Miss Bevanna wasn't the only one in the carriage—Papa Oliver was there too, both having come to greet Jenkins. Papa Oliver scooted over, making room for Jenkins as he stooped to climb inside. Thıs text ıs hosted at novel⁂fire.net
"I hear you had quite the eventful holiday,"
Papa Oliver quipped as the carriage lurched into motion.
He pressed a hand to his forehead, resting his head against the carriage wall. From his luggage, he retrieved a thick file and handed it to Miss Bevanna. It contained a comprehensive report on the incident, along with the bulk of the valuable materials he had collected.
The remaining scattered documents, materials, and the personal effects of the culprits were still at the mountain estate, buried under the avalanche; he trusted the Church would take care of recovering them.
Instead of opening the file immediately, Miss Bevanna set it aside. She studied Jenkins, her brow furrowing slightly. "You seem even more exhausted than before," she observed. "Was the train journey really that draining?"
"It was," he confirmed. "I experienced something... extraordinary. Oh, great Sage..."
He groaned, his eyes shut tight, and then proceeded to describe the strange dream and the new ability he had acquired from it.
"Don't worry, Jenkins. That was B-01-5-0002, the Emerald Dream. It's a vast, illusory world constructed by the ancient races. Even after they vanished from the material world, some Benefactors still occasionally stumble into it. With a bit of luck, one might even receive a gift from those old races. And look, didn't you just happen to acquire a new ability?"
"Really?" Jenkins asked. "But what about the bartender who appeared in the dining car right before the dream started, and that drink..."
The entire event had clearly taken place on the train he'd just left. At least, that's what Jenkins now believed.
"All an illusion," Papa Oliver said dismissively. "The Emerald Dream isn't a place meant for humans, after all. Before you fully entered, you were already caught in the seam between reality and fantasy. It was all a hallucination. I think what you need is some proper rest."
Jenkins asked, his mind still fuzzy. He was mentally drained, and since it was Papa Oliver speaking, he chose to believe him.
The carriage dropped Jenkins off at the corner of St. George Street. Papa Oliver handed him the key for the new lock that had been installed during the renovations. Then, he and Miss Bevanna watched as Jenkins made his way toward his house.
Miss Bevanna chose her words carefully. What Papa Oliver had just said was true, but it wasn't the whole truth.
"Of course I know," Papa Oliver replied. "The Emerald Dream can only be opened with an elf's guidance. What happened to Jenkins means those pointy-eared folk from the Forest of Blossoms have finally come looking for him."
Papa Oliver's expression was perfectly calm, as if he were merely discussing tomorrow's breakfast with her.
Miss Bevanna tried to speak again, but he cut her off.
"This is perfectly normal, Bevanna. He carries the bloodline of the sovereign's own high priest, after all. Who could have imagined that a descendant of a Middleton bastard would exhibit such a clear ancestral throwback? This is a grace from fate, bestowed upon both the elves and the Church of the Sage. It is the blessing of the great sovereign and the Righteous Gods upon mortals. We should simply accept it as it is."
Papa Oliver remained serene. Even as the carriage began to move again, his gaze remained fixed on the direction Jenkins had gone. The curtain swayed, obscuring the view of the house, and the wheels crunched through the snow on the street. Only then did he turn his head:
"Whatever the reason for the elves' appearance, it won't bring Jenkins any harm. The only thing we can do is wait for the World Tree Seedling within him to fully mature. Nothing else is important. Forget about this for now. You need to return to the church and rest. Tomorrow, you can deal with the mess Jenkins ran into on his trip."
He gestured toward the file. Miss Bevanna nodded silently, though she didn't agree that the elves' appearance was something to be ignored. The pointy-ears hadn't shown themselves in the material world for many years, and Papa Oliver had apparently missed a crucial detail: according to Jenkins's account, he had suddenly understood Elvish.
This was highly unusual. One couldn't simply learn a language through the Emerald Dream. It could only mean that the power of the Dream had resonated with Jenkins's own, further awakening the great power latent in his bloodline.
Perhaps they wouldn't have to wait long at all. The World Tree might fully awaken within him soon, and the Church was clearly unprepared for that eventuality.
She would not defy Papa Oliver's wishes; he was, after all, her nominal teacher. But leaving the elves to their own devices didn't mean she would take a hands-off approach to Jenkins.
The Saint was the god's representative in the material world. Therefore, dedicating everything to Jenkins was the same as dedicating it to the Sage. This wasn't some wild feminine fantasy; it was a principle described in the holy texts of every church, a matter of established doctrine.
She would thoroughly investigate the matter of "The Player". Going with the flow of fate might be the prudent course, but Bevanna was not the type to simply sit back and wait for things to happen.
(Chocolate snoring...)
Jenkins awoke feeling refreshed in body and mind, as if the unsettling events of the previous night had never happened. He had slept on the rug in front of the fireplace again. A bright-eyed Chocolate was already awake and perched on the windowsill, gazing outside.
It was snowing outside—not a mountain blizzard, but a light, picturesque flurry. Spring in Nolan typically arrived in mid-March, so for now, they were still in the heart of winter's chill.
Having bought the widow's house next door, Jenkins had arranged for workers to build an enclosed bridge between the second floors, connecting the two properties, before he left for his trip.
But the crew hadn't followed his instructions at all. Instead, they had knocked down the adjoining wall on the ground floor, merging the two spaces completely and relocating the front door to the center of the new, wider facade.
They hadn't done the same on the second floor, merely cutting a door and a window into the connecting wall. This design turned the roof over the newly expanded ground floor into a sort of terrace.
From what Jenkins knew of construction, the demolished walls should have been load-bearing and couldn't be removed so casually. Since the house was still standing perfectly sound, it could only mean the Church had lent some of its extraordinary power to the project.
This new layout was actually much better. The usable living space had increased substantially.
He and Chocolate excitedly "explored" the new house before breakfast, both man and cat thoroughly enjoying themselves. As Jenkins stepped outside in his slippers to fetch the newspaper and milk, he ran into his neighbor, Mr. Goodman, who was just heading out.
Even though it was a Saturday, Mr. Goodman still had to work. As a recent hire, he knew that diligence was the only way to secure his position.