Chapter 141: Chapter 141

For safety's sake, Jenkins had investigated the ship's background before the gathering began. The merchant had been smuggling that very batch of problematic antiques—the ones containing the evil god statue. In a way, the ship's presence here was connected to him.

Surprisingly, he wasn't the first to arrive this time. After climbing the rope onto the cargo vessel, he saw Mr. Hood already standing in the shadows beneath the mast.

he asked casually, displaying his own emblem.

“Not surprised this time?”

Jenkins summoned the purple pentagram to prove his identity and gestured with the cane in his hand. “The item for my trade with Miss Skylark.”

“I’ve been surprised too many times. Besides, you’re the only one who attends these secret gatherings daring enough to arrive so early.”

Mr. Hood remarked. As the organizer, it was only natural for him to arrive ahead of everyone else to ensure the location was secure.

After a brief exchange, they fell silent, both gazing at the moon hanging above the horizon and the glittering surface of the sea.

“MrBirchwood is dead.”

Mr. Hood asked calmly. A few seconds later, his right hand traced a holy insignia over his chest, one Jenkins had never seen before.

The two of them exchanged no more words before the gathering began.

Miss Skylark, Magic Miss, and Mr. Black Cat arrived just as the time limit was approaching, appearing at the edge of the deck. This time, they were accompanied by a new participant. He was a friend introduced by Mr. Black Cat, someone he had met at other gatherings. Though Mr. Black Cat considered him trustworthy, neither knew the other's true identity.

The newcomer introduced himself as Mr. White Cat. His spiritual emblem was a slender red wooden baton.

A rather uninspired choice of name.

“Let’s have Mr. Candle begin,” Mr. Hood said, taking the lead. “He has some unfortunate news to share.”

The group stood circled in the shadows. Jenkins nodded. “I can confirm that Mr. Birchwood died during the Month of the Artisan and Sweet Rain. We... will never see him at one of our gatherings again.”

A heavy silence fell over the group.

“Do you know how he died?”

Magic Miss asked, her voice muffled.

“A-01-2-0198. On the night of that torrential downpour.”

Jenkins replied succinctly. Anyone present this year would know that only one night of torrential rain could be described as so completely insane.

“I’ve known Mr. Birchwood for two years,” Mr. Hood’s lament broke the silence. “He was always a cautious man, more so than most Enchanters I’ve ever met. To think he would die for such a ludicrous reason.” He had a point; Mr. Birchwood’s death could only be blamed on fate.

“Speaking of Cursed Items, another equally dangerous figure has recently appeared in Nolan City: A-11-2-3301, the Malevolent Coachman. He only appears near crossroads at night, seated in an old-fashioned carriage. His defining feature is that half his face is horribly burned, giving him a truly terrifying appearance.”

Mr. Hood continued, offering this as his news for the evening.

“Do you have any more specific details? I'm willing to pay for them,”

Miss Skylark inquired.

“That’s all I know, but his danger level is much lower than the flower seller’s. You can simply ignore him or refuse him outright without consequence.”

Mr. Hood added. The others let out a collective sigh of relief.

“I have more detailed information.” Googlᴇ search novelFirｅ.net

Mr. White Cat spoke up, his voice rich and magnetic, like that of a renowned opera singer.

“This coachman can transport passengers to any corner of the world. The ability is very similar to spatial transference, and the journey itself is perfectly safe... or so my intelligence suggests. He's considered 'malevolent' because of the fare he collects—always taken from the passenger's body. It might be an ear, a kidney, or even their soul.

Since this is my first time at this gathering, I’m not sure if that information is sufficient.”

He directed the last part to Mr. Hood.

Mr. Hood’s cowl bobbed up and down a few times in a nod.

“This information is valuable. Nolan City these past six months has been... well, never mind. Complaining about fate is useless. We must keep moving forward.”

Mr. Hood muttered to himself for a moment before announcing his own piece of news.

“First, I must clarify that I cannot guarantee the accuracy of this information; it’s simply too shocking. Alright, everyone, please gather a little closer. I dare not speak this out loud.”

The others took another step forward.

“Rumor has it—ahem, just a rumor, mind you, feel free to dismiss it as the ravings of a madman—that on the night of the city-wide lockdown, the one who killed the demon wasn’t the esteemed Miss Bevanna of the Church of Knowledge and Books, but an unknown saint.”

The other three drew a sharp, collective breath. Realizing he was a beat behind, Jenkins quickly did the same.

After his delayed gasp, he pointed toward the eerie purple star in the sky. “That one?”

Mr. Hood answered in a hushed tone, as if startled by his own words.

Miss Skylark interjected. “I also received some information about that night. All I know is that the black-robed figure who has snatched Cursed Items on several occasions was at the scene. Isn't everyone already speculating that he’s a follower of 'that one'? If the god you worship descends to the mortal realm, of course you’d be there to witness it.”

“Alright, alright, let's not discuss the secrets of the great ones any further.”

Mr. Hood quickly cut her off, bringing the topic to a close. It wasn't cowardice; in a world where gods were a tangible reality, such caution was only prudent.

“So, Miss Skylark's information is that the black-robed man was also at a sensitive location that night. Mr. Black Cat, do you have anything to add?”

“Yes. I know very little about the Church of Knowledge and Books’s operations, but I do know something about the riots in the factory district.”

He gestured behind him. In the night sky, the distant smokestacks of the factory district were still belching black smoke.

“This riot was no accident. There’s good reason to believe the masterminds behind it have been planning this for at least a year. That much is easy to confirm—anyone who was there can tell you the riot kicked off as smoothly as if it had been blessed by the Lord of War himself. My apologies. I shouldn't have mentioned a true god.”

He paused for a moment before continuing, “This information comes from the police department. At least three different heretical cults were involved. Insane, isn’t it?”

“What was the purpose of the riot? The poor were fighting for reasonable working hours and enough food to feed their families. What were the cultists after?”

Jenkins asked with a furrowed brow.