Chapter 131: Chapter 131

"What level are you, anyway? With so many useful abilities?"

The red-haired girl whispered.

For once, Jenkins the liar uttered a truth.

But she didn't believe him.

She studied Jenkins's face as he stared ahead, jostling slightly in his arms as he navigated the uneven ground. She gazed into the endless night, her mind drifting to the past, recalling the utter despair that had consumed her earlier. Then, her eyes returned to Jenkins, his expression one of complete focus, his attention fixed solely on the path before them.

"From now on, when we're alone, you may call me Hathaway."

Jenkins mused, thoroughly confused.

The two of them parted ways near a horse farm on the outskirts of the city. Hathaway insisted she could get back on her own from there, so Jenkins could only watch as she staggered away into the darkness.

He patted his cat on the head, and Chocolate obliged with a soft meow.

His luggage was still at the church, but he didn't have the energy to retrieve it. As he collapsed onto his bed, he vaguely remembered that he had left his rapier back in Shire City. That, however, was a problem for after he woke up.

The last time he'd slept was two days ago, and not even an Enchanter could go on like that forever. The profound emptiness following his divine transformation had left him spiritually exhausted, and the relentless pace of the past few days had wrung out every last drop of his energy. At last, he fell asleep.

Chocolate, who had been curled up on a small blanket by the bed, padded gracefully over to Jenkins's head and carefully brushed his face with its tail.

What the cry meant, no one could possibly know.

When he opened his eyes, the sun was already setting outside, and Papa Oliver was sitting by his window, peeling an apple.

The scene was familiar, only their positions were reversed.

"How long was I asleep?"

He sat up, clutching his head, feeling a throbbing pain in his temples. Maybe he should see a doctor for a calming tonic.

Papa Oliver handed the apple to Jenkins, while Chocolate lay obediently on his blanket.

"I won't scold you for ignoring my arrangements and coming back on your own. Young people need to learn a few lessons the hard way to grow up... And if you're wondering how I got in, don't forget that I'm the one who taught you how to pick locks. No need to thank me for coming, either. It was Chocolate who came to find me at the shop the day before yesterday, absolutely starving."

"I wasn't going to ask."

Jenkins replied, squinting as he gently stroked the cat's soft fur.

He took a bite of the apple, and sweet juice flooded his mouth. Then his stomach rumbled.

"Drink this tea first."

Papa Oliver brushed his hands together and stood up. "It's snow bee honey from Miss Bevanna. It will help clear your head and speed up your recovery." Googlᴇ search novel★fire.net

"What exactly happened to me?"

"It looks a lot like extreme fatigue, but it isn't. The Church misjudged—we were facing two demons, not one. The land was corrupted to a staggering degree, and simple divine arts weren't enough to fully protect you. If you had returned directly to the church the night before last, you would've been treated immediately. But who would have thought you'd just go home? You're lucky you're young and strong, and that your Soul Trait Ability is a healing one. Otherwise, you wouldn't have gotten off with just two days in bed."

"Because home was closer."

Jenkins muttered his excuse, pleased that he at least had a plausible reason.

He followed Papa Oliver downstairs in his slippers to find the table surprisingly set with gleaming silverware and cutlery. The sight of a steaming turkey, a vibrant platter of vegetables, and a fragrant fish soup made Jenkins swallow hard.

"Did you make this, Papa?"

He asked with a sidelong glance, though he still pulled out a chair for Jenkins.

"Marquis Mikhail had his personal chef prepare it. The business with the demons can't be known to the public, so the official story is that a group of wicked Pseudo-God cultists, using the promotion of novel scientific knowledge as a pretext, kidnapped and murdered the children of many of the city's noble families. The rumor on the street is that a kind-hearted citizen happened to discover their activities and reported them. Well-informed detectives and reporters believe the informant was a devout follower of a Righteous God. Powerful officials and minor nobles have heard that the informant was the lover of a young noblewoman. Only the truly important people know the truth: that it was Jenkins Williams, the brilliant new author on the verge of receiving a noble title for his wildly popular book, who bravely exposed the cultists' plot."

"So the Marquis is thanking me? Because my report led to Miss Mikhail's rescue?"

He toyed with the food on his plate, asking absently.

"That's only part of the reason. Remember what I told you? Marquis Mikhail commands the Nolan navy. He's an incredibly powerful nobleman, even within the kingdom. He must have heard a few things about what's going on with the Church. While there's no way he could know you're about to be named a Saint, he's likely guessed that you hold a special position."

"Does he know I'm an Enchanter?"

Papa Oliver's tone was certain.

"When we joined, we signed a mutual pact. We serve the Sage for life and keep the Church's secrets, and in return, the Church is obligated to protect us from the interference of secular powers. It's a sacred contract, and it cannot be broken."

Jenkins popped a boiled potato into his mouth. It was just a potato, but it really did taste different depending on who cooked it.

"Did Chocolate eat something strange? He seems smarter than before."

Papa Oliver glanced sideways at Chocolate, who was pawing at a plate on the table. The cat had already finished its portion of gourmet food for the day and was now trying to pester Jenkins into sharing some of his.

"An animal sentience potion."

"Trying to poach my apprentice again."

Papa Oliver scoffed with a grin, instantly guessing what had happened.

As they ate, the two of them chatted idly about the demon incident. As expected, the Church hadn't announced the appearance of a Saint. Jenkins couldn't tell if Papa Oliver was forbidden from speaking about it by his contract, or if he genuinely didn't know.

On a nearby chair sat the last two days' issues of the Nolan Daily—his newspaper subscription, which Papa Oliver must have brought in. As for the milk, it had either been drunk by Chocolate or by Papa Oliver.

After all, this was an age without refrigerators.

Jenkins's eyes were immediately drawn to the massive headline, a title so large it seemed to take up the entire front page, as if terrified of being overlooked.

"That's right. From now on, we'll have an extra day every four years. In other words, starting three years from now in 1868 of the Universal Calendar, every year divisible by four will have 366 days."