Chapter 465: Chapter 465

Jenkins had expected the next question to be about the New God Cultists, but he'd underestimated the power of human desire.

"Sir, is Nolan City truly the fabled Land of Destiny? What are the Orthodox Churches and illegal organizations pursuing?"

"They are pursuing destiny, of course. But destiny has never shown mercy to those who actively seek it."

The Corpse Gentleman's reply was as cryptic as expected. In fact, it would have been far more peculiar if he had revealed his secrets in plain language.

Lingering questions hung in the air as the gathering officially concluded. The professor and Jenkins departed in silence.

Only after they had once again scaled the hospital fence did the oppressive mood finally lift. Snow was still drifting down, but the flurries were light. As they walked across the wasteland with the professor, Jenkins glanced back over his shoulder. The abandoned complex of buildings crouched in the distance, a hunched wolf in the dead of night.

"There's always been something strange about the Corpse Gentleman,"

he murmured, freeing Chocolate from the confines of his overcoat. Thɪs chapter is updated by novel✦fire.net

"Yes, I agree. The impression he gives is very different from that of Miss Bevanna, even though they are both level eight."

"But never, ever be so foolish as to investigate the Corpse Gentleman's true identity. We all know what happened to the idiot who tried last year. He ended up in one of the drawers beneath him."

Jenkins nodded, then asked,

"Do you know anything else about him, then? The truth is, outside of our gatherings, I've never heard a single rumor about him in all of Nolan City."

"The Corpse Gentleman keeps a very low profile. Now that you mention it, I don't believe I've ever heard of him from any other source either..."

Once they were clear of the hospital grounds, the two rode Jenkins's horse back to the city. The animal had an exceptionally gentle temperament, allowing even a novice rider to communicate their intentions to a certain degree. Still, to make the most of him, Jenkins knew he would have to properly learn the art of horsemanship.

Jenkins planned to wait until spring and then ask Bishop Parrold to find him a professional riding instructor. Winter, after all, was hardly the season for outdoor lessons.

The next day was Saturday, the twenty-fourth of the month. The snow, which had fallen throughout the night, finally ceased at dawn. The snowfall had been light, however, leaving the roads only partially covered. As Jenkins stepped onto the street with his cat, he saw a few shopkeepers in cotton gloves, yawning as they swept the thin layer of snow from their stoops.

The morning's work was as dull as ever. After the unexpected flurry of customers a few days prior, business at the antique shop had returned to its usual sluggish pace. This gave Papa Oliver ample time to quiz Jenkins on his recent studies and teach him a few new rituals—not particularly powerful, but quite interesting.

As the two were eating lunch, a small boy rushed through the shop door. He wore a gray coat that was clearly too big for him and a pair of drab green trousers covered in colorful patches. His hair, however, was tidy, though the lopsided cut suggested he had trimmed it himself.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Oliver! Good afternoon, Mr. Williams!"

After an awkward greeting to the two men, who were still holding their spoons, the boy presented a letter.

Jenkins knew the drill and handed the boy a silver shilling. The boy thanked him again before scurrying off. He was one of the children Papa Oliver used as couriers, and Jenkins had seen him a few times before.

Papa Oliver wiped his hands on a towel and gave the letter a little shake. His brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before he chuckled, shook his head, and flicked the edge of the paper with his finger.

"I trust you're free this afternoon? Come with me. There's a big business opportunity, and I could use someone to help me haul the goods."

"Of course, no problem!"

Jenkins's voice was muffled by a mouthful of food.

"But Papa Oliver... we're not going to run into any trouble this time, are we?"

"Why do you say 'again'? Our trip to the Oil Ink Mister Club was perfectly safe, wasn't it?"

The statement was technically true, but on their way back, they'd stumbled upon a murder scene. Not to mention, the man they had visited was killed shortly thereafter, his body incinerated for a ritual.

Of course, Jenkins was sensible enough not to bring that up.

This outing was for the shop's business, not some other dangerous matter.

The story was this: in Pork Tail Alley, in the eastern part of Nolan City, lived an impoverished family by the name of Stress. Despite their poverty, they possessed an extremely valuable antique vase dating back some three hundred years. Papa Oliver had no idea how the vase had ended up with them, but he knew exactly what it was worth.

The Stress family had three children, and Mr. Stress's meager income was nowhere near enough to support a family of five. Yet, no matter how Papa Oliver tried to persuade him, he refused to sell the vase. Consequently, Papa Oliver had hired a few people to keep an eye on the family's situation.

It wasn't surveillance, precisely—more a way to be the first to know if the vase changed hands. And, of course, to offer a measure of protection.

The situation took a turn this morning. Mr. Stress, who was supposed to be working at the docks, had returned home early. A few discreet inquiries revealed that he had lost his job after accidentally mixing up some numbers.

Papa Oliver saw this as an opportunity. Perhaps this turn of events would finally convince the man to sell the vase.

The district containing Pork Tail Alley wasn't technically a slum, but Nolan City was riddled with just such inconspicuous, grimy little backstreets.

Their carriage brought them to the mouth of the alley. Papa Oliver pulled a slip of paper from his pocket to reconfirm the address, a puzzled look in his eyes.

"The entrance to the alley was right here the last time I came..."

Before them stood a newly erected brick wall. Traces of wet mortar were still visible in the gaps between the red bricks.

Jenkins glanced around. "Perhaps the city council decided an alley opening onto the main street was an eyesore, so they walled it up?"

"What kind of rule is that?"

Papa Oliver shot him a strange look before glancing back at the letter. "It wasn't mentioned in here. Did someone really throw up a wall in the space of a morning?"

Jenkins agreed, lifting the inquisitive cat from his overcoat and setting it on the ground. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he craned his neck as he crossed the street.

Across the street was a used bookstore called the Green Parrot. Through its display window, Jenkins could see shelves crammed with old books and a white-haired owner dozing at the counter, a parrot perched on a stand just above his head.