Chapter 301: Chapter 301

Miss Mikhail offered an apologetic smile, a silent apology for her presumption. In a gentle voice, she remarked, "What a fascinating book. I'm sorry for flipping through it without asking. I just saw the section on the Holy Diclar family. You can find rumors about them even in the most orthodox history books."

Bestowing the prefix "Holy" upon a family name was no small matter. It required, at the very least, that an ancestor be a genuine Saint, and that the family continue to contribute to the Church long after their glorious forebear had passed. Newest update provıded by NoveI-Fire.ɴet

Take Jenkins, for example. If his title of Saint were ever made public, and if after his death his direct descendants continued to believe in the Sage, work for the Inherited Sage Church, and produce at least one mortal bishop, then in a few generations, people would naturally begin to call them the "Holy Williams Family."

Papa Oliver had joked about this once, remarking that the greatest obstacle on the path to becoming the "Holy Williams Family" was their ancestor's distinct lack of interest in approaching women.

"There's no need to apologize," Jenkins said. "The book isn't anything important."

As he spoke, he placed the Ouija board and the small pouch on the counter beside Miss Mikhail. The lady, taking the hint, tactfully closed the book.

"Let me see, Papa Oliver left the appraisal results..."

Jenkins ducked back behind the counter and crouched down, rummaging around. Miss Mikhail averted her gaze from the items he had set aside, her attention drawn instead to the cat that had just leaped onto the countertop.

"I'm so sorry about what happened at the Pet Management Center," she began. "Hathaway may have already apologized on my behalf, but I still feel terrible for getting you involved, Mr. Williams. I heard... that maid shot at you, didn't she? My father confined me to the house for the past few days, so I haven't had a chance to explain..."

She had also heard rumors from her father and a few friends that Jenkins Williams had caught the eye of the Inherited Sage Church, and there were even whispers of him being groomed as the next bishop.

With Jenkins's looks and eloquent manner, quite a few of Miss Mikhail's friends were "interested" in him. Yet she had never heard of a single one succeeding. He was like an ascetic from the holy scriptures and ancient tales; even "abstemious" seemed too weak a word to describe Mr. Williams.

*A man like that,* she mused, *is what one would call a true gentleman.*

So she thought, while simultaneously warning herself to remain wary of his relationship with her beloved Hathaway.

Jenkins had finally found the page Papa Oliver had left. He stood up and handed it to her.

Miss Mikhail unfolded the paper right there in front of him, her eyes immediately skipping to the conclusion at the bottom.

"Just as I thought..."

Her expression held a hint of disappointment, but she didn't seem overly concerned.

"If you don't mind my asking, Miss Mikhail," Jenkins began, "are you still pursuing these... unknown powers?"

"After that terrible incident... so many of my friends died tragically..."

A mournful expression crossed her face; she was referring to the demonic incident involving young Wellington.

"Hathaway tried to persuade me to stop pursuing such things, and I listened. I'm not like I used to be. Now, it's just... a hobby."

Jenkins wasn't sure whether to believe her, but then he reminded himself that it was none of his business. So, he simply stood by and listened, offering no comment.

As the blonde lady spoke, she watched Jenkins's attentive expression and found herself once again struck by how exceptional he was. She steeled her resolve: she had to keep him away from her Hathaway.

"Mr. Williams," she asked, "are you available next week?"

Why the sudden change in topic?

"Is there something you need?"

"Next Thursday, some friends and I are planning to play a few games with a Ouija board. It's always more fun with more people, so I was wondering if you might be free."

Seeing Jenkins hesitate, she quickly added:

"Papa Oliver mentioned to me during a chat that he wishes you'd attend more social events. It won't take too long, and it's in the evening. We're all young, so it's not like we'll be getting into any real danger."

Jenkins glanced again at the Ouija board and its accessories on the counter.

*There's no aura coming from it,* Jenkins thought. *And Papa Oliver would probably be disappointed if I refused. Thursday is the first of the month, and I don't have anything important scheduled...*

"Alright," he agreed. "I'll see you then."

A genuine smile lit up Miss Mikhail's face. She nodded elegantly, then turned and gestured with a hand clad in a white lace glove, summoning her maid to collect the items from the counter.

"That's wonderful," she said. "My friends will be delighted to meet you."

That evening, after leaving the antique shop, Jenkins, now in disguise, made his way back to the two-story townhouse. He glanced up. Two flowerpots sat on the windowsill. One was red; the other was empty.

He nodded, paying the building no further mind, and turned left into an alley.

The avenue behind him was deserted, with only a few fallen leaves skittering across the pavement in the wind. Twenty years ago, citizens wouldn't have dared walk so close to the buildings for fear of being showered with garbage and waste tossed from the windows above.

But with the advance of steam power and clockwork mechanics, society had not only grown more civilized, but practical household appliances had also emerged. The Kingdom had expended great effort to standardize urban sanitation, and now, at least on the city's main thoroughfares, such scenes were a thing of the past.

The alley Jenkins had just entered was also remarkably clean. Aside from some weeds and moss growing at the base of the walls, the ground was so immaculate one might suspect it was private property.

He glanced up at the buildings on either side. They were commercial properties, but given that they had windows opening onto the alley, it was quite astonishing that no one was dumping their refuse below.

He walked to the end of the alley, where a brick wall blocked his path.

"Red means fifth from the top," he murmured to himself. "No plant means first from the left."

Muttering softly, he tapped his fingers along the brick wall until he found his target.