Chapter 1556: Chapter 1556
The bullet that clattered onto the cobblestones didn't make much noise, but it was enough to shatter the quiet of the night. Jenkins saw that the slug was flattened, deformed by the powerful impact.
"Let me be clear," the man facing the bullet said to Miss Windsor. "I'm not wearing a steel plate under my coat. So, I think you know what that makes me—an Enchanter."
Jenkins felt a hand press against his shoulder from behind.
"Of course," the man continued, "I also know that high nobles like you always carry a few strange trinkets to protect against supernatural attacks. But unfortunately for you, I won't be using any spells. That's not my forte. My specialty is strength. So you can put that little charm in your pocket away. It's useless."
Jenkins felt the hand on his shoulder tremble. The man had done his homework on Miss Windsor; he had come prepared.
"I'll go with you," she said, her voice surprisingly steady after a brief hesitation. "Just don't hurt him." She was trying to mask her fear.
"I can't do that," the man said with a smile, raising his gun to aim at Jenkins. "I don't need any witnesses."
"I'm not leaving," Jenkins declared.
"You don't see many people these days," the man chuckled, still standing under the gaslight. "Young man, I don't know if the tales of chivalry have gone to your head, or if you simply don't understand what an Enchanter is. Do you really have any idea what kind of power I possess?"
Miss Windsor didn't know Jenkins was a Scribe, and he had no intention of letting her find out. That left him with two options: either find a way to move the fight out of her line of sight, or figure out how to defeat his opponent through seemingly ordinary means. He had already made his decision.
"I admire a man with courage," the man said. "Since you've thrown down your gun and chosen a sword, I'll give you a chance to live. If you can beat me, I'll let you walk away. I'll only take the woman."
As he spoke, the man under the gaslight also dropped his pistol, keeping only the gold-adorned cane in his hand. Jenkins noticed a small metal charm lying on the ground next to the discarded gun—a Silence Charm, meant to prevent the earlier gunshots from attracting the police or any other unwanted attention.
Behind him, Miss Windsor clearly wanted to stop him, but Jenkins had already leaped from the carriage, sword in hand, and entered the makeshift battlefield. The man under the lamp gave his cane a hard flick, the tip whistling sharply through the air, and stepped out from under the light with a smile.
The two men watched each other, cautiously testing the distance between them. Suddenly, Jenkins lunged forward without moving his feet, then just as quickly dodged back as his opponent swung the cane. With the cane overextended and unable to be retracted, Jenkins thrust his sword forward in a single, swift motion.
The cane, which had been swinging forward, changed direction mid-air, and the tip of the sword struck it dead on.
The impact brought them both to a standstill for less than a second. Then, the stranger flicked his wrist with tremendous force. The energy transferred from the cane to the sword, sending the blade, along with Jenkins's right hand, flying violently upward and to the side.
The successful parry left Jenkins's center wide open. Seizing the opportunity, the stranger swung his cane single-handedly toward Jenkins's head.
"Perfect!" Jenkins thought. The strength his opponent had displayed so far was no greater than his own; he had intentionally allowed his sword to be deflected. With a flicker of thought, Psychography took shape, and a short metal dagger materialized silently in his left sleeve.
As his sword and right hand were flung upward, Jenkins raised his left arm. Momentum sent the dagger flying from his sleeve, and he caught it perfectly in his hand.
With another loud clang, the small dagger just barely managed to block the cane as it chopped down diagonally. Jenkins stood his ground, not even needing to step back to absorb the force. Meanwhile, his right hand, already high in the air, brought his sword crashing down.
The blow landed squarely on the stranger's left shoulder with precision and force. A normal person's bones would have shattered instantly under the full power of Jenkins's strike. But it left no wound at all. Sparks flew, and the shock of the impact sent a numbing sensation up Jenkins's arm.
Through the small tear the blade had made in the man's coat, Jenkins saw not flesh and blood beneath the scratched skin, but the glint of brass-colored metal.
"The Gear Artisans' Association! He's another one of that guy's accomplices from the antique market!"
Finally understanding who he was up against, Jenkins decisively let go of his sword and retreated. He sidestepped a sweeping blow from the cane that sliced through the air, then extended his right hand back. The cat in the carriage leaped into his palm, using it as a springboard to scramble up his arm and onto his shoulder.
He dodged left again to avoid another swing, and Psychography once more formed a dagger, this time in his right sleeve.
As the cane came whistling viciously toward his face, he raised both daggers and crossed them to block the attack.
