Chapter 232: Chapter 232

“Go on in. You know the rules—look, but don't try to take anything that isn't yours.”

With that, the man stepped aside, letting the two of them enter.

Behind the door lay a long, silent corridor. A glance back revealed the burly man shutting the heavy door, resuming his post behind it. Only the glowing tip of his cigar was visible, a tiny spark flickering in the absolute darkness.

The corridor was just as dark. Jenkins coughed loudly, masking the sound of the single word he uttered: “Rakul.”

Two silvery orbs of light drifted out from his chest and hovered in front of them, illuminating a small patch of the corridor. It was [Rakul's Starlight Illumination], an utterly mundane ability that did nothing more than summon two spheres of light.

Jenkins already had his Purification Candle and the Inexhaustible Fire, but both were far too conspicuous. Since many Enchanters possessed abilities that created simple orbs of light, [Rakul's Starlight Illumination] served as a perfect, anonymous alternative. Otherwise, it would have been an ability he'd never use.

Something was off about the corridor's length; it felt artificially extended. The doors lining both sides were shut tight as the professor and Jenkins pressed on, guided by the floating spheres of light. Cheap wooden floorboards groaned under their feet with every step, but the floor itself was clean, and the walls were utterly bare—not even the gas lamps common to the humblest homes were present.

Jenkins suspected the corridor was a makeshift passage, created by knocking through the walls of several adjacent buildings. His own sense of direction wasn't particularly good, so he had no idea where they were headed.

He touched the professor's arm and gave a reassuring nod.

The thought put Jenkins more at ease.

After five minutes, a heavy bronze door blocked their path. The professor gestured for Jenkins to dismiss the light orbs, then stepped forward and pushed it open himself.

Beyond the door lay another corridor. This one, however, had windows along one wall and a row of iron doors along the other. On the wall beside the nearest door, a white label had been stuck: [Autopsy Room - 13].

“Someone rented the building next to the police station and just knocked through the wall to get direct access?”

A wave of disbelief washed over him. What kind of person would even conceive of such a plan?

He turned his head, and the bronze door was gone. In its place stood a plain, white-painted wall, a faded wanted poster tacked to its surface.

Nolan was one of the kingdom's most important cities. It was inconceivable that its police station, especially the morgue, would be without officers on night duty. And yet, tonight, it was empty. Jenkins and Professor Burns stepped into the only room with an open door, its label reading: [Autopsy Room - 16].

It was a spacious room, filled with a peculiar stench. A single kerosene lamp hung from an iron chain in the center. Though the walls were fitted with gas lamps, an autopsy always demanded extra illumination.

Directly beneath the lamp stood an iron gurney on wheels. Its railings were rusted and dotted with suspicious stains. A figure lay upon it—or more accurately, a corpse—shrouded in a yellowish-brown burlap sheet. The cloth itself was covered in grimy yellow spots; it was impossible to guess when it had last seen water.

Against the wall opposite the entrance stood a simple, four-tiered shelf constructed from iron plates and pipes. The top shelf was neatly arranged with dozens of clean glass vessels, while the shelves below were a jumble of cloths and instruments.

Four people were already in the room. Three of them, just like Jenkins and Professor Burns, were cloaked in black robes to hide their identities. They stood pressed against the wall, as still as statues.

The fourth person wore a white coat, like a doctor, with a black leather apron tied over it in stark contrast—the standard attire of a police coroner. In the filthy room, his immaculate white coat was strikingly conspicuous.

He was a middle-aged man of plain appearance, his face etched with the weary lines of experience. His brown eyes seemed to pierce through everything; they were vacant, yet held a universe of unspoken knowledge within their depths. Follow current novels on novel•fire.net

An Enchanter. Level 4. The colors of his aura were nothing remarkable.

For some reason, Jenkins felt an inexplicable liking for the man from the moment he laid eyes on him.

Jenkins and the professor took their places against the wall. Over the next half hour, a dozen more black-robed Enchanters trickled into the room. Finally, the middle-aged man clapped his hands, signaling that it was time to begin.

Without a word, he pulled two sharp scalpels from the iron shelf, their blades catching the light of the kerosene lamp. He then strode to the gurney in his heavy black boots and, with a swift flick of his wrist, whipped the sheet off the corpse and cast it to the floor.

The attendees, having paid for the privilege, immediately surged forward. Beneath the flickering lamplight, a dozen hooded heads leaned in, all eyes fixed on the body.

The corpse was that of a man, no older than twenty-five from the look of him. The body had yet to be prepared in any way, leaving his face and exposed skin a stark, ghastly white.

Jenkins had no expertise in forensics, so he couldn't estimate the time of death. That didn't stop his brow from furrowing, however. The stench was simply overwhelming.

The coroner slowly and deliberately pulled a mask and gloves from his apron pocket and put them on. He then lifted the corpse's outer coat—one adorned with a wheat-sheaf pattern—and peeled back the layer of thermal underwear beneath, revealing the pale flesh.

A distinct bullet hole was visible on the right side of the chest, the dark wound ringed by faint, reddish-black bloodstains. This was most likely the cause of death.

The coroner’s hand swept over the skin, much like a butcher inspecting a side of pork. He glanced up, his bored gaze passing over the onlookers one by one. Then, he pressed his left hand firmly against the corpse’s chest, spreading his thumb and forefinger wide. His right hand gripped a scalpel. The sharp blade glided across the skin, which split open as easily as paper, revealing the texture of the muscle and the murky red organs beneath.

Jenkins finally understood why the professor had advised him to only have a cup of tea for dinner and skip the food...

This coroner was truly a master of his craft. With practiced, fluid motions, he dissected the entire corpse. He even used a saw to open the cranium, cracking it apart as one might a coconut.

The coroner’s hands began to emit a golden glow. He removed the internal organs one by one, cleaned them in a special solution, and arranged them in the glass vessels. The flesh was carved away in sections and stacked neatly to one side.

The entire process possessed a strangely morbid beauty. Even the pile of human remains, laid out beneath the kerosene lamp, had a sense of meticulous order amid the gore.