The Factory

"Southern food really is something…"

Inaya stretched lazily, utterly content. Her face radiated bliss.

"You don't say. We spent half our money feeding you."

Edwin clicked his tongue.

They had found a small restaurant near the train station to settle lunch. For once, Inaya could eat something that resembled actual food, not the endless tins the Night Knights usually shared. With her small frame and surprisingly large appetite, she'd certainly left a vivid impression on Edwin.

After that, they hailed a taxi. It wasn't hard to find one near the station—plenty of regular cabs, and even more shady, unlicensed ones loitering for business. Passersby were either being picked up by friends and family, or heading toward public transport. After all, taxi fares weren't cheap. But with the Night Knights' monthly pay being fairly generous, such expenses were hardly worth fussing over.

"So cities in the South look like this? Huh. I thought it was all pitch-black buildings and smokestacks…"

As the taxi slowly pulled away from the station along a wide street, Inaya admired the grand, imposing architecture that flanked both sides.

"You were staying in Hekar's industrial district. Of course it's not the same as the city center."

Edwin glanced over. He knew Inaya hadn't spent much time in the South, let alone in any real urban setting. What Northern cities looked like under the Church's rule, Edwin had no idea—but he was sure they looked nothing like the rapidly industrializing Southern cities.

"Industrial district? What's that?"

Sure enough, Inaya had no concept of the term.

"Place with a bunch of factories."

"Factories? What's a factory?"

"Big building. They make lots of stuff. Like… mass production?"

Edwin was clearly struggling—his knowledge of industrial mechanics didn't go far past what any average citizen might know.

"So… a giant workshop?"

"Yeah, close enough."

Up front, Nordhausen listened to the two "illiterates" exchange definitions and sighed inwardly. He had no desire to step in as a teacher.

"Ooh! This must be an industrial district, right?!"

A short while later, the taxi reached Bratia's industrial zone. Inaya—now newly educated—excitedly pointed out the boxy buildings she assumed to be the famed "factories."

The cab twisted and turned through a maze of old brick buildings and looming warehouse walls before finally pulling up and stopping.

"Here it is, sir. The factory you asked for."

Through the window, they saw the driver pointing toward a red-brick wall, where a small iron gate stood. Above it, rusted metal sheets had been bolted together to form the name: "Yadari Glassworks."

"This it?"

Nordhausen looked back at Arcia. She gave a silent nod.

After paying the fare, the group stepped out and stood at the gate.

Arcia stared at the rusty lettering and the familiar outline of the buildings beyond. Her expression seemed slightly distant. The others had no idea why she wanted to come here—but they didn't press. They simply waited, silently, for her next move.

Eventually, Arcia lowered her gaze, eyes fixed forward, and began to walk.

The gate wasn't locked. She gave it a gentle push, and it creaked open. Inside, several workers were busy hauling packed crates of finished glass onto an open yard.

It was delivery day, and with no truck in sight yet, the workers were getting everything ready outside. The moment they heard the gate creak open, they thought the customer had arrived—only to see three fully armed soldiers in uniform step through, followed by a strange girl in a skirt.

Normally, soldiers on leave weren't allowed to carry weapons, except for higher-ranking officers—and even they were limited to sidearms. But Night Knights were different; they were the Empire's pride, and were granted the privilege of going armed, even in the rear.

That privilege came with a heavy aura, though—one that made the workers freeze. The cab driver earlier had done the same.

"Excuse me… are you here to see someone?"

At last, one worker mustered the courage to approach, wiping sweat from his forehead with a sleeve. He spoke carefully.

"Vichy."

Arcia said the name, cold and flat.

"Vichy… Niganova?"

The worker seemed startled. He added the surname to confirm.

"Yes."

Her tone didn't change.

But the worker's response came just as quickly:

"He's not here."

"Not here?"

"Probably not news to you, but… the former factory manager—Vichy—got on Black Swan's bad side. They had him removed."

Black Swan was one of Bratia's criminal syndicates, controlling various local businesses—Yadari Glassworks among them.

"Where is he now?"

Arcia pressed.

"No clue, but… I can take you to the new manager. He's one of theirs. He might know."

The worker looked visibly nervous as he awaited her answer.

There was something different in the air around people who had killed. He could feel it. And these soldiers gave off a pressure stronger than any gangster he'd ever met—especially the young girl standing silently in front.

Finally, Arcia nodded. The worker exhaled in relief. At least now the problem was being passed to someone else.

Inside the factory, a massive furnace dominated the central space, taking up nearly a third of the room. Its muffled rumble never stopped, a constant backdrop from morning till night. The workers had long gotten used to it, just like the rhythmic clanging of molds in the adjoining section.

To Arcia, it was all familiar.

No matter how much time had passed, or how different the people and equipment were now, this stifling heat, the constant roar—it all dragged old memories to the surface. Not exactly fond ones.

The worker led them along the edge of the factory floor and up a flight of metal stairs built from basic scaffolding and sheet panels. They reached the second-floor office.

Their luck wasn't too bad today. The manager—Anton Semyonov—was actually in.

"Come in."

The worker knocked timidly. A firm male voice answered.

The door opened, and the four stepped in, halting in front of the desk. The worker, having completed his role, quickly shut the door and retreated.

"You need someth—"

Anton hadn't even looked up yet. He was still squinting at a materials pricing chart through a magnifying glass. His tone was that of someone far too self-important to be interrupted.

But when he finally glanced up and saw the people standing before him, the smug mask instantly cracked. He sat back down with a thud, face twitching through a range of emotions—shock, confusion, and plain panic.

"My apologies, sirs—so sorry I didn't greet you properly! Please, please have a seat…"

Of course Anton recognized them. Night Knights. The living weapons of the Empire.

What he couldn't grasp was why such figures had walked into his dingy little factory.

Panicking, he scrambled to pull out chairs, even giving up his own for them.

"Do you know where Vichy Niganova is?"

Arcia's tone didn't shift in the slightest. Edwin and Nordhausen didn't budge either.

Inaya, however, saw the comfy-looking chair Anton had abandoned—and promptly plopped down into it.

"Vichy?"

Anton relaxed slightly. At least the question was direct.

"He got on Satorodino's nerves and ended up getting reassigned to watch over a site on Willow Lane. I saw him there just recently."

The moment he realized they weren't here for him, Anton laid everything out without hesitation.

After all, Night Knights weren't just soldiers—they were the Emperor's hounds. Not even Black Swan's boss, Satorodino, dealt with that kind of power. Anton wasn't about to play tough. Vichy? Good luck to him.

Once she got her answer, Arcia didn't waste a second. She turned on her heel and walked out.

Nordhausen shot Anton a final glance before following.

Edwin, as he left, made sure to add a little threat:

"If you're lying to us, you'll wish you hadn't."

"I swear, I told you everything I know!"

Anton was practically shaking. He wouldn't have hesitated even if they'd asked for his boss's address.

Lastly, Inaya rose—reluctantly—from the very comfy chair and trailed after the others, the last to leave the office.

"Whew…"

Anton let out a long breath, wiped his sweaty brow, and pulled his chair back into place to return to his price chart.