“My faith?”
The bespectacled woman gave Jenkins a very serious look. “I can answer that question, but in turn, since you are inquiring about my private life, I must also inquire about yours. What is your relationship with Princess Dolores?”
“I don’t take you for the kind of Enchanter who enjoys gossip. What is the point of that question?”
Jenkins did not answer imdiately.
“I need to confirm whether Princess Dolores is worthy of my allegiance. Since I have chosen to follow Her Highness, I must naturally maintain a clear mind at all tis to judge whether my decision has value.”
As the woman spoke, her reply reminded Jenkins of Magic Miss. He understood at once that, at their core, the bespectacled woman before him and Magic Miss were the sa kind of person.
“I am the Saint of the Church of Knowledge and Books,” he stated simply. “And I have promised to marry Dolores after her eighteenth birthday.”
“I understand. I am indeed a believer of my Lord, the God of Mystery and Rituals, and I am proud of it.”
The woman spoke with great earnestness, then added:
“That you have chosen Her Highness is a great fortune for both the kingdom and the princess.”
“Thank you for the complint... Ahem.”
Jenkins felt a little embarrassed himself, but he had not forgotten the real purpose of their eting. He decided to stop beating around the bush and asked directly:
“Actually, the reason I asked you to make the arduous journey from Spa Town all the way to Ruen is because I have so important matters to inquire about. Please don’t feel any pressure; I know so things may involve secrets that cannot be spoken. In any case, since you are indeed the person I was looking for, this is what I wish to ask you about.”
As he spoke, he retrieved the prepared stone slate of the Misfortune Poem from under the desk. The mature, intellectual woman was visibly stunned when she saw it, then shook her head with a look of confusion.
“I’m sorry, what is this? I don’t recognize it.”
“That’s a lie,” Jenkins said to himself, not at all surprised by her denial. It was, after all, the legacy she had inherited—a secret guarded and a duty fulfilled since the fifteenth epoch, a confidence that countless people had kept for their entire lives. If she had revealed everything the mont he asked, Jenkins would have been the one to be shocked.
“This wasn’t found in Ruen, or even in the Hamparvo Kingdom. It’s an artifact discovered in Nolan City, and I trust you know what that location implies.”
The bespectacled woman across the desk nodded slowly but said nothing, her expression still one of bewildernt.
“Since you are unwilling to speak, then allow . My investigation has so far revealed that this stone slate is connected to the mad poet Kavendish, who was active at the end of the fifteenth epoch.”
As he said this, he carefully observed the woman’s expression. According to Magic Miss, the true na “Kavendish” was recorded only within the cult of the God of Rituals and in a handful of ancient texts.
But the woman still showed no reaction, her face a mask of curiosity, as if she were waiting for Jenkins to tell a story.
“The prototype of the slate is a physical manifestation of the unique ability held by the mad poet Kavendish. Possessing a replica of the prototype is one of the conditions for acquiring that ability... Are you aware of any of this?”
“My apologies, Baron, but I’m not entirely sure what you’re trying to express,” the woman said, her voice strained.
“There’s no need to use a formal title like Baron. You can still call Mr. Cat, I have no objection.”
“But your station is a noble one. It is only natural that I show so respect.”
“Then do you know who I am? I an, who am I, in your eyes?”
Jenkins decided to try a different approach. He glanced at the cat on the desk, which had its head pointed at Dolores’s inkwell, its nose twitching as if it were sniffing the ink.
“You are a renowned young author, a baron of the Fidektri Kingdom, and Princess Dolores Stuart’s... friend.”
She uttered the word “friend” with a certain ambiguity.
“Yes, but you’ve omitted one detail. I am also an Enchanter from Nolan.”
The bespectacled woman did not reply, unsure of what Jenkins was trying to convey.
“This slate was not found by Dolores’s people in Nolan; I found it myself. The circumstances were quite interesting. Besides my friends and I, another group was also trying to seize this stone, but they were unlucky enough to be captured by the Orthodox Church. It was only then that I began to wonder what this ordinary-looking stone truly was.”
“Soone tried to take it?”
The bespectacled woman hesitated for a mont before asking. Hearing her question, Jenkins breathed a sigh of relief. This news had made her yield.
“Yes. I have friends in the Church who confird that they belonged to a mysterious organization. That group likely knew what this was and wanted to use it, which is why they tried to steal it.”
