Morning of July 1, Lower City, Continental Hotel
The sunshine in Lucien had never been so blinding.
Mael had a splitting headache, and the sour stench of a hangover surged from his stomach to his throat.
He felt his shriveled coin purse; only a few clinking copper coins remained, not even enough to buy a cup of the lowest-quality ale.
Fifteen days — a full fifteen days — he had soaked himself in alcohol.
His savings were exhausted.
And he was finally sober.
“Damn it,” he cursed under his breath, leaning against the wall to steady himself as his bones let out a groan. “I have to find some work.”
He staggered out of his dilapidated rental room into the bustling street.
The aroma of the bakery, the stench of horse manure, and the strange odor from the leatherworker’s shop blended together to form the unique “fragrance” of the Old City District.
For Mael, this scent had long since become a part of life, as common as the faded, liquor-stained old shirt he wore.
Women hurried past with baskets, and men carried tools toward their respective workshops.
Everyone seemed to have a destination except him, who drifted aimlessly through the crowd like a broken ship with its cables cut.
Where should he go?
‘The Forgotten Madonna.’
The name flickered in his chaotic mind.
It was the most famous den of thieves in the Old City District, a gathering place for all walks of life.
If one wanted to find work — especially the kind of “dirty work” that didn’t ask about one’s background or the consequences — that was the place to go.
Mael curled his lip into a self-mocking, bitter smile.
He was a 30-year-old bachelor drunkard with nothing to look forward to in life.
If he ended up smuggling and got tied to a stone and thrown into the sea over an unfair split of the loot, it would be a form of release.
After all, alcohol is the enemy, and a wife is life. And whenever he encountered an enemy, he was reckless with his life.
He couldn’t even remember how he had blacked out yesterday; by the time he came to, he had already been drinking heavily.
Whatever, let it be.
Drink today and get drunk today; leave tomorrow’s worries for tomorrow.
However, when Mael dragged his leaden legs to the entrance of the Forgotten Madonna, he froze completely.
The sight before him made him doubt whether he was still drunk and dreaming.
The old wooden sign, blackened by smoke and carved with “Forgotten Madonna Inn and Warehouse,” was gone.
In its place was a brand-new sign with gold-leaf lettering that read “Continental Hotel.”
Below the main sign hung a smaller one — “Handicraft and Labor Mutual Aid Guild.”
The thugs who usually lounged by the door with fierce glares to inspect passersby had also vanished.
Two young men in clean, decent deep-blue uniforms stood at the entrance, smiling and bowing slightly to the guests entering and leaving.
Did… did they get a new owner?
The change was too thorough.
Mael rubbed his eyes and, filled with suspicion, walked inside as if possessed.
Stepping in, he felt as though he had entered another world.
The dim, greasy hall filled with the smell of sweat and cheap liquor from his memory was gone.
In its place was a spacious, bright area that was almost blinding.
The polished oak floor reflected the figures of people, and a massive copper chandelier hung from the high ceiling. Although it wasn’t lit, it looked exceptionally grand.
There wasn’t a hint of foul odor in the air; instead, a faint scent of wood wax and flowers wafted through the room.
To the right was a brand-new bar. A heavy, solid slab of walnut had been polished to a smooth finish, and the liquor shelf behind it was filled with various bottles that shimmered enticingly in the sunlight streaming through the windows.
On the left, in the dining area, tables were covered with snow-white cloths, and the silverware sparkled in the light.
Several servers, also dressed in blue uniforms, moved briskly through the room. Their faces beamed with a quality Mael had never seen on anyone in the Lower City… vitality.
The place was so elegant that it made him feel awkward, as if his wrinkled, liquor-stained old clothes were a desecration of the space.
Strangely, despite its grandeur, the place didn’t feel oppressive.
Among the people coming and going were well-dressed merchants as well as commoners in ordinary short shirts like his.
The greeters at the door and the servers inside treated everyone equally, maintaining a polite, perfect smile.
What on earth was going on?
Just as Mael was about to turn and slip away, his gaze was caught by a corner at the far end of the hall.
A specialized area had been partitioned off with several tables and chairs. A sign hung on the wall: “Mutual Aid Association Comprehensive Service Hall.”
‘Mutual Aid Association? The one on the sign outside?’
Curiosity overwhelmed his unease. Mael completely forgot his original reason for coming — to find a drink.
He carefully navigated around the crowd and approached.
A row of promotional boards stood next to the service hall, covered in clear, easy-to-read text.
“Handicraft and Labor Mutual Aid Guild — We serve all workers!”
“Are you still troubled by the inability to find work? Are you still angry about foremen withholding your wages? Join us!”
“Functions of the Mutual Aid Association: Providing free vocational training, introducing legal work, representing members in collective bargaining with employers, ensuring fair pay and working hours, providing legal aid and internal arbitration…”
Mael’s eyes grew wider.
He read down line by line, and when he reached the membership policy, he was stunned.
“Join the Mutual Aid Association now and have your membership fees waived for the first three months! After formal admission, the membership fee is only 1% of your monthly income!”
“Benefits: New members will immediately receive one Continental Hotel Specialty Breakfast Voucher!”
Mael sucked in a breath of cold air and instinctively took a half-step back.
‘Good Lord, what am I looking at? Is this still the Capital?’
He wasn’t unfamiliar with guilds.
Whether it was the carpenters, stonemasons, or dyers, which guild wasn’t heavily fortified behind barriers?
