Chapter 274: Chapter 274

The huntress's heart gave a sudden lurch. In the quiet, oppressive confines of the room, something felt different.

It was like facing an ancient idol, unsettling things writhing in the shadows behind him. His ordinary, unremarkable face seemed shrouded by a thin veil, and behind it lay a truth of endless chaos.

A rustling sound broke the silence—Jenkins reaching into his pocket. The huntress's face grew deathly pale. She might be facing a mortal body, but the soul within was a genuine god. In her heightened sensitivity, she had inadvertently glimpsed a fraction of the truth. Her breathing grew difficult as an immense pressure from all directions enveloped her.

Her breaths became shallow as she instinctively shrank back. At that moment, a long, slender, black-and-white tentacle slowly emerged from the man's chest, swaying as it extended forward. At its base, a bulbous mass of flesh writhed slowly—a malevolent shape, like some quadruped fused with a human body.

The man glanced down, saw the spectacle, and frowned. He gave it a light tap, and the tentacle slithered back inside. The source of this content ɪs novel-fire.net

"Here's twenty pounds."

Jenkins slid the money across the table. The huntress flinched. His voice finally shattered the bizarre atmosphere that had filled the room. She gulped down air, feeling as though she had been teetering on the edge of insanity.

Her gaze darted back to his chest. A button was carelessly undone, but there was no sign of any tentacle.

"Today is Sunday... Come find me next Monday—in seven days. I'll have your results then."

Noticing her strange expression and how she'd been staring intently at him, Jenkins glanced over his shoulder, but saw only the wall in the gloom. He turned back, but a nagging unease made him stand and peer behind the sofa. Still nothing.

"Good. Well then, I'll see you in seven days."

Satisfied with his strange conclusion, he nodded, stood, and departed through the trapdoor.

He made two more loops through the black market, procuring some special materials that were unavailable even through the Church, before cautiously making his exit. His next stop was supposed to be the post office. Jenkins wanted to mail his letter to a Miss Mary, a task that had been delayed for far too long for one reason or another. It was only when he reached the post office entrance that he realized he had left the package, with its letter and three books, at home.

He'd tried to wrap a small scarf around Chocolate on his way out, and in the ensuing struggle with the cat, he'd completely forgotten about the package.

"There's just been too much going on lately."

He tapped his temple, a dull ache starting, and stood on the street corner, wondering what to do next.

It was nearly noon, but when he looked up, the spire-like roof of the three-story building behind him was still shrouded in smog. The ground floor, built of stone blocks, housed a shop, while the second-story façade looked like white marble. A few withered potted plants sat on a balcony that jutted out over the street.

Across the street stood an old-fashioned restaurant, but its gilded sign and the several carriages parked nearby told any passerby that it was by no means an inexpensive establishment.

A postbox stood in front of the restaurant, and a rusty metal utility box leaned against a nearby wall. The left side of the box was dented, as if from a powerful kick; inside was the steam valve for that entire block.

A man in a black jacket leaned against the postbox, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. He blew out a perfect ring of smoke and tugged the dingy red cap on his head down over his eyes, leaving only a stubble-covered chin visible. He was a filthy sight. His dark trousers and black shoes were caked with mud, and the hand pinching the cigarette was thick with calluses. But the eyes, glimpsed only for a moment, burned with a chilling malice that suggested he was some good-for-nothing thug.

Jenkins paid the man no mind, preoccupied with deciding where to get lunch.

He slipped his left hand into his pocket. When he pulled it out again, a golden ring adorned his index finger, a perfect counterpart to the iron poison-detecting ring on his right.

"Bless me with wealth!"

He muttered under his breath, rubbing the surface of the golden ring, then turned left and entered the establishment next door to the expensive restaurant.

The golden ring had been on his finger for less than a minute, but the glint of gold was enough to catch the eye of the man leaning against the postbox.

A smirk twisted his lips. He viciously ground the cigarette out on the pavement, shoved his hands in his pockets, and sauntered casually into a nearby alley.

After finishing his lunch, Jenkins stepped back out onto the main street. He glanced left and right, deciding to head to the bank.

"A disguise. I need a disguise."

He told himself, then ducked into a side alley, holding the cat who was ready for a nap.

When he emerged, Jenkins had transformed into a portly, middle-aged man. In his hand, he held a new leather money clip that felt like cowhide.

"To think he actually tried to rob me."

He muttered to himself, taking the few loose notes—less than three pounds in total—and stuffing them into his own pocket. He then tossed the money clip back into the alley, where it landed on the unconscious form of the would-be robber, now hidden behind a pile of rubbish.

"Hmph. What a pauper."

He remained completely unaware that to truly maximize the ring's effects, he ought to be wearing it.

In this era, the banking industry was still in its infancy; private banks were virtually nonexistent. Even in a major city like Nolan, the original Jenkins, born and raised here, had never heard of a single reputable private bank.

The services offered by banks were limited, mostly consisting of deposits, withdrawals, and remote transactions. The two most important institutions were the bank of the Traveler, the Righteous God of November, and the official bank of the Fidektri Kingdom.

The former was founded on providing convenient storage and retrieval of goods for long-distance travelers, eventually evolving into a financial institution. The latter, however, was established just three years ago, proposed and organized by a brilliant distant relative of the Queen, Miss Jessica Windsor. While she possessed a trace of royal blood, her place in the line of succession was beyond tenth. Jenkins recalled Miss Mikhail mentioning her; the young woman was apparently quite formidable, having taken charge of the Windsor estate's affairs at the tender age of twelve. Rumor had it the current Duke of Windsor intended to make her his heir, rather than any of his worthless sons.

The state bank's services included things like national bonds, and while it appeared more comprehensive than its religious counterpart, a great many people still preferred the Travelers' Bank. Not only did it offer slightly higher interest rates, but its services were not constrained by national borders or regional politics.