June 25th, Night — Lucien Lower City
The night was as thick and dense as ink, soaking every corner of Lucien Lower City.
The air was a mix of salty mist drifting from the river, the sour stench of rotting garbage, and the cheap alcohol scent spilling from low-end taverns, forming a unique and unsettling atmosphere of the lower class.
Allen de Laval led his carefully selected squad silently through the maze-like narrow, dilapidated alleys.
Tonight was the practical lesson for the Dawn’s Children, with him personally acting as the instructor.
Following him were Marianne, Finn, and two exceptionally promising Sparks from the upcoming year—codenamed Shadow and Nightingale.
Their destination was an abandoned attic located at the border between the Old City and the Dock District.
The vantage point was perfect, facing directly the night’s observation target—a massive, ancient, seemingly busy yet chaotic stone-and-wood building: the Forgotten Madonna Inn and Warehouse.
On the surface, it was an ordinary inn combined with a warehouse; in reality, it was a malignant tumor rooted in the heart of the Capital—a source of sin and the headquarters of the Thieves’ Guild.
The attic was covered in dust, the windows nailed shut with wooden planks, leaving only a few narrow gaps.
The five peered silently through the cracks, fixating on the sprawling building in the distance, its lights flickering amid the darkness and crowds flowing like a river.
After a long period of silent observation, Allen’s low voice broke the stillness: “Tell me, what do you see? Don’t just focus on the drunken revelry on the surface.”
Shadow, a slight sixteen-year-old boy who habitually hunched his shoulders as if instinctively trying to merge with the surrounding shadows, was the first to speak.
He was taciturn, not by nature, but because in the past, when he leaked crucial intelligence, members of the Thieves’ Guild cruelly severed half of his tongue.
Now, he could only laboriously produce muffled syllables: “Many people, but orderly. Nearby, several big men, not like workers, eyes… off. They are dark sentries.”
His observations were precise and concise—a skill honed to survive the brutal environment.
Past lessons taught him the importance of secrecy, and his hatred of the old world guaranteed his loyalty.
More importantly, Shadow’s silence isolated him almost completely within the Wild Dog Gang; all small groups, intentionally or unintentionally, shunned him.
To Allen, this complete marginalization was, in fact, a tremendous advantage.
Allen deliberately nurtured him to become a future Guardian, in charge of discipline, security, and arms.
He bore no personal entanglements or factional tendencies, allowing him to maintain absolute objectivity and calm—a ghost hidden in the shadows, coldly observing the slightest shifts within the organization.
He would become Allen’s silent nail hammered deep into the Brotherhood, an iron-willed inspector unaffected by interpersonal relations and accountable only to discipline and security.
Nightingale, on the other hand, was a fifteen-year-old girl who had just shed her filthy disguise, revealing a delicate face.
Though standing in mud, her eyes were extraordinarily lively, carrying a maturity beyond her years.
After finding refuge with the Laval House, she quickly displayed keen insight.
She seemed to harbor strong admiration and longing for Marianne’s identity as a Torchbearer, always seizing opportunities to draw near, eager to become this young leader’s right hand—in her view, the most direct path up the ladder of power.
Marianne easily saw through this somewhat utilitarian ambition but felt no aversion.
On the contrary, she saw a certain resonance in the girl: a survival wisdom and class consciousness even finer than her own in the past.
Only Nightingale’s luck was lacking; she hadn’t been fortunate enough to attach herself to a proper noble family like Marianne, nor did she meet someone like Allen—a subverter of conventions and a God’s Messenger.
Nightingale was a pragmatist with a strong desire to change her fate and an extremely clear understanding of the value of power and dependency on the strong.
Such unabashed utilitarianism was not a flaw in intelligence work; rather, it was a powerful driver pushing her to scheme, acquire information, and seek upward mobility.
She yearned to become Marianne’s confidante, perfectly matching the intelligence system’s need to build close personal loyalty.
Marianne could exploit this to shape her as a capable extension within the intelligence network.
Both Allen and Marianne regarded Nightingale as an excellent candidate for the future Director of Intelligence—Marianne’s direct subordinate.
Picking up from Shadow’s words, Nightingale’s voice was soft yet clear: “There’s a problem with the flow of goods. The barrels unloaded from the carts are moved directly into the small warehouse on the west side, but the other warehouses have slow traffic in and out. What’s hidden there can’t be ordinary cargo.”
Finn, as the temporary leader of the group, summarized: “It’s like a fortress, Chief. Outwardly shabby and chaotic, but the rules inside are probably stricter than the royal palace.”
“Well said, Finn. But it’s smarter than a fortress.” Allen turned around, his gaze sweeping over the three young followers.
“Today’s first practical lesson: understand your enemy, understand how this city breathes and pulses in its shadows.”