He sighed for effect, then gestured toward the slate.
“I searched through a great deal of material but could find no information about this slate. That is, until I consulted a friend, a friend who also believes in the God of Mystery and Rituals. She was the one who told about the mad poet.”
“That friend has fought alongside before and is extrely trustworthy. I once witnessed her use an ability where she leaped into the air, summoned a golden ritual matrix, and called down a teor... It was only later that I rembered I had seen that sa ritual once before, in Spa Town.”
The bespectacled woman remained silent. From Jenkins’s words, she now understood why she had been summoned.
“That friend didn’t know much about the mad poet, which is why I ca to you. Let be frank, madam. I am not so villain seeking to master an evil power. I rely wish to investigate the mad poet’s origins and learn about an event that could lead to a worldwide disaster.”
This was a reference to the machine the mad poet had brought to the northern continent.
“I know there are secrets you must keep, but at least tell what can be told. I won’t beat around the bush any longer. This is my purpose today.”
Jenkins tried his best to appear sincere, but he worried his words might not be enough. He could, of course, use the power of his Lie Godhood to simply deceive the woman before him into believing he was completely trustworthy. That would be the easiest way. But she was also a follower of Dolores, a mber of his own camp, and he had to give Dolores so face... However, if the woman truly refused to say anything, he was sure Dolores would understand if he took certain asures.
“Your full na is Jenkins Williams?”
After a long silence, the bespectacled woman finally spoke. She was clearly wrestling with an internal conflict. Now that the man before her knew of the secret she guarded, leaving without saying a word was impossible, especially since he was a “friend” of the princess she followed. But the secret was of imnse importance. She hoped, like her predecessors, to guard it with her life and pass it on to the next generation before she grew old.
Confirming Jenkins’s na was rely a way to inquire about his personal information, to ensure that this man was truly worthy of her trust.
“Yes. My full na is Jenkins Redemptor Williams. You may call whatever you wish.”
In a formal introduction, it was customary to state one’s middle na.
“Redemptor?”
The bespectacled woman repeated the word to herself. She was, of course, aware that in most modern languages, the word translated to “savior.”
“And your faith is?”
“I am a follower of the Sage. Yes, that’s right, I ntioned it earlier—I am a Saint of the Church. Oh, I can prove it...”
As he spoke, he pointed a finger at a sheet of paper on the side, and the sentences they had just spoken appeared one by one. This was Psychography, an ability of the Church of Knowledge and Books. Although it could be learned by those outside the faith, the ability itself was not particularly powerful, so few besides followers of the Sage would bother to study it.
“Then what is your opinion of the mad poet?” the woman asked again.
“He was a scoundrel who spread disaster, a bastard who should have been hanged... My apologies, I shouldn’t use such vulgar language in front of a lady.”
“But you are correct. The mad poet Kavendish did deserve to die. After he defected from the church, he road the material world at the end of the fifteenth epoch. The records I possess can prove that he caused at least five large-scale disasters, and the number of people who died as a result is imasurable. You were right earlier. The prototype of the *Misfortune Poem* is the physical manifestation of a unique ability he possessed. The na of that ability is the [Child of Disaster].”
A thought flashed through Jenkins’s mind, and he was suddenly struck by a strange feeling, as if he were destined to have a connection with this ability.
“Could this also be one of the Savior’s Emblems? It’s certainly possible, since it’s a unique ability.”
As he thought this, he asked aloud:
“What type of ability is it?”
If the Savior abilities were to encompass all ability types, then only Purple Destiny, Green Life, Black Sacred, and Yellow Spell remained. The [Child of Disaster] was clearly not Green Life, so if the woman’s answer was one of the other three, Jenkins could confirm whether it was related to the Saviors.
“[Red Martial]. This ability draws power from the disasters it creates to strengthen its user. As the number of absorbed disasters increases, the probability of disaster occurring wherever the holder goes is also enhanced.”
The bespectacled woman’s expression was grave. Jenkins, however, felt a sense of relief, because it was clear that [Twin Demons] was the Red Martial emblem.
“I see. So that’s why he beca increasingly insane and powerful. It all makes sense now. So these five depressions on the slate...”
He pointed again to the slate he had created with Psychography.
“That is a secret I will never tell. Even if the princess cos to despise for it, I will absolutely not say a word. My predecessors passed this secret down to so that I might guard it better.”
The bespectacled woman shook her head, her tone resolute.
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