Silas navigated through the muddy, slippery streets of the East Borough.
He had changed into a deep black robe, his face hidden beneath a hood.
The winter afternoon was pale and difficult to endure.
A vagrant huddled in a sheltered corner, lifting his head to stare numbly at the sky, as if praying for the sun to pierce through the clouds and bring some warmth down upon him.
Clattering carriages carved out ruts, their splashing mud making passersby dodge out of the way.
Looking up, the chimneys of distant factories were shrouded in grayish-white fog, barely visible.
Silas silently observed everything before him, his footsteps not stopping until he stood before a folk herb shop near a famous red-light district in the East Borough.
"Creak..."
Pushing open the door, a heavy herbal scent rushed at him. What met his eyes were various herbs, cabinets, and vessels piled all the way to the ceiling.
On a wooden rack standing before the counter perched an owl, which opened its pale yellow eyes wide and stared at Silas without blinking.
"Welcome... oh, it's you."
The fat apothecary Darkwill drawled as he emerged from the back, losing interest upon seeing it was Silas.
"Same as usual, one portion of each medicine."
Silas said, his eyes lingering on the owl. He easily discovered that this owl had a Beyonder aura about it.
Darkwill must be pretty well-off, actually keeping an extraordinary creature... Silas pondered, making eye contact with the owl.
The creature nonchalantly rotated its head one hundred eighty degrees, avoiding his gaze.
"Got it all ready for you."
Darkwill rummaged under the counter and pulled out a medicine packet wrapped in thick paper.
"Same price as before."
"Mm."
Silas paid according to the previous price.
"I say, Miss Cecilia hasn't been around in a while."
Darkwill said.
"If you're out walking around by yourself and suddenly have an episode and collapse in some ditch, that would be quite the joke."
The fat apothecary was perhaps expressing his concern, but the words that came out really weren't very pleasant.
"Thanks for your unnecessary concern."
Silas said flatly, slapping the money down on the table with a "thud" that startled even the owl.
Darkwill didn't know that Cecilia was already dead, and even the object of his admiration that he had met was merely an illusory shadow Silas had created in his madness.
Silas didn't plan to tell him, because their connection amounted to nothing more than this.
But inevitably, his already poor mood became even more gloomy because Darkwill had mentioned his sister.
"Hey, I'm leaving this place."
Just as he picked up the package to leave, the fat apothecary spoke again.
"I've written down the formulas for these medicines on paper and tucked them in the medicine packet.
You can go to other pharmacies to get them prepared yourself in the future."
Darkwill is leaving?
Silas looked up at him. "Did you rack up gambling debts?"
"Of course not!"
Darkwill said. "I've been here for quite some time. If I delay any longer, people will notice something's off and report me."
"Besides,"
He unconsciously glanced at the owl on the wooden rack. "I should also advance further in my sequence."
It's good that the apothecary is leaving.
Silas thought.
If he stayed any longer, perhaps one day he would discover that his sister didn't actually exist in reality and suffer an even greater blow.
Leaving like this, he might even retain a beautiful memory.
He took one more look at the owl before leaving, then pushed open the herb shop door and departed.
Carrying the herbs, Silas walked for a while until he reached a dark alley in the East Borough.
There, quite a few people had already gathered, most of them bearing obvious injuries.
"Respected preacher sir, you've finally come!"
"Jack, you're saved!"
Upon seeing him, the people became excited within their small group.
This was precisely the place where Silas had previously provided free medical treatment.
Back then, to play the role of Rose Bishop, he had tried opening a secret medical station here, providing free clinics for the people of the East Borough.
Later, although the "Rose Bishop" potion hadn't been digested because of this, he had retained the habit of free clinics.
And the more people he saved, the deeper the poor of the East Borough respected him, which brought tremendous convenience to his later preaching.
"Everyone stand properly. According to the previous rules, come one at a time. Those with severe injuries get priority."
Silas told them.
His voice carried an irresistible magic that quickly brought order to what had been a chaotic line.
The assistant who maintained order was no longer there. Silas could only rely entirely on himself.
Inside the alley, cloth partitions had been set up as usual. Silas's first patient was a child who was only five years old.
He wore clothing that had obviously been altered from adult garments, his entire body stained with filthy coal dust, cradling a broken arm as he looked at Silas.
White bone fragments had broken through his dark skin, exposed to the air.
So black all over...
"What happened here?"
Silas asked the man who had brought him in.
"Preacher sir, his name is Oliver. When he was cleaning the chimney, the rope broke and he fell, breaking his arm."
The man said with bows and scrapes.
"He was very lucky. His arm blocked the fall partway, otherwise it would have been his neck that broke."
The child's blackened face had several dried white traces, probably tear tracks. He seemed to have cried himself out and appeared somewhat numb.
Cleaning chimneys...
Silas looked at this diminutive child, momentarily at a loss for words.
Due to Backlund's climate, fireplaces had become a necessity for every household.
Over time, coal ash would accumulate, causing poor ventilation, weak fires, and even dangerous situations.
But the biggest problem with these stoves embedded in walls was that the flues were difficult to clean.
And those responsible for cleaning the chimneys were generally children from poor families.
Because of the size limitations of chimneys, only the bodies of children a few years old could squeeze inside to thoroughly clean them out.
For the poor, this was an extra source of income, allowing their children, who otherwise only consumed money, to bring income to the family.
For households using fireplaces, hiring children cost less money and was more convenient.
As for the working children themselves, they not only had to crawl into dark and lengthy flues but also had to maintain laboring positions for over ten hours.
Additionally, they might face the risk of falling.
Long-term work would lead to bodily deformities, coal ash eroding their lungs, causing irreversible lung damage...
However, children from poor families didn't live long anyway. Being able to help the family early was a good thing.
One could only say, worthy of the great Backlund, worthy of Backlund where value and efficiency reigned supreme.
As long as money could be made, even children of this age could be squeezed for profit.
"I understand."
Silas took a deep breath and walked up to the child.
"What's your name?"
He asked.
"Oliver."
The child answered, sniffling.