There was still much to be done, such as writing up a report on the events of last night. When the spectral arm had manifested, the Enchanters present had all gleaned, to varying degrees, fragnts of truly dreadful knowledge from the bizarre whispers that echoed in their ears.
This knowledge had to be transcribed and archived within the church.
Part of the reason was to sift through this dreadful knowledge for anything concerning demons and the Ashiash family. Additionally, preserving it for future generations would help prepare for the potential re-ergence of such beings.
The knowledge Jenkins had acquired was fragnted and mostly incoherent, lacking any concrete aning. Pen in hand, he wracked his brain for so ti before finally recalling a complete blasphemous ritual: The Body of the Undying Maggotfiend.
The ritual process was utterly nauseating, involving a certain kind of yellow excrent and live maggots. It also required nurous bloody sacrifices of living creatures. The result was that the practitioner would, for a short period, gain the immortality of a demon known as a "Maggotfiend."
The effect was temporary, not permanent. As such, it was rely a special ritual, not a thod for learning a new ability.
Fighting back a wave of nausea, Jenkins finished writing down the details and pressed a hand to his stomach. Then, he put on his shoes and left the room with Chocolate.
Although the church was closed to the public at night, work within its walls never ceased. Greeting the priests and nuns he passed, Jenkins made his way to the Theological Research Hall. For ordinary believers, it was a hallowed hall where the clergy studied theology. For Enchanters, it was the departnt that oversaw all occult knowledge.
The Theological Research Hall took up an entire floor. Jenkins rapped on the wooden door nearest the main hall, and a voice from inside permitted him to enter.
Stepping inside, he saw that the gas lamps on the walls had already been lit, their dim, yellow flas illuminating the windowless room. In addition to Mr. Rodney, the director of the Research Hall, Mr. Coppola Bellini, the director of the Special Items Managent Office, was also present.
The two n had clearly been in the middle of a discussion, which they brought to a halt as Jenkins entered.
“Mr. Rodney, this lamp on the wall ought to be replaced.”
He gestured with the paper in his hand, indicating his purpose as he offered the friendly advice. "This level of light can’t be good for the eyes.”
“Mr. Williams, what are you doing here yourself?” Rodney exclaid, taking the report and the docunt detailing the ritual from Jenkins. “Go back and get so rest. Your health is far more important than these reports.” He glanced at the docunt, and his face imdiately contorted in disgust.
Clearly, he had just read about the nauseating ritual.
“This is... just vile,” Rodney muttered. “I was planning on heading ho for dinner. So much for that. Looks like I'm working late.”
He set the main report aside and tucked the paper detailing the ritual into a drawer.
The corner of Jenkins's eye twitched. The entire desk emanated an exceedingly faint golden aura. He was close enough to see the phantom of a holy emblem imprinted on its surface. It went without saying that the desk was protected by complex divine rituals to ensure confidentiality.
Throughout their exchange, Mr. Bellini kept his gaze averted, feigning a deep interest in a nearly dead potted plant. It was a clear attempt to avoid any appearance of impropriety; since he wasn't part of this departnt, he wasn't privy to its secrets.
“Oh, Mr. Bellini, you're here as well?”
Jenkins offered a polite greeting. After Bellini responded, he rembered Miss Miller's request:
“If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to inquire about A-11-2-3301, the Malevolent Coachman. Is there any recent news? Has it left Nolan City?”
“Rest assured, that's hardly a state secret.”
Leaning back against the sofa, Mr. Bellini shook his head slightly. He thought for a mont before answering, “I recall you've had an encounter with it yourself... Yes, the most recent sighting was last Friday. It was spotted at the crossroads outside the city, in front of the Panton Winery. The other road leads to Oberlisk Manor. An astrologer from the Church of the Myriad Phenona of the Starry Sky was sent to retrieve an ancient astrological journal and saw it at the intersection.”
“I haven't read the file on A-11-2-3301 in detail. How long does it typically linger in one area?”
Jenkins asked again. He was curious as to why Miss Miller was looking for it—or more accurately, where she intended to go with its help.
“That's hard to say. Fortunately, it's not dangerous as long as you don't willingly accept a ride. City Hall has already issued a city-wide warning—heh—about a murderer disguised as a coachman. They said he frequents intersections and has a severely burned face. That should be enough to keep people away.”
Jenkins nodded; the arrangent seed sound. Unlike the Young Flower Seller, this Cursed Item was clearly less of an imdiate threat.
A shiver ran down his spine. He pulled Chocolate closer into his arms, deciding it was best not to dwell on the thought.
“Co to think of it, the very matter I'm handling now happens to be connected to you, Mr. Williams.”
Mr. Bellini wasn't finished. He pointed to a black-covered book on the desk. The book was untitled, its corners curled to reveal yellowed pages. Small holes dotted the edges, likely the work of bookworms. Despite its appearance, it was just an ordinary object.
“This is an old book we recovered from Viscount Augustus's estate.”
Mr. Rodney imdiately chid in with an explanation. “Just a few days ago, Papa Oliver went to Viscount Augustus's estate to acquire so antiques. The Viscount ntioned he'd found so old books in a study he hadn't opened in years. Oliver took a look and, discovering that so of them touched on dangerous subjects, bought the entire lot. This is just one of them. We were planning to examine them later—oh, Goddess, this business with the Gear Germs has been a nightmare—but after the legends of the Ashiash family ca up last night, we decided to take a look. As it happens, so of the books in this batch ntion those ancient families.”
He shook his head, scratching at his large, pore-dotted nose as his brow furrowed:
“This book is very likely a manuscript copy of the Devil's Docunt. The Devil's Docunt, A-03-1-6660, is a dangerous Cursed Item, though its specific properties aren't relevant right now. The original isn't a book of knowledge, but a collection of twisted fables and strange, ancient tales. Down through the ages, its owners have attempted to translate and transcribe the text, resulting in nurous manuscript copies circulating throughout the world.”
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