“It’s nothing, sir. I just want to know what’s going on in the outside world beyond the village—the city and all that.”
Nash spoke politely, but he didn’t avert his eyes. He looked straight into Brad’s eyes with unwavering intent.
The fire in the fireplace cast a soft orange glow across the little boy’s face. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his eyes didn’t waver like those of an ordinary child speaking on a passing whim of curiosity. They were steady and serious.
“And things like how people live, magic, talents… Oh, and dungeons and stuff like that. Whenever you’re free is fine, Uncle Brad. Just a little bit each day is fine.” He continued without hurry, as if he had already arranged the words in his head.
Brad stood with his arms crossed, studying the child before him.
“Most orphans like you only care about food, shelter, clothes, and medicine. You’re the only one who’s different. You usually look so quiet. I never thought that little head of yours was filled with all sorts of questions.” His tone held no contempt, only genuine surprise.
“Hmm, I don’t have a problem with it, but I’m not exactly swimming in free time, kid. You see, I’m the captain.” The word “captain” came out calmly, but with unmistakable weight.
Beneath his leather armor and the sword hanging at his side, Brad was the guard captain of this border village. His duties involved more than patrol duty. He had to make decisions during emergencies, deal with bandits and monsters, and allocate the village’s meager manpower.
The reason he came to hand out bread or light the firewood for these orphans wasn’t because his duties required it, but because of his own past. Every time he saw these children, he saw another image superimposed over them—an image he had never told anyone about. The feeling in his chest was so heavy and bitter that it was difficult to explain, so he chose to act instead of speak.
Nash listened to every word.
“I’m not in a hurry. Like I said, a little bit each day is fine. I’m just curious.”
His voice softened slightly.
“Before, I just kept my questions to myself because I was shy. And like you said, even finding enough food to fill our stomachs was difficult. If I hadn’t gotten lucky and happened to figure out how to prepare those things for food, I’d probably still be busy searching for something to keep us alive.”
He paused for a brief breath before continuing.
“On top of that, I noticed you never seemed disgusted by us. That gave me the courage to ask. If you’re busy, I can wait. What’s wrong with looking forward to it every day?” Some of it was true, some of it was embellished, and the two were mixed together.
The body's original owner really had been shy. But the child standing here now was no longer afraid to speak.
Brad stared into the boy’s eyes. His words were clear, his reasoning proceeded step by step, and his voice knew exactly when to pause. Was this really a child under ten years old?
He had met child nobles and seen children drilled so intensely that they were unnaturally clever for their age. Even so, “a child was still a child.” There were always traces of innocence. But this child’s eyes looked like those of an adult who had already been through a great deal.
“Ha-ha, sure. I’ll come find you when I’m free. Or would you rather come see me at the guard post?” Brad laughed in his deep voice, as if trying to ease the atmosphere.
“On a normal day, when are you free, sir? Then I can come find you at that time?” Nash immediately asked back, without hesitation.
“What would you do if I told you I was free from late morning until the afternoon?” Brad’s voice carried a teasing note, but he was also testing the boy. That time was crucial for the orphans—the time when they went out to work for scraps of bread, when each of them had to struggle to survive.
Let’s see how this child answers.
“If that’s when you’re free, don’t worry. I can go then.” The answer came quickly and firmly.
Brad raised an eyebrow. “You’d be giving up the time you spend looking for work in exchange for food.” He spoke as if joking, but inwardly, he was beginning to take the matter seriously.
“I already have a plan, but I’ll ask my friends first. I’ll try asking them for help.” Nash’s expression didn’t change. “I’ll teach my friends how to find food we can gather today, then have them work together to find it and share it while you’re free. I only want a general overview. It shouldn’t take more than a few days.”
The word “plan” coming from such a small child’s mouth made Brad go still for a moment.
“No need. I was just joking. Everyone has to work during that time. How about this? I’ll come when you’re cooking. You need someone to light the fire anyway, right? I actually wanted to leave you some flint, but it’ll be easier if I come and light it for you. It’ll put my mind at ease, too.”
The offer was sincere. He didn’t want the children carrying flint around and risking setting this place on fire.
Nash nodded in satisfaction. “That sounds good. Then you can take your share back with you. By the way, how many guards are there in total?” Nash smoothly redirected his questions.
“Seven, including me. Whatever you can spare is enough. Don’t try to find that much. And don’t worry about the bread. We already have some.” Brad’s tone grew serious. Take food from orphans? Some scumbags might do it, but not him—and not his unit.
“Okay. But could I have some flint too? I want to practice using it.” The boy still wasn’t done negotiating.
Brad gave a low chuckle. “All right, no problem. I’ll bring some tomorrow and teach you how to use it, too. Anything else? If not, I’ll be heading back. You all should get some rest.”
“That’s all. Thank you, Uncle Brad.” Nash’s gratitude was genuine.
Brad nodded, then turned and walked out of the hall. The heavy sound of his leather boots gradually faded into the distance.
When the door closed, a gentle silence returned. Nash turned back to all the orphans, his gaze shifting slightly as he became more serious.
“Everyone, listen up.”
All eleven children raised their heads at once.
This wasn’t just about food. This was the beginning of something. He had to lay a foundation, build a system, and turn their struggle into cooperation.
“Tomorrow, I’ll teach all of you how to find food, but we’ll split up. I’ll have the boys go into the city to look for work and bring back bread. As for the girls, I’ll teach you how to find things we can eat. Then we’ll share everything in the evening. Do you think you can trust me and follow my plan?” Nash asked.
The question wasn’t an order. It was a request for cooperation.
Tiny answered first, his eyes unwavering.
“I trust you.”
“I trust you too.”
Mei Li nodded, her smile gentle but filled with confidence.
The other children looked at one another, then nodded one by one.
Today, they had eaten their fill. Some of them had never felt this way for as long as they could remember. In lives that were already a constant struggle, even a little hope was better than nothing.
“So it’s settled. Thank you, everyone.” Nash lowered his voice. “Tomorrow morning, after we get our bread, the boys can go into the city once they’ve eaten. Girls, follow me to the stream. I’ll teach you how to find the things we ate today. Then we’ll have food again tomorrow evening. Let’s go to sleep now, or we won’t get enough rest.”
He chose to send the boys into the city because most of the work there required trading physical labor for food—carrying goods, hauling wood, and dragging cargo.
As for the stream, he would handle that himself.
When he finished speaking, he walked over to the corner where he slept. Dry straw had been spread out as a thin mat, and a faint dusty smell brushed against his nose.
He lay on his back, staring at the old wooden ceiling with its small cracks, his thoughts racing. “Tomorrow, after I teach them how to find shrimp and clams, should I try walking farther down the river? Maybe I could make a fish trap. Or should I head into the woods? There might be something I recognize in there. Yahoo! This is so exciting! I don’t know what to do first. I’m too excited to sleep.” His thoughts churned onward—images of the river, the woods, and a future where they wouldn’t have to go hungry. But a child’s body still needed rest, and before long, his eyelids grew heavy.
That night, every child in the orphanage slept soundly—truly soundly. There were no growling stomachs, no painful burning hunger. Only steady breathing and the hope that tomorrow wouldn’t be like the days before.
With full stomachs came heavy eyelids. The flames in the fireplace gradually weakened, and their warm orange light reflected across the wooden walls.
Before long, the orphanage hall sank into true, peaceful silence.