Chapter 291: Chapter 291

B-04-4-0944, the Chain of the Wind Vane. Jenkins found it intriguing, but the item wasn't particularly practical for him. Besides, he had no intention of trading the trap rope he currently possessed, so he decided against the purchase.

Professor Burns spent twenty-three pounds on a small handful of iron fragments, a special material produced by a common Cursed Item. A-06-03-3117, the Black Haunted House, would randomly appear in any populated area. After it vanished, it would leave behind discarded building materials, and these fragments were one such remnant.

Because its source was a powerful spatial-type Cursed Item, it was a rare ritual component associated with space. As far as Jenkins knew, rituals for summoning otherworldly entities or making sacrifices often utilized such materials.

But Professor Burns was a respectable Scribe of an Orthodox Church and would certainly not dabble in such affairs.

After reaching level 2, Jenkins had already filled all his ability slots, so he had no need for expensive and rare materials at the moment. The components for the rituals Papa Oliver had taught him could be purchased from the Church, and at a lower price, so he refrained from buying anything.

With fewer people in attendance, the gathering concluded earlier than usual. Before everyone departed, someone posed a question to the "generous" Corpse Gentleman, and he obliged with an answer.

A man in a black, hooded robe stepped forward, moving closer to the dim glow of the Sealing Room Candles.

"Sir, Nolan City has been quite turbulent lately. Do you think we should leave the city for a while, to avoid any potential dangers?"

The Corpse Gentleman's head turned slowly to face the speaker. The man flinched, taking an involuntary step back, but quickly regained his footing.

That final sound carried a strange hint of emotion. The man usually spoke like a machine, utterly devoid of feeling. It was the first time Jenkins had ever detected a trace of humanity in his voice.

The next day remained gloomy, the sky threatening an unusually heavy snowstorm. Jenkins and his cat, Chocolate, yawned in unison as he pushed open the door to Pops Antique Shop. Behind him, a group of workers carrying wooden crates headed toward the town dock.

"Sir, what are you doing?"

Hearing the jingle of the bell, Papa Oliver glanced up sharply, then snatched his coat and hat, ready to depart.

"Ah, just in time," he said. "You'll watch the shop today. I've left a list of tasks on the counter. If I'm not back by evening, just lock up and head home. Something rather troublesome turned up in the south end of the city last night, and this old codger needs to go take a look."

"You're a seasoned apprentice now. You can handle the shop on your own."

He brushed past Jenkins, waving a hand dismissively without looking back. Wrapping the overcoat around his stooped frame, he strode across the flagstones toward a carriage waiting at the corner of the street.

Jenkins remained frozen for a moment, only snapping out of it when a slightly plump, impeccably dressed lady strolled past the shop entrance.

"I wanted to go too...," he murmured.

He muttered under his breath, then set down a squinting Chocolate. He shed his heavy coat, leaving him in just a white shirt and a black velvet vest. The temperature inside the shop was quite pleasant.

He picked up the note Papa Oliver had left, but then a thought struck him. He blinked, directing his gaze downward, and the black, eye-shaped spiritual aura vanished.

"So Papa took it with him...," he mused.

He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed, but at least he wouldn't have to play the thief.

No customers came to the antique shop all morning. After completing his daily transcriptions, Jenkins settled in at the counter with a book. With Miss Miller's departure approaching, he also wanted to compile some notes on mathematical analysis to give her as a farewell gift.

They had already arranged that long-distance communication wouldn't be a problem once Magic Miss repaired the ritual, but proper etiquette still called for a parting gift.

After lunch, the weather grew even more somber. Jenkins had been expecting snow and had even spent some time watching from the backyard with a reluctant cat in his arms. But the snow never came; the pall of clouds over Nolan only grew thicker.

Jenkins's instincts screamed that something big was about to happen. But Miss Bevanna was due back from New Truman City tomorrow, and the other four Orthodox Churches each had a level-eight Benefactor stationed locally. Even if another incident did occur, he wouldn't be the one sent to the front lines.

The bell at the entrance chimed, and Jenkins turned to look. He had been engrossed in a bestselling novel about knights, studying the popular literary styles of the era. Chocolate was sprawled across the arm of his chair, feigning sleep but actually peeking at the book through slitted eyes.

"Welcome to Pops Antique Shop. How may I help you?"

He rose from his wooden chair by the fireplace and politely approached the first customer of the day.

The visitor was a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard. He wore a trench coat, and though his clothes were tidy enough, he looked worn out. He wasn't tall and wore a pair of plain spectacles, but the dark circles under his eyes were pronounced. His gaze was vacant, a clear sign of exhaustion.

He perfectly fit Jenkins's image of a man down on his luck.

"Hello," the man said. "My name is Mason Pisco."

His voice was low, perhaps from a poor night's sleep.

"The thing is," he continued, "I'm a writer."

Jenkins thought with a smile, surprised to meet a fellow writer. He gestured for Pisco to come closer to the warmth of the fireplace.

"I'm the sort who writes scripts for stage plays and operas." ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ n0velfire.net

He sniffled, as if he had a cold.

"I've hit a wall with my writing recently," he explained. "Too many coincidences are piling up in the same scene. I thought I'd come here and try my luck. I am looking to buy something, but what I'm really after are the stories behind your antiques. I'll purchase whichever item comes with the best one."

"A playwright out gathering material,"

Jenkins mentally filed Mr. Pisco away in a new category. He asked with concern,

"Are you feeling alright? Perhaps you should see a doctor."

The man took out a handkerchief to wipe his nose, then gave his head a sharp shake.

"Very well, Mr. Williams. Please, show me your antiques. Though, as I said, it's the stories I'm truly after."

He was a strange man, indeed. But since he seemed to be an ordinary person and wasn't carrying any unusual items, Jenkins had no choice but to treat him as a regular customer.

And if the man wanted to buy the antique with the best story, Jenkins certainly wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to make a sale.