Chapter 36: Chapter 36

"Are... are a lot of people going to die in this fire?"

It took them some time to get clear of the inferno. A knot of guilt tightened in Jenkins's chest, and he lowered his voice to ask Papa Oliver the question weighing on him. The intersection was completely choked with a tide of humanity—curious onlookers, frantic residents fleeing the blaze, and the municipal fire brigade in their black, fire-retardant gear. Read full story at novel•fire.net

"Rest easy. That whole area is residential, part of the Docklands. At this time of day, most residents have to be out working just to make ends meet. Still, there are always some... May the Goddess watch over them."

Jenkins glanced back at the pillar of smoke clawing at the sky and the clamorous crowd below. He didn't regret what he'd done. If he hadn't thrown that charm, the cultist, having already secured the artifact, would never have let him walk away.

His left hand had been tucked inside his coat ever since the explosion. It rested on the two items he’d recovered from the crater: a small metal harmonica and a carefully wrapped wooden carving.

The former was the instrument the cultist had used to produce that bizarre song; the latter was all that was left of the obliterated Mr. Brown.

"You have to get used to this world."

Jenkins sighed, a wave of sorrow washing over him. He fell in step behind Papa Oliver, weaving through the throng until they broke free, leaving the cacophony of curses, sobs, and shouts behind as they vanished around a corner.

Captain Bincy stood amidst the scorched-white ruins. He bent down, his fingers tracing the communication marks Papa Oliver had scuffed away from the dirt.

The firefighters hadn't left yet. They’d cordoned off the area, standing guard against any potential flare-ups. The police were a lost cause; never mind that this was the slums, a blaze of this magnitude would have incinerated any and all evidence.

"I hear your people found something... noteworthy?"

The question came from a man dressed head-to-toe in black, a simple black cross embroidered on his chest.

He possessed a peculiar, tranquil stillness. To look at him was like staring into the silent depths of a coffin.

"Yes. A statue of the Lord of Myriad Brilliance, a relic from the last epoch. It's been temporarily sealed. A local gang smuggled it in, thinking it was just another antique. A follower of that heretical god heard about it and came looking, and just so happened to run into our people."

Captain Bincy explained as he stood, dusting off his hands. He walked with the man in black over to the crater left by the explosion.

"According to the initial report and the on-site assessment, the unregistered gang leader was likely carrying an item rigged to detonate upon his death. These reckless fanatics are always pulling stunts ... Fortunately, Mysterious Objects, Extraordinary items, and Bestowals aren't so fragile they can be destroyed by a conventional explosion."

"A conventional explosion?"

The man in black stood beside Bincy as several more squads of enforcers from the Orthodox Church arrived on the scene. They all operated in Nolan and knew one another, so they exchanged brief, professional nods.

"What in the hell kind of explosion could do this? Dammit! Was that gangster carrying twenty explosive charms? Or did he shove a steam bomb up his ass?"

The man in black snarled.

"We don't know," Bincy admitted. "The statue itself is bizarre. Every attempt at retrocognition and divination has been deflected, leading to completely absurd results."

Bincy's gaze swept over the perimeter of the fireground. He watched the impoverished residents, their faces etched with the pain of losing their homes or their families, staring numbly at the devastation from behind the cordon.

"The heretical statue is in our custody. The cultist known as 'Flesh Puppet'—who had a one-thousand-pound bounty on his head—has been eliminated. We even followed the trail to one of the Club of Light Chasers' local hideouts. All things considered, it's a good outcome..."

"Hmph. More than thirty people are dead or missing. At least two hundred have lost their homes. And the sum the city will have to pay for the aftermath is staggering."

A sneer touched the man's lips.

Bincy nodded, his face a mask of indifference as he turned to the Soul Reaper from the Church of Death and End:

"Are you mocking me? This wasn't our fault. What's more, the two heroes who intercepted the statue and killed the cultist d the majority of the reward. The Church will see to it that the funds are used to help those who lost everything. It won't cover all their losses, I'm sure, but it will at least get them through the winter."

A heavy silence fell between them.

Summer in Nolan was like that. An unexpected drizzle began to fall, a single drop landing on the Soul Reaper's face. He calmly shook his head and murmured:

"May the departed find peace, and in death, behold the end."

"May the Sage protect us, and Her brilliance light the path of humanity's progress."

The entire incident felt surreal to Jenkins, like a waking dream. He'd been through his first battle between Enchanters, killed for the first time, and started a massive fire in a densely populated area. And yet, the only consequence was having to turn over the two items he'd recovered. The rest of the fallout had nothing to do with him.

He would later learn that the stranger who could shrug off bullets was known as 'Flesh Puppet,' a member of the Club of Light Chasers, who worshipped the heretical god known as the Lord of Myriad Brilliance. Through an ancient and malevolent ritual, he had reforged his body into a living puppet, with his soul pulling the strings as if operating a machine. This very process, however, had left him permanently stuck at the fourth level, unable to advance further. But while his power wasn't exceptionally high, his near-immortal nature, coupled with his ruthless methods and a long history of slaughter, had earned him a spot on the Orthodox Church's wanted list three years ago.

And this time, they had only managed to kill him thanks to "Brown's bomb."

That, at least, was the conclusion Papa Oliver and everyone else had reached. With the divinations interfered with and the fire having destroyed most of the evidence, they could never have guessed the truth: that it had all been caused by a single, shoddily-made explosive charm.

Although Jenkins and Papa Oliver hadn't delivered the killing blow to Flesh Puppet themselves, the bounty was still credited to them.

Papa Oliver felt he'd done little more than stall the cultist, and Jenkins was acting out of guilt, so after a brief discussion, they d the vast majority of the reward money.

The Church handled the transaction, so there was no fear of the donation being misappropriated.

It was a total of one thousand pounds from the Orthodox Church for the cultist, plus another three hundred from the police department for the murderer. Papa Oliver kept twenty pounds for his recovery expenses, while Jenkins refused to take so much as a single copper penny.

He returned home that evening completely unscathed. The fracture in his right arm had been mended shortly after they got back to Pops Antique Shop. The process had been straightforward: Papa Oliver set the bone, and Jenkins healed it instantly with his ability. That, at least, was the best news of the day.

But there had been other gains, too—beyond simply eliminating a cultist and seeing a dangerous artifact confiscated. The object he had secretly pocketed was still resting safely inside his coat.