"Truly," Lynn said, his voice ringing with sudden certainty, "coin may be made to birth more coin through lending. Of all paths to wealth, it is the swiftest."
"Lending?" A scar-faced man tilted his head, interest stirring. "Boy, do you even know what lending is?"
"I do," Lynn answered without hesitation.
He knew well that this was a turning point. Empty boasting would see him dead.
"Consider this," he said. "You lend ten silver coins, and after one month the borrower returns twelve. The extra two, that is interest."
"And if he cannot repay?" the scar-faced man asked.
"Then the debt grows. Next month it becomes fourteen and a fraction. Interest upon interest this coin breeding coin. Far faster than collecting protection coin."
The scar-faced man listened, his brow furrowed. He did not truly understand the numbers, yet the idea itself struck him deeply. Even reckoning a single month's gain strained his thoughts. As for compounding… that might as well have been sorcery.
He turned to the accountant.
The thin man nodded solemnly, as though Lynn had spoken some great truth. Whether he truly grasped it or not, none could say.
Around them, the other thugs exchanged glances. Most were just as lost, yet phrases like ten coins become twelve and interest upon interest hooked into their greed like barbed iron.
Yellow Teeth's grin slowly faded. He studied Lynn for a long moment, then said to a man beside him, "Go. Inform One-Eyed Boss."
Not long after, word returned. Lynn was to be brought before the leader.
A thug unlocked the cage and jerked his head for Lynn to follow.
The others within the cage watched in silence, their faces tangled with fear and envy. Whether Lynn walked toward fortune or doom, none could tell, but at least he had shifted his fate.
"W-wait," a small voice said.
The girl who had spoken to him earlier stepped forward, hope trembling in her eyes. "May I go with you?"
Others stirred as well, hope flickering briefly among them.
Lynn looked at her, then away.
He himself was still a bird in chains. How could he carry others with him?
As he left without answering, the light in the girl's eyes dimmed into despair. A few others sneered quietly.
See? Kindness earns nothing.
Yellow Teeth personally escorted Lynn. As they walked, his filthy hands brushed Lynn's exposed skin again and again, sending chills crawling over him.
The distance was short, yet it felt endless.
Scum, Lynn roared inwardly.
Choose death now, for when my chance comes, I will not spare you.
At last they entered a wide chamber.
Yellow Teeth straightened slightly, his manner turning respectful as he shoved Lynn forward.
At the far end sat a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man. A black eyepatch covered his left eye. His right arm was wrapped possessively around a blonde girl, while his heavy left hand wandered freely over her body.
The girl did not resist. Smiling faintly, she lifted a wooden goblet to his lips.
The man drank slowly, his single right eye fixed upon Lynn.
This was the master of the Blood Hand Gang.
One-Eyed WolfJack.
Before him stood a rough wooden table laden with food: rum, roast chicken, thick stew, vegetable soup, mashed potatoes. A feast by any outlaw's measure.
"Boy," One-Eyed Wolf said at last, his voice low and rasping, "are you the one who claims he can make me money? Who speaks of lending?"
"Yes, Boss," Lynn replied. "In my homeland I served as an apprentice accountant. My tutor praised my talent."
He forced himself to stand tall, showing no fear.
Gesturing toward the heap of ledgers beside the accountant, he added, "Let me sort those first. If I fail, then sell me to the Nightingale Pavilion. It will not be too late."
One-Eyed Wolf narrowed his eye and waved his hand.
The skinny accountant stepped forward and shoved a particularly chaotic ledger toward Lynn, disdain flickering across his face.
This was no ordinary book, it was a nest of false accounts, deliberately tangled beyond reason.
If this brat can make sense of that, the accountant thought bitterly, I'll eat the book myself.
Lynn took the ledger and flipped through it swiftly.
Crooked entries. Scattered income and Conflicting expenses. All written in an unfamiliar script.
Then his heart sank.
He couldn't read it.
Carefully, he turned to the accountant. "Sir… could you explain these characters?"
Illiterate?
The accountant's lips curled into a sneer.
As expected. Just a clever-tongued brat.
And cleverness here only hastened death.
"Bang!"
A goblet shattered against the table. Food scattered.
"You dare play games with me?" One-Eyed Wolf snarled. "Are you tired of living?"
Lynn turned calmly. "Boss, I did not deceive you. The script here differs from that of my homeland, and our methods are simpler."
"There is no need for word-for-word translation," he continued steadily. "Only tell me the numbers, and what is income and what is expense."
One-Eyed Wolf studied him, then motioned sharply to the accountant.
"You have one chance," he said. "If you lie, you won't be sold. You'll serve my men."
The accountant swallowed and began explaining several pages.
Under their watchful eyes, Lynn did something unexpected.
He walked to the hearth, picked up a piece of charred wood, and knelt upon the smooth stone floor.
There, he began to write.
He carefully matched the foreign symbols to familiar ones of his own homeland, ensuring no confusion.
One-Eyed Wolf watched closely. These were not meaningless marks. They were clearly the written signs of another land.
This continent held many nations. Who knew from which one this boy had come?
Once the first pages were explained, Lynn worked swiftly.
He drew a simple table. Rows and columns with Clear divisions.
Then, using the ledger's figures, he began rebuilding the accounts from the ground up.
To Lynn, it was child's work.
To the watching thugs, men who struggled to count past their fingers, it was nothing short of wizardry.
Charcoal hissed softly against stone as chaos resolved into order.
And with each calculation, the accountant's face grew paler.
By the time Lynn reached the final entries, the man was white as death.
I've sent myself to the executioner, he thought despairingly.
Straight to the block.