Chapter 1780: Chapter 1780

“But why try to create a look-alike puppet using Tackwen's soul?”

With the enemy dispatched, Jenkins was left puzzled. He carefully set the Cursed Item aside, then leaned in to check the breathing of the woman tied to the table. She was still alive, her breath shallow and weak—too weak to be woken.

Jenkins healed her slightly, then scanned his surroundings with the Eye of Reality. Finding no other Enchanters, he wrote down the key information he had learned from his conversation with Tackwen, tossed the paper onto the woman, and walked out of the warehouse. Slipping on the Air Bomb Ring, he whipped his hand through the air. A deafening blast tore through the void, a sound like a mountain exploding that echoed far into the silent night.

He let out a sharp whistle, summoning his unicorn. It carried him into the sky, where he watched to see who would respond to the blast. When he saw it was Church Enchanters arriving on the scene, not members of the Tree House or the Gear Artisans' Association, Jenkins finally relaxed. Under the moonlight, he urged his mount toward the city.

“It's been a while since I last called you.”

He leaned forward on the small creature's back, stroking its soft fur as they soared across the city sky.

The unicorn let out a soft cry, but its neck wasn’t long enough to turn and nuzzle his hand. Jenkins thought of the Primeval Amber Stone, a gift from the Silver Dragon Lord Anettasia. It was a pity the unicorn's growth cycle was so long; it would be hundreds of years at the earliest before it could wear the stone.

He dismounted in an alley near the church, bidding a reluctant farewell to his unicorn. His initial plan was to return through the main entrance to prove he had never been missing, but a quick glance from a distance showed no signs of alarm. It seemed no one had noticed the Saint Son’s disappearance. So, he carefully scaled a side wall, taking care not to trigger any alarms. Once inside, the people he passed in the corridors showed no surprise at his presence.

Jenkins realized that no one had truly noticed he was gone. When he reached Miss Bevanna's office and pushed open the door, Chocolate immediately leaped into his arms.

He murmured, holding his cat and gently patting its little head. Then he glanced suspiciously at the office door.

“How did you get in?”

He had been transported to that strange place before he had even opened the door, and the office door required turning the handle to be opened. It was unlikely someone else had opened it for Chocolate; otherwise, they would have certainly noticed Jenkins was missing.

The cat, completely unfazed, simply narrowed its eyes and nuzzled its little head against his chest. Jenkins decided not to press the matter. Perhaps Fini had passed by and opened the door for the cat, or perhaps it had slipped in through a window and closed it again. In any case, all that mattered was that Chocolate hadn't been frightened by his absence.

Just as he suspected, no one had noticed his brief disappearance. Consequently, Jenkins had no involvement in the news that arrived half an hour later from the Church of Death, identifying the old woman as B-12-1-6213, the “Unwitting Soul-Guide,” nor in the report near ten o'clock concerning traces of the Tree House found in eastern Nolan.

At ten o'clock, he bid farewell to Bishop Parrold and greeted the two church demigods before preparing to leave. Just then, he spotted Miss Windsor's carriage at the entrance. Seeing it, he decided not to trouble the church for a ride and boarded her carriage with his cat.

“Good evening, Miss Windsor.”

“Good evening, Jenkins.”

She looked somewhat weary, leaning against the carriage wall. Besides her, a maid and Magic Miss were also present. Behind them, two more carriages followed, carrying Miss Windsor's guards. After Tackwen's murder, most of Nolan's nobility had strengthened their security details.

“I don't see Silver Flute Miss.”

Jenkins asked Magic Miss as he sat down. She shrugged, not bothering with pleasantries.

“Our friend, the gentleman who just returned from Dullin, ran into a little trouble. Silver Flute Miss went to help.”

With Miss Windsor and the maid present, she avoided saying Mr. Black Cat's name directly. But her phrasing was a tacit acknowledgment that she knew Williamette was likely Candle Mr. Jenkins, for his part, wasn't concerned with how much she had guessed. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ novel⸺fire.net

“What kind of trouble?”

Placing his cat on the soft cushion beside him, Jenkins leaned forward, resting his right elbow on his knee as he asked.

“Just a small problem, and all our friends have gone to help him.”

Magic Miss was reluctant to elaborate, so Jenkins didn't press. He simply nodded, straightened up, and lifted the cat—which was busy batting the cushion with its paws—onto his lap.

“Miss Windsor, is something wrong? Why wait for me at the church so late? It's best not to travel at night these days; the strange things in the dense fog are becoming more numerous.”

“Her Majesty spoke with me this evening about a few things,” Miss Windsor explained. “She asked me if I was willing to become queen. I refused.”

“I see. I understand.”

Jenkins nodded, glancing at Magic Miss and the tight-lipped maid, completely unconcerned that they had overheard. Seeing this, Miss Windsor sighed, troubled by his willingness to trust others so easily.

“A few days ago, you mentioned the army...”

“We've already settled it, on the same day Tackwen died. In a few days, after you're done with the Twelve Churches Joint Conference, I'll organize a reception and invite all your supporters. We have enough support now. We're still lacking a bit on the army side, but at least most of the old noble families are behind you.”

“Good. We can't let this drag on for too long. I think Queen Isabella knows she can't stop me, which is why she keeps making conditions. She already conceded a step on Monday. I believe if we can make a strong showing at that reception, she might back down even further. Perhaps she'll even abdicate before we have a final showdown.”

Jenkins was making a small joke. Miss Windsor offered a reserved smile before speaking again:

“How is the Church's investigation into Tackwen's death coming along?”

“We got some leads about half an hour ago. It's possible he planned his own death, and it seems the Tree House wants to ‘resurrect’ him by some means.”

Miss Windsor's brow furrowed, a gesture that did little to detract from her beauty.

“I really didn't expect such an outcome. To plan his own death... It seems the king of the south was not as incompetent as I imagined.”