Chapter 2003: Chapter 2003

"Don't dwell on it," Papa Oliver advised. "If she was truly going to the negotiations, you'll see her again soon and can ask her yourself. If she was lying, you'll never figure out the truth no matter how hard you think. You'd be better off finding a diviner."

"Papa Oliver, are there many church orders that specialize in shadow abilities?"

Jenkins asked, hoping to find a clue to her identity from that angle.

Papa Oliver thought for a moment.

"Excluding the heretical cults that would never be invited to our church for negotiations, and the smaller, loosely organized orders... it's hard to think of a group off the top of my head that could produce such an exceptional Enchanter. But it doesn't necessarily have to be an order that specializes in shadow abilities. After all, there are ways to force someone to learn an ability they couldn't acquire normally."

"Does our church have methods like that?"

He was thinking of the Book's Aegis. It wasn't that he was incapable of learning it, but he ran into trouble every time he tried. If he could just force the learning process and skip the time-consuming ritual, it would be perfect.

"Of course, quite a few, in fact. The simplest method involves permanently sacrificing several of your empty ability slots to forcibly learn a new skill. The cost varies depending on the ability. Jenkins, are you interested?"

"If you're really that curious, you can ask around at the church later. You're bound to find out something."

Papa Oliver said with a smile.

The two of them chatted as they prepared to return to their carriage, but when they turned around, they saw the driver standing at the mouth of the alley with a pained smile, staring at the middle of the street.

The carriage had been caught in the monster attack and was now nothing more than a pile of wreckage.

Jenkins cried out and rushed over, just in time to see his cat squirming out from the wreckage with a small piece of wood balanced on her head.

He asked anxiously, crouching down to grab Chocolate and check her for injuries. Papa Oliver, meanwhile, looked off into the distance, where a bolt of lightning struck down violently. That had to be a demigod from the Church of the Storm Lord in battle.

"Looks like it's started over there, too. Jenkins."

"Since the carriage is gone, let's proceed on foot. We shouldn't look for another one; no need to involve ordinary people in this."

"Alright. The church isn't far from here. Even on foot, it'll take forty minutes at most."

Jenkins stood up and, after confirming his cat was unharmed, stuffed her into his overcoat pocket. A fierce expression crossed his face.

"If I ever find out where those shadow realm monsters came from... How dare they lay a hand on my cat!"

He snarled, then hurried over to Papa Oliver. They retrieved their umbrellas and continued down the street.

The spatial lockdown from the dancer must have failed due to the brief connection between the material world and the shadow realm. That would explain why the dancer vanished after everything was over.

Neither Papa Oliver nor Jenkins spent much time pondering the mechanics of it, since thinking about it would yield no answers. Right now, all they wanted was to reach the warm, dry church, sit by a window, and drink hot tea while listening to the raging storm outside.

It seemed that every time a major incident occurred, the weather was absolutely terrible. In Jenkins's memory, not a single significant event had ever happened on a bright, sunny day.

As they walked down the street in the early morning rain, Jenkins tried to connect the weather with bad luck and shared his thoughts with Papa Oliver. The old man said he was overthinking things, and that if he had time for such speculation, he would be better off considering what they needed to do first once they reached the church.

"So, since that girl said she was also going to the negotiations, does that mean we might see other people heading the same way?"

"Theoretically, yes. Assuming that person wasn't dragged into danger because of us."

Jenkins's forty-minute estimate to the church was based on an unobstructed path and them maintaining a normal walking pace. In reality, their pace was much faster, as neither was in the mood for a stroll in the rain. As for an unobstructed path—well, that was obviously impossible.

After leaving the low-lying slums by the bridge, they turned onto a shopping street that neither Jenkins nor the original owner of his body had ever walked down. Despite the awful weather, most of the shopkeepers had already opened for business.

Although both Papa Oliver and Jenkins had already eaten breakfast, neither minded stopping for a cup of hot tea before pressing on. It might have sounded like a waste of time, but they both knew their arrival at the church had little to do with how fast they walked.

Besides, disturbances had been cropping up all over the city. They were likely not the only ones who might be delayed. Jenkins had already learned of the church's clever plan from Papa Oliver; it seemed the church intended to use this opportunity to, if possible, eliminate the active forces of most of the heretical cults entrenched in Nolan.

