Chapter 102: Chapter 102

Jenkins smiled. "He's only a level-one Enchanter. How much effort could it take? I followed him in disguise for a day. I personally saw him go to the antique shop, talk with a newsboy on the corner, carry a case to make a delivery, and go pay next month's steam bill. In the afternoon, he changed his clothes and slipped into the underground black market. Is that enough to base a judgment on?"

This was, in fact, Jenkins's exact itinerary from the previous day. The steam bill was for the antique shop. And he had indeed visited the black market to prepare for that evening's activities, so every word he spoke was true.

"So, he really is an unregistered Enchanter?"

"I don't know if he's registered or not, but he's definitely an Enchanter. If you don't believe me, you can test him yourself. Your real-world identity probably knows him, right? You're quite the handsome young man, but be careful not to blow your cover."

"Don't try to probe my identity."

The young lady's voice turned cold in an instant. Jenkins held up his hands, signaling that he meant no harm.

"Mr. Birchwood was absent again. Everyone has given up waiting for him. The method for determining the next meeting has been changed. It will be based on the first letter of the first word of the third news story in next Monday's issue of The Nolan Daily. Take that letter's position in the alphabet and add it to next Monday's date. That will be the time of our next gathering."

Jenkins nodded, satisfied. He silently offered another prayer for Mr. Birchwood, who he suspected might never appear again.

Miss Skylark said nothing, but simply held out a hand in a black glove and rubbed her thumb and forefinger together.

The man behind the mask chuckled.

"Hmph." Newest update provıded by NoveI-Fire.ɴet

He casually fished a small vial from his pocket and tossed it to her.

"Moonstone fragments? You have the nerve to offer me something that sells for three shillings a dozen?"

The man shrugged and told a casual lie:

"I've been scraping together funds for that item you and I are trading. My savings are a little thin at the moment."

Her thin, black-gloved fingers caressed the vial for a moment before her arm tilted slightly, letting the bottle slide discreetly into her sleeve.

"The biggest news was about the hospital incident. Mr. Magic has grown wary after the Church's 'temporary' search of my residence, but Mr. Hood managed to calm everyone down."

"No. Mr. Hood said he heard from another gathering that on the night the black-robed man went to the hospital, someone spotted a suspicious individual outside the home of a Nightwatchman from the Church of the Unlit Moon. And that same Nightwatchman was one of the people possessed by the malevolent spirit."

Jenkins nodded. "That's suspicious. Surely that's not a coincidence? What does everyone think?"

"We don't have a theory yet. The black-robed man is highly resistant to divination, and the suspicious person from that night is also untraceable. I'd think you might have some ideas about that, wouldn't you?"

Her words were pointed, but Jenkins simply let out a sly, knowing chuckle.

Nolan City was a place of four distinct seasons, and by September, the nights had already grown a little chilly. After politely bidding farewell to Miss Skylark, Jenkins returned home, his mind heavy with thoughts.

"This is getting exhausting."

he murmured, turning the gas lamp on the wall down to its dimmest setting. He tore off his shirt and flopped onto the bed.

He tilted his head, his gaze falling on the pen and paper on his desk. It was almost time to start planning his next book. The more money he earned, the more he realized how poor he was. He truly wished that, just once, a windfall would fall right out of the sky.

Of course, stories like that usually featured some evil god or a cultist, and the protagonist usually ended up as a corpse in the shallows off the Docklands or in Nolan's filthy underground sewers.

In the days that followed, Jenkins eagerly awaited Miss Hersha to show up and test him, but no one ever appeared. It was as if she had forgotten the entire matter.

On Saturday morning, Papa Oliver was seriously studying a few sheets of paper. Jenkins, feeling invigorated after finishing his transcription of the tadpole-like writing, straightened a few imitation antiques on a nearby shelf before leaning over to peek at what the old man was reading.

"No need to be so curious. It's just last month's death report."

Papa Oliver's tone when he said the word "death" was far too casual.

"The list of unregistered Enchanters who died in this diocese. The five churches compile one every month. It's a way of assessing the peace and stability of the area."

As he spoke, he handed the papers to Jenkins.

A great deal had happened in Nolan City last month, yet fewer than ten unregistered Enchanters had died. The numbers were probably low because there weren't many of them to begin with, or perhaps the Church's intelligence network was limited.

He skimmed past Brown, the gangster antique dealer, and a flesh puppet that had been blown up by a low-quality talisman. Then, a familiar symbol caught his eye: a red cloud, the Soul Emblem of one of the deceased.

A jolt went through Jenkins's heart, and he gently lowered the report. He had long suspected this outcome, but an inexplicable sadness still washed over him.

The report didn't mention the man's real name, but the cause of death was described in detail. On that night of the torrential downpour, he had encountered A-01-2-0198. Fully aware of what it was, he willingly chose to refuse the transaction. On the third day after the storm, he passed away in his home as vines suddenly sprouted from within his body. He left a note confessing his identity and providing some valuable information, hoping the Church would treat his family with kindness.

"So that's how it was..."

Jenkins closed his eyes, only opening them again three minutes later.

"I don't see Brut, the Ice Messenger. Is he not dead yet?"

"It's worse than death."

Papa Oliver rapped his knuckles on the wooden table—a custom in the Fidektri Kingdom to ward off misfortune when speaking of ill events.

"That little flower girl nearly drained every last drop of his spirit. Then his attempt to sacrifice himself to an evil god ravaged his body. On top of that, he refused her transaction, so the vines burst right out of him... Tsk, tsk. The sight would give anyone nightmares. But the Church wants to trace the Club of Light Chasers through him, so they're using special means to keep him alive."

"Goddess preserve us."

Jenkins prayed instinctively.

Papa Oliver tapped his own head, as if reminding himself of something, and handed Jenkins a ticket with a tuba printed on it.

"The Royal Opera House? And the best box seats? Did you strike it rich, Papa? We haven't had any big sales lately, have we?"

He remembered that Robert and Mary had been on their way to the Royal Opera House when they came to visit him, so he knew a little about the place.

"I didn't buy it. Remember that harmonica you took from the flesh puppet?"

He brought up the incident from last month again.