Chapter 144: Chapter 144

The driver sheepishly ran a hand through his relatively tidy hair, then stooped to pull a thrice-folded newspaper from a large pocket in his patched coat.

"Of course, no problem."

Jenkins took the newspaper and saw a black-and-white photograph of a stout man waving in front of Nolan Station. It was Mr. Saks Luto, the current mayor of Nolan City.

"Mr. Clark hasn't shown up since the day the lockdown started," the driver explained. "So now us poor folk can't find anyone to read the news to us."

He explained, a little abashed.

Mr. Clark was a kind-hearted teacher who would read the paper to the drivers every day on his way to work.

Jenkins didn't reply, instead focusing on the short article accompanying the photograph.

"'Nolan-Pasadena Joint Railway Company Fundraising a Resounding Success! The mayor plans to build a brand new rail line directly to Bel Diran within three years. When complete, citizens will be able to reach the royal capital directly after a three-day, two-night journey...'"

"That's wonderful," the driver murmured. "Life is bound to get better."

The entire hospital was enclosed by an iron fence, its bars topped with sharp spikes. The guards at the double gates didn't let Jenkins in immediately. After inquiring about the purpose of his visit, one of them hurried off toward the main building.

Holding the fruit basket, Jenkins waited for a moment, only to realize with a start that Chocolate was perched on his shoulder.

"You've been awfully quiet. When did you get up here?"

Jenkins curled a finger and scratched the kitten under its chin. It narrowed its eyes and let out a contented purr.

The person who came out to greet Jenkins was Hathaway Hersha.

She offered the greeting in a low voice.

No, we just saw each other last night, Jenkins thought. And that thing you sold me is a huge problem.

"Can I bring Chocolate inside?"

Jenkins asked politely, indicating the cat.

"Of course. Isn't it a very well-behaved cat?"

"No, I was thinking about hygiene... but never mind."

This wasn't that era anymore.

The hospital was quiet, its environment far superior to that of Nolan Public Hospital No. 5. The corridor walls were painted a clean white, adorned with neatly arranged portraits from different eras.

Occasionally, ladies and gentlemen would emerge from the rooms, all dressed in somber, respectable attire. They walked with their chests out and heads held high, their faces betraying neither joy nor sorrow.

"Good afternoon, Baron Williamette."

She greeted him with a smile, putting a clear emphasis on the word "Baron."

"Please, don't call me that. Papa Oliver told me an honorary baron doesn't really count as nobility."

He responded sheepishly.

"But compared to me... never mind that. Congratulations, Jenkins. Still, according to proper social etiquette, one should bring a bouquet of flowers when visiting the sick, not fruit in an ugly basket. Though I must admit, you arranged it beautifully."

They chatted as they walked, but Hathaway steadfastly avoided his gaze.

"Hathaway," he corrected himself. "I'm allergic to flowers. Yes, a... spiritual allergy. I was going to bring some eggs and milk, but the old woman selling them said I was daft. The driver told me that if I couldn't bring flowers, fruit would be fine."

The red-haired girl covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. "I'm starting to believe you've never spent time with any girls your age. Otherwise, you'd at least know some basic social etiquette."

They continued down the long corridor until Hathaway pushed open the wooden door nearest the staircase, and Jenkins walked straight inside.

"Good afternoon, Mikh—"

It was a storage room.

Hathaway closed the door behind him, and since there were no windows, the room was instantly plunged into darkness.

"What are you doing?"

he asked, a note of panic in his voice.

She bent down and pulled a brand-new oil lamp from behind a stack of broken hospital beds. With a few twists of the knob, it flickered to life. She'd clearly planned this.

"Thank you again for saving me that night."

She stared into Jenkins's eyes as she spoke, her cheeks faintly flushed in the pale yellow glow of the lamp.

"You don't have to thank me. You're my friend."

He set the fruit basket on the floor and sat on a chair with a broken back, cradling Chocolate in his arms.

"But I have to warn you, that friend of yours in the black robe is no saint. He's still on the wanted list."

"I know. But he's my friend, too."

They both fell silent. Jenkins, it seemed, had a real talent for killing a conversation.

Hathaway's gaze drifted to the cat snuggling in Jenkins's arms. "You know," she added, "the Saint also appeared that night. And he has a cat, too—a pure black one. I heard it looks a lot like Chocolate."

"Is that so? Well, Chocolate isn't a particularly rare breed, so it wouldn't be surprising if they looked similar." Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn novｅlfire.net

"Jenkins, could you please be serious? This is important. You're really not suited to be an Enchanter. How could someone so... guileless handle the true darkness of this world? The Sage should just protect you, make sure you never have to meet anyone truly evil."

She was bringing it up again, but Jenkins found it impossible to be serious. He was, after all, that very Saint.

"Thank you. But being an Enchanter is my honor."

Hathaway turned her head, her eyes fixing on a broken iron caster on one of the beds.

"If you're ever in danger, I'll come save you, too."

Jenkins was normally quite clueless when it came to women, but the confined space seemed to have stopped his emotional intelligence from completely abandoning him. He could sense the atmosphere in the room had shifted.

Apparently, it wasn't a very strong lock.

Hathaway gave him an odd look, then sighed and pulled a crystal from her dress, tossing it to him.

The crystal was exquisitely clear and could have fetched a good price as a work of art alone. At its very center, a small black flame flickered silently.

"It's the seed of the demonic flame left behind after you killed that fiend that night."

"Wait, weren't we together the whole time? How did you manage to collect this?"

The crystal was warm in his hand, though he couldn't tell if it was the stone's own property or residual warmth from her body.

"Never mind how. The point is, it's yours. I don't take what isn't mine."

In fact, when Jenkins had dealt with the first fiend behind the church, it had also dropped a black flame. But no one had paid it any attention at the time, and he had no idea who might have ended up with it. Perhaps someone from the Church had collected it.