Chapter 308: Chapter 308

"I'd expected a more dramatic phenomenon."

Jenkins murmured, his expression complicated as he gazed at his own name.

"New god, you still lack a divine domain." The source of thɪs content is novelFɪre.net

Rakul stated this calmly. But when Jenkins tried to ask more, she just smiled and turned to gaze at the sea of stars, feigning as though she hadn't spoken at all.

"I see. So I have to find it on my own, is that it?"

"You are a god; I am not. Mr. Williams, Star Spirits do not meddle in the affairs of the material world. Likewise, we will not alter the destiny of all worlds by influencing their gods."

"I believe you understand my meaning."

Jenkins chuckled. "And this is why I can't stand characters in second-rate novels who only ever speak in riddles."

Through the power of Jenkins's true name, Rakul had recognized his divine essence. Therefore, if he inscribed his name onto a specific object, it would become a guiding beacon.

However, she also warned that an object inscribed with a god's name would inevitably become a special divine artifact. Though Jenkins was a pseudo-god without a corresponding domain, the essence of his soul was still potent and infectious. Any divine artifacts created in this manner would possess abilities similar to his own. But he could not create too many; since he lacked a divine domain, draining too much of his divine essence, while not harming his soul, would cause his physical body to wither and decay prematurely.

Having learned the purpose of his true name, Jenkins returned from the astral plane to the material world.

He opened his eyes to find his body still seated in the chair at his desk. Chocolate, however, was no longer curled up on the soft cushion beside him; she was now batting at the metal block.

"You really have a thing for cubes, don't you?"

Jenkins chuckled, stroking her back a couple of times. He recalled how Chocolate used to love playing with the magic cube he had drawn into existence. A shame he'd had to destroy it.

The moment Jenkins touched her, the cat froze. She turned her head to look back at her master.

Then, she leaped swiftly from the desk and bounded down the stairs one step at a time, like a chubby rabbit, making her way back to the ground floor.

Jenkins didn't follow her. Instead, his gaze fell upon the five smooth stones laid out neatly on his desk.

He picked one up at random. With a gentle squeeze, the spiritual lodestone split neatly into two halves.

He took the pure silver ritual dagger that lay at hand, drew a deep breath, and touched its blade to the stone's surface.

He murmured the name, drawing out each syllable as he carefully etched the letters onto the stone.

Downstairs, Chocolate had been lounging by the living room fireplace. But the very instant Jenkins's dagger touched the stone, her ears twitched. She shot back up the stairs and paused at the study door. Hiding her body just out of sight, she peeked her small head around the frame, her large amber eyes filled with curiosity as she watched him work.

With the completion of the final letter, a rich golden aura bloomed from the stone, though nothing else happened. Jenkins could feel the light slowly fading, the inscription itself vanishing at an almost imperceptible rate. Still, it would likely last for half a year, which should be long enough.

He nodded, satisfied, and pulled the kerosene lamp closer, lowering his head to focus on engraving the remaining stones.

Chocolate's amber eyes widened, her slitted pupils fixed on the scene. As Jenkins began to work on the third stone, she retracted her head, padded silently down the stairs, and settled once more on the woolen rug before the hearth.

She extended her right forepaw and began to idly scratch at the rug. Gradually, the marks she left began to form a series of crooked, lopsided letters.

Her movements grew slower with each letter. Fearing her master upstairs might notice, she stopped just short of finishing, leaving the final cross-stroke of the 's' incomplete.

As if she had accomplished something momentous, the cat let out a proud meow. A pitch-black hand reached out from the shadows on the floor, smoothing over the carpet and erasing every trace of her writing.

She settled down again, resting her chin on her paws. The flickering firelight danced in her amber eyes, its reflection swaying with a slow, steady rhythm.

Wednesday was the 31st, the final day of the Month of the Sage and Harvest.

"This month has felt impossibly long!"

Recalling all that had happened, Jenkins felt a surge of gratitude for having made it to the end of the month in one piece.

"It must be the Sage's blessing!"

He sat up from his pallet in front of the fireplace, still in his nightclothes, and stretched his arms high. Then he reached over to the sofa and stroked the cat, who was curled into a soundly sleeping ball beneath a small blanket. At his touch, she immediately let out an indignant meow.

He slipped on his slippers, washed up quickly in the bathroom, then grabbed his greatcoat from the hall tree, draping it over his shoulders before opening the front door.

"Oh, Goddess," he murmured. "It's snowing."

A soft sigh escaped him. A blanket of snow already covered the yard, and the little tree the maid had recently trimmed was now dressed in silver.

Though the air was sharp with cold, Jenkins hugged his arms to his chest and ducked his head as he descended the front steps, reaching out a hand to catch a falling snowflake.

St. George Avenue, beyond his gate, was completely white. A coachman, bundled in a woolen cap and gloves, struggled to urge his horse onward. The animal's hooves punched dark holes in the snow, only for them to be immediately erased by the carriage wheels that followed.

Mr. Goodman was also heading out. He was wrapped in a ridiculously large red scarf, his already stout frame made to look even plumper by his bulky winter clothing.

"Good morning, Mr. Williams! A truly cold one today, isn't it?"

"Good morning to you, Mr. Goodman! Indeed. I imagine true winter will set in after this snowfall."

After a few more pleasantries, Mr. Goodman tucked his black briefcase under his arm and trudged out onto the main road.

Judging by the Goodman family's standard of living, the man's weekly salary was likely a bit less than Jenkins's, but not by much. Both were comfortably in the middle class. The difference was that Jenkins was a young, single man of twenty-one, while Mr. Goodman had a wife and a young son to support. His burdens were far heavier.

And so, on this snowy Wednesday morning, Mr. Goodman had to trudge to work through the deepening drifts while Jenkins, having collected the newspaper and milk from his doorstep, could settle in to enjoy breakfast, stroking Chocolate's fur as he watched the snow fall.

"Don't touch that. Wait a moment."

He stopped the cat as she tried to nudge the milk bottle, pouring the contents into a saucer instead. He warmed it with a touch of flame from his fingertip before pushing it toward her. Milk left to freeze on the doorstep couldn't be drunk cold; it was a sure way to upset one's stomach.