Chapter 250: Chapter 250

Papa Oliver didn't even glance at him, just snorted.

"Yes, you are a Saint acknowledged by the Sage. Although your abilities and spirit capacity won't change because of it, in terms of your very standing, you are now a cut above ordinary humans."

As he spoke, he raised his right hand, pinching his index finger and thumb together, leaving a gap so tiny you'd have to squint to see it.

The so-called sanctification process involved Jenkins holding the bullets in his hands while meditating on the holy symbol and reciting prayers to the Sage or other texts from our church's scriptures.

The exact principle behind it was unclear, but as a warmth spread across his forehead, the bullets became imbued with a golden spiritual glow.

"How does Papa Oliver know about this? Has he met other Saints before?"

The question immediately occurred to Jenkins, because this was the sort of knowledge that wouldn't be explicitly recorded in any book.

He took the treated bullets to Papa Oliver to have their effect confirmed, just as a customer who had purchased an oil painting was leaving.

The shop was much warmer than the warehouse. Jenkins took off his overcoat and hung it to one side, then reached into a pocket, pulled out the bullets, and handed them to Papa Oliver. At the same time, he asked,

"The followers of the 'Lord of Immortality' did indeed spread that rumor, and they earned gold pounds performing rituals for ordinary people."

He nodded at the bullets, clearly satisfied.

"But that practice doesn't help ordinary people live longer. It's essentially a sacrificial ritual, offering the lifespan of anyone with silver in their blood to an evil god..." Content orıginally comes from novel·fire·net

He snapped his mouth shut as the bell over the door chimed, announcing the unexpected arrival of another customer.

This was unusual. While Pops Antique Shop did a thriving business, most clients either requested a house call from Papa Oliver or made purchases through private channels. They never had so many casual, walk-in customers in such quick succession.

"Oh? A level-five Enchanter?"

Before he could even get a good look at the newcomer, Jenkins sensed something was wrong. His heart gave a hard thump. He hadn't expected the day to be so full of surprises.

"Welcome to Pops Antique Shop."

Jenkins, the apprentice, stepped forward to greet the man, but he discreetly moved his right hand behind his back to make a silent gesture warning of danger.

"How can I help you, sir?"

The newcomer was a man in tall black boots. He was unusually tall, at least six and a half feet—about two meters. A soft black hat with a silver-patterned brim rested on his messy brown hair.

The pores on his face were unusually large, and his nose was high and red. Startlingly, he had heterochromia. His left eye was a common brown, but his right was a rare, repulsive mossy green.

A dense, red spiritual glow emanated from the green eye. It had to be a classified supernatural item, one worthy of a catalog number!

The man's gaze swept over Jenkins, flickered to Papa Oliver, and then dismissed them both as he strolled over to the shelves to examine the antiques.

Jenkins glanced at Papa Oliver. The old man adjusted his glasses and gave a slight shake of his head, a clear signal for Jenkins not to do anything rash. Papa Oliver trusted Jenkins; he knew the boy was extremely sensitive to spirit, so he took the warning very seriously.

Papa Oliver put down the pen he'd been using for the accounts and gestured for Jenkins to move behind the counter. He then took something from beneath the counter, slipped it into his pocket, and walked briskly over to the tall man.

"This is an ancient wine vessel, at least three hundred years old. Judging from the patterns and style, it was likely used for sacrificial rites..."

Before Papa Oliver could finish, the man waved a hand, cutting him off. Without saying a word, he made a quick tour of the shop and then strode out the door.

"Your instincts were right," Papa Oliver said once the man was gone. "I saw it too—that eye is a supernatural item. That means he's almost certainly an Enchanter, and that's likely a magic eye."

It's not that special eyes can't form naturally, but you might not see one for decades. Most magic eyes are transplants, which is why Papa Oliver was so certain.

"I'm going to follow him."

He quickly grabbed his coat and hat from the hook, pulled out a disguise kit from under the counter—fake beard, wig, and all—and gave Jenkins a hurried instruction:

"Go to the church again. Find Captain Bincy directly. We don't know his Enchanter level yet, so it's best to get as much backup as you can."

Before Jenkins could reply, Papa Oliver had already pushed open the door and rushed out into the biting wind. There had been rumors recently about a 'Magic Eye Collectors' Society' being active in the city. If he lost the man's trail now, finding him again would be nearly impossible.

"He's a level-five Enchanter, just like you!"

Jenkins never got the chance to say it. He could only stomp his foot in frustration.

The reason they didn't use one of the triangular paper talismans to contact the Church directly was that they were expensive to make and produced in limited quantities. They were reserved for only the most critical incidents.

Papa Oliver wasn't sure of the man's identity, and since no actual crime had been committed yet, he had decided to follow him himself.

"Papa Oliver is support personnel, more of a scholar than a fighter," Jenkins thought anxiously. "He won't start a fight, but if one breaks out, he's probably no match for that man."

Jenkins gritted his teeth, tore a page from the ledger, and hastily scribbled a note about what had just happened.

"Chocolate, take this to the church! Find Captain Bincy, or a Mr. Schleich—anyone there will do!"

The cat, having never been tasked with such a mission, looked up at Jenkins in confusion. Seeing the anxious look on his face, it rubbed its soft cheek against his hand reassuringly.

"Deliver this note! To the church! You know, the place we ate the other day? With the long table!"

he added, trying to jog the cat's memory.

The cat held out its front paw. Jenkins stared for a second, then quickly found a ball of string and tied the note securely to its paw.

"Chocolate, come right back after you deliver this. If you get lost, just go to the church or home, either is fine. And don't wander off! Nolan City is full of bad people."

he added in a hurried whisper, stroking Chocolate's fur. He pushed open the shop door and watched his cat sprint along the building's wall and into the thick fog. It glanced back, gave him one last meow, and vanished around a corner with a flick of its tail.

He was worried about Chocolate, but Jenkins believed his clever cat was far less likely to be in danger than Papa Oliver.

He hurriedly changed into his outdoor clothes, tucked the pistol—now loaded with the sanctified bullets—into his belt, grabbed his cane, and locked the shop door behind him before stepping quickly out into the street.