Chapter 1719: Chapter 1719

The object flew at an incredible speed. If it were not for the physical prowess of a seventh-level Enchanter combined with the reaction speed of [Cat's Grace], Jenkins might not have even been able to track its trajectory.

But it didn't matter. The instant he locked onto its flight path again, he drew the White Bone Holy Sword from thin air and brought it down in a fierce slash. A flash of indistinct gray light shot out, a white line that bisected the road in front of the courtyard, cleaving both the strange gear and the man standing in its path in two.

He remained where he was, weapon at the ready, and scanned his surroundings. Prompted by his intuition, he glanced down. A few ant-like creatures, much smaller than grains of rice, were attempting to scale his shoes. In the distance, a long line of tiny, brass-colored things crawled toward him, like an army of marching ants.

Jenkins froze. Through his still-active Eye of Reality, he saw that every one of the creatures emanated a black spiritual aura. He moved to step back, but the "ants" unexpectedly took flight, accelerating and swarming toward his face like a plague of locusts.

Instinctively, he thrust his palm forward, unleashing a wall of flame that erupted with a deafening roar, nearly setting the air itself ablaze. By the time a few of the "ants" managed to break through the fiery barrier and lunge at him, Jenkins had already slipped the Air Bomb Ring onto his finger.

"I really don't want to blow up the street," he thought. "I hope Magic Miss is quick about this."

With that thought, he thrust his hand forward once more. Inside the warehouse, Magic Miss, her eyes closed as she recited an ancient text, heard the blast and felt the ground tremble violently beneath her.

The corner of her mouth twitched, but she didn't move, placing her full trust in Mr. Candle to resolve whatever trouble was unfolding outside.

After the blast subsided, his ears still picked up a faint skittering sound from within the swirling dust.

Jenkins yelled at his cat, who had been slinking forward with its belly practically pressed to the ground, mimicking a tiger stalking its prey. Unfortunately, Chocolate's small size made the posture look more comical than threatening.

The firewall and the explosion had done their job. Only a few of the brass "metal ants" managed to crawl out of the rubble-strewn road, and their advance had slowed enough for Jenkins to finally get a clear look at what they were.

What he had mistaken for ants were, in fact, metallic constructs assembled from incredibly tiny gears. Their design was simple: a larger gear served as the body, while smaller cogs and bearings formed the legs and antennae. As they moved, they could even merge and split apart.

This inexplicably reminded Jenkins of his own [Mechanical Light] ability. Objects deconstructed by it also broke down into scattered gears of a similar size, shape, and color—they just couldn't reassemble themselves into mechanical ants.

He extended his right hand in a lifting motion and softly recited a unique incantation. A light, tinged with the color of a Star Spirit, materialized in his palm. Chapters fırst released on novel·fire.net

He didn't use the light immediately. Instead, he continued to use his flames, herding the gear-ants together. When the ring of fire had them tightly clustered, they vaguely coalesced into the shape of the single, complete gear he had seen before.

What the strange man had thrown wasn't a gear at all, but a metallic mass formed by the swarming metal ants.

A blue-violet beam shot from the center of the spectral miner's lamp, enveloping the "gear" on the ground. Its surface, which had been rippling and undulating from the movement of the constructs within, instantly went still. The moment the light touched it, all the metal ants that comprised the mass seemed to die.

Under the continuous beam, the gear finally lost its cohesion and melted into a puddle of molten metal on the ground. Jenkins watched intently with his Eye of Reality until the very last wisp of black spiritual aura disappeared, then incinerated the mundane metal with a final burst of flame.

The burning metal released a foul, unnatural stench that lingered in the air for a long time. Even on the open street, the odor was so persistent that Magic Miss could still smell it when she finally emerged from the warehouse.

"What happened just now? Did you rupture a septic tank during your fight?"

She emerged holding a small paper bag, her other hand pinching her nose against the smell.

"It was the Gear Artisans' Association," Jenkins explained. "Have you ever heard of a Cursed Item assembled from tiny gear-like constructs?"

"Never. What was it?"

"Probably some new trick from that thing underground."

