Chapter 91: Chapter 91
He cautiously selected some "basic" knowledge and transcribed it again, changing his ink twice in the process. He brought over a brazier and tossed in his first draft. To be extra careful, he used a mystical Bestowal candle to burn it all to ash.
Becoming pen pals with Miss Mary was a decision Jenkins had carefully considered. To avoid exposing his identity as a transmigrator, his life was exceptionally dull. Perhaps finding a hobby to unwind with was not such a bad idea. Having a pen pal was quite fashionable in this era. And while the person writing back might be as beautiful as a flower—or then again, might be as beautiful as a flower—all that mattered was that he enjoyed it.
He placed his reply to Miss Mary and the letter of thanks to his readers together, planning to mail them both the next day. Jenkins glanced at the darkening sky outside, deciding to take Chocolate with him to visit his neighbors.
His neighbors were all very friendly.
The Goodmans lived to Jenkins's left. Mr. Goodman was a manager at the well-known Hogg Mechanical Foundry in Nolan City, while Mrs. Goodman was a full-time homemaker whom Jenkins had met when he first viewed the house. With their tidy lawn, gilded nameplate, and handsome roof, they were the very picture of a standard middle-class family. The Goodmans also owned a shorthair cat named Lise, and Mrs. Goodman kindly informed Jenkins that the city's cat permits were issued not at City Hall, but at the City Pet Management Center on the outskirts of town.
To Jenkins's right lived Mrs. Margaret, a widow of about fifty. The inheritance her late husband had left her was more than enough for her to live comfortably for the rest of her life. Mrs. Margaret warmly invited Jenkins to come inside and sit for a while, but he politely declined.
He had other plans for the evening. Today was the last day of August, the Month of the Cunning Artisan and Sweet Rain.
Chocolate was surprisingly well-behaved. He hadn't bought a cage for his cat, instead building her a small, warm nest, but she always liked to sneak onto his bed in the middle of the night.
Letting Chocolate get some rest, Jenkins extinguished his kerosene lamp and sat quietly on the antique sofa on the first floor, gazing at the flawless red and blue twin moons outside the window.
This past month, Jenkins had experienced far too many strange events. Mysterious Objects, Mysterious Realms, malevolent spirits, heretical gods, divinity—a chaotic barrage of phenomena had bombarded his mind.
Since he hadn't gone mad, his resistance to such anomalies had grown significantly.
His body felt as if it were plummeting into a bottomless fog. From the distance, he heard the voices of two men—sounds that caused the very air, energy, time, space, and even fate itself to vibrate, piercing through the deep mist to reach his ears. Googlᴇ search novel[f]ire.net
The low, fragmented voices held no inherent meaning, but Jenkins, having briefly been a god, knew what they were.
He released his spirit, facing the entire world in a state of complete relaxation. Just as Papa Oliver had once described the ancient Enchanters, his hair stood on end and his mind went blank as he felt for the spirit of the world through the sensation of nature itself.
The whispers took on meaning, the strange yet melodious sounds transforming into fragments of information. Jenkins, a mere mortal, boldly intercepted a portion of it, only to be knocked unconscious by the overwhelming impact of the data.
When Chocolate's licking finally woke him, it was already two in the morning on the first day of the Month of the War God and Falling Leaves.
Jenkins had no time to comfort his panicked cat, nor to properly assess the new surge of spirit within him. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing the paper and pen he had prepared, and quickly began to record the information he had just obtained.
"An exclusive divine art for followers of the Lord of War: [War's Blessing]. It seems the sounds I hear at the start of each month really are the stirrings of two Righteous Gods. Not necessarily their voices—after all, gods are great, higher-dimensional beings. It's debatable whether they can even produce sounds mortals can hear. What I'm hearing is likely just the ripples they occasionally create."
Jenkins used a handkerchief to wipe the blood from his face, carefully documenting the complete ritual for learning this divine art.
"The Cunning Artisan once granted a Bestowal, now numbered by mortals as C-08-2-5373, the [Mechanical Heart]. I didn't catch any specific details about the item, but Bestowals are different from Mysterious Objects and Extraordinary items. Not just anyone can use them."
He paused, realizing what he had just subconsciously written.
"Aside from Bestowals acquired in a Mysterious Realm, which can always be used by their first owner, all other Bestowals choose a suitable user for themselves. If a mortal and a Bestowal are an exceptional match, the mortal will feel a connection as long as they are close enough."
Jenkins sighed. This was the sum of his harvest for the night. Though his spirit had grown by a large margin from that unexpected state of perception, he could tell he was still a long way from reaching Level 2.
What had just happened was a rare, perhaps once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Even if he could still hear the voices next month, it was unlikely he would be able to achieve that same state of communion again.
"My eyes see spiritual auras, my ears hear divine sounds, and my soul absorbed divinity to become a god... am I even human anymore?"
Drifting to sleep with that thought, he didn't dream of strange creations or bizarre creatures. Instead, he unexpectedly dreamt of the enchanting figures of Miss Mikhail and Miss Hersha. They were like two mermaids bathing in the pristine moonlight, playing with one another, their silvery laughter an irresistible charm that captivated all of creation. Together, they held up a single, unripe fruit, each leaving a faint bite mark on one side, their forms casting a shadow of affection in the moonlight...
Letting Chocolate climb onto his shoulder, he straightened his clothes in the mirror, gave himself a smile, grabbed his black hat from the wooden coat rack, and headed out, leaning on his red cane.
The early morning air of Nolan City was still thick with smog. A few days ago, he had read in the Nolan Daily about proposed reforms to address factory pollution, but the bickering between the interested parties would surely take some time to resolve.
He pushed open the door to Pops Antique Shop and was surprised to find a customer already inside.
The short man wore a gray suit, his leather shoes polished to a higher shine than Jenkins's own. But his eyes were what was truly unusual—they were utterly devoid of expression. When he turned to look at Jenkins, his face held the same placid indifference as if he were looking at a common stone.
By now, Jenkins had developed a habit of immediately trying to determine if a stranger was an Enchanter.
The instant he activated his Eye of Reality, the short man spun around to look at him again. Jenkins immediately dropped his gaze, pretending to watch his step, but the hair on the back of his neck stood on end with fright.
Jenkins didn't approach the counter until after the man had left.