Chapter 1254: Chapter 1254

After a quick scan of his surroundings, the man searching for the suitcase muttered an incantation. A moment later, a wisp of yellow smoke, visible only to him, materialized in the air. He immediately took off in the direction it drifted, hot on the trail.

Jenkins, who had absconded with the suitcase, hadn't actually gone far. Stealing it wasn't his real goal; he was simply looking for a quiet, secluded spot where he could act without interruption.

He had been worried the man wouldn't be able to track him and was just about to leave a trail of clues when he spotted him. The man, who had been milling about just moments before, was now heading straight for him.

"Perfect." ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novel_fіre.net

He turned and headed for the city outskirts, deliberately slowing his pace and taking a winding route to ensure they would eventually meet. Their rendezvous point turned out to be an abandoned mine in the eastern mining district.

While Nolan's eastern mining district was rich in resources, any mine that had been worked for over a century was eventually bound to be depleted and abandoned. These derelict sites weren't common, but they were guaranteed to be utterly deserted—the perfect stage for resolving their little dispute.

"Give it back! Stop running! It doesn't matter where you go, I'll find you."

Jenkins dangled the suitcase he was holding before casually tossing it aside. Perhaps it was due to his strength, or maybe the jagged rocks littering the ground, but when the case landed, it skidded and broke apart. Its contents—numerous packets of tobacco wrapped neatly in clean paper—spilled out onto the dust.

For the moment, Jenkins didn't notice anything unusual about the tobacco. He wasn't a smoker, so he couldn't possibly judge its quality from a distance.

"Who in the world are you?"

The pursuing man demanded. A prominent mole to the right of his nose gave his face a perpetually grimy look. He was a stocky, middle-aged man, and his coarse demeanor and rough clothing suggested a manual laborer who spent his evenings carousing in taverns with his mates.

But he was, without a doubt, an Enchanter. And since becoming an Enchanter required a grasp of reading, arithmetic, logical reasoning, and even the translation of ancient texts, his current persona had to be an act.

They had both vaulted the wooden fence surrounding the abandoned mine, landing in what was once a storage warehouse for ore. Long since derelict, the structure had completely collapsed, leaving behind only crumbling walls and a patch of ground distinctly different from the surrounding area.

Jenkins considered for a moment, then decided to answer with the simple truth:

"Someone tried to get a lock of my hair today. So naturally, I'm curious to find out who's behind it."

"Ah, so that's what this is about."

The man with the mole seemed to let out a sigh of relief. His posture relaxed slightly, and his voice, when he spoke again, was noticeably less gruff.

"My sincerest apologies for that. I believe my associate must have targeted you by mistake. On his behalf, and my own, I offer my regrets. I assure you, we mean no harm. We aren't collecting hair to curse anyone. The truth is, my partner is developing a rather fascinating potion, but the formula requires a large quantity of hair meeting very specific criteria. That's the only reason we've resorted to this."

The explanation was perfectly logical. Enchanters often required bizarre ingredients for their spells, rituals, potions, and alchemy. He recalled how White Cat Mr. had rallied his associates just to acquire the nail of some exotic beast. So, the idea of buying hair for a potion was entirely plausible. His [Lie Godhood], however, told him it was a complete fabrication.

"As it happens, I'm a potion maker myself. To be more precise, all the [Witch's Kiss] that's been circulating on the market for the past year was my creation. I'm sure you've heard of it? So, please, tell me what kind of potion your partner is brewing. I'm quite certain I can tell if you're being truthful."

The man had clearly heard of [Witch's Kiss]. His face went rigid at Jenkins's question. He took a single step back, and his form began to blur and run like watercolor paint, dissolving into a black shadow on the ground before vanishing completely.

"Traversing the Shadow Realm?"

That was a rare ability. The Shadow Realm was hardly a safe place to travel, and the talent for transmuting one's body into a semi-elemental shadow was not something just anyone could master.

"Looks like I've really stepped in it this time."

He glanced around. It was nearly noon, with the sun almost directly overhead. The area around the ruined warehouse was flat and open, with no tall structures to cast the kind of deep shadows his opponent would need.

Abilities tied to the Shadow Realm required a physical shadow to work with, which left Jenkins wondering what the man's plan was.

"Did he just run for it?"

He tilted his head, pondering for a moment, before walking over to the broken suitcase to inspect its contents.

He hadn't taken more than two steps when a cloying, sickeningly sweet fragrance assaulted his nostrils. His cat let out a panicked shriek, leaping from his shoulder and bolting into the distance. Jenkins quickly clamped a hand over his nose, fighting the urge to gag.

He wondered, bewildered, but a scan of the area revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

"Some kind of poison?"

But his body was virtually immune to all poisons. An inhaled toxin was unlikely to have any effect; even a direct injection into his veins would probably fail.

"Still, I think this is the first time I've faced an opponent who uses poison. How... interesting."

He surveyed the area again. Even with his Eye of Reality, he couldn't pinpoint the man's location, which confirmed he was still lingering in the Shadow Realm. The fragrance, however, shimmered with a faint spiritual aura under his [Eye of Reality], proving this was no ordinary toxin.

He stood his ground, waiting for his opponent's next move. After a long moment with no further action, he tried to step forward, only to find his feet were stuck.

It wasn't that Jenkins had been poisoned. Rather, a white smoke seeping slowly from the earth had ensnared his feet. It was almost unnoticeable unless he looked down. A thin layer of fog hugged the ground, covering nearly the entire expanse of the old warehouse floor.

Seeing Jenkins unable to free himself, the fog grew thicker, billowing up from the ground in a steady stream until it reached his ankles.

The mist condensed without dissipating, roiling in a state of dynamic balance. The thickest part of it was about five feet from Jenkins. There, the white vapors churned and swirled, finally coalescing into the form of the man he'd been chasing.

It was only an effigy, of course, but an astonishingly detailed one. The smoky duplicate stared impatiently at the immobilized Jenkins and fired off a series of questions in a clipped, hurried tone:

"Alright, my turn. Who are you? What's your background? And how exactly did you find out about our little operation?"