Chapter 410: Chapter 410

"A name? Oh, you believe it too?"

Bevanna tilted her head and asked.

"No, I'm just curious."

It was the kind of thing one shouldn't dwell on; the more he considered it, the more terrifying it became.

"A mortal cannot speak a god's true name. To do so would awaken the ancient gods slumbering in the boundless chaos and bring about the world's premature collapse—at least, that's how the victims of the 'Ancient God's Dream' explain it," she said. "Now, that's enough of that. Don't dwell on it, or you'll increase your chances of being infected. Did you know? The Orthodox Churches in Nolan want to thank you for your help. They're preparing to award you a medal of honor in the next few days."

Jenkins nodded again. He glanced up at the moon, then lowered his head, closed his eyes, and slowly traced the Sage's square holy emblem over his chest.

Whether this world was real or not, Jenkins's life had to go on. His departure for Bel Diran was set for Monday, and he would be there for at least a week. That meant he had to use the weekend to settle his affairs.

Mr. Augustus's funeral was held on Friday. He would be laid to rest with his ancestors in the ruined cemetery.

A portion of the inheritance was allocated to the cemetery's restoration, overseen by a professional executor. Jenkins, in turn, was responsible for supervising the executor.

During the service, the lawyer introduced Jenkins to the executors managing the other parts of Augustus's estate. They all seemed to be upright, dependable gentlemen.

"If they aren't reliable, I'll find a way to make them so."

Mr. Augustus had no living relatives, so Jenkins, as his "best" friend, had to lead the eulogy in the small chapel.

If Papa Oliver hadn't shown him the file on Augustus beforehand, the whole affair would have been excruciatingly awkward.

In any case, the Augustus name would now be relegated to the pages of history. At the end of his eulogy, Jenkins spoke of changing times and the passing of old traditions, concluding with the disappearance of the "great House of Augustus."

His intention was to convey that nothing lasts forever, but while the hired priest nodded in agreement, the other guests in the pews wore rather peculiar expressions.

Viscount Augustus hadn't the fortune to construct a grand mausoleum; all he had was a small plot of earth. Jenkins selected the headstone, and since the viscount had left no instructions, he chose the epitaph as well:

"The Last of Augustus, the Great Survivor."

After the funeral concluded, a middle-aged gentleman from Bel Diran approached Jenkins. He had been sent on behalf of the royal family to attend the funeral for the last scion of an ancient house, but he was also there on other business.

"Greetings, Baron Williamette. I am Stitch Grant."

He pressed his left hand to his stomach and extended his right, sweeping one leg back as he offered Jenkins a formal bow.

"A pleasure, Mr. Grant."

Jenkins nodded uncertainly, wondering why the man had sought him out.

With no heir to the Augustus line, the viscount's title would naturally be reclaimed by the crown, so the presence of a royal representative was no surprise. What was surprising was that he had any business with Jenkins.

"I am honored to inform you, Baron, that you have been awarded this year's Ritter Prize. On the 22nd of this month, next Thursday, the King will personally present you with the award at the Cold Spring Palace."

As he spoke, he presented a white envelope, its wax seal bearing the royal crest.

"Oh, right. I hadn't been officially notified of this yet!"

It all clicked into place. Jenkins thanked him quietly and accepted the envelope. He didn't open it right away, but couldn't help wondering if the letter inside was trimmed with gold leaf.

The funeral lasted until about three in the afternoon. The guests all seemed to regard Jenkins as the true heir to the Augustus fortune, and each stopped to exchange a few words with him before departing. The most update n0vels are published on novᴇlfire.net

It gave him the strange feeling that he was the host of the affair.

In addition to a considerable sum of gold pounds, Mr. Augustus had also bequeathed Jenkins the land surrounding the cemetery. However, the property consisted only of the cemetery itself and an abandoned one next to it, holding little value for development.

The manor itself was to be auctioned, as stipulated in the will. The proceeds were to be divided equally among the servants who had worked there until Mr. Augustus's death—specifically, those bound by contracts of indenture. With that money, they should be able to start a comfortable new life.

Jenkins had wondered if the ancient family might have possessed some hidden supernatural items. When he shared this thought with Papa Oliver, his mentor scoffed.

"If you'd been born three hundred years ago, you might have gotten lucky. The Augustus family's fortunes declined long ago. That manor outside the city isn't their ancestral home. If there were no heirlooms among his personal effects, then there's nothing left to find. Young man, finding a gold pound on the street is a stroke of luck you only get once. Fate doesn't favor the same person forever."

In the end, Jenkins was the last to leave the cemetery. While the grounds were not yet fully restored, the wrought-iron fence around the perimeter had been reinstalled, and a dependable caretaker had been hired.

He stood wistfully at the entrance for a moment, sighed, and pulled the iron gate shut with his own hands before turning to leave.

He had his Ouija board with him, but he was in no mood to visit the abandoned cemetery now. He walked along the path, his boots squelching unpleasantly in the mud. In the distance, the Augustus manor came into view.

The manor was scheduled for auction the following week. Jenkins had already asked the Bishop to oversee the execution of the will while he was away. The lawyer had given him a key, so after a quick word with the drowsy gatekeeper, he let himself in.

His excuse was that he just wanted a stroll and some fresh air, but Jenkins knew that deep down, he still harbored a sliver of hope that he might find something valuable.

Walking up the path, he glanced around and noticed the garden had already begun to look neglected after only a few days. Once inside, he let Chocolate out of his carrier, and the two of them—man and cat—began to wander through the silent, empty manor.

"If this place never sells," he mused aloud, "I imagine there'll be ghost stories about it in a few years."

He murmured to himself. Chocolate glanced up, flicked his tail, and paid him no mind. Gazing at the portraits of the Augustus family that lined the corridor, Jenkins felt the crushing weight of time on all mortal things.