6 Extortion

Oliver had no idea why he found himself here.

To him, a battered, emaciated orphan who had only just managed to walk into London on his own two legs last night, it was utterly bewildering that today he had inexplicably become involved in this grand enterprise.

Yesterday, after exchanging a few words with a clever stranger boy and being introduced to the Jewish old man Fagin, who settled him in London, Oliver felt as if he had somehow stumbled into a strange place.

When he woke up this morning and heard Fagin murmuring to the glittering jewelry, his fear deepened.

But before he could be afraid for long, Fagin’s friends arrived.

A man named Sikes brought another man called Jack, and together they drank and chatted, speaking of the old factory left by old Mr. Bates. The factory had been idle, and recently someone had been inquiring about its condition—perhaps the heir was coming to clean up the mess.

This was a prime opportunity to make some money. Land was always valuable, and gentlemen were not stingy about paying to have squatters removed, showcasing their generosity.

This was quite different from the business involving the gallows; the origins were more legitimate.

Upon hearing this, Fagin decided to seize the chance to make a quick profit.

Coincidentally, Jack only had one man under him, Old Tom, and needed a helper. So Fagin sent Oliver, a small, skinny boy who couldn’t do much but could help observe the situation and add to the appearance of strength, maybe even garner some sympathy.

Fagin told Oliver there was a task for him and gave him the nickname "Rat."

Thus, Oliver, confused and muddled, found himself with the other two, crouching in a corner of the factory, peering through a hole at a horse-drawn carriage approaching.

Yet Oliver felt that the man named Jack might also be from the countryside, but unlike the gentlemen he had seen before, this stranger was different.

He spoke plainly, without drawn-out tones or false gravity, and when he looked at people, it was not from a place of superiority but with simple, restrained appraisal.

Just now, the young man spoke.

“So,” he asked, “are you trying to extort me?”

Of course, anyone who wasn’t blind could tell that Jack’s words were nonsense.

The hole in the ceiling was clearly visible; thick dust, enough to bury Oliver, covered every surface; copper corrosion crawled over the skeletal remains of machinery—all evidence that the factory had been utterly neglected.

But Oliver, having been chastised by the coffin shop owner before, knew well that telling this truth would bring no justice or apologies, only unending abuse.

“Don’t be so rude, young Mr. Bates,” Jack said, feigning ease as he waved his hand. “It’s just some money. Would that really ruin our friendship?”

But contrary to his words, Jack and Old Tom were steadily closing in.

Oliver stood rooted, mouth agape, heart pounding wildly, desperate to warn this poor stranger to run immediately!

But before his words could escape, the stranger reached back to his backpack.

“Oh,” the stranger said casually, “then so be it.”

Oliver clearly saw the man draw from his backpack a huge, gleaming golden longsword.

*

The moment Alina’s fingers gripped the sword’s hilt tightly, Jack’s eyes widened in shock, as if seeing a wild dog walking on two legs for the first time.

He clearly hadn’t expected a naive, unworldly country bumpkin to come fully armed like a shipyard brawler, and to have the courage to strike first.

But there was no time to hesitate.

Tom charged first, tearing open his coat to draw a knife, cursing as he swung forward.

But when the sword struck the first time, Tom’s knife was knocked away clattering to the floor, his wrist bent unnaturally.

He howled, staggering back, “My—boss…ah, my hand!”

Next, Alina somehow pulled out a wooden stick and struck Tom’s ribs hard as he continued to scream.

He collapsed to the ground, falling among the broken machinery, leaving only faint moans.

“You damn crazy fool country bumpkin!” Jack shouted, finally snapping out of his shock.

He rushed forward, grabbing a rusty iron pipe from the ruins of the machines, swinging it wildly like a club.

Alina easily dodged left and right, seizing an opening to strike hard with the wooden stick.

The stick shattered against Jack’s kneecap, but by the principle of action and reaction, Jack’s leg also fractured with a crisp crack.

Jack roared and fell, cursing as he clutched his leg, as if it might fall off.

Damn, how could this country bumpkin be so ruthless?