Jenkins replied, gesturing for Magic Miss to follow him. They needed to leave quickly; the police would be arriving any moment.

Jenkins hadn't expected the Gear Artisans' Association to show up. But as they made their retreat, he recalled that the Association had allied with the Tree House. From that perspective, it made sense that the Tree House would dispatch a low-level Enchanter from the Association, armed with a Cursed Item, to destroy the ritual site.

This suggested that Queen Isabella's cooperation with the Tree House wasn't as thorough as Jenkins had initially thought. She obviously didn't trust them completely. Aside from the aspects that absolutely required a ritual, she relied on her own mundane subordinates for the rest.

This also explained why the operation itself was warded against divination and tracking. However, by focusing on the mundane details and avoiding supernatural means of investigation, as Jenkins had done, it was still possible to trace their activities.

Magic Miss had made her own discoveries in the warehouse. She reported that the ritual traces were unmistakable. While sacrificial rites weren't her specialty, the layout of the foundational array, the timing of the ceremony, and the runes she could discern on the array all pointed to a single purpose: "sacrifice" for "gain."

"My own foundations in ritual magic aren't the best, so could you put that in plainer terms?"

By now, they had left the warehouse district in the east of the city and were heading toward the center. It was still afternoon, and although it was a Saturday, the sweltering heat kept the streets mostly empty. The pair walked on, cutting through the thick, smoky haze.

"Your foundations are not good?"

Magic Miss didn't believe that for a second, but she couldn't be bothered to call him out on it. Instead, she explained patiently:

"You sacrifice something to gain something in return. While it's fundamentally a form of offering, there are distinctions. The ritual in that warehouse is based on an ancient prototype—so old I can't even trace its origin. However, I have seen similar rites before, and I must say, you're quite fortunate, Mr. Candle... In short, the practical effect of this particular ritual would be to 'sacrifice seven carriers of an exotic bloodline to obtain a potion that enhances said bloodline.'"

"Are you doubting my mastery of ritual magic?"

She declared with an air of absolute confidence. When it came to her field of expertise, Magic Miss was always this self-assured.

Jenkins thought of the "projection ritual" he'd bought from her for a steep eight thousand pounds and nodded, his expression deadpan.

"I have the utmost faith in your knowledge, Magic Miss."

"So, is that the whole story?" she asked. "Was Her Majesty's true goal really to acquire an elven bloodline, all to extend her life and her reign over the Fidektri Kingdom?"

Her tone grew cheerful. The case was almost closed, and despite the unexpected snag, everything had gone relatively smoothly. For Magic Miss, getting involved in a royal dispute without putting herself in real danger was a novel thrill. The victims sacrificed in the process were strangers, their fate of no consequence to her, and so did nothing to dampen her spirits.

"Enhance her own bloodline? That's impossible.

In truth, Queen Isabella shares no blood relation with the Middleton family. If the ritual produces what you claim, then that potion would be useless to her."

"I know she isn't a Middleton by birth, that she just married into the royal family. But don't the nobility intermarry all the time? Perhaps she's a distant relative," Magic Miss suggested.

Magic Miss mused as they rounded a corner. As they walked, their gazes fell upon a handsome white building to their side. Steam pipes clung to the exterior, their brassy gleam tracing elegant lines against the facade.

"She's the exception," Jenkins stated. "She has reigned for so long that most people have likely forgotten, but Queen Isabella was born a commoner."

Magic Miss looked away from the building to stare at him, realizing from his expression that he wasn't joking.

"Then why go through all this trouble?" she asked, bewildered. "Surely she can't have forgotten her own origins, right?"

"Of course not. Sarlisi II said that although the queen has become a bit muddled with age, she's still lucid for the most part... The potion isn't necessarily for her. Maybe she's already chosen her successor but doesn't want to see the Middleton bloodline wither away..."

Jenkins slowed his steps, his gaze fixed on the city center. His eyes traveled up from the broadening streets, past the rooftops, until they settled on the faint silhouette of the black metal tower looming in the depths of the fog. An oppressive feeling settled over him the moment he laid eyes on it.

"I think I finally understand," he murmured. "I never imagined this was her plan."