Absorbed in his thoughts, he unconsciously turned into a small alley. Jenkins had walked this way before; entering this area meant navigating a complex labyrinth of slum alleyways to get back to the main road. He considered turning back, but then he remembered a decent restaurant on the other side of this maze, so he pressed on.
He was dressed inconspicuously in a standard black trench coat, leather boots, and a hat, so he hardly drew a second glance as he entered the slum district. The neighborhood was a chaotic jumble of dwellings, and the appearance of a stranger was hardly cause for curiosity, allowing him to proceed without feeling out of place.
Although Nolan City was one of the most developed cities in the kingdom, perhaps even the entire continent, the slums—a grim symbol of the era—had yet to be eradicated. This district, occupying less than half the city's total area, was home to nearly two-thirds of its bustling population. In the polished world Jenkins moved in, people simply didn’t exist.
He kept his head down as he walked. The muddy paths were ill-suited for a quick pace, a feature common to all the alleyways here. Even where the ground was solid, carelessly dumped household waste, human filth, and haphazardly strung clotheslines all conspired to make passage difficult.
Fortunately, this part of the journey wasn't long. Jenkins rounded two corners, sidestepped a boy cackling with glee as he rolled an iron hoop, and the end of the alley came into view.
"What should I have for dinner..."
As he mulled over his dinner plans, a faint smile played on his lips. Spotting a small stone peeking out from under the snow ahead, Jenkins felt a wave of childish impulse wash over him and gave it a kick.
It was pure instinct. He expected the stone to fly forward, hit the wall, and ricochet to a stop. But the stone decided to play a small trick on him. While it flew along the intended path, its target turned out to be a steam pipe mounted on the wall.
Realizing what he'd done, Jenkins instinctively flinched. He glanced furtively around and, seeing no one had witnessed the act, let out a sigh of relief.
"It's not that I'm afraid of getting caught," he told himself. "I'm just concerned about damaging the good name of Jenkins Williams." ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel✶fire.net
Having justified his reaction, he gave a small nod to himself. He then counted out some change from his pocket, intending to pay for the broken window.
The house with the shattered window was one of the most decrepit buildings in the area. The very fact that its window opened directly onto the alley spoke volumes about the miserable living conditions within.
The door wasn't padlocked, which suggested someone was home. Jenkins waited a moment, and when no one stormed out shouting curses, he walked over and knocked.
The moment his knuckles made contact, the door swung inward under the slight pressure. Jenkins froze, then looked back over his shoulder with a guilty start, terrified of being mistaken for a burglar.
"Wait, this feeling... this exact worry. I've felt it recently. It was..."
The incident at 34 De Gaulle Alley. That same hesitation had led him into a whole mess of trouble.
"Stay out of trouble," he warned himself. "You've got more than enough on your plate as it is."
Heeding his own advice, he decided to just confirm there was no spiritual aura inside, toss the money in, and leave. But the moment he activated his Eye of Reality, a shocking black aura blazed into view, sprawled across the interior of the house.
The aura was unmistakably in the shape of a human skeleton. It could only mean one thing: another undead reanimation.
At this thought, an inexplicable rage suddenly surged through him. One moment, he was cautioning himself to be calm; the next, it was as if molten lava was bursting forth from within. The sheer force of his fury was so intense he felt he could have obliterated the house on the spot.
"More undead," he snarled. "Are they specifically trying to piss me off?"
He hadn't forgotten the fierce battle in the withered woods, the horrific fate of the Gaerte family in the graveyard, or the catastrophic disaster the undead had inflicted upon Nolan City. Coupled with the bad temper brewing from the afternoon's events, his rage finally boiled over.
"Fine," he growled. "Another reanimation, is that it?"
He spoke with venom, spat on the ground, then bent down and tore a clump of resilient weeds from the base of the wall. With a savage kick, he sent the door flying open and stormed into the house.
The interior was exceptionally decrepit and frigid. It looked as if it had been deserted for years. There was no furniture, only a thick layer of dust coating the floor.
Suddenly, a strange sound came from the ceiling. The force of his kick, combined with the house's advanced state of decay, had shaken something loose. A piece of stone broke free and fell, striking Jenkins squarely on the forehead.
Blood immediately trickled down his cheek. This minor injury was the final straw that sent the furious Jenkins completely over the edge.
He paid no mind to the eerie whispers that began to fill his ears, nor to the scent of the ocean tide that tickled his nostrils, nor to the air that grew colder with every passing second.
"Heh. Quite the bag of tricks," he sneered inwardly. "Must be a high-level one this time."
Such were his thoughts.
He strode to the left through the gloom, tossing aside a pile of withered branches that had appeared from nowhere, and revealed the skeleton lying beneath.
The moment Jenkins laid eyes on it, the skeleton awoke. Twin flames of soulfire ignited in its eye sockets, burning fiercely. A black, grainy substance began to creep across its white bones, but Jenkins simply reached out and clamped his hand around its skull.
"A high-level undead, huh?"
A slender blade of grass was all that separated his palm from the bone. As Jenkins's fingers sank into an eye socket, the grass began to wither, turning a sickly yellow.
But a verdant energy immediately replenished it, and in seconds, it grew as lush and vibrant as summer foliage. But it didn't stop there. Jenkins channeled every ounce of his spirit to activate his Breath of Healing, his knuckles digging so deep into the cranium it felt as if his entire fist would plunge through.
The verdant energy glowed with increasing intensity. In a matter of moments, sprouts of grass forced their way through the sutures of the skull.
The skull in his grip began to crackle and pop. From his hand, a tide of green life surged forth. More and more blades of grass sprouted and stretched out, climbing over the skeleton's frame, their tendrils wrapping around the bones. They covered the surface with an almost predatory speed. The undead creature thrashed, but it was too late; it had missed its only chance to resist.
Five minutes later, the thing before Jenkins had transformed into a vaguely humanoid mass of vegetation. Not a single sliver of bone was visible through the thick tangle of leaves and stems. He slowly withdrew his hand. There was a sharp crack, and the skull finally burst apart, shattered from within by the relentless growth.