Chapter 2005: Chapter 2005

Even the sanctuaries of the Orthodox Churches were vulnerable to invasion by Cursed Items, yet no such thing had ever managed to manifest directly within Jenkins’s home. Not even the Child of an Evil God, born right next door, had dared to trespass.

A church, after all, was a place built by mortals to worship their gods. It could suppress Cursed Items, but it could not entirely forbid their presence. Jenkins’s house, however, was the genuine residence of a god. This was the very reason he insisted on not moving, determined that his family would only leave Nolan after the final battle was over.

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Seeing the other man remain silent, Jenkins pressed the question. He took a step forward, and the mailman instinctively recoiled, bumping into the mailbox behind him with a soft thud.

Though the impact was hardly loud and the mailbox barely even shuddered, the mailman collapsed. He convulsed on the ground as a black aura flared and then vanished as swiftly as paper in a fire, utterly extinguished as if washed away by a sudden downpour.

Papa Oliver couldn’t see the aura, but he could feel the disappearance of the Cursed Item’s unique mental corruption and oppressive force. He let out a long breath and bent down to retrieve his umbrella.

“I won’t ask what you’ve done to your house,” he said. “As long as you managed to drive it away, that’s all that matters.”

“I felt its spirit, but it was very faint,” Jenkins noted.

“That’s normal. You only drove it away; you didn’t destroy it completely.”

“Are those cultists still inside?”

“They’re escaping now. Just climbed over the wall. There are three of them—one is level six, the other two are negligible. We could probably catch them if we gave chase right now.”

Papa Oliver considered it for a moment.

“...Let’s not. It might be another trap, and we’re truly running out of time. Our mission is to reach the church on schedule. Let’s keep moving.”

He didn’t spare another glance for the fleeing cultists, instead crouching to check on the man who had been possessed by the Cursed Item. The man was no longer breathing, a grim outcome both he and Papa Oliver had anticipated.

Together, they dragged the body to a nearby shop. Amidst the shopkeeper’s terrified gaze, Jenkins left a few coins, asking him to watch over the corpse for a little while.

“Someone from the Sage’s Church will be by to collect it in an hour or two,” he explained. “Don’t worry, we’re not bad people.”

In that particular situation, the words weren’t terribly persuasive.

They were much closer to the church now. If they kept their current pace, they would reach the grand doors of the Sage’s Church in less than twenty minutes.

Seeing that Papa Oliver truly didn’t want to ask about the principle behind dispelling the mailman, Jenkins kept pace alongside him and murmured under his breath.

“First a Cursed Item... Things can’t possibly get any worse, can they? Like, what if we run into two Cursed—”

“That’s enough,” Papa Oliver cut in. “I’m not a superstitious man, but under these circumstances, it’s best if you keep your mouth shut.”

He warned, slowing his steps to scan their surroundings.

“Since you can now detect the number and level of cultists from across a street and behind a building, stay vigilant. Keep your eyes on our surroundings so danger doesn’t sneak up on us before we can react.”

Jenkins immediately nodded and surveyed the area.

“Everything’s clear for now. At least on this street.”

“And what about that furtive character over there? Is he no problem either?”

Jenkins followed Papa Oliver’s subtle gesture and raised an eyebrow.

“...He’s no problem.”

The man at the intersection ahead—hugging the wall, his head bowed, hat pulled low, an umbrella held high—was indeed an unregistered Enchanter, but it was Mr. Hood. So, of course, he was no problem.

Mr. Hood was walking in the opposite direction, clearly not heading to the church for the negotiations. A week ago, he had vowed to repay Jenkins for saving his life. Jenkins could only wonder what he was up to now and hope he wouldn't stir up any trouble.

Perhaps the cultists who had arranged the ambush never expected Jenkins to deal with the Cursed Item so quickly. As a result, the rest of their journey was surprisingly devoid of any further trouble.

When they finally saw the church steps in the distance, Jenkins still half-expected a few terrifying assassins to burst forth from the pavement beneath their feet. But they walked into the church without incident and soon found themselves seated on a sofa by a window, sipping hot tea and listening to the patter of the rain.

They had made good time; it was just past nine o’clock, leaving a full hour before the negotiations were set to begin. The people inside the church were already in a flurry of activity. Miss Bevanna had already arrived with Briny and Julia.

However, while Jenkins, one of the most important participants, was present, not a single one of the Believers of Lies had shown up. The Church suspected that the group was not one to be unpunctual and had likely run into trouble on their way, much like Jenkins and Papa Oliver.

