Chapter 165: The Daily Life of the Workers’ Patrol Team

July 14th, Morning, Capital Lucien, Sludge Lane.

“Monkey” Thomas Petit was sitting at a simple wooden table by the roadside, hunched over a bowl of steaming hot noodles.

The ever-present smells of mildew and decay in the air were forcibly pushed aside by a domineering, savory aroma of meat broth.

His blue-gray worker’s uniform was brand new and sharply pressed, the “City Law Enforcement Force” badge pinned to his chest gleaming a little too brightly in the sunshine.

Who would have thought that just a few months ago, he was a gang enforcer everyone in Sludge Lane avoided like the plague, and now he was a squad leader of the Workers’ Patrol maintaining order.

Finance Minister Bernard’s reforms were sweeping and decisive. Their Workers’ Patrol had, just like that, donned an official coat of paint.

On the surface, their job was to prohibit unlicensed, non-tax-paying street vendors from setting up stalls arbitrarily and to maintain the city’s appearance. In reality, they still played the role of peacekeepers.

Coupled with the Mutual Aid Society’s new Service Hall opened at the mouth of the lane, a brand new order had completely replaced the chaotic system of the past, which was composed of corrupt guards and rag-tag gangs.

“So, Squad Leader Thomas, how’s the taste? Passable?”

The noodle stall owner was a cheerful middle-aged man. He deftly served noodles to another customer, then turned to chat with Thomas, his old acquaintance, his face full of unconcealed pride.

He was a member of the Mutual Aid Society. According to him, he used to be a baker who spent his days dealing with flour.

Later, the Mutual Aid Society, looking at his record, recommended him for an internship in the Continental Hotel’s kitchen. The gears of fate began to turn.

Allen had originally wanted to promote the hand-pulled noodles from his memory—springy, smooth, and satisfying—at the Continental Hotel.

However, the Kingdom of Lorraine, as the continent’s breadbasket, primarily grew soft wheat more suitable for bread and pastries. Its gluten content was insufficient, making it difficult to stretch.

The noodle stall owner, together with the hotel’s chefs, tried to create this unprecedented delicacy called “noodles” based on Allen’s “whimsical ideas.”

After several failed attempts, they took a different path and actually succeeded in using soft wheat to create a similarly soft and smooth “ramen.”

What Thomas was eating was the improved version, more suited to the tastes of the people of Lorraine.

“More than just passable,” Thomas lifted his head, his mouth still full of noodles, speaking unclearly. “I feel like skipping work to come eat this bowl of noodles is the most correct decision I’ve ever made in my life.”

Hearing this, the boss smiled even wider. “Of course! These noodles, this soup, they’re all a blessing from Young Master Laval!”

He pointed at the milky white broth bubbling in the pot, lowering his voice mysteriously.

“The secret is in something called Umami Salt. Guess what it’s made from? Fish heads, fish bones, and the cheapest kelp from the seaside! Who would have thought stuff used to feed pigs could produce such a heavenly flavor!”

The method provided by Young Master Allen was simply not something a mortal could conceive.

Boil a large amount of fish bones and shellfish, filter it, then simmer it over low heat to evaporate the water and get an essence paste.

Finally, add salt and, using a principle called the Salting-Out Method, extract a kind of shiny crystal.

Just a pinch of this stuff could completely transform the flavor of a whole pot of soup.

After the Continental Hotel’s dishes started using this, those noble lords who were used to delicacies from land and sea were, one after another, as if struck by lightning, utterly captivated by this unprecedented “umami.”

They ran to the hotel every day, even starting to look down on their own family chefs’ cooking.

Thomas listened while burying his head and slurping up the noodles. The rich, savory flavor exploded in his mouth, making him squint his eyes in pleasure.

Delicious! This taste was absolutely amazing!

But… Thomas grumbled internally, it’s only those idle noble lords who have the time to fuss over these food things all day.

Delicious as it is, my evaluation of him being idle and shiftless won’t change.

Ah, so fragrant, this broth… can’t resist taking another sip.

“Young Master Laval said, ‘Good things shouldn’t be monopolized; deliciousness belongs to everyone!'” The boss puffed out his chest, proudly patting his little food cart.

“That’s why we published the method in the Lucerne Daily, so every household can make it! Now, us laborers can spend a few copper coins and taste the ‘ultimate umami’ that only the lords could enjoy in the past!”

Thomas’s heart stirred.

Yes, once upon a time, forget such delicacies, even a piece of non-moldy black bread had to be fought over.

Now, wearing this uniform, he could sit here and peacefully eat a bowl of hot, meaty noodle soup.

He drank the very last drop of soup from the bowl, let out a satisfied burp, and fished out a few copper coins. “How much, boss?”

“Squad Leader Thomas, you’re slapping my face now.” The boss pushed his hand back, his smile sincere and warm. “In the past, when you saw me, you came to collect protection money. When the tax collectors saw me, I’d be skinned alive. Now, everything is different.”

The boss pointed at the badge on his chest. “You all are the City Law Enforcement Force now. You maintain order, mediate disputes. You say you’re supposed to chase away vendors who haven’t paid taxes, but you really just remind us not to litter. You work so hard; me treating you to a meal is nothing.”

