Everyone involved in the Blizzard Villa affair possessed some measure of influence. If Count Quake attempted to make a move, he was certain to face a fierce response from all sides. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ noveⅼfire.net
“I still have no idea what caused Quake to become an Enchanter, but based on how things stand, it seems unrelated to his family. How absurd. The perpetrator has become the victim, while I, the only one who knows the truth, am forced to keep silent. The perpetrator’s relatives might even try to retaliate against the victims, who, in a twisted turn of events, might even consider it a justifiable act of revenge.”
Jenkins couldn't help but want to comment on the absurdity of it all. But with Miss Bevanna standing right there, this was hardly the time or place.
The memory of her prank at the hot spring was still fresh, so he approached the start of their combat lesson with some trepidation.
Naturally, they couldn't practice in their heavy winter coats. He hesitated for a moment when their bare arms made contact, but seeing Miss Bevanna’s completely unfazed expression, he chided himself for reading too much into it.
Since his return, it seemed as though all the strange characters active in Nolan City had simply vanished. Tuesday passed by just as peacefully, the only exception being a bit of news from Papa Oliver about the gangs in the Dock Area suddenly making some high-profile moves since yesterday. Beyond that, nothing of note had occurred to capture Jenkins’s attention.
Those gangs weren’t really a cause for concern—they were just ordinary folk. According to Papa Oliver’s intelligence, one of their key patrons had been arrested by the Orthodox Church in the aftermath of the vampire incident. This left a power vacuum, and other factions, eager for a slice of the Dock Area’s profits, were already stirring. There was no need for Stilwell to intervene; those hungry for a piece of the pie would sort out the trouble themselves.
In the afternoon, Sally from the shop next door stopped by to get some change from Papa Oliver, and they started talking about taxes on Fifth Queen’s Avenue. Sally’s shop hadn’t been around quite as long as Pops Antique Shop, but compared to most of the other businesses, she was practically a native of the street.
Decades ago, taxes hadn't been so complicated, but now, the sheer number of them was a constant source of complaint for the small shop owners. Even Papa Oliver, who didn't rely on the shop's income to live, would often mention to Jenkins how the tax burden seemed to grow heavier each year.
Papa Oliver closed up an hour early today, as he needed to head to city hall to register the shop’s business for the new year and inquire about a tax rebate. Jenkins, however, remembered he still had an undiscovered Bestowal to find in the abandoned cemetery. So, after bidding farewell to his mentor, he made his way directly to the outskirts of Nolan.
The landscape seemed frozen in time, unchanged from his visit last month. He trudged through the deep snow, pushing open the cemetery’s dilapidated gate—now little more than a decorative frame—and saw that Mr. Clark’s spare parts and Mr. Dagger’s corpse were still lying in the corner.
He was relieved to see them undisturbed. Turning to check on the secret chamber below ground, he suddenly spotted another figure approaching in the distance.
No, it wasn't a person. As it drew closer, Jenkins realized his mistake. It was merely a human skeleton, draped in tattered rags, crunching through the snow as it entered the cemetery. It seemed completely oblivious to his presence as it began to pace back and forth across the grounds.
Chocolate made it clear it did not thing.
This was the first time since arriving in this fantastical world that Jenkins had encountered such a “common” undead creature.
It was strange for this particular creature to appear here. Apart from Mr. Dagger’s corpse, there were no other bodies in the cemetery suitable for reanimation. It certainly couldn't have come from the Augustus family graveyard on the other side of the mountain; that ancient resting place was under the protection of a death-warding blessing. A corpse would sleep for eternity unless it was removed from the grounds and subjected to a powerful infusion of life spirit.
Jenkins and his cat watched as the skeleton paced through the cemetery with an air of purpose, as if it were surveying the land. Its bones were a resilient, ancient gray, each one perfectly intact and clean. Faint runes drifted across their surface like droplets of water, and nestled within its skull was a pale gray mass—the soul fragment that animated its body.
To Jenkins’s sight, an extremely faint black aura clung to the skeleton, making its origins impossible to discern. Although he knew investigating this thing would likely lead to trouble, this time, he was willing to get involved:
“This land belongs to me!”
The miserly apprentice of the antique shop refused to allow anything strange on his property.
He had initially planned to follow the skeleton from the shadows, but it appeared to lack any sense of sight, not even pausing when it brushed right past him.
After making a full circuit of the cemetery, the skeleton paused beside the earthen mound where Mr. Dagger was buried. It lingered for less than thirty seconds before turning and resuming its patrol.
Judging from the tracks in the snow, it had covered nearly every inch of the grounds. It then exited through the gate, following its own path back into the distance.
He said this to Chocolate, though it was entirely unnecessary, as the cat had been perched on his shoulder the entire time.
Man and cat, their appearances altered by a glamour, tailed the skeleton from a distance, watching it head away from Nolan. After roughly half an hour of walking, they reached a forest of withered trees Jenkins had never visited before.
It was winter, and the leafless branches clawed at the sky like the gnarled fingers of a witch. Jenkins was tall and had to duck his head, batting aside the brittle limbs with his hands. Each movement sent a cascade of snow down onto his hair and into his collar, but thankfully, he managed to avoid scratching his fingers on the sharp wood.
In the center of the withered woods was a small clearing. The skeleton walked into it and stopped. Jenkins leaned against a tree trunk, peering out from behind it to watch, only to see the skeleton suddenly pivot, its hollow eye sockets fixed directly on him.
“I... don't care... who you are...”
Its voice was halting, like that of a dying old man, but the timbre was more like nails scraping across glass. Goosebumps erupted on Jenkins’s arms.