Jenkins was intensely curious about what sort of conspiracy these two seemingly unrelated people were concocting. Turning back to find the Church now was certainly out of the question. He would have to gather the intelligence himself, but that would be no easy task.
The guest rooms in this hotel were arranged opposite each other. The even-numbered rooms, like Jenkins’s Room 4, were on the inner side and had no windows, while the odd-numbered rooms were on the outer side with windows. Across from Room 4 was Room 3, and Room 7 was flanked by Rooms 9 and 5.
If Jenkins wanted to eavesdrop, aside from brazenly walking in, his best bet was to get into one of those adjacent rooms.
Listening from the window outside was also impossible. He had glanced up when he went out earlier and saw that Room 7 directly faced the window of a newspaper office. If Jenkins dared to climb up, he would be spotted instantly.
Forcing his way in to arrest everyone was even more unthinkable. The dangerous Provence Lucal was a necromancy expert. If he turned everyone in the hotel into undead, Jenkins would be completely outmatched.
After all, he no longer possessed any divinity.
“Chocolate, watch the suitcase.”
The man gave the order. He couldn’t take the cat with him for what he was about to do; it would be too dangerous. Chocolate seed to understand, letting out an obedient ow before hopping down from his shoulder and settling onto the suitcase, its tail wagging.
“I’ll be back soon.”
With that, he left a realistic illusion of himself in the room, then went downstairs and summoned a very reluctant attendant. Jenkins’s excuse was a water leak in his room, but the attendant seed skeptical—after all, the water supply to the third floor and above had been cut off long ago due to insufficient pressure.
“My books are soaked! Damn it, you’ll have to compensate .”
Jenkins pulled out his key, opened the door to Room 4, and shoved the unsuspecting attendant inside.
The door was imdiately shut. Two minutes later, Jenkins erged, now dressed as the attendant.
He let out a sharp cough to make his voice sound a little more agreeable, then rapped his knuckles on the door of Room 5 on the third floor.
“Who is it?”
A voice called from within, and the door opened a crack, but the security chain remained in place.
“Yes? What is it?”
The portly, rchant-like man inside inquired. He wasn’t wearing a hat, so Jenkins could see the sparse brown hair on his head.
“The guest below you says his ceiling is leaking. Might you be using the lavatory?”
“Hmm?”
The portly rchant paused. “No... wait a minute, my room doesn’t even have a lavatory... What are you trying to—”
Jenkins’s hand, wreathed in fla, burned through the security chain. He squeezed into the room and knocked the man unconscious. Turning, he carefully closed the door, then surveyed the room’s layout before focusing his attention on the wall it shared with Room 7.
An old bookshelf stood against the wall, with two old towels hanging from tal hooks. Higher up was a gas lamp shaped like a dove with its wings spread. Other than that, there was nothing.
Jenkins didn’t expect to find a convenient peephole for spying, nor did he expect the people next door to neglect using anti-eavesdropping charms. So, he had to rely on the most primitive tool available: his ears.
Becoming a Level 4 Enchanter had significantly enhanced his physical attributes, and activating Cat’s Grace provided a considerable boost to his hearing. Coupled with the fact that the walls of this cheap hotel weren’t particularly thick, he could indeed make out scattered phrases when he pressed his ear to the wall.
Though there were many people in the next room, the only ones speaking were the young foreign duke and the wanted fugitive from the Nolan Church. The fugitive, however, was no longer going by Provence Lucal, but “Mr. Wilcawon.” This was likely another alias; these types never used the sa na for long.
Since he hadn’t been listening from the start, Jenkins didn’t fully grasp what they were discussing. He gathered that they were arranging a deal: the foreign duke would provide the necromancy expert with a four-figure number of suitable living people as test subjects, and in return, the latter would trade him a cherished ritual for learning an ability.
This was undoubtedly a malevolent plot. In the current era, any individual or organization outside the Orthodox Church was forbidden from using living people as experintal materials. On that point alone, everyone in the adjacent room deserved the gallows, but now was not the right ti to arrest them.
Jenkins yearned for more information, but the two n seed to be pacing as they talked. Their voices faded in and out, and to make matters worse, a blasted crow outside kept cawing, causing Jenkins to miss many crucial details.
He did, however, understand that the duke wasn't in this country simply for a diplomatic visit or for his own purposes. He had occasionally let slip a na: Duke Quake. This sent a chill through Jenkins, who suspected that the grief-stricken madman was planning to betray his country.
Caw!
The crow outside cawed again, completely drowning out the ti and location of their planned exchange. Jenkins turned his head, glaring furiously out the window. The crow, perched on the windowsill of the building opposite, happened to look back at him.
Man and bird locked eyes for a split second. The avian creature then let out a terrified shriek, flapped its wings wildly, and flew off into the distance.
“Serves you right... Oh no!”
Just as the damned crow flew away squawking, the voices from the next room abruptly stopped. Jenkins’s eyes widened. He wished he could send his cat, who wasn’t with him, to catch that crow and give it a sound thrashing.
But it was too late. He hurriedly pushed himself away from the wall, tossed the unconscious rchant onto the bed, and covered him with a blanket. Just then, he heard a knock on the door to his room. The knocking was slow, as if soone were paying a social call.
“Who’s there?”
A gruff voice erged from Jenkins’s throat as his form flickered like a stuck film reel, finally settling into the image of a portly middle-aged man.
He quickly mussed up his clothes, snatched the hat from the floor and put it on, then reached out and gripped the broken, rusted security chain. Using Psychography, he rapidly filled and reconstructed the part that had been lted by the flas. Thus, when the door opened from the inside, the man in the black suit was greeted by the sight of a fat man who looked half-asleep but had still dragged himself up to answer the door.
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