The café had been cleared out in advance for the eting between the Saint Sons. Of course, on an afternoon with such a torrential downpour, the place was nearly empty to begin with, so it hardly counted as disturbing the peace.
Mr. Grev was significantly older than Jenkins and had arrived early, so Jenkins spotted him the mont he pushed open the door. He was a handso man with a piercing gaze. Before Jenkins had entered, he had been idly folding a napkin out of boredom; by the ti Jenkins sat down opposite him, the napkin had been transford into the shape of a bird, resting in the very center of the table.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Grev."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Williams," Grev replied. "It's a pleasure to et you on such a dreary afternoon. Care for a drink? I've noticed that the cafés in Nolan are more than willing to serve high-calorie beverages. I quite like that about them."
Despite the vast differences in their ages and backgrounds, they spoke as equals. In fact, Mr. Grev even showed a subtle, almost imperceptible deference to Jenkins.
He had arranged this eting with Jenkins partly out of curiosity about the unfamiliar Saint Son stationed in the city, and partly because of the events of the previous Monday.
"Mr. Williams, your defeat of the Angel of Fire was truly a spectacular feat."
He was subtly probing, expressing his curiosity about the imnse power Jenkins had wielded. But it was a question Jenkins couldn't answer. In his state as a Saint Son, he had channeled the Sage's power; it had nothing to do with any of his own secrets.
"Perhaps my physical constitution is a bit more robust, allowing to bear a greater burden of power."
He offered the guess casually, but the mont the words left his lips, he realized it sounded as if he were mocking the other man for being frail.
Grev couldn't remain in Nolan for long. The city had no church for the Church of Creation and Machinery. While his church might be able to secretly station so personnel here, the extended presence of a Saint Son would undoubtedly provoke a collective protest from the local dioceses.
Thus, the man conversing with Jenkins at this mont was unlikely to have any lasting impact on his life. After this eting, it was highly probable they wouldn't see each other again for a very long ti.
"Speaking of which," Grev continued, "the Church's investigation into the Gifted Clock has stalled. All they've managed to uncover is that the owner of the clock shop was an important figure in the Gear Artisans' Association, sothing akin to a high priest. Mr. Williams, Nolan is a truly fascinating city. I suspect they'll run into even more trouble as their investigation continues."
"Yes, it is a fascinating city indeed," Jenkins agreed. "Take the giant, animate steam-gear titan from last week, for example. I'm curious to know your thoughts on it."
He had only ntioned it casually, but was surprised by the intensity of Mr. Grev's reaction.
"It may be wrong of to say this, but I considered it a magnificent work of art, a true masterpiece... Oh, please don't give that look. I know it was a Gizmo, but that doesn't prevent from appreciating its chanical aesthetic..."
Jenkins had to agree it was a creation worthy of being called art. The rigid order of machinery and the chaotic, formless nature of a Gizmo had been fused together in perfect harmony. No re mortal could have created such a thing.
"That brings to another point, Mr. Williams. What are your thoughts on the chanization of the human body? I imagine you're aware the Church has been experinting in this field."
"It's a bold concept," Jenkins said, "but I believe the human body is best left in its natural state."
Jenkins phrased his response tactfully, but in truth, he was staunchly opposed to any non-biological modification of the human body. For the unfortunate souls with congenital defects or acquired disabilities, chanized prosthetics were certainly a blessing. But to alter the human form simply to acquire greater power or for similar reasons... Jenkins had a strong feeling that such an endeavor would only lead to disaster.
"I suppose I'm rather conservative in that regard."
He mused to himself, then lifted his drink and took a sip, noticing a pensive expression cross the older man's face.
(Chocolate scurries by...)
For the past six months, Jenkins had been keenly aware that he lived in a world where the gulf between gods and mortals was vast, yet the ties that bound them were unbreakable. Both Righteous Gods and Pseudo-Gods alike could communicate with and issue commands to their followers through divine oracles.
The Orthodox Churches had a long-standing tradition of training pure-hearted young won as novitiates. Among them, a lucky few with special gifts would be selected. Once confird as Benefactors, they were allowed to live peacefully within the church, unburdened by any duties—a life even more tranquil than that of semi-clerical staff like Jenkins and Papa Oliver.
Their sole purpose was to receive these divine oracles. Whenever a deity sent a ssage, these spiritually sensitive won would perceive it. They would then place a suitable vessel—such as a large, gem-encrusted mithril plaque—beneath the church's holy emblem. This was the most common thod for receiving a divine oracle.
It was only upon returning to the church after his eting with the child of a heretical god that Jenkins learned the Sage had already delivered an oracle regarding Monday's incident. With that, the affair of the Slaughter Angel's descent had reached a preliminary conclusion.
"The Sage inford us that the sixth angel, the one who appeared at the very end, was the Pure One who serves the newly ascended God of Lies. This aligns with our own suspicions."
In Captain Bincy's infirmary room, Jenkins relayed the news to the bedridden man, who reacted with a look that said, "I knew it."
"Furthermore..."
Jenkins continued, his face a careful mask as he tried to conceal his true thoughts.
"In addition to our own church, the other Orthodox Churches in Nolan have received oracles as well. The gods have collectively condemned the Slaughter Angel incident as a massacre of innocents. They've declared that for the next one hundred years, all churches will consider the followers of the Lord of Slaughter to be their mortal enemies..."
While the Orthodox Churches had always been hostile toward the followers of heretical gods, a declaration of enmity via divine oracle was sothing else entirely. It ant they were no longer to simply capture and judge these cultists when they crossed paths; they were now mandated to actively hunt them down.
"According to the original text of the oracle from Bel Diran, the Sage has granted us permission to use any ans necessary—so long as we do not violate our core tenets—to acquire intelligence on the Dead Man's Whip and destroy them."
"Did the Sage ntion anything about Nolan? Any praise for our diocese?"
Captain Bincy waited for Jenkins to finish before asking, a note of eagerness in his voice.
"I don't believe so," Jenkins replied. "Mr. Smith made no ntion of it when he relayed the ssage to ."
Jenkins answered, and saw an unsurprising look of disappointnt cross Captain Bincy's face.
Reviews
All reviews (0)