Want to join? First, pay an entrance fee large enough to bankrupt an ordinary family. Then start as an apprentice, working like a dog for a master for seven or eight years, and whether you ever made it depended on fate.
The Mutual Aid Association not only didn’t charge a high entrance fee, but they even gave you a free breakfast? And the membership fee was only 1% of your wages?
‘This couldn’t be some kind of strange trap, could it?’
But Mael looked up at the bright environment, at the polite staff, and at the copy of the registration document on the board, which bore the official seal of City Hall.
This trap… was a bit too blatant.
Mael’s heart pounded uncontrollably.
If there really were legal jobs available, who would want to do dirty work that put their life on the line?
Money earned that way could at least be kept safely, and he could sleep soundly.
It felt like… this Mutual Aid Association might actually be worth a try.
His life was worthless anyway; he had nothing left to lose.
Thinking this, Mael gritted his teeth and stepped up to a service window.
A pretty young girl sat behind the window, looking no more than 14 or 15 years old.
Seeing Mael approach, she immediately put down the forms in her hand and gave him a friendly smile.
“Hello, sir. How can I help you?”
“Hello,” Mael cleared his dry throat, trying his best not to look like a drunkard. “I wanted to ask… what exactly is this Mutual Aid Association about?”
“Certainly, please have a seat.” Ella pointed to the stool in front of the window, her attitude impeccable. “What would you like to know? Is it about joining, or finding work?”
“Both.” Mael sat down, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “I’ll be blunt. This whole setup… it’s too good. It doesn’t seem real. How can there be such a good deal in this world? What are you actually after?”
Ella seemed prepared for this question. She explained patiently, “Sir, our Mutual Aid Association is a legal guild officially registered with City Hall. Our goal isn’t profit, but to help workers like yourself.”
“Think about it. The power of one person is weak and easily exploited by employers. But if thousands of us workers unite into a collective, we have the power to negotiate with employers and fight for fair treatment. That is the meaning of our association’s existence.”
“Sounds good,” Mael said, still skeptical. “Then how do you make money? That tiny membership fee wouldn’t even cover the wages for people like you, would it?”
“Our operating funds mainly come from the sponsorship of Viscount Bernard de Laval, as well as some legal business we will take on in the future. The membership fee is only to maintain the Mutual Aid Fund, such as for medical assistance for members or accident compensation. We do not rely on fees for profit.”
‘Viscount Bernard de Laval?’
Mael was stunned.
The Laval House was quite famous in the Capital. After all, the Viscount’s son used to be a notorious playboy.
While drinking last night, he had heard someone say that after the fall of the Marquis of Wealth, the next Minister of Finance would likely be this Viscount.
If he was the one behind this, the credibility seemed much higher.
“Then… what about work? I don’t have a trade; I just have some strength.” Mael rubbed his hands together, feeling a bit embarrassed.
“That’s fine.” Ella’s smile was reassuring. “We conduct an ability assessment for all members. Even without a specific trade, the docks, warehouses, and construction sites need plenty of porters and laborers. We will match you with the most suitable job. Furthermore, we offer free literacy classes and skill training. If you want to learn a trade, like carpentry or bricklaying, we can arrange that.”
“Free training?” Mael’s voice shifted in pitch.
“Yes, completely free. We hope every member can earn a dignified income through their own labor.”
Mael went silent.
He stared into Ella’s sincere eyes, the suspicion in his heart crumbling bit by bit.
He had spent half his life in the Bottom World and had seen too much deception and exploitation, but he had never seen eyes like hers, nor had he ever heard such words.
“Alright… I understand.” He took a deep breath and made his decision. “I’d like to ask, if I want to join, what do I do?”
The smile on Ella’s face grew even brighter. “It’s very simple. You just need to fill out this application form. If you are illiterate, I can fill it out for you.”
“Thanks, but don’t bother. I know a few words.”
Mael had attended a Church School for a few years, so basic reading and writing weren’t an issue.
He took the application form and a brand-new charcoal pencil. The paper quality was excellent, and the columns were clear: Name, Age, Address, Literacy Level, Past Work Experience, Skills (if any), Health Status…
The information was detailed, showing the professionalism of the association.
As he filled it out, he made one last confirmation. “The first three months really don’t cost a single copper?”
“Yes, not a single cent. We only hope that if the association has scheduled activities, such as literacy classes or meetings, you will actively participate.”
Ella took his completed form, checked it carefully, and then smiled as she pressed a stamp onto it.
“Alright, Mr. Mael, your membership application has been approved. From now on, you are a member of the Handicraft and Labor Mutual Aid Guild. We will look for suitable work based on your strengths. Once there is news, we will notify you by letter. Now, please take this breakfast voucher.”
An exquisite piece of cardstock was handed to Mael.
He took it blankly, the thick texture against his fingertips feeling so real.
The conversation with the girl had been very pleasant; she was professional and patient, without a hint of annoyance.
As a drunkard accustomed to the chaotic life of the Bottom World, Mael felt something called “respect” for the first time.
This Mutual Aid Association seemed truly reliable.
In any case, joining didn’t cost any money, and he got a free breakfast out of it.
At that moment, the remaining liquor in his stomach began to gurgle, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten a single grain of rice since last night.
He couldn’t help but tighten his grip on the breakfast voucher as if he were holding onto a lifeline.
‘Not bad. I’ll go try the breakfast at this “Continental Hotel” and see what it’s all about!’
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