Chapter 143: Chapter 143
Another thunderous crash echoed as the smoke cleared, and the chain swept out once more.
No one saw what Jenkins was holding, but he managed to momentarily parry the chain.
In the distance, the docks lit up. Someone was coming.
With an unspoken agreement, they all broke off the engagement. Femishue retracted his chain, leaped back onto his ship in the sky, and then plunged straight into the water.
“We’ll confirm the next gathering the same way as last time.”
Mr. Hood whispered to the group before turning and vanishing into the darkness.
Jenkins bolted in the opposite direction, away from the light. He skirted the warehouses at the edge of the docks, crossed a gravelly stretch of beach, and didn't stop until he was deep within a coconut grove.
“What terrible luck.”
“Let's not waste any more time. We need to move; we might be in serious trouble,” she urged, her voice laced with impatience. “And let me remind you one last time—while that chained ability can completely shield you from psychic harm for a while, the drawbacks are significant.”
Jenkins tossed the rapier over to her.
“As long as it works.”
“This is what stopped that chain?”
The girl asked, her voice still disguised.
“Fine. This is for you, and no going back on our deal!”
As she spoke, she set a rolled-up parchment on the ground, then hurried off toward the other end of the coconut grove.
The palm shadows swayed, and soon she was gone.
Jenkins stepped forward, bent down, and picked up the parchment from the rocky ground. At the top, written in small script, was a formula: [Pious Prayer (White Basic)] + [Immaculate Contemplation (White Basic)] + [Mark of Faith (Yellow Spell)] = Our God is Here.
A sense of foreboding washed over him.
He unrolled the parchment and read the description of the chained ability's final effect. It involved building the divine sigil of one's chosen deity within the soul. Upon activation, the sigil would suppress the user's soul, and before the soul inevitably shattered under the sigil's power, it would block any and all psychic corruption and damage.
“You get what you pay for...”
There was no way Jenkins was going to recklessly tamper with his own soul, especially not with a method that could cause it to shatter entirely.
The docks were soon bustling with activity. Jenkins pressed himself into the shadows of an alley, watching the familiar faces of Enchanters hurry past. He suppressed the childish urge to hunt down Miss Hersha and give her a spanking for the trick, then turned and headed for Mr. Barnard’s house.
A considerable amount of time had passed since the incident with the malevolent spirit, so Jenkins had reason to believe the Church of the Unlit Moon was no longer watching the property. And he was right. After circling the alley a few times in various disguises and seeing no one, he vaulted the fence into Mr. Barnard’s yard. He conjured a bent piece of scrap metal out of thin air and began to dig in the soft earth.
He soon unearthed a small, locked box. After picking the lock with a bit of wire, he found it filled with scattered banknotes, some of which weren't even gold pounds. All told, it added up to about 500 pounds.
He pressed his lips together, his gaze falling on the dark, silent house. He took a few banknotes from his own pocket, carefully added them to the box, and then locked it again.
Careful not to disturb the sleeping woman and child inside, he picked the lock on the mailbox, slid the box in, and secured it once more. Then, without a backward glance, he slipped away, his hands in his pockets, hugging the shadows as he rounded the corner.
“Farewell, Mr. Barnard.”
The next morning, as he sat at the dining table eating a fried egg, the front-page headline of the *Nolan Daily* was, just as he'd expected, all about the pirate king—Femishue the Destroyer.
“Nolan Press, Fifth Bureau—Yesterday at midnight, the notorious pirate king, Femishue the Destroyer, appeared in his vessel in the Nolan Docklands and engaged in an armed conflict with patrolling officers...”
Jenkins quietly read the words on the newspaper. The article went on to detail the vile deeds committed by Femishue the Destroyer since he first made a name for himself twenty years ago, along with the joint bounty offered by the three great kingdoms: 10,000 pounds.
“That's just the public bounty. If you could capture or kill him, the Church's reward would be even higher.”
Papa Oliver remarked from his faux-antique rocking chair, where Jenkins sat beside him, diligently transcribing the tadpole-like script.
“I can't believe that madman showed up here.”
Jenkins asked, surprised.
“Yes. Twenty years ago, he stole a holy relic from the Church of Ocean and Exploration: C-04-2-0098, the Heart of the Pure Ocean. The Bestowal granted him the protection of the seas, but it also shattered his mind. Among the seven pirate kings, he ranks third in power but commands the smallest crew. The followers of the Storm Lord have been hunting him for years, and it's widely believed he's half-mad. In any case, he's no saner than the patients at Blackwood Asylum.”
Chocolate, who had been curled into a fluffy ball, twitched his ears, his eyes glinting with sudden interest.
After lunch, Jenkins had planned to use the warehouse behind Pops Antique Shop to perform a ritual. He wanted to use the new materials from the trade to imbue his bullets with a [Minor Frost Enchantment] and [Toxic Assault]. However, Papa Oliver told him to go visit Miss Mikhail instead.
“Didn't she say she'd visit me once she recovered?”
Jenkins asked, puzzled.
“If I didn't value your talent for writing and mathematics so much, I'd be tempted to knock some sense into that head of yours.”
Papa Oliver said, his tone dripping with exasperation.
“But I still have books to read, and I have to prepare for *The Tale of Ice and Snow*...”
At that, Papa Oliver truly lost his temper.
Jenkins was certain that no one he had saved on the night he'd briefly become a god would have any lingering ill effects. But since Miss Mikhail was still convalescing, she must have simply been terrified by the ordeal. He hoped she had learned her lesson.
She was staying at an exclusive, unnamed hospital on the outskirts of the city, hidden away in a patch of woods. It wasn't far, he noted, from the Corpse Gentleman's hideout.
By coincidence, Jenkins recognized the coachman. It was the same man who had driven him and Chocolate to the pet care center.
“Well, what a coincidence, sir!”
The coachman recognized Jenkins as well and struck up a polite conversation.
“It is. Do you usually work this area?”
The wheels crunched over gravel, and the horse's hooves clip-clopped on the road. Follow current novels on novel~fire~net
“More or less. The Public Carriage Association has rules, you see. A coach like mine can only pick up fares from designated spots during the day. For ease of management, they say.”
The coachman's voice was subdued. Jenkins knew the area where he'd hailed the cab was far from bustling; finding a fare there couldn't have been easy.
The carriage trundled along the winding streets. Barefoot children huddled in the depths of narrow alleys, some peering out at the bustling world beyond, others scanning for potential marks. A constable passed by, shot them a warning glare, and then continued on his patrol.
“Sir, might I trouble you for a moment? Could you have a look and tell me what this says?”