"Really! We can make money from money by lending it. That's the fastest way to get rich."
"Lending money?" another scar-faced man perked up, interest flickering across his rough features. "Kid, do you even know what lending means?"
"Of course I do."
Lynn knew this was the critical moment, then only chance he was going to get. He had to put something real on the table.
"For example, you lend out ten silver coins and get twelve back a month later. The extra two are interest. If the borrower can't pay, the debt rolls over. Next month, they owe fourteen point four. That's interest on interest money making money. Much faster than collecting protection fees."
The scar-faced man listened, not truly understanding, yet feeling vaguely impressed. His simple mind struggled even to calculate a single month's interest. As for compound interest… that was beyond him entirely.
He turned to the Accountant for confirmation. The man nodded slowly, his expression profound, as if Lynn had just spoken some deep financial truth. Whether he truly understood it himself was another matter.
The other thugs exchanged glances. Most of them didn't understand either. But phrases like "ten becomes twelve" and "interest on interest" hooked into the greediest corners of their hearts.
Yellow Teeth finally wiped the grin off his face. He stared at Lynn for a long moment, then tilted his head toward one of his men.
"Go. Tell One-Eyed Boss."
Not long after, an order came down. Lynn was to be brought in for an "audience."
A thug unlocked the cage and motioned for him to come out.
The people left behind watched with complicated expressions. No one knew whether this was a blessing or a death sentence, but at the very least, Lynn had changed his fate.
"Um… can I go with you?"
The girl who had earlier spoken up for Lynn gathered her courage. Her eyes were full of hope as she looked at him, silently begging to be taken out of the cage as well.
The others also leaned forward unconsciously.
Lynn met her gaze, then looked away. He said nothing.
He was still a caged bird himself.
How could he decide anyone else's fate?
As he left without looking back, the hope in the girl's eyes collapsed into despair. A few of the others sneered.
'See? There's no rewards for kindness'
Yellow Teeth personally escorted Lynn forward. Along the way, his greasy hands brushed Lynn's exposed skin again and again, deliberately lingering.
The distance was only a few dozen meters, yet to Lynn it felt like a march through hell.
Scum.
Give me one chance, and I'll kill you myself.
They soon entered a spacious room. Yellow Teeth finally restrained himself, his expression turning solemn as he shoved Lynn forward.
At the head of the room sat a burly middle-aged man with a black eyepatch over his left eye.
His right arm was wrapped around a blonde girl, while his thick left hand roamed lazily over her body. The girl leaned into him, smiling faintly, lifting a wooden wine cup to his mouth.
The man drank slowly, his single remaining eye never leaving Lynn.
This was the leader of the Blood Hand Gang, One-Eyed Wolf Jack.
A rough wooden table sat before him, piled high with food. Rum, roasted chicken, stew, vegetable soup, mashed potatoes. A standard Western medieval meal.
"Kid," One-Eyed Wolf said, his voice deep and hoarse, "you're the one who claims he can help me make money. You understand lending?"
"Yes, Boss," Lynn replied steadily. "I was an apprentice accountant back in my hometown. My master praised me for my talent."
He pointed toward the stack of ledgers clutched by the Accountant nearby.
"Let me sort those out first. If I fail, it won't be too late to sell me to the Nightingale Pavilion."
One-Eyed Wolf narrowed his single eye, then waved his hand.
The skinny Accountant immediately stepped forward and shoved a mess of a ledger in front of Lynn. A faint sneer tugged at his lips.
This was a set of false accounts he had deliberately created. The entries were chaotic, and deliberately confusing. If this brat could untangle it in a short time, he'd eat the ledger on the spot.
Lynn took it and flipped through the pages.
Then his heart went cold as the realization came upon him.
He couldn't understand a single thing.
After a brief pause, Lynn looked up at the Accountant.
"Sir, could you explain what these characters mean?"
Illiterate?
The Accountant couldn't help but sneer openly now. As expected, just a sharp-tongued brat.
Too bad. Cleverness like this only sped up death.
"Bang!"
A loud crash echoed through the room as utensils scattered across the table.
One-Eyed Wolf had slammed his wine cup down.
"Kid! You would dare play tricks on me? Are you tired of living?"
Lynn turned calmly to face him.
"Boss, I didn't deceive you. The writing here is simply different from that in my hometown. Our methods there were also simpler."
He continued evenly,
"There's no need to translate every word. Just tell me which numbers are income, which are expenses."
One-Eyed Wolf stared at him for several seconds, then gestured sharply at the Accountant.
"I'll give you one more chance. If you're lying, you won't go to the Nightingale Pavilion. You'll serve the brothers instead."
The Accountant stiffened, then he quickly began explaining several pages.
Lynn listened carefully, then stepped away under their puzzled gazes. He walked to the fireplace, picked up a small piece of charcoal, and knelt beside the smooth stone floor.
Then he began to write.
He carefully matched each explained symbol with English letters and words of his own, aligning meanings one by one to avoid confusion.
One-Eyed Wolf watched closely. These strange characters were clearly not random scribbles. They were real writing from another land.
The continent had countless countries. Who knew where this kid had drifted from?
Once the first few pages were explained, Lynn fully grasped the structure.
He drew a simple table, laying out rows and columns. Then, using the scattered figures in the ledger, he began restoring the accounts piece by piece.
Arabic numerals flowed beneath his hand. Addition, subtraction, multiplication, division, Here and there, he inserted the foreign units he had just learned.
On Earth, this was elementary-school mathematics.
But to the surrounding thugs, men who struggled with two-digit calculations, it was nothing short of sorcery.
Charcoal scraped softly against stone as Lynn worked. The chaotic mess steadily transformed into clean, organized figures.
The faster his hand moved, the paler the Accountant became.
By the time Lynn reached the middle of the ledger, the man's face had turned deathly white.
It's over.
I've sent myself straight to the chopping block.