The Dock Area had been in turmoil ever since the gang boss, Morzak, was taken out a while back. Though the sea ice was beginning to show signs of lting, the chaos in the district showed no signs of ending.
The warehouse full of munitions he and Silver Flute Miss had stolen was likely the root cause of the current disorder. But Jenkins felt no remorse; regret, after all, served no purpose.
Although the Dock Area appeared deserted, a closer look revealed figures watching from warehouse doorways and the decks of moored ships. Strangers who wandered in were naturally questioned, but Jenkins's lies were more than enough to handle any problem.
He wasn't here to rest after returning ho, but to retrieve the key keeper's Extraordinary item: B-04-3-7292, the Soul Box. From the mories he'd seen last night, he knew it was hidden here, along with the research materials the man had collected in his quest to beco an Enchanter.
After entering the Dock Area through a side street, he didn't head toward the sea and its piers. Instead, he hugged the walls and continued south. He turned into the third alley, passing Mr. Will's Port Station, a seafood specialty shop, and a fishing tackle rental, before finally spotting Funck's Inn.
The Dock Area, with its convenient mariti transport, was filled with small inns like this. The closer they were to the main road, the more legitimate they tended to be. The ones tucked away deep in the alleys might be cheaper, but their safety was hardly guaranteed.
Relying on his lies once again, Jenkins convinced the innkeeper that he was the guest in Room 4 on the third floor. With the spare key in hand and his cat in tow, he ascended the creaking wooden staircase.
The inn was saturated with a stench of decay, the kind that develops from years of neglectful cleaning. As Jenkins reached the second-floor landing, frowning, he nearly collided with an old woman who was also holding a cat.
Her black cat, however, was nowhere near as handso as Jenkins's white one. It even hissed and spat at Chocolate, baring its claws, but a few seconds later, a single ow from Chocolate froze it in terror.
The building's flooring was made of cheap wood, with warped boards peeling up everywhere from the damp and rot. Room 4 on the third floor was easy to find, but getting the key into the lock proved to be a problem. The keyhole seed to be obstructed, refusing to let the key in. In the end, Jenkins had to give it a forceful shove to finally jam the rusty key inside.
With a grating screech of the door against the floor, the small, windowless room ca into view. The stench of decay was even worse in here. The perpetual lack of ventilation, combined with the previous occupant's disregard for hygiene, made it difficult to even breathe.
He closed the door behind him and tried to set Chocolate down from his shoulder, but the cat adamantly refused to touch the filthy floor. Left with no choice, Jenkins tucked the cat back into the inner pocket of his overcoat. He then walked over to a rotting wooden bookshelf and picked up a small enal vial that had been casually placed at eye level.
The vial was about as thick as his thumb, its white surface mottled with spots. A cork was wedged in the top, but it was clearly not the original stopper.
This was B-04-3-7292, the Soul Box. Despite having 'Box' in its na, it was actually a bottle. The na ca from its original function as an ancient lich's phylactery in the 13th Epoch, which had nothing to do with its current form.
"Simple enough."
He uncorked the vial and glanced inside, confirming that the key keeper's soul was gone. He tossed the vial in his hand a couple of tis before tucking it into his pocket.
Turning to survey the ssy room, he bent down and tossed a pile of old clothes that was in his way against the wall. Then, he squatted and, with a sudden heave, flipped over the bed that was sitting flush against the floor, revealing a large hole in the floorboards.
The hole was covered by a filthy piece of yellow burlap. Lifting it aside, he saw a stack of identification docunts and a large wad of cash.
This was, in fact, a safe house the old assassin had prepared for himself. Unfortunately for him, he never got the chance to use it before Jenkins killed him. Jenkins left the identification docunts untouched, but the Gold Pounds were definitely coming with him.
Besides these, the only other things of value in the room were the docunts on the bookshelf. To be safe, the room's forr occupant had hidden all the important information he'd gathered about Enchanters in the spine of a thick book titled 'An Introduction to Playwriting'. The book was thicker than a brick. Jenkins had bought a copy himself for his scriptwriting, so he knew just how much could be hidden inside.
But the docunts themselves were of little value. In the mories he'd hastily skimd last night, he'd seen that aside from the rituals for learning two abilities, the rest was all fairly common knowledge.
He was just an ordinary man, after all. To have obtained even this much was quite an accomplishnt.
There was a suitcase in the room. Jenkins packed the things he was taking, then casually grabbed an interesting-looking novel from the bookshelf before opening the door to leave.
As he opened the door, a short, stout man, also wearing a black hat, happened to be passing in the hallway. The wide brim obscured his face, leaving Jenkins with an impression of nothing more than a stubbled chin. The man seed startled by the suddenly opening door, but they simply exchanged a brief nod of acknowledgnt and passed each other by.
"An Enchanter..."
Jenkins muttered to himself, continuing down the stairs with the suitcase without a mont's hesitation. He had to tread carefully, as a few of the wooden steps would let out a piercing creak if he wasn't mindful.
"I knew a place like this would attract all sorts of strange people."
He thought, rounding the corner on the second-floor landing to continue his descent. As he did, he tipped his hat and glanced up toward the third floor—a perfectly natural movent that allowed him to use his Eye of Reality without drawing attention.
"Five Enchanters in Room 7 on the third floor. Wait a minute, I think I recognize two of them..."
His steps faltered for a mont, but he quickly resud his descent. After leaving the inn, he bought two towels from a general store outside, then asked the front desk for so hot water before heading back up to Room 4 on the third floor.
The two acquaintances in Room 7 were the young duke from the Kingdom of Cheslan, and Provence Lucal—the man the Church had been hunting for ages without a single clue, the suspected mastermind behind the undead resurgence.
The two of them, showing up in a remote little inn in Nolan City, were certainly not here for a romantic rendezvous. Jenkins usually preferred to avoid trouble, but he never shied away from matters that concerned him.
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