“Why has the Thieves’ Guild entrenched itself here like poisonous vines for hundreds of years? The answer is right in front of you.” Allen pointed toward the building outside the window.
“First, it provides order.” Seeing the puzzled expressions on his team’s faces, Allen explained,
“Yes, order. The Lower City is lawless, but pure chaos benefits no one. Merchants need a secure way to fence stolen goods, hire muscle, and spy on rivals; specialists need places to work without being robbed; thieves need to sell their loot; people with secrets need absolute confidentiality for trading information.”
“Official laws don’t reach here—or rather, the authorities are too lazy to care. So, the Forgotten Madonna became the shadow government, offering a twisted yet effective ‘order’ through violence and rules. This is its foundation for survival.”
“Second, it represents ‘demand.'” Allen continued dissecting,
“It’s not a crime born out of thin air but the inevitable product of the city’s dark underbelly. The upper-class nobles need pleasure, the elimination of enemies, and intelligence. The lower class needs money to survive, even if it means a dirty way up.”
“The Thieves’ Guild cleverly satisfies all these needs, turning itself into an indispensable bridge and valve. It embodies the city’s rigid demand for the gray and black zones.”
“Third, location is everything.” Allen’s finger traced the dilapidated, chaotic streets outside,
“The Old City’s narrow, intricate alleys form a maze—easy to defend, hard to attack. The Dock District sees massive movement—ships, merchants, sailors, fugitives… the perfect cover. Here, strangers don’t raise suspicion, and the flow of goods and information blends easily into daily shipping.”
“This is the corner forgotten by power and sunlight, the perfect breeding ground for shadows. Setting headquarters here is like hiding a venomous snake in the thickest grass.”
Allen turned again, back to the window, his face shrouded in shadow, only his eyes burning brightly.
“So, the final lesson—and the most crucial: if we are to take over this place in the future, what must we be mindful of? How should we establish a new order?”
The three young ones held their breath, fully focused.
“Remember these three points.” Allen raised three fingers.
“One, never abruptly cut off all ‘services.’ A sudden vacuum would trigger greater chaos and cause countless people dependent on it to turn against us. We must first understand the system, then gradually transform and control it.”
“Two, find and control the ‘brain’ and ‘heart.’ The brain is the Thieves’ Guild leader and his advisors; the heart is the treasury and the ledgers recording all transactions and secrets. Controlling these two means controlling the whole body.”
“Three, learn to identify enemies. Who are the diehards that must be eradicated? Who are the middle factions we can bribe with money or new ideas? Who are the oppressed like us, potential allies? Don’t see everything as nails just because you have a hammer.”
“As for establishing the new order?” Allen’s voice injected with resolve and hope, “Our goal is not to become a stronger Thieves’ Guild, but to become the true Order of Dawn!”
“First, eliminate toxicity. If human trafficking is voluntary, with our protection and reasonable fees, it can be temporarily tolerated, but forced exploitation and trafficking must be eradicated! This is the unbreakable bottom line!”
“Second, standardization. Intelligence trading and gray-area commissions can continue for a time before our revolution officially begins. But we must set new rules—no targeting the poor, no involvement with children. Most profits must fund our organization’s operation, support wounded members, and finance future craftsmen and workers’ Mutual Aid Association.”
“Third, Proclamation of Amnesty and reform. We will absorb those thugs, thieves, and information dealers. Those willing to abide by the new rules will undergo rigorous training and become Workers’ Patrol or Intelligence Division field agents. Let them use their skills in the ‘right’ places.”
“Fourth, provide genuine ‘public services.’ Let the Forgotten Madonna truly become a shelter and community center for the Lower City. We will offer dispute arbitration, basic medical aid, and protect law-abiding merchants from petty hooliganism. Gradually, people will realize the ‘order’ we bring is fairer, stronger, and more trustworthy than before.”
He looked at the clear and broad light shining in the eyes of the three members and concluded:
“Remember, we are not destroying a building, but taking over a complex ecosystem. We must drain the sewage but preserve the pond; cut down the sick trees but keep the healthy roots. Then, plant seeds belonging to us—all the oppressed—in this once-rotten soil, letting them sprout anew.”
“Now,” Allen’s gaze returned to the brightly lit Forgotten Madonna, “look again with the eyes I taught you. It is no longer just a nest of evil—it is our first stronghold and the first severe test of whether we can truly bring dawn to this city.”
Silence reclaimed the attic, but this stillness was heavy with thought and determination for change.
Finn, Shadow, and Nightingale looked once more at the building, their expressions transformed.
It was no longer an unshakable fortress of sin but the home and starting point for the future Brotherhood of the Children of Dawn and the Mutual Aid Association.
Allen watched their change and nodded with satisfaction.
That was right.
What was not theirs now would belong to them in the future.
And so it was with this world.
These young warriors must forge such a sense of ownership to wield the immense power to change everything.