Speaking of the "savior of the world," Miss Bevanna shot a discreet glance at Jenkins, but he was too preoccupied with the cat's strut and swishing tail to notice.
"Different slates point to different possibilities, but unfortunately, none of the four discovered so far have been deciphered to reveal their specific aning... but they all point to a new great one and His followers. A new god, a black-robed figure, the daughter of lies—it's quite clear what that implies."
"Is that so~"
Jenkins kept his head down, his eyes still on Chocolate's tail, his expression unchanging as he continued the conversation.
"So, the purpose of the Doomsday Slates is to find the savior... that makes sense. It's a good thing the language is so cryptic and obscure, or I would have been exposed."
He thought to himself as he pushed open the door ahead, letting Chocolate and Miss Bevanna enter.
The large, L-shaped building was situated behind the main temple complex. It served as the processing center for most matters related to the diocese's Enchanters, and also housed Miss Bevanna's office.
"So, do the Doomsday Slates have any other uses? I heard Papa Oliver ntion once that the slates themselves possess supernatural power."
"Yes. According to the diviners from the Church of Destiny and Equilibrium, the Doomsday Slates are the crystallized dregs of fate—destiny made manifest. Using them for divination or prophecy can bypass many of the necessary steps, reduce the consumption of spirit, and greatly increase the success rate."
As they headed up the stairs, a group of robed, middle-aged n hurried down. Upon seeing Jenkins and Miss Bevanna, they imdiately stopped to bow before rushing off again.
"The plague in Nolan's eastern district is getting tricky. The apprentices of the Keepers of Secrets are needed to assist. It's mutated, possibly due to Nolan's air quality."
Miss Bevanna explained, noticing Jenkins's confusion, and the two continued up the stairs.
"In any case, information regarding the end of the epoch is extrely scarce. Based on the signs that have already appeared, the great cataclysm isn't expected for another one to three hundred years. I imagine most people alive today won't live to see it, so there's little point in worrying about it now."
Turning into the hallway where her office was located, Jenkins noticed that the oil paintings had been replaced. He rembered the one closest to the stairs used to be *The Saint and the Victory*, a work by a painter from a century ago depicting a war from lost history when a Sage descended upon the world.
But now that painting had been moved even closer to the stairs, replacing a portrait of an eight-winged archangel. In the original spot of *The Saint and the Victory* now hung a heroic painting of Jenkins himself, sword raised against a sea of blood and corpses. Though the face was indistinct, the attire, the ritualistic feel, and the cat perched on the eagle in the upper-left corner confird it: this was indeed the final battle in the Evergreen Forest.
"It was just finished yesterday. Every diocese across the continent will have a painting like this. Are you satisfied? It was a bit of a rush job, but I hope you like it."
"It's fine. I have no objections..."
The two of them paused beneath the painting for a mont before continuing on. Jenkins hesitated, then added:
"But I think you've painted Chocolate a bit too slender. It might complent the fire and smoke in the background, but he's actually a bit chubbier."
"ow~"
The cat paused its paw-licking, squinted at Jenkins, and seed to be plotting sothing.
That night, Jenkins once again encountered the frightening black cat that haunted his dreams. So say that dreams are a reflection of one's deepest thoughts, but Jenkins refused to believe his inner self contained such an enormous feline.
He much preferred his own little black-and-white cat and was certainly not fond of the one in his dreams.
He tried to harness the power of the dreamscape to fight back, battling the giant cat all night long. When he woke the next morning, he had a headache from lack of rest. Chocolate looked just as sleepy, letting out a disgruntled murmur when Jenkins tried to rub his head.
This wasn't the first ti Jenkins had t that cat in his dreams. A long ti ago, he had suspected it to be so kind of Mysterious Object or a peculiar ability, and had even prayed to the Sage about it.
But in reality, his mind and soul were perfectly healthy, not haunted by the spirit of so black cat or anything of the sort.
The man and his cat spent breakfast in a sleepy haze. Jenkins opened so of his reader mail and noticed that, starting this week, the number of letters from rchants' daughters and young noblewon had inexplicably surged.
He then rembered the incident at the opera house last weekend. Though he had been forced into the mirror world for a thrilling and perilous adventure imdiately after, word of the legendary duel had already spread across the continent.
Jenkins's address was not public, so the best way to reach him was to pose as a fan and send a letter.
The young ladies' letters always carried a peculiar fragrance, so Jenkins could tell the difference between a genuine reader and an admirer without even opening them.
Of course, so of the more well-spoken ladies hoped to establish a pen-pal relationship with him. But given his hectic work schedule and increasingly complicated love life, Jenkins had no intention of forming any new, ambiguous connections with young won.
"Co to think of it, Miss Stuart was once my pen pal, too. Though it was only last year, it feels like a lifeti ago..."
But not even Jenkins could stop the flow of ti. After breakfast, he had to take his lazy cat and head out to work on schedule.
Spring was arriving day by day, and the temperature was rising quickly. His winter coats could now be stored away in the wardrobe, and on warr afternoons, even a sweater was unnecessary. Jenkins hoped this spring would be more peaceful than the winter had been.
Upon arriving at Pops Antique Shop, he settled into his daily apprentice routine. Life back on track was mundane, perhaps, but it was safe, and Jenkins liked it that way.
He spent the entire morning wrestling with photos of the new slate. During that ti, he told Papa Oliver about his encounter with the Balrog the previous night, and then had to snatch the ring—the one sealing the Calamity Stone—from Chocolate, who was trying to claim it.
Papa Oliver hadn't noticed anything wrong with the ring; it was, after all, an object forged from divinity. He was simply curious why Jenkins's taste was so poor. The brass-colored ring had no decorations or engravings whatsoever, looking like a piece of common tal trash bent into a circle.
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