Chapter 100: Chapter 100

"Your book is excellent. At this rate, your reputation is sure to soar. But life is never without its troubles..."

"What... are you trying to say?"

The old man's expression was grave. He looked up at the holy emblem again and asked, "Have you any interest in becoming a nobleman?"

Jenkins froze. The moment the old man mentioned the royal family, he'd guessed at the messy politics behind it all. It was the age-old conflict between the church and the crown, wasn't it? Back on Earth, during the dawn of the Steam Age, the power of monarchs had waned as capitalism rose, while the authority of the church was steadily eroded by the march of natural science. But this world was different. Here, the power of the gods was subtle yet immense. The royal family might control the parliament and the flow of capital, but the church remained a formidable adversary.

So why was he being asked about it now? Was he being forced to choose a side?

It was a tranquil night. Moonlight streamed through the stained-glass windows overhead, their panes depicting scenes from the Sage's life. The colored light cast a glow upon the handsome young man in the black coat and the old man in his old-fashioned robes, both seated on a long pew.

Jenkins ran a hand through his hair with a sheepish smile, an apologetic look on his face.

"I wish to serve the Sage for the rest of my days. The affairs of the nobility are far too complex for me. I much prefer the atmosphere within the church."

Bishop Parrold raised a hand slightly, cutting Jenkins off. "In this matter concerning you, the church has been locked in a struggle with a certain... shameless faction among the kingdom's nobility. Since we were victorious, they must naturally pay a price. In any event, after the church's bestowal of honors is concluded, it is highly likely you will be granted a noble title by the kingdom."

"Wait," Jenkins interjected, "the matter of the divinity... that hasn't been made public, has it?"

"Of course not. We must protect the Goddess's secrets, as well as your privacy. All the secular world will be able to learn is that you, an ordinary man, have earned the esteem of the diocese and made an outstanding contribution by eliminating cultists in Nolan. They won't know the specifics of your reward, and they will certainly never guess that you're an Enchanter. But the royal family will inevitably make some gesture to win over promising young people from the Orthodox Churches. That much is certain. Ah, those wretched people!"

"So, should I accept this title or not?"

Jenkins was unsure, so he decided to ask the old man for his counsel.

"I hope you take it."

The old man didn't meet Jenkins's eyes, staring instead at the holy emblem. "For you, it is an unalloyed good. For the church, we hope our Scribes can hold a certain standing in the secular world. You wouldn't need to accomplish anything specific, but these titles are weights on the scales of our ongoing struggle.

Young Jenkins, forgive me for asking this of you, but I truly hope that you will..."

He cut the ashamed old man off. "You needn't trouble yourself over it. This is a good thing for me as well. Besides, it's not certain they'll actually give me a title. It's too soon to be worrying about it."

The night had grown deep. After helping the old man back to his quarters to rest, Jenkins walked out of the great doors of the church alone.

Matters concerning Enchanters would be handled by other Enchanters, while secular affairs were the bishop's responsibility. For now, the issue was settled.

He didn't really care much about noble titles and the like. His priority now was to find another Mysterious Realm and see if he could obtain a Bestowal. Or perhaps find another drop of divinity, to experience that euphoric sense of ascension once more and uncover more of the gods' secrets. The bishop had been right about one thing: true power must belong to the self. Until then, everything else was merely an illusion.

Back home, Jenkins washed up quickly, soothed his cat, and then drifted off to sleep.

Chocolate's black-and-white fur was bathed in the moonlight as it lay curled up beside Jenkins.

It let out a soft cry and rose unsteadily to its paws. Suddenly, two large, black hands emerged from the void behind it, snatching a nearly transparent spirit that hovered before the window.

The cat stared at the soul. The physical body its master had destroyed earlier that evening had belonged to this very human, it seemed.

Barnard stared at the little cat with terror in his eyes. He tried to back away but was held fast by the black hands from the void. He pointed at Jenkins, then at himself, his expression pleading. The moonlight seemed to slow the rate of his dissipation, but the pair of black hands were clearly not benevolent.

The kitten, Chocolate, took on a human-like, contemplative expression. Barnard began to gesture frantically again.

As a spirit, he couldn't speak. Or perhaps he was afraid of waking Jenkins, only to be swatted out of existence by the cat.

Chocolate nodded. The pitch-black hands retracted into the dark void, and the cat settled back down beside Jenkins.

Barnard's form expressed immense gratitude before he plunged into Jenkins's dream.

Jenkins set down his pen, shook out his wrist, and turned to greet Mr. Barnard, who had just appeared in the doorway of Pops Antique Shop.

"It's been a while, Williams." Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn novｅlfire.net

He reached for the door with a wry smile, but his hand passed right through it. Even in the dream, he was still a spirit.

"How did you get into my dream?"

Jenkins asked, more curious than surprised.

"You know this is a dream? And that I'm a visitor from the outside?"

"Yes. The moment you appeared, I realized it was a dream. And since I've never seen you in this transparent state before, I figured you weren't just a figment of my imagination. But let me give you a piece of advice: dead is dead. Please don't come bothering me. I'm the master of this dreamscape, and even if you want to possess my body, you shouldn't be trying any tricks in here."

In truth, he knew it was a dream because the decor inside Pops Antique Shop was completely different from reality. For example... the box beside his right hand contained twelve stone talismans, each engraved with the head of an animal.

"No, that's not what I mean!"

The middle-aged man denied it hastily, drifting forward slightly, only to be immediately forced back by Jenkins, who had brandished his Spirit Striking Cane.

"Huh? Where did I get this cane?"

Jenkins raised an eyebrow.

"Your control over this dream is incredible. It seems your soul is far more powerful than mine. Do you remember the Mysterious Realm from the day we met? The ability I gained there gave me the power to enter dreams. My faith in the Unlit Moon allows my spirit to endure for a considerable time after death. I've come seeking your help."

"Don't look to me for help. I'm just a low-level Enchanter."

Jenkins knew this man was his savior, but it was common knowledge among Enchanters that the living and the dead should not mingle. The Church of Death and End's teachings to the public included sayings to the effect of "let dust return to dust, and earth to earth."