariel murmured at Kazas's words.

Perhaps a rival merchant plotting to eliminate Golden Wing? A reasonable inference.

Ariel was about to conclude and order it wrapped up.

But then she felt the leader's will.

As a high elf, Ariel could sense the leader's will with her enhanced abilities.

Yet this was not a command.

'This is the leader's sentiment.'

Ariel was startled after reading it.

'The leader is displeased with the current situation.'

Only then did she realize.

It was obvious upon reflection. The leader ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had ordered the securing of lists for nobles and merchants, yet one on the list had collapsed.

This meant a snag in the leader's major plan, and disappointment in Black Raven for failing to notice sooner.

Ariel clenched her fists.

'This is the leader's test...'

The leader already knew everything. He was simply observing if Black Raven functioned properly.

Ariel's eyes sharpened.

"Kazas. By the authority of the vice-leader, I command you."

Kazas stiffened at Ariel's sudden shift in demeanor. He had pegged her as a indecisive high elf, but the aura she exuded now was fierce.

"...Yes, give your orders, Vice-Leader."

Kazas wiped the smile from his face and bowed.

Ariel issued her command in a stern voice.

"Interrogate them from the beginning again. Thoroughly uncover who instigated them to disrupt the leader's plans. The High Council will guarantee all necessary authority and any incidents arising."

She greatly expanded Mist's authority. This was no trivial matter. On a larger scale, it implied a force threatening Black Raven.

Ariel turned away with cold eyes.

Behind her, the bandits' screams tore through the air in agony.

Only the silence of death reigned there.

Three days had passed since the Golden Wing Merchant Company was raided.

In that time, Bastel Hartwell's mood had swung between heaven and hell.

All his built business had vanished in an instant.

But one ray of hope had emerged. The mercenaries he sent to save face had returned with the company's goods.

He first thought they had succeeded, but the mercenary captain shook his head.

- This wasn't our doing. The goods were neatly placed at the company site.

They had heard the bandits looted everything, so why were the goods there? Still a mystery.

But Bastel didn't dwell on it. He had recovered the assets, enough to cover the losses.

Moreover, with Bastel's contracted mercenaries bringing back the goods, rumors spread among merchants.

- Golden Wing has solid backing. Tracking the bandits to the end and reclaiming the goods—impressive.

- The owner is Bastel, son of the Hartwell family, right?

Even tales of the company subduing the bandits themselves circulated.

Mere misunderstandings, but no need to correct them. Trust in Bastel had risen.

His mercenaries had also gained fame among merchants, reaping benefits.

"Yeah, I can start over."

Bastel smiled at the hope of rebuilding.

But the expression didn't last.

"Brother Bastel, you look pleased—something good happen?"

It was Ethan's arrival.

His half-brother, Ethan. From the second son's perspective, Ethan was just an illegitimate child of no note.

Yet Bastel couldn't ignore him.

"......"

Bastel tensed instinctively at Ethan's ordinary smile.

He recalled Ethan's words days ago about good news coming.

He had dismissed it as teasing, but now it felt off.

'Did he know this would happen?'

Even now, Ethan asked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠first if something good had occurred—as if he already knew Bastel's situation.

'No way...?'

The absurd thought that Ethan might be involved crossed Bastel's mind.

But he shook his head.

'Nah, I'm overthinking. No way he'd pull that off.'

Ethan was a newcomer bastard who had just arrived, raised like a commoner in a small village. What power could he have to orchestrate this?

Coincidence made sense.

Bastel responded quietly to Ethan's greeting.

"Oh, no. Nothing."

"Good to hear. The family's prestige rises when you thrive, brother."

They seemed like close brothers to an outsider.

But Bastel swallowed hard at his words. That sly smile—anyone could see he knew everything.

'Nah...?'

Bastel's mind was in turmoil.

I had ordered Black Raven to compensate the merchants and nobles who suffered losses from my mine investments.

"They do good work."

Bastel's expression confirmed it. Black Raven had executed my orders perfectly.

Otherwise, his gloomy face from days ago wouldn't have brightened so.

"Good start."

Even his initially hostile tone had softened.

Helping in tough times is brotherly love. I just needed to boost the family's status through him—no need for clashes.

'Time for the next phase.'

On my first day in the Hartwell family, I had demanded money from the count.

I got it via Edgar, but that was no one-off.

'Not enough yet.'

So I planned a buildup for ongoing allowances.

Passing Bastel, I headed straight to the count's study and boldly stated my request.

"......!"

My father, Benedict Hartwell the Count, and even Edgar beside him gaped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in shock.

"S-so, young master, you wish to volunteer at the orphanage yourself...?"

Edgar's voice trembled with disbelief.

It was understandable.

For this operation, I had grilled Cloy on details to build knowledge.

According to her, nobles "volunteered" by donating money to orphanages.

But I wasn't stopping at cash. To show sincerity, I'd visit personally and volunteer hands-on.

This was my image-changer game-changer.

For the count: not just a money-grubbing son, but one who acted.

For the household staff including head butler Edgar: make me approachable and likable.

These small differences would snowball massively.

To the pondering count, I drove in the wedge.

"They might become fine talents someday—this little effort is nothing. And who knows, there might be a particularly gifted child there."

Above all, my influence in the family was paper-thin. Cloy the maid was staff, not truly mine. With only Emilia as an ally, I needed to scout talent myself.

Even if no gems at the orphanage, my reputation would rise—win-win.

Luckily, my persuasion worked.

"Splendid! You're right, Ethan."

The count praised me excessively.

"I'll have a letter drafted conveying your will. Edgar."

"Yes, my lord."

"You've heard Ethan. Send word of the upcoming visit."

"Understood."

My proposal was approved.

'Right on plan.'

I had no noble face anyway. Earth preached equality, and I'd slaved in underground mines here long enough.

For my plans, I'd do anything.

"Thank you, Father!"

Slipping in "Father" casually, yet Benedict just smiled past it.

The Hartwell count's territory had one orphanage.

Unless directly managed by the Holy Kingdom, most survived on noble sponsorships.

The one in Hartwell territory was no different.

"Director, someone from the count's family visited. The count's son will come volunteer soon."

A young woman spoke to the orphanage director.

The director pushed up ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her glasses at the news.

"The count's son volunteering?"

She echoed the unexpected tale.

Nobles donated money, never volunteered personally.

The eldest son was at the imperial academy, the second busy with business—who else?

"Yes, and they sent this letter."

The director unfolded it.

The content was simple: a desire to personally check on the budding saplings and sponsor them.

"Ethan Hartwell..."

The director murmured, scanning the letter with wrinkled hands.

Come to think of it, she'd heard vaguely: a bastard had recently joined the count's family.

The young woman bowed her head.

"What shall we do, Director?"