As a precaution, Jenkins had the coachman stop the carriage at the mouth of the alley. Then, shivering, he circled the entire block to reach the riverbank.
To call it a river would be generous; in truth, it was more of a foul sewer. Bordering the slums, the Rona River served as the dumping ground for several nearby streets. The filth of countless years had transformed it into its current state. Garbage, excrement, even corpses—no one could say for certain what lurked in its murky depths.
Bathed in the light of the red and blue twin moons, Jenkins took cover beside a deserted two-story house. He pressed himself against the brick wall, blinking to adjust his eyes to the dim light.
He traced the sequence of the house numbers: 32A, 32B, 32C. The squat building at 32C had a red door, and within it, an Enchanter was hiding.
From the color and spin of the aura, he confirmed it was the maid from that afternoon. A quick scan of the area revealed she was the only Enchanter on the entire street.
After double-checking that his talismans, pistol, and other items were ready, Jenkins patted his cat’s head and murmured a few words next to its small ears.
Chocolate’s ears twitched. In an instant, its fur shifted to a calico pattern as it leaped to the ground and bolted toward the house.
“Is Chocolate getting smarter?”
The cat moved nimbly along the base of the wall until it was under the eaves of house 32C. It deliberately let out a loud meow before leaping onto a nearby tree, and from there, vaulting onto the roof.
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A roof tile was dislodged, shattering on the ground with a sharp crack.
A stir came from within the room, and a moment later, a woman feigning alarm opened the window and peered out. She saw Chocolate just as it leaped from the roof and dashed toward the end of the street.
The woman cursed, shaking her fist before slamming the window shut.
Chocolate emerged from the darkness once more, its fur now a solid gray. With practiced ease, it jumped onto the tree, made its way to the roof, and repeated the trick, knocking down another tile.
Visibly annoyed, the woman threw open the window again. Seeing another cat, she immediately let loose a string of curses. In the deep gloom of the night, she failed to notice how similar in size the two cats were.
Sticking to the shadows along the row of houses, Jenkins slipped over to 32C. He scaled the tree onto the roof and ducked behind the chimney. He gave Chocolate a small wave. The cat turned, its eyes glowing faintly in the dark, and once again scampered across the roof to send another tile clattering to the ground.
The window banged open. A woman in an apron appeared, brandishing something that looked like a rolling pin, and hurled it at the cat.
It let out a threatening hiss before bolting away.
The woman’s eyes narrowed as she watched the cat flee, a seed of suspicion taking root. Any assassin worth their salt knew the value of caution. She scanned her surroundings from the window, paying special attention to the front door, but saw nothing out of place.
The window closed. A moment later, the front door creaked open. The woman emerged, wrapped in a greasy black overcoat, her right hand thrust deep into a pocket.
She drew a pistol, aiming it upward. With an audible click, she released the safety. Her finger resting on the trigger, she backed away from her doorway, step by cautious step. When the empty rooftop finally came into full view, she breathed a long sigh of relief.
“If someone were really hiding up there, the cat would have given them away by now.”
Another meow split the silence. The woman instantly swung her pistol to the right. In that same instant, Jenkins burst from behind the chimney, launching himself off the roof.
“Blasphemous Creation!”
From the air itself, two green vines shot out, plunging into the woman's temples. She convulsed once and crumpled to the ground. Wagging its tail, Chocolate trotted over and nudged the fallen pistol away with its nose.
The plan to have Chocolate jump on the roof three times was a classic case of crying wolf, designed to make her lower her guard toward the roof and focus her attention elsewhere. And while his “Blasphemous Creation” ability sounded like it was meant for crafting trinkets, anyone he targeted with it—aside from himself, apparently—was rendered unconscious in less than a second.
Jenkins chalked it up to the unique nature of his own soul.
The blasphemy extracted from the woman formed a coin so faint it was nearly transparent—not even a thousandth of a full one. The brief struggle went unnoticed by the neighbors. Jenkins bent down to scratch the cat’s chin as a reward, then dragged the woman back into her house.
As luck would have it, Audrey had just given him a rope, which now proved perfect for the task of tying someone up.
The woman remained unconscious, her body twitching sporadically. Jenkins bound her securely to a wooden rocking chair. He felt for a faint breath, then tried pinching the pressure point beneath her nose. When that failed, he splashed a bowl of water in her face, but she still didn't stir.
“Well, this is a problem.”
He’d specifically avoided using Knowledge Bestowal to keep her from passing out before he could question her. He never imagined Blasphemous Creation would be just as incapacitating. He’d assumed she would recover as soon as the ability wore off, just as he had in the Mysterious Realm on the train.
Jenkins surveyed the room. It was a typical slum dwelling: functional, with a toilet, kitchen, and bedroom, but cramped. The unpainted walls had yellowed with age, the plaster stained and peeling.
Leaving the gas lamp on to avoid suspicion, Jenkins hugged the walls as he searched the room for letters or any other clues. But apart from a gaudy glass vial hidden behind a loose brick in the kitchen cupboard, he found nothing.
“Witch's House again?”
Jenkins frowned, recognizing the familiar pattern on the vial of poison. That illegal organization had a penchant for weaving conspiracies with the upper class. Targeting Marquis Mikhail fit their M.O. perfectly.
“There should be some correspondence... Did she burn it after reading? Or maybe...”
Chocolate, perched on the windowsill, suddenly let out a sharp cry. Jenkins followed its gaze outside. With his Eye of Reality still active, he spotted two more arrivals: a level-four and a level-five Enchanter, neither carrying any Extraordinary items.
He murmured the praise, his eyes quickly taking in the room's decor and furniture. An idea sparked.