Despite being deep underground, the air was surprisingly fresh, though a biting chill hung in the cavern. Everyone had to keep pacing to stop their feet from freezing numb, which made Jenkins wonder how Chocolate had managed to stand perfectly still on the frozen ground just monts before.
“Could it be so lost Cursed Item? Sothing like... A-12-1-0044, the Departed’s Skull Sword?”
Jenkins ventured. Mr. Gilbert simply smiled, shook his head, and gave his shoulder a reassuring pat.
“I’m surprised you know about that,” he said. “But it’s definitely not the sword, you can rest assured. In any case, this matter is no longer your concern, so there’s no need for you to worry about it. At least until you turn thirty and reach level five, your attention should be confined to the Nolan diocese. And besides... we didn’t exactly co away empty-handed.”
A logistics team followed them, carrying supplies—food, water, and ritual materials. One black leather satchel was guarded with particular care; inside lay three black masks.
“Two of them are yours. The last one is from the Church’s collection,” Gilbert explained, making a welcoming gesture. “Will you do the honors, or shall I?”
Jenkins looked from the masks to the distant rock face, so hundred feet across the chasm.
“Please, you go first.”
Mr. Gilbert chose the bronze coffer adorned with a pattern of falling feathers. He held the mask aloft, and as he channeled his power, it floated slowly across the abyss and slotted perfectly into the indentation.
With a harsh scraping of tal, the face of the coffer bearing the mask slowly hinged downward. Jenkins’s orb of light imdiately drifted closer.
Inside the coffer was a humanoid statuette, though ‘humanoid’ wasn’t quite accurate. A normal human wouldn't have wings, nor a face twisted into such a vicious expression.
To Jenkins’s sight, the statuette glowed with a red aura, but before the coffer had opened, he hadn’t been able to see a thing.
“It’s not a flaw in my ability,” he thought. “My own level is just too low.”
He had complete faith in his golden finger.
“This seems to be a statue of so kind of sprite...”
Mr. Gilbert said, waving his hand. An unseen force lifted the statue, carrying it across the abyss and into his grasp. “Mr. Williatte, do I need to explain what a sprite is?”
“Oh, no, I think I’m quite familiar with them...”
Though the Treasure Elf he’d encountered before had been classified as a phenonon, Jenkins had always suspected it was based on so unknown subspecies of sprite.
Since the mask Mr. Gilbert used belonged to the Church, the statuette naturally belonged to the Church as well. Jenkins's masks were his own, and given his status, no one would force him to hand over whatever he found.
He still couldn't devise a way to get the masks across the chasm with any precision, so he had to rely on Mr. Gilbert's assistance.
He already had an idea in mind. He recalled Miss Audrey's three-card divination before he left Nolan. The results were “black mask,” “upright crown,” and “upright lunar eclipse,” and he had already encountered the first two on his journey here.
“I’d like to see what’s in the coffer with the crescent moon.”
The mask floated across the abyss once more. After an identical process, the coffer opened to reveal a burnished brass oil lamp.
“A yellow aura! It’s a spell-type item!”
After much deliberation over which coffer to open with his final mask, Jenkins decided to leave the choice to his cat. Chocolate seed unusually delighted by the prospect. The box it indicated, however, revealed nothing more than a sealed, empty bottle.
He had thought the bottle itself might be an Extraordinary item, but it had no aura whatsoever. It was empty when opened. He even tried tipping it over, but nothing flowed out. Therefore, Jenkins and Mr. Gilbert could only conclude that it had once held so special potion that had long since leaked away over the vast expanse of ti.
Jenkins casually tossed the bottle to Chocolate. While it was technically an antique, its plain design ant it wasn't particularly valuable. Since his cat had chosen it, it was only fair that it belonged to the cat.
Chocolate pushed the bottle to the edge of the precipice with its paw, then glanced back. Seeing that Jenkins's attention was still fixed on the remaining coffers, it carefully nudged the stopper off and brought the opening to its little mouth.
A distinct swallowing motion rippled down its throat, yet in the narrow space between its mouth and the bottle's rim, nothing visible seed to flow. A more careful observer might have noticed, for a fleeting instant, a peculiar shimr in the air, a strange optical distortion. But the cat's small body shielded the act from view. The only thing Jenkins saw was the final motion—a small paw flicking the bottle over the edge and into the abyss.
“ow~”
Seeing Jenkins was a little angry, Chocolate trotted over to his feet, tail wagging, and looked up into his eyes. From that angle, the cat’s eyes seed especially large. Jenkins stared down at it for half a minute before sighing, his anger dissolving. He decided not to scold it.
Now that things had reached this stage, the matter had little more to do with Jenkins. Just as Mr. Gilbert had said, his work was, for now, confined to Nolan City.
The fugitive Alexander, the vanished Mr. Dagger, the truth lurking at the bottom of the abyss, the mysterious master thief—unraveling these threads would take a very long ti.
“Perhaps one day, I'll hear the end of the story from Papa Oliver or Miss Bevanna,” he mused, “but it will have nothing to do with .”
By the ti they returned to the surface, the sun had completely set. The next day was his departure for Nolan City, so Jenkins chose not to go out again, instead whiling away the ti with a book.
Several of the ladies and gentlen he'd gotten to know at the Church ca to see him off on Monday morning. The train he was scheduled to take would depart at eleven—though not necessarily on ti—so he still had the morning to say goodbye to his new friends.
His first stop was naturally to visit Miss Windsor and thank her for the invitation to the ball. Despite the unpleasantness that had occurred during the event, he considered the noblewoman a friend worth making.
The Duke of Windsor had an estate on the outskirts of Bel Diran, not far from the Church’s complex, and it was there that Miss Windsor received him.
The temperature in late November was already quite low, and even in the morning, a fire was needed in the drawing-room hearth for warmth. Although this room was luxuriously decorated and quite large, Jenkins felt it couldn't compare to the one in the house Miss Stuart had lent to Miss Miller.
“Baron Williatte, are you already preparing to return to Nolan City? I imagine half a week is hardly enough ti for you to truly get to know our city.”
She was seated in an armchair, a newspaper resting on her lap.
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