"I originally thought you were just a pretty face," the man complimented him, "but you actually have some close-combat skills. It seems Miss Windsor has good taste. I should have known a noble lady from a great house wouldn't fall for looks alone."
Jenkins ignored him and lashed out with a powerful kick, sending the man stumbling back two steps.
He threw the dagger from his right hand, then spun around and grabbed Miss Windsor's hand with his now-free right.
"Let's go!" he urged.
As he spoke, he turned again and threw the dagger from his left hand. While the man was busy dodging, the two of them had already ducked into the alley from before.
"He's not even afraid of bullets, so why did he dodge my daggers?"
Only moonlight could illuminate the narrow alley, and the young man and woman darted through alternating patches of shadow and light. Jenkins muttered the question under his breath, but Miss Windsor, whom he was pulling along, had no answer. Jenkins had a guess, however. The man's body modifications were probably recent, and he hadn't yet grown accustomed to his own remarkable defenses.
"Jenkins, let's split up," Miss Windsor suggested, trying to pull her hand free and turn back the way they came. "That way, at least one of us can escape." But she was no match for Jenkins's strength.
"No, that's more dangerous," he said.
Though he couldn't see him, Jenkins knew the man was right behind them. He couldn't risk splitting up. There was no guarantee the man would chase him instead of simply grabbing Miss Windsor before Jenkins could don his black robe and return. Content orıginally comes from novel★fire.net
He had a better idea. Seeing a fork in the alley ahead, he quickened his pace to get in front of Miss Windsor, then suddenly spun around to look past her, a look of utter horror on his face.
"What is that?" he gasped.
Miss Windsor didn't have time to turn around; she only saw the astonished expression on Jenkins's face. In that instant, their eyes met, and Nightmare Possession—the evolved form of Dream Soul Departure—took effect. A wave of drowsiness washed over her, and she pitched forward, collapsing immediately into Jenkins's arms.
"Oh, my God, what is that?"
Jenkins was still staring behind her, and those were the last words Miss Windsor heard before sleep claimed her.
On his shoulder, the cat licked its paw, thoroughly unimpressed with Jenkins's cheap trick.
The woman's breathing was even; she had fallen into a deep dream. Because she had been hypnotized by Nightmare Possession, she was bound to encounter something terrifying in her sleep. But that was far better than being taken by a real villain. After all, dreams were fake, but the man slowly emerging from the shadows behind them was very real.
Though the stranger had been following them, he had missed the fleeting moment of hypnotism. He frowned as he watched Jenkins gently lean Miss Windsor against a wall, her head tilted to one side. Then he saw Jenkins straighten up and look at him with an expression of pure annoyance.
"What happened to her?" he demanded.
After his accomplice had mysteriously vanished on that train, his new orders were to bring Jessica Windsor back alive. His earlier threat to kill her had been just that—a threat.
"She fell asleep," Jenkins explained, extending his right hand and summoning the White Bone Holy Sword from thin air.
He held the sword horizontally across his chest, placed his left hand on the flat of the blade, and slowly drew the sword to the right. As the blade slid beneath his left palm, leaping, orange-yellow flames of Grace ignited along its length.
When the tip of the sword cleared his left palm, the entire blade was wreathed in fire. Jenkins gave the sword a couple of swings, leaving two faint trails of fire hanging in the air.
The Enchanter from the Gear Artisans' Association sucked in a breath, his expression turning grim. "An Enchanter... You're an Enchanter too?"
"Isn't it a little stupid to be asking that now?" Jenkins retorted.
He advanced, sword in hand, and when he was still twenty feet away, he swung it horizontally. The streaking blade glowed red with fire, making the sword seem to extend unnaturally as it struck the stranger.
Mere physical force would have struggled to break the magically enhanced alloy beneath his skin, but the flames clinging to the blade burned through the metal first. Then, the curse of the undead followed, seeping into the flesh and destroying what little biological vitality remained.
The immense force of the blow then tore through the softened metal and blackened flesh with devastating ease. When Jenkins pulled his sword back, the man standing before him was cut messily in two.
As his upper body hit the ground and his lower half collapsed, metal parts scattered everywhere. But somehow, he wasn't dead. The remaining torso lunged at Jenkins, only to be kicked away.
"I've never been one for interrogations," Jenkins said, pointing a finger. Vines dropped from the sky and slithered like snakes toward the man's head. Even with a gear-mechanized body, his soul was intact. As always, the vines drank their fill of blasphemy, leaving an ethereal coin for Jenkins when they departed.
He bent down, picked up the coin, tossed it a few times, then slid it into his pocket before kicking the corpse, which was leaking machine oil and black blood, aside in disgust.