As soon as he stepped into the hospital grounds, the familiar sensation of being watched washed over him. The fog enveloping the hospital was denser than elsewhere, reducing visibility to nearly zero. Ever since his first visit, Jenkins had been convinced that something terrifying lurked within the mist—perhaps a pet kept by Corpse Gentleman, or some eccentric “neighbor” of his. But whatever it was, he still had no answers.
By the time he descended the stairs into the morgue, a fair number of participants had already gathered. As was their custom, Jenkins and the professor found a spot against the wall. The gathering wouldn't officially begin for another half an hour.
Jenkins couldn't recall how many had attended the January meeting, but he knew last year's gatherings had been much larger. This time, there were precisely ten attendees. A sense of unease settled over everyone who noticed the sparse turnout.
"Welcome... It seems you've all been preoccupied." Nᴇw novel chapters are publɪshed on novｅlfire.net
Corpse Gentleman sat up in his morgue drawer, looking just as he always did. Aside from his hospital gown, which had grown even more tattered, his appearance hadn't changed one bit in the last half-year.
This time, however, his emergence was accompanied by a sudden drop in the room's temperature—something that had never happened before.
"I imagine you've all heard about the Skull Sword," he rasped. "How... amusing."
When no one responded, he continued as if speaking to himself, his head swiveling stiffly as he surveyed the attendees.
He seemed to guess the reason for their unease. The words "corpse" and "undead" were, after all, inextricably linked.
Jenkins, for one, was certain of it. The unnerving sensation he got from the Skull Sword was less than a tenth of what Corpse Gentleman radiated. But the others wouldn't see it that way. In the night following the sword's appearance, the city's Enchanters had begun systematically avoiding any situation that might bring them into contact with the undead.
"Regardless, our gathering must continue."
Corpse Gentleman concluded, then gestured for the silent attendees to speak.
"Sir... generous sir. About that sword... can you give us any advice?"
The stoutest man, who stood nearest the door, took a step forward and bowed as he spoke. His voice was strained, clearly disguised.
Corpse Gentleman answered without a moment's hesitation. The man didn't dare press for more details; he simply offered his thanks and stepped back.
With so few attendees, the meeting was shorter than usual. Jenkins was still hoping to purchase a thousand-year-old wood heart, but luck wasn't with him. The professor, on the other hand, seemed pleased. He had managed to trade a bottle of Strak rhino horn powder with a hoarse-voiced woman for an ancient, coverless tome.
Jenkins had plenty of cash on him—he still hadn't touched the eight thousand pounds from his last double-cross. But with the numerous crises facing Nolan, rare materials and supernatural items were in high demand but short supply. In the end, he came away empty-handed, save for a potential lead on the thousand-year-old wood heart that cost him thirty pounds.
Feeling dejected, Jenkins left the abandoned hospital. As he walked along the narrow path cutting through the farmland back toward the city, Chocolate finally seized the opportunity to wriggle out from his collar.
The cat must have been terribly stuffy. For once, it didn't demand to be carried on Jenkins's shoulder, instead trotting along at his heels. Moonlight spilled across the fields, bathing them both in its glow, and Chocolate padded along perfectly within Jenkins's shadow.
"I suspect your chances were slim to begin with," the professor remarked. "Thousand-year-old wood hearts have always been exceedingly rare. Perhaps you'll find a lead in the southern cities. Nolan, after all, isn't known for its ancient forests."
"I do have a friend in the south," Jenkins replied, "in the city of Dullin, in the Cheslan Kingdom. I think I mentioned it in my last letter, but I have no idea if he'll actually be able to find one."
Jenkins was referring to Mr. Black Cat. The two of them were corresponding twice a month. Their letters rarely contained anything of great importance, but it was a pleasant way to learn about the customs of another country.
The farther he got from the derelict hospital, the more Jenkins's spirits lifted. But as he and the professor drew closer to the city's outer edge, a sudden fog materialized out of thin air. A pungent smell in the mist caught in Jenkins's throat, forcing him into a fit of coughing.
"This fog... it really feels like it's encircling the city."
Jenkins covered his mouth and remarked, "Just three hundred feet ago, the mist was still thin. Now I can barely see my hand in front of my face."
"That means we've reached the city limits," the professor said. "I mentioned it before—Corpse Gentleman warned us to stay away from the fog on the outskirts. I imagine if the Church weren't so preoccupied with the undead, they would have already launched an investigation into this unnatural mist."
Jenkins had no other business outdoors and had planned on heading straight home. But when the professor mentioned visiting a friend and invited him along, Jenkins decided that returning to his books sounded a bit dull. Since the professor's destination was on his way, he readily agreed to accompany him.
Shrouded in the night mist was a small cemetery. Just as Jenkins and Professor Burns emerged from an alleyway, a crow perched atop the cemetery's central building spread its wings and took flight with a loud caw.
The sound echoed through the night air, startling Chocolate.
"A crow at this time of year," the professor mused. "It seems spring is truly on its way."
It was a rather upscale cemetery, a fact made clear by the black iron fence surrounding it. The gate was tall and imposing, flanked by small, stone-carved angels—a luxury unimaginable in a public burial ground.
Though the gate was locked, they could see a path of neat flagstones leading inside. Beyond it stood rows of tombstones in various shapes. The grounds were meticulously planned, giving the place an air of solemn order.
As the two men and the cat approached the gate, a light flickered on in the building with the pointed, spire-like roof.
It did, in fact, seem to be a tower. Jenkins's suspicion was confirmed when an old man carrying an oil lamp came to open the gate for them.
"Ah, Burns," the old man greeted him. "You're right on time."
"It's been a while, White!" the professor responded warmly. "Oh, this is my friend, Williamette. He's also a Scribe for the Church of Knowledge and Books."
The old man was a gravedigger for the Church of Death and End. His Enchanter level wasn't particularly high, which was why he'd been assigned to watch over this small cemetery on the edge of the city. He lived in the three-story tower in the center of the grounds, a dilapidated structure that looked like it belonged to a wizard in an old fairy tale.