Chapter 231: Chapter 231

The weather had turned cold, and Jenkins was wearing a warm, knitted sweater Mary had made for him before he moved out of the Williams' home. As the temperature continued to drop, the sweater was growing a bit thin for the season. Thankfully, ever since he'd acquired the Bestowal [Inexhaustible Fire], his resistance to the cold had increased dramatically. Much like how his Purification Candle automatically activated against negative effects, the inexhaustible flame now pulsed steadily in his heart, a constant warmth against the late autumn chill.

It was Wednesday, a day he would normally spend teaching at the church. However, with the Reading Festival just a day away, the church was busy with preparations and decorations for the most important day of the year. As a result, his evening class had been canceled, leaving Jenkins free to head home and rest.

His fireplace at home was already clean, and he'd planned on using the free time to browse the market for some reasonably priced charcoal or firewood. But he hadn't gone more than a few steps before he spotted a familiar figure through the choking fog. Professor Burns was waiting for him at the entrance to the alley, bundled in a heavy, black, double-breasted overcoat.

The coat's fleece collar was turned up, obscuring half the professor's face. He was rubbing his hands together briskly, and his face lit up when he saw Jenkins. Waving, he immediately started walking over.

"Professor," Jenkins greeted him with a jest, "I do remember I'm supposed to be at the academy tomorrow. You didn't need to come all this way just to remind me, did you?"

Jenkins approached him with a smile. The professor shivered, beckoned him closer, and then led him to a nearby pub. It wasn't yet quitting time, so the sailors and idle hands of the Dock Area were still at work, leaving the establishment nearly empty. Only after downing a warm butterbeer did the professor finally seem to thaw out.

The professor was getting on in years, but Jenkins knew him to be hale and hearty—probably in better shape than Jenkins himself.

"It's nothing, really," he insisted. "Just got into a bit of a scuffle last night and took a punch. Hah, that woman was too fast for me. Trying to pull a fast one, the swindler..."

"Sounds like the professor's nightlife is quite eventful," ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ Nove1Fire.net

...Jenkins thought, taking a sip from the cup of hot tea before him. When he'd ordered it at the counter, the bartender had shot him a look, as if ordering tea in a pub was a deliberate provocation. Thankfully, paying promptly had smoothed things over.

"Professor, give me your hand."

Jenkins glanced around the room before speaking in a low voice. Though Professor Burns looked puzzled, he complied without hesitation.

He pressed a finger to the professor's dry palm and first activated [Contact Healing]. Nothing happened, which meant Burns had no lingering physical injuries. Next, he carefully channeled the [Inexhaustible Fire] to his fingertip. The professor let out a soft groan and quickly withdrew his hand.

"Ah, that's much better,"

Burns sighed, loosening the collar of his oversized coat. He looked completely restored. Reaching for his mug, he drained the last of the frothy butterbeer in a single gulp.

Butterbeer, despite its name, wasn't actually beer. It was a non-alcoholic hot beverage that simply had a foamy head and a similar appearance to its alcoholic namesake.

Peering at Jenkins over the rim of his empty mug, the professor gestured toward the teacup. "What, you don't drink?"

"I rarely drink," Jenkins replied.

"A rare thing to find in a young man these days."

The professor sighed softly. When a middle-aged man in leather boots walked past their table, he prudently fell silent.

The pub, 'The Clatydian,' was no back-alley dive offering illicit services. It was a respectable establishment, the kind even off-duty police officers frequented. The decor was pleasant, with the grain clearly visible on the solid wood tables. A faint, sweet scent of spirits hung in the air, an aroma even Jenkins—a man who drank grape juice at parties—found rather agreeable.

Of course, the professor hadn't sought him out just to remind him of his schedule for the next day.

"There's something... interesting happening in a little while," the professor said, leaning forward. "Care to join me?"

He winked, his tone conspiratorial.

Jenkins asked, stroking his cat, Chocolate. The pub also served warm milk, a beverage Chocolate was quite fond of.

"Indeed. I only just heard about it myself. Someone's organizing a small viewing—a corpse dissection, to be precise. Afterward, they'll be selling some... unusual materials. The ticket is expensive, but I hear it's well worth the price."

When money and safety were both in question, safety always came first.

"I can't guarantee it. After all, one can run into a strange Cursed Item even sitting at home. But the friend who told me about this is reliable. Still, I was a bit hesitant to go alone, which is why I came to you."

Jenkins nodded. He swirled his teacup, noticing a few tea stems resting at the bottom of the half-empty vessel.

"How much is the ticket?"

"Three gold pounds," the professor replied. "And they only accept banknotes."

The professor added this detail without any sense of urgency; it was clear he was perfectly happy to go or not.

"I have nothing else planned for the evening," Jenkins finally decided. "Let's go take a look."

In the end, Jenkins agreed. The Reading Festival was tomorrow, and according to ancient legend, believers of the Sage were granted extra luck on the days surrounding the event. He'd also recently encountered a Star Spirit and received its blessing, so perhaps his luck was indeed on an upswing.

Leaving a couple of copper pennies on the table as a tip, they pushed open the pub's wooden door and plunged back into the dim, cold street. Jenkins made a quick stop at his home to grab a robe that would conceal his identity, telling Chocolate to be good and watch the house before setting off with the professor.

The mention of a "corpse" had Jenkins imagining all sorts of venues: a remote cemetery, a derelict hospital like the one Corpse Gentleman used for his gatherings, or perhaps even a secluded catacomb in the countryside. He never expected they would end up at KalFax Field in the city center, where he could see uniformed police officers still milling about in the main hall.

"The police station?"

Jenkins asked, astonished.

"No, no, of course not."

The professor quickly pushed Jenkins's pointing hand down and pulled him into a side alley. The narrow passage was lined with residential doors on both sides. Muttering to himself, the professor counted them as he walked before stopping to knock on one in the middle of the lane.

The plain wooden door had an equally plain, cheap bell hanging on it. A man chewing on a cigar pushed it open and poked his head out. He blew a perfect smoke ring, then gave the two robed figures a lazy, dismissive glance. Without a word, he simply held out his hand. Jenkins and the professor immediately placed the prepared banknotes in his palm.