Chapter 122: Chapter 122

It was around seven in the morning, but the shop's doors were still firmly shut. This fellow certainly wasn't as hardworking as Papa Oliver.

Standing in the narrow alley, Jenkins rapped politely on the door. "Is anyone there?" he inquired.

A gruff voice sounded from behind the iron door, which was edged with brass sheeting, but the door remained closed.

"Good morning, sir," Jenkins began. "My name is Jenkins Williams. I've come to collect on a debt..."

The old man inside roared. Jenkins stood there, stunned.

"Papa Oliver sent me."

A couple of seconds passed before the door was violently yanked open with a thud. An old man in white plaid pajamas emerged, fuming.

"Oliver, that scoundrel!"

he grumbled, giving Jenkins a hearty thwack on the shoulder.

"Williams, isn't it? My apologies. I was in a foul mood just now, I shouldn't have spoken to you that way."

His tone softened deliberately, and a smile spread across his wrinkled face. "I'll take a third of the blame. The other two-thirds are all Oliver's fault."

He let out a dry chuckle, and Jenkins managed a polite smile in return.

"A friend of Papa's?"

Jenkins ventured, piecing things together.

Old Jack must have just woken up; Jenkins had called him out before he'd even had a chance to change out of his pajamas. He graciously ushered Jenkins into the shop, warning him to keep an eye on his cat. After pouring a cup of hot tea and setting it on the table for his guest, he stretched languidly and went to change.

A strange, bitter aroma filled the herbalist's shop, mingled with the damp scent of earth and the faint fragrance of fresh herbs. It wasn't entirely unpleasant. The scent was sharply contained within the shop; Jenkins hadn't noticed it until the very moment he crossed the threshold.

As Jenkins held the warm cup, the exhaustion from a sleepless night began to fade, replaced by an inexplicable sense of pleasantness.

In the two months since arriving in this world, Jenkins had never seen anyone pull a vial from their pocket during a fight, gulp down the contents, and instantly recover their strength. He'd learned that was because crafting potions imbued with supernatural power was incredibly difficult, and they had an extremely short shelf life.

Unlike items created through rituals, which could retain their inner spirit for half a month or more, most potions expired in less than three hours. Consequently, they had to be mixed right before use, a requirement that demanded considerable skill from the alchemist.

Although it was called an herbalist's shop, the only wares on display were peculiar little pills. They were heaped in metal bowls, each with a small tag explaining its use.

For instance, the nearest label on his left read "Typhoid Fever Remedy." The one next to it was for "Obesity Treatment," followed by "Ringworm Cure," and then one for "Male..." The word trailed off suggestively.

"If you're interested, feel free to grab a handful to try," a voice announced. "I can't guarantee they'll be effective, but I can promise they're not poisonous."

The wiry old man, now dressed in a wool sweater, emerged and pulled a chair up beside Jenkins.

"Jenkins Redemptor Williams, correct?"

Jenkins nodded, wondering how the man knew his middle name.

"Release your Soul Emblem to confirm your identity."

He immediately tensed, his hand clenching as if gripping his [Spirit Striking Cane]. The actual rapier-cane, however, was hidden under a steam pipe just outside the door.

The old man frowned. "Didn't Oliver tell you? I'm a Scribe too."

Jenkins hugged his cat closer and answered cautiously. Papa Oliver had been in a rush when he'd given his instructions; for now, Jenkins could only afford this old man half his trust.

"Then ask me something, anything, to verify who I am. Hurry up. I don't have all day to waste on this."

"How many years have you known Papa Oliver?"

"More than fifty years, I'd say. Who keeps track?"

"Then what happened thirty-eight years ago?"

The old man set down his teacup, his expression turning to one of genuine surprise for the first time.

"He even told you about that?"

"I overheard it by accident."

Old Jack took a sip of his tea, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"Thirty-eight years ago... the Month of Earth and Flowers, at the Witch's Lake. That's what you're referring to, isn't it? Young man, don't let your curiosity get the better of you. That affair is dangerous. It's not that I'm unwilling to tell you—I'm unable to."

"Oh. In that case, I believe you."

Jenkins said at once. He had no intention of digging into Papa Oliver's past. This was more than enough confirmation.

He held out his hand, summoning the emblem of a green sapling. The old man nodded in satisfaction.

"The Sage is truly unfair," he muttered. "I've always wanted to find a young person with a green soul ability to take on as an apprentice, to pass my skills down to. Never thought Oliver would snatch one up first. Anyway, Williams, what is it you're here for?"

"To collect a debt... at least, that's what Papa told me."

Collecting a debt was just an excuse, then. Since the old man before him was also a Scribe for the Church, Jenkins recounted the events of that morning.

The old man's expression immediately grew serious.

"Are you certain? That baron's ritual... it involved no spiritual components, no incantations, and no prayers to any deity?"

"Yes. I'm quite sensitive to the presence of spirit."

"Did you smell any sulfur?"

"No... wait. Are you saying... a demon?"

Jenkins froze. He recalled all the stories about demons he'd been hearing lately. Could this have been a hint from the Sage all along?

Come to think of it, hadn't the fortune-teller that night warned him to beware of demons? But she was telling his fortune about... love, wasn't she?

"Aside from the unique contractual powers those fiends possess, I can't think of another explanation. Especially not for a ritual built on slaughter and the stench of blood. Forging a pact, offering a blood sacrifice, and receiving a minuscule amount of spirit in return... it's a classic deal. Think hard. Have there been any other strange incidents in your diocese lately?"

Jenkins subconsciously touched his nose.

"Yes, there has. A powerful malevolent spirit manifested in one of Nolan's hospitals. Papa Oliver mentioned the Church found a connection between it and some sort of legendary creature." Follow current novels on NoveI★Fire.net

"Then that settles it."

The old man spoke quickly, tossing a triangular paper talisman onto the table. He pressed a single finger to it, muttered a few words under his breath, then produced a piece of chalk from nowhere. He drew the holy emblem of the Sage on the tabletop, and when he tossed the talisman into the drawing, it vanished instantly.

"But... doesn't Papa Oliver know nothing about demons? How could he have connected all of this so quickly? I asked him about it before!"

Jenkins immediately spotted the flaw in the story.

Old Jack snorted. "When we were initiated, we all signed a contract. You couldn't read the script, could you? Neither can I... but you should have realized by now. Knowledge gained from the Church can never be disclosed without authorization. Your clearance level isn't high enough. There are simply things Oliver couldn't tell you."