Chapter 148: Chapter 148

As evening fell, Jenkins took Chocolate home, changed his clothes, and slipped into a crowd of dockworkers. He found the professor at a pub called the Sea Pearl, and the two set off for the Corpse Gentleman's gathering.

Just as before, they took a carriage to the city's outskirts and followed a narrow path through a field of overgrown weeds. October had set in, and the air was thick with the scent of autumn. Now and then, a rabbit would dart across their path.

The professor wore a pair of black, high-ankled leather boots and carried an umbrella that emanated a faint yellow, spiritual glow.

"Do you have some time to go somewhere with me after the gathering tonight?"

the professor asked in a low voice.

"No problem. I live alone now, and I've already fed my cat. I have plenty of time tonight—nothing to do besides read."

"Excellent. You truly are a model believer. It won't take long."

They scaled the wall and entered the abandoned hospital, which was shrouded in a white mist. Ivy crept up the building's facade, and by the path stood a withered little tree, its trunk little more than a thin, black skeleton.

It was as if someone were watching him from a distance, but without malice—which was precisely what made it so unnerving.

They passed through a single remaining half of a door into the building, where walls that had once been white had oxidized to a pale yellow over time. Jenkins noticed that the corridor leading to the morgue was devoid of cobwebs. In fact, within the shrouding mist, there was no trace of any other living thing, a detail that was truly chilling.

He pulled his collar tighter; the temperature here was noticeably low.

He rapped on the rusted iron door in a specific pattern, and it swung open without a sound. Jenkins and the professor descended the stairs, one after the other, and took their places quietly against the morgue wall to wait for the gathering to begin.

He glanced again at the unlit candle on the floor. Judging by its markings, it was indeed a Sealing Room Candle.

"Good evening, gentlemen and ladies!"

Just as the clock struck eight, the Corpse Gentleman's voice echoed punctually from a morgue drawer. The slab slid open, and a man with a deathly pale, lifeless face sat up rigidly, a white sheet still draped over his body. At the same moment, the candle on the floor flickered to life.

The black-robed figures lining the wall responded in a scattered chorus, each voice strangely distorted and disguised.

"I am pleased that despite the recent unpleasantness in Nolan City, we have not lost a single member. That is very good."

His eyes, which seemed to hold all the vitality his body lacked, swept over each person in turn. Then he announced softly:

"Very well. Let us begin."

The man nearest the door, the last to arrive, immediately stepped forward, his voice trembling.

"Excuse me... about the demon incident... did a Saint truly appear?"

"Do not ask such questions," the Corpse Gentleman replied. "The more powerful one becomes, the more one grasps the terrifying nature of the divine. I never speak of such great beings."

"Of course. Thank you, sir."

The black-robed man cautiously retreated to his spot. The Corpse Gentleman's words had, in effect, confirmed the Saint's appearance.

Jenkins was bewildered. Wasn't that information supposed to be suppressed? Why did it feel like everyone he met already knew?

At the last gathering, someone had offered tens of thousands of pounds in shares, a display that had left a deep impression on Jenkins. He now had several thousand pounds of his own—compensation from the Church—and he'd brought it all, hoping to buy something useful.

Most of the attendees, however, only accepted trades in kind. The third black-robed figure to speak even produced a dagger that pulsed with a dense, black spiritual light. In the end, it was exchanged for a small piece of writhing flesh sealed in a test tube.

The test tube itself was an Extraordinary item, apparently designed specifically to contain the flesh. Jenkins didn't dare to even imagine what that thing could be.

"I need the seed of a demon's flame."

About half an hour into the trading, a black-robed figure made a request. "I know that on that night, besides the Scribes and Gravediggers, some demonic beings were also slain by Enchanters like ourselves. I'm looking for the seed of their flame. I am willing to pay a high price for it—or even for a clue!"

His voice was shrill and thin, and some of his words were nearly inaudible.

"What price are you offering?"

Jenkins considered for a moment before asking, his own voice muffled.

The man didn't seem surprised by the quick response. "A Magical Conch," he said. "I can trade a Magical Conch for it."

A silence fell over the room.

"Allow me to explain."

The Corpse Gentleman's chilling voice rang out. Every time Jenkins heard that tone, goosebumps prickled his skin.

"B-04-3-5011, the Magical Conch. It is a single-use Extraordinary item, but they are quite numerous. They appear only on coastal beaches, washed ashore by the tide. Their origin is impossible to trace, and no one has ever acquired one from any other location. The conch itself has no distinguishing features. Once held to the ear, one can hear a series of whispers like the sound of wind, similar to an ordinary seashell. Listening for thirty consecutive minutes will cause permanent damage to one's spirit. Listening for forty minutes creates a high probability of driving one mad. After fifty minutes, the color of one's blood begins to shift to a deep blue. After sixty minutes..."

He paused deliberately. Jenkins noticed that everyone had held their breath; this was clearly valuable information.

"After sixty consecutive minutes, one's faith will inevitably convert to the 'Azure Lord of the Deep Sea.' An ordinary person would simply die, while an Enchanter would gain a number of divine abilities before disappearing without a trace."

Jenkins was certain this was the question on everyone's mind. In his search for information on the Lord of Blossoms, he had familiarized himself with the names of nearly every pseudo-god, yet this was one he had never encountered.

"The item's value lies in this: you may ask it one question. Listen, and it will provide an answer, after which the conch will shatter into worthless fragments. As Enchanters, we are all well aware that certain knowledge carries its own weight. Therefore, be cautious..." For more chapters visıt novęlfire.net

"Thank you for the knowledge!"

Jenkins gave a slight bow to the Corpse Gentleman, then turned his gaze to the trader, who was bowing as well.

"Demons are exceedingly rare in this epoch, whereas Magical Conches are plentiful. I'll need you to raise your offer."

"No," the man countered. "The range of questions the conch can answer is vast. It is an extremely valuable item. One conch, plus five thousand pounds."