What on earth did he do back home? Had he inherited some fortune and was in the same line of work?

The fight was over in less than ten minutes.

Now, the two men lay on the floor, writhing in pain; only Alina and the silent child remained standing in the factory.

Alina watched warily, cautious that the friendly-looking boy with the green name might suddenly reveal himself as the leader of the enemy after witnessing his companions beaten.

But from start to finish, the boy, about ten years old, stood still, glowing faintly green, seemingly stunned by the brawl.

Alina returned the sword to its storage, tossed a broken wooden piece she had pried off the machines aside with a thud, but the boy still showed no reaction.

Only when Alina stepped forward and pushed back the hat shading his face did the child start to stir, staggering backward as if waking from a dream.

Looking closer, Alina realized the boy was probably even younger than she had first thought. He was scrawny, dressed in loose ill-fitting clothes that made him appear more mature than his years.

When her warm fingertips touched his forehead, Oliver shuddered, fearful that this gentleman might slap him or worse.

But the hand merely brushed his hair aside, studied him for a moment, then gently adjusted his hat and patted the dust from his clothes.

“Not bad looking,” Alina said. “How old are you?”

“Nine years old, sir,” Oliver replied timidly. “I only arrived in London yesterday. Before that, I was in the countryside—I swear, on my life. Mr. Fagin said this was just a little basic lookout work, the most honest kind…”

Behind him, the two fallen men groaned, tangled among the broken wood.

Oliver shivered again, swallowing hard. “I didn’t steal anything from you, sir, really.”

Alina couldn’t help but pinch the boy’s cheek.

“All right, I understand,” she said, turning to the other two. She crouched and grabbed Jack by the hair, forcing him to look up. “Do you like this compensation? Is it generous enough?”

Her words provoked a fierce response from Jack.

He spat a string of curses, but when Alina made a show of grabbing a steel pipe beside her, and recalling the beating he had just taken, his words vanished like smoke at the speed of light.

After a long grunt, Jack finally asked, “What are you going to do with us?”

The police? He knew this was a minor matter—not worth the gallows, at worst a few days in jail.

Alina fully understood that the moment she enjoyed most had arrived.

“You wrecked my factory like this,” she said sternly. “No compensation?”

She gestured wildly around. “All of it! You destroyed it!”

In this unsurprising extortion, Jack and Tom finally handed over all the valuables they had on them as compensation, then fled awkwardly, dragging Oliver with them from the corner.

Alina stepped out of the factory and immediately saw Lawyer Green standing at the door, holding his breath, glancing anxiously behind her as if expecting a gang of thugs to appear.

Indeed, she couldn’t count on most escort NPCs and had to handle things herself.

She stood contentedly before Lawyer Green, waiting for her reward.

They stared at each other silently.

After a moment, misunderstanding her intention, Lawyer Green couldn’t hold back.

“What’s the matter, young Mr. Bates?” he asked.

“I thought you would approve of what I did?” Alina hinted obliquely. “You’re a loyal friend to my grandfather, and to me as well, aren’t you?”

Lawyer Green finally relaxed.

As expected, he blamed himself for not explaining things clearly and for not stepping in to help earlier.

“Loyalty, young Mr. Bates,” he joked reflexively, “is best used to describe dogs and… monarchs.”

Returning to the topic of the factory, Lawyer Green cleared his throat nervously, pushing up his glasses with a hint of shame.

“…Well, I admit I heard some rumors,” he said dryly, “but considering the nature of East End properties, I thought it reasonable for you to carefully assess the situation yourself first.”

After a pause, he glanced at Alina and added, “And, my dear young lady, I am not a policeman, but an old-fashioned lawyer. Had I known you were good at handling things this way… I might have given different advice.”

Alina: Got it. No reward.

She sighed and locked the factory door. “Shall we head back?”

Judging by their skill and willingness to involve a child who might be a hindrance, this wasn’t their first time doing such things.

Organized, premeditated, forming a criminal group… If only she could find their headquarters and take them down, that would be a big payday!

Then, with that money, repairing the factory would be a breeze.