But no one knew who they were, and with the city in chaos, there was no way to determine where the Believers of Lies might have encountered their difficulties.

Nearly sixty percent of the forces stationed in the Evergreen Forest had been redeployed to the city that morning. The situation outside was far worse than what Jenkins and Papa Oliver had witnessed on their way. If not for the gray fog and rain clouds obscuring the view, the sky would likely be ablaze with a spectacle resembling fireworks.

None of the pseudo-god cults that were supposed to be here had appeared yet. Fortunately, the Church knew their approximate locations and had already dispatched escorts. Jenkins had wanted to go out and help, which would have also provided a convenient excuse to notify his own faction about a potential delay.

But the Church insisted that since he and Papa Oliver had fought so hard to break through the obstacles and reach their destination, they shouldn't risk going out again. They had Papa Oliver keep a close watch on him, preventing Jenkins from wandering off. And so, Jenkins could only sit obediently with his cat, watching the rain fall outside the window.

Perhaps Miss Stevel’s influence was at play, for the Music Cult was the first to arrive. As Jenkins gazed out the window, his eyes saw nothing, but his ears caught the melodious sound of an accordion rising through the rain. It was a solo performance, its notes mingling with the drumming of the raindrops, creating a sound of undeniable beauty.

The music originated from about a block away, yet it was exceptionally clear and moving, carrying a melancholic rhythm that perfectly suited the rainy day.

“It’s pouring out there, and they’re still playing!” Jenkins murmured, rubbing his ear in disbelief. “And aren’t they worried the nearby residents will hear them?”

“They’re probably playing for the church to hear,” Papa Oliver replied dismissively. “Besides, at a grand assembly , something that happens only once every few hundred or thousand years, people always want to show off a little. It’s perfectly normal. I’d be more suspicious of their true identities if they simply arrived in a carriage.”

Papa Oliver gave a dismissive wave of his hand and rose to his feet, with Jenkins following, to go and greet them.

The music had begun while the musicians were still a block away, which gave the Church’s welcoming party ample time to assemble. By the time the representatives of the Twelve Churches were standing in formation at the church entrance, the musicians, clad in elegant gowns, appeared at the street corner.

It was not just an accordion; others in the procession played instruments that provided a rich harmony. As they drew closer, the other instrumental parts grew in volume, merging seamlessly with the accordion's melody. It was a tune Jenkins had never heard before—sorrowful, yet perfectly fitting for the weather.

It was not overwhelmingly sad like a funeral march, but solemn and dignified.

The group wore matching long dresses and high heels, each woman exquisitely made up, seeming to sparkle in the rain. Because they were playing their instruments, none of them held an umbrella, yet not a single drop of rain touched them. The water seemed to deliberately avoid the performers, not even daring to dampen their elegant shoes.

“How remarkable,” Jenkins breathed from his place in the crowd.

Beside him, Papa Oliver remarked, “This is quite something. These women must have paid a hefty price.”

“You mean for the clothes?”

“I mean for the ritual,” Papa Oliver corrected him. “Pay attention to the piece they’re playing. It’s obviously some sort of ritual to make the rain avoid them. I don’t know the specifics, but judging by the performance, this isn’t something you can accomplish with just a bit of silver, gold, and a few gems. These women are truly wealthy.”

Only when the musicians reached the steps of the church did they cease their performance. The others stood still as Miss Lydia Bernreuter retracted her Bestowal-accordion into her spirit and began to ascend the steps first. Due to the rain, there was no red carpet, but the welcoming party was gathered on the large, covered platform at the top of the stairs.

Pope Pontiff IV, of course, was not present to greet them—the old man was still resting. Instead, Bishop Parrold, as the de facto head of the church, stepped forward. He offered Miss Bernreuter a warm handshake and exchanged cordial greetings, then introduced Saint Jenkins to do the same. Only after this was done did the other musicians follow them up the steps.

Led by Bishop Parrold and several priests, the group entered the church. Miss Bevanna and the representatives from the other eleven churches also stepped forward to offer their own greetings and condolences before guiding them toward a large, prepared lounge.

On the whole, the process had little to do with Jenkins. The Saint’s presence was a matter of etiquette, not necessity. Such a reception was more about formalism than any practical function, but it was an indispensable part of the proceedings.

More and more cults arrived, and just as Papa Oliver had said, each one sought to make a unique entrance. It could be called showing off, or simply a desire to leave a lasting impression.

Within a short half-hour, a dazzling array of sound and light effects appeared one after another on the street outside the church. In comparison, the Music Cult's arrival now seemed remarkably understated.