It would be difficult to achieve, of course, but this was truly a golden opportunity.

As it happened, a roadside restaurant was open, so they went inside without hesitation. They had originally planned to just have tea and leave, but after seeing the menus, they each ordered a meal.

"Are we sure this is okay?"

He was still a bit uneasy about wasting time.

"The negotiations start at ten. It's not even eight yet."

Papa Oliver confirmed, checking the time.

"Besides, who knows what strange things might block our path later. We need to eat to keep our strength up, don't we?"

The old man's way of thinking was probably a bit different from Jenkins's, but seeing how relaxed Papa Oliver was, Jenkins went ahead and ordered breakfast for his cat as well.

Chocolate hadn't eaten much at home that morning, apparently still angry that Jenkins hadn't taken her home to sleep last night. The timid cat hated unfamiliar places. But her anger had subsided now, and her appetite had returned in full force.

They didn't stay in the restaurant long—fifteen minutes at most from when they entered to when they left. During that time, Jenkins did see several hurried Enchanters pass by outside. They were all strangers to him, and he figured they must be members of pseudo-god cults.

When they set off again, the rain hadn't let up. At the end of the shopping street was a five-way intersection. Jenkins and Papa Oliver had taken the road leading straight east, and from here, they could reach the church by heading either southeast or due south.

"So, which road should we take?"

Jenkins asked Papa Oliver, standing by a postbox at the intersection.

"As I recall, both routes are about the same distance. Either one will do."

"I think there are probably ambushes waiting for us on both roads, so we might as well just pick one at random."

Jenkins suggested. Realizing this choice would likely affect the next hour of their lives, he tried to use The Unknown Path. Unfortunately, this didn't qualify as a critical choice of fate, so the ability failed to activate.

"Chocolate, which way?"

He asked his cat. The little feline squeezed her head out from between the buttons of his overcoat, let out a meow, and promptly ducked back inside, clearly having no intention of offering any advice.

He was about to suggest deciding with a game of rock-paper-scissors when he suddenly saw a man on the other side of the street, staggering across toward them like a drunk who couldn't control his steps.

"Something's not right,"

Seeing the staggering man stumble toward them, Jenkins and Papa Oliver dodged to the left and right, respectively. The man crashed straight into the metal postbox with a loud clang.

A human body is no match for solid metal, so it was the man who fell, not the postbox. He landed face-down in a puddle in front of it. Jenkins was close enough to see bubbles gurgling up as the man's face submerged. Luckily, the water was shallow; before he could drown, the puddle was sucked dry.

"Be careful. If this is an ability like Corpse Explosion Art, getting close would be dangerous."

Papa Oliver reminded Jenkins.

"It's not Corpse Explosion Art, the man isn't dead... He's not an Enchanter, so why does he have a black spirit...? We should back away. This is a Cursed Item."

Through Jenkins's eyes, a black spiritual aura that hadn't been there before had appeared on both the man and the postbox the instant of impact. As the man fell, the aura intensified, rapidly exceeding the minimum threshold for the glow of a Cursed Item.

"What kind of Cursed Item is this?"

"Do you think I'm an encyclopedia? Unless it has a very distinct appearance, we can only identify numbered items by their characteristics. Have you already forgotten everything I taught you?"

This was obviously not the time for a scolding. Even as they spoke, Papa Oliver and Jenkins were already starting to run. Running might not always work against a Cursed Item, but it was always the simplest and most practical means of survival. This was one of the first lessons Papa Oliver had taught Jenkins, and it was precisely this principle that had made him flee from the flower girl without even waiting for his change.

But this Cursed Item clearly possessed a spatial binding ability. Papa Oliver and Jenkins hadn't run far before they found themselves back at the empty intersection. The man who had crashed into the postbox had pulled himself up from the muddy ground. He was leaning one hand on the rain-slicked metal, his formerly brown overcoat now a military green—the color of a postman's uniform.

His eyes fixed on the two of them, who had stopped running. There was no white left in his eyes; they were entirely black. He had been human, but now he was, without a doubt, a Cursed Item.

"There aren't many Cursed Items that manifest by possessing an ordinary person's body. Give me a moment to think..."

Jenkins heard Papa Oliver muttering to himself. The two of them stood in the rain as if facing a great enemy, waiting for the thing to speak. Running again would be foolish.