In the past, the Capital’s tax collectors were notoriously corrupt, despised by everyone. Those guys were less about collecting taxes and more about extortion.

But after the reforms began, these old tax collectors were all transferred by Finance Minister Bernard to the newly established General Directorate of Taxes for “re-education,” serving a brand new tax reform plan.

Once they left, the street vendor business in the Lower City experienced unprecedented prosperity.

Whether it was the Mutual Aid Society or this top-down reform, they were both slowly making life better for the common people.

But once people get used to happiness, they become fearful of losing it, unwilling by any means to return to the muddled, precarious state of the past.

Perhaps precisely because of this, when citizens saw Workers’ Patrol teams still patrolling the streets, they felt an inexplicable sense of reassurance.

It meant the reforms were still ongoing, and the good days were still ahead.

Who would have thought that these once universally despised gang members would one day become a pillar of support for people’s hearts.

Thomas, sitting by the roadside in this conspicuous uniform, was like a magnet.

Many citizens passing by after shopping recognized his “familiar face” and greeted him warmly.

“Squad Leader Thomas, thank you for your hard work!”

“Eating, Squad Leader?”

There was even an aunt who, without a word, tried to stuff two freshly bought eggs into his arms.

“Hey! Auntie! No! Absolutely not!” Thomas was startled, stepping back repeatedly, almost knocking over the table. “Not taking a single needle or thread from the masses! That’s discipline!”

He loudly repeated the Patrol’s discipline while frantically trying to hand the eggs back, his flustered appearance eliciting a round of good-natured laughter from the onlookers.

To be honest, he didn’t want to take them? That would be a lie. But just thinking about what would happen if Squad Leader Mathieu found out he’d accepted something from a citizen…

A chill ran down Thomas’s spine.

That guy didn’t care about the setting when he put you through drills; he could work you until you shed a layer of skin right on the street.

And then you’d have to write a self-criticism and read it out, tearfully, in front of all the squad members. That was worse than death.

Couldn’t afford to lose that face.

Besides, today the main Patrol force was still on training maneuvers outside the city. He had only managed to sneak over to this area for “reconnaissance” by using the excuse of “monitoring enemy movements.”

If he made another mistake on top of that, it would be compounding the offense.

“Ah, as expected of someone trained by that Young Master Laval, the discipline is so good.”

An aunt carrying a vegetable basket steered the conversation back to Allen. “Just take them, young man.”

How is it Young Master Laval again.

Thomas grumbled internally but politely declined out loud. “Really no need, auntie. I appreciate the thought.”

“Look at you, skinny as a monkey. Eat more.”

“Didn’t I just finish a big bowl? I’m full.” Thomas quickly changed the subject. “Speaking of which, how did that matter at your house turn out last time?”

“Oh, don’t even mention it!” The aunt slapped her thigh, her face full of lingering fear and gratitude. “My good-for-nothing husband got drunk and started brawling with another drunkard on the street. If you all hadn’t arrived quickly, they’d have cracked each other’s skulls open! Later, after they sobered up, guess what?”

“The two idiots apologized to each other and actually became drinking buddies! Recently, they both joined the Mutual Aid Society, going every day to eat the free breakfast at the Continental Hotel. Now they don’t even drink anymore, saying they want to save money so both families can go eat that… what’s it called… hotpot.”

At this, the aunt curled her lip. “I think it’s just the newspaper blowing smoke. A pot of soup with some nobody-eats offal dipped in it, can it really be that fragrant?”

“That’s all good news.” Thomas grinned.

“Yes.” The aunt sighed with emotion. “The Mutual Aid Society is truly good. But young man, I’ve heard that those vampire Old Guilds can’t stand seeing us live well. Seems like they’re planning some mischief recently. You all need to be careful.”

The smile faded from Thomas’s face, replaced by a steadiness honed through countless drills and real fights. “Don’t worry, auntie. That bunch of rabble isn’t enough for one charge from us.”

This wasn’t bragging.

After the Thieves’ Guild collapsed, some die-hard elements, unwilling to accept defeat, had been rounded up by the Patrol several times already.

Baptized in blood and fire, they—these former small-time hoodlums who could only wave flags behind the core enforcers—could now break the necks of those stubborn elements without batting an eye.

In the past, their lives were worthless. For a bite to eat, they were ready to fight to the death at any moment.

Now it was different.

Now they were fighting for themselves, for everyone’s good days.

The Mutual Aid Society really paid wages, provided food and lodging, gave disability compensation for injuries, and paid a large pension to the families of those who sacrificed. Their children could even go to school for free.

This was home, their roots. Anyone who wanted to dig up their roots, they’d fight them to the death.

Unconsciously, Thomas, this former gang member who once believed “whoever feeds me is my mother,” had completely shed his bandit airs through the day-after-day “classes” and “heart-to-heart talks” with those Dawn’s Children political officers. He had transformed into the revolution’s most steadfast supporter.

He himself hadn’t even noticed that his way of thinking had started to resemble those political officers.

