Chapter 508: Chapter 508

The woman rubbed the stud earring in her palm with her thumb and suddenly smiled.

"Jenkins, it's not really that strange for a man to wear an earring."

"No, it is to me. At the very least, I would never do such a thing."

As he said this, Jenkins pictured the flamboyantly dressed men he often saw at balls and banquets, which only strengthened his resolve not to use the item.

Furthermore, an item this recognizable would inevitably be tied to a specific identity once used, which would be a significant disadvantage to Jenkins's daily activities.

"Then why leave it with me? I imagine an item would fetch a satisfying price, no matter how you chose to sell it."

"But I'm not short on money right now."

A wave of immense satisfaction washed over him as he uttered those words. He never thought he would one day be able to say such a thing, but the feeling was absolutely wonderful!

"Besides, I'm no longer a newcomer to the world of Benefactors. I understand the true value of special items. In fact, I don't intend to sell any of my possessions from now on. I believe that's the right way to go."

"There have been a number of attacks in the city recently where the victims were drained of blood. I'm sure you've heard about them."

The new topic began just as Chocolate, having rested enough, prepared to climb onto the table to get at the cake on the plate. Jenkins had bought it on his way home that evening. Though Hathaway had told him not to bother with tea, he had still brought out some desserts for his guest.

But clearly, a noble lady conscious of her figure would never eat such a high-sugar food at night, a detail a man like Jenkins would never understand.

"I've heard. There are rumors that the legendary vampires have appeared in the city... I've decided to avoid going out at night as much as possible, since they're said to fear the sun." The most update n0vels are published on N()velFire.net

"I've heard similar rumors as well."

Jenkins grew more certain that the Orthodox Churches were leaking information to unregistered Benefactors through the black market and other channels.

"What in the world is happening to Nolan City? It's only been a month since the incident with the demons."

She looked troubled, resting her chin in her hand as she watched Jenkins's struggle with Chocolate. Although Jenkins clearly had the upper hand, the cat seemed to be playing rather than genuinely fighting for the food.

"Why would I have such a strange thought?"

She found her own observation somewhat amusing.

"Clearly, this city's luck has taken a bad turn. Perhaps you should consider a long winter trip to escape the danger. A couple of friends I know—no, not followers of the new god, please don't make that face. Ahem, two friends of mine have already left the city for good."

"But you've also heard the rumors about the End of the Era, haven't you?"

Hathaway asked, tapping her fingers on the brown armrest of her wooden chair.

The corners of Jenkins's mouth turned up. He closed his eyes and gave a slight nod.

It was a rather sensitive topic. Most heretical cults claimed that the End of the Era meant the destruction of the world and that faith in their gods was the only path to salvation.

Because of this, even though everyone understood the rumors were very likely true, they tacitly avoided the subject—no one wanted to be mistaken for a follower of a heretical god.

Recalling the day's events, Jenkins invited Hathaway to collaborate with him on a new opera for the Silver Jasmine Opera Troupe. She was a little surprised that Jenkins had received such a commission, but then she remembered that ever since he had won the Ritter Prize, the young author had become a highly sought-after acquaintance for nearly every noble lady in the city, and it all made sense.

"Of course. When it comes to music, at least, I'm quite confident."

It was nearing midnight, and since Hathaway had come on foot, Jenkins offered to see her home. The mode of transport was, naturally, the skeletal horse. To avoid being seen, he even summoned a black mist from his necklace to envelop them.

On a night thick with fog, such a method of concealment was remarkably effective.

But Jenkins and the night had always shared a strange sort of fate. On his way back to St. George Avenue, he unexpectedly ran into George Liverpool, the same young man who had tried to force his way into the club. He was also, as it happened, a distant relative of the former flower girl.

He encountered him halfway down Fifth Queen's Avenue. The young man was wearing a black overcoat, buttoned tightly all the way up. He kept his head down, hugging the wall as he walked, looking terribly nervous. It was obvious that, unlike Jenkins, he was not accustomed to being out at night. Given his apparent wealth, he likely suffered from night blindness as well.

Jenkins had just emerged from an adjacent alley. As he was about to cross the stone-paved street, he noticed Liverpool's furtive movements.

Past experience told Jenkins that following him now would almost certainly entangle him in some kind of trouble.

"It's none of my business."

He suppressed his curiosity, telling himself to walk along the main street for a bit and wait for young Liverpool to get farther away before summoning his horse. But things were never that simple. Soon, Jenkins realized that Liverpool was heading in the same direction as he was.

At that moment, Jenkins felt like a stalker, tailing the young man with his cat. He wanted to change the situation but was reluctant to deviate from the most direct route home.

They continued , one behind the other, for ten minutes. They passed Pops Antique Shop, and Liverpool finally stopped in front of the former site of Apartment 431B on Queen's Avenue.

On a rainy late-summer night, a vicious home invasion and murder had occurred there, and the building had later collapsed from the energy shockwave of a heretical god's statue. After several months of cleanup, the rubble had been completely cleared. Because it was a prime street-facing location, the property owner quickly began constructing a new building.

But this time, it was not a residential building. Papa Oliver had said the merchant was a severe germaphobe and was unwilling to build the same type of structure on a site where so many people had died. Instead, a three-story commercial building, in the same style as Pops Antique Shop, was being erected.

The ground floor was for a shop, while the second and third floors were to be leased out to establishments like law firms or detective agencies.

The new building was already taking shape, and the shop's new sign was hung. Mr. Liverpool stopped beside the building's side staircase. He clattered up the red iron steps to the second floor, paused to catch his breath, knocked on a door, glanced behind him, and then slipped inside.