“Here, young man, have a fruit. Just bought it, very sweet.” The aunt still wasn’t giving up, fishing an apple from her basket and trying to stuff it into his hand.

“Really no need, auntie.”

Thomas smiled and waved her off, watching as the aunt walked away carrying her basket.

He was pondering how to explain to Squad Leader Mathieu later, after his meeting, why he hadn’t gone to the training maneuvers today.

Just then, his peripheral vision caught a skinny figure.

A furtive little beggar was tiptoeing, silently following behind that aunt.

Thomas immediately frowned, his expression changing.

Well, well, daring to steal right under my nose on my turf. Is this kid tired of living?

His righteous and imposing demeanor seemed to have completely forgotten his own past of stealing to survive.

Just as the little beggar drew out half a small razor blade, deftly aiming for the coin pouch hanging from the aunt’s waist, Thomas moved.

He pushed off hard with his feet, his body shooting forward like a fully drawn bow. The monotonous sprinting drills of everyday life became instinct in this moment.

In just two or three large strides, he crossed over ten meters. At the instant the little beggar’s hand was about to succeed, an iron clamp-like hand descended from above, firmly pressing down on his shoulder.

“What are you doing!”

Clatter.

The small razor blade fell to the ground with a crisp sound.

The little beggar was pressed face-down to the ground by this immense force, his face pale. He struggled a couple of times, finding he couldn’t move at all.

Reluctantly, he fished out a small pouch of copper coins from his chest—exactly what he had just swiped from the aunt.

“Oh my!” The aunt finally reacted, hurriedly feeling her waist and finding her coin pouch slit open. Clutching her chest in fright, she thanked him repeatedly. “Squad Leader Thomas, I really owe you thanks!”

Bystanders gathered around, giving Thomas thumbs-up.

According to the rules, this thief should be handed over to the guard post. But the aunt, looking at the little beggar’s skinny, ragged appearance, felt pity again and pleaded softly:

“Squad Leader Thomas, look at him… he’s pitiful too. How about… sending him to the Mutual Aid Society? Give the child a way out.”

Thomas hesitated. He knew better than anyone what the guard post was like. This kid sent there would be lucky to come out alive, and definitely not in one piece.

“Just give this child a chance.” The aunt pleaded.

Thomas looked down and met the little beggar’s eyes, full of fear but hiding a trace of stubbornness.

That look was exactly like his own back when he was starving and dizzy, curled up at the foot of the Capital’s city walls.

His heart softened. He sighed.

“Alright then, as you wish, auntie. I’ll take him to the Mutual Aid Society.”

But after walking only a few steps, the little beggar, thinking he was being taken to be executed, took advantage of Thomas’s momentary inattention. With a sudden twist, he slipped away like an eel and took off running.

“Hey, you little monkey brat!”

Thomas cursed but wasn’t angry. A few quick strides with his feet and he easily caught up and hauled him back.

Looking at this clever little imp, remembering his own old nickname was also “Monkey,” he couldn’t help but feel a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Run where? I’m not taking you to get your head chopped off.”

Thomas hauled him over to a bread stall by the street, paid for a warm white loaf himself, and shoved it into the boy’s hands.

The little beggar was stunned for a moment, then snatched it and began wolfing it down. That sight gave Thomas a complicated mix of feelings.

“Where are you from? Haven’t all the homeless in the Lower City been taken in by the Mutual Aid Society?”

His mouth full of bread, the little beggar answered unclearly. “The Capital… nearby… there’s a plague… I fled here.”

“Plague?” Thomas was startled, then felt puzzled. “Then why didn’t you go to the Mutual Aid Society? They provide food.”

The little beggar shook his head, his eyes full of confusion. “I only heard the Capital was safe, so I ran all the way here. But after entering the city, I found there wasn’t a single beggar on the streets. I thought… thought they’d all been driven away. I don’t know about any Mutual Aid Society.”

Hearing this, Thomas’s heart stirred.

Looking at this child so similar to his past self, he patted his shoulder, his tone unprecedentedly serious:

“The Mutual Aid Society isn’t like the old charity halls. They give you a place to stay, three meals a day, send you to learn a trade, learn to read and write, all for free. Once you’ve learned, they even find you work. You’ll never have to worry about food again in your life.”

The little beggar listened, dumbfounded, the bread in his mouth forgotten.

He couldn’t imagine why anyone would do such charity. In this world, besides the Church, who would be so kind to lowly folk like them?

“Why would I lie to you?” Thomas pointed at himself. “I used to be just like you, a famine refugee. A few months ago, I was a street punk everyone shouted to beat up. And now? City Law Enforcement Force, squad leader!”

The little beggar looked at his neat uniform and that genuine confidence emanating from within. The doubt in his eyes gradually faded.

Being able to read, having stable work—that was a life he didn’t even dare to dream of.

Under Thomas’s watchful eye, the little beggar walked into the nearby Mutual Aid Society Service Hall on his own.

Watching the light that burst forth in the child’s eyes upon hearing the staff explain the benefits, Thomas smiled with satisfaction.

He turned to head back to the noodle stall, feeling an unprecedented sense of ease in his heart.