Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 1050

By the time the neighbors' gathering wrapped up, it was already half-past nine. Everyone left Lawyer Bell's house with a copy of the new agreement in hand. Jenkins walked home with Mistala Folant and Mr. Goodman, bidding them farewell before pulling out his key to unlock the gate.

The sound of the gate brought his cat scurrying out from the pet door. It sat on the front steps, tail wagging, looking up at Jenkins with pure delight.

"You've been a good boy today."

He bent down to pat the cat's head, then unlocked the front door. Chocolate, his cat, followed him dutifully inside. In fact, it seemed almost suspiciously well-behaved this evening.

But the house seemed perfectly normal. Aside from an almost imperceptible, fresh fragrance hanging in the air, nothing was out of place.

"Maybe Chocolate has finally learned to behave."

Jenkins mused, deciding to give Chocolate the benefit of the doubt—at least until he found evidence to the contrary.

The little cat gently nuzzled his hand, its eyes squinted in blissful contentment.

He summoned a flicker of flame to evaporate the raindrops from his clothes and the newspaper, frowning with slight annoyance at the now-wrinkled pages.

After breakfast, he headed to Pops Antique Shop under the cover of an umbrella. The gloomy morning had soured his mood, but his spirits lifted when Papa Oliver announced he could have the day off.

"I'm heading to the church to help appraise a Mysterious Object. The altar that Miss Bevanna brought back."

Papa Oliver said while pulling on his overcoat. The rain had brought a chill to the morning air.

"I'll likely be gone all day. We won't get many customers in this weather, so there's no need for you to watch the shop. Why don't you go find Miss Mikhail or Miss Hersha? I recall you saying you wanted to spend some time with them."

Jenkins didn't object. It wasn't as if Papa Oliver would know where he went, anyway.

"Come in as usual tomorrow. It'll be a good time to tidy up the warehouse. I'm planning to teach you some more complex rituals, and we'll need the space. Oh, one more thing. Miss Bevanna is taking some time off. She asked me to tell you that tonight's combat lesson is cancelled, but Wednesday's session will proceed as scheduled. Don't forget."

"Alright, Papa Oliver."

Jenkins, standing by the entrance, took an umbrella from the stand and handed it to the old man. Papa Oliver was dressed for the weather in a black overcoat, rain boots, and a black hat, with the umbrella in one hand and a briefcase in the other.

Jenkins held the door open, and Papa Oliver stepped outside. He paused under the awning, glanced up at the downpour, then gave the umbrella a sharp flick of his wrist. It sprang open with a crisp thwump.

"Toss out the box I labeled in the warehouse, lock up, and then you can be on your way. And don't forget to flip the sign on the door." Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on NoveI-Fire.ɴet

Papa Oliver instructed. Once Jenkins nodded in acknowledgment, the old man stepped out into the rain falling on Fifth Queen's Avenue.

"A whole day off. Not bad at all."

Jenkins murmured, shutting the shop door and sealing out the chilly breeze. The cat had already hopped onto the counter, settling onto its favorite soft cushion. Chocolate had a feeling today was going to be quite an interesting day.

The small cardboard box Papa Oliver had mentioned wasn't heavy. Curiosity getting the better of him, Jenkins lifted the lid. Inside was a pile of shredded old documents, their yellowed state suggesting they were ancient.

He carried the box to the trash alley. Rain from the night before had pooled in the uneven lane, forming murky puddles. Jenkins glanced down at his boots, reluctant to have them splashed with the foul-smelling water.

He glanced over his shoulder. The few pedestrians on the main street were hurrying along, hidden beneath their umbrellas. Seeing no one was paying attention, he summoned a blessed flame and set the box alight.

The carefully controlled flame consumed the box's contents with startling speed. Even damp from the rain, the papers ignited easily.

The box and its paper contents were reduced to ash in moments. But then Jenkins noticed the flame had licked at something other than paper. He immediately retracted the flame and discovered a hidden pocket inside a half-torn notebook.

The hidden pocket contained a piece of what looked like tree bark. It must have had some fire-retardant quality, allowing Jenkins to spot it before it was destroyed. He pulled it out and saw two lines of writing. Though the edges were scorched, the words themselves were miraculously untouched:

[Papa Oliver, I knew you would find my little surprise. Happy Reading Festival! This piece of Engus bark is my gift to you. —Stevel.

P.S. I hope you'll consider my winter vacation plan.]

Jenkins paused, surprised. He slipped the piece of bark into his pocket before burning the remaining scraps of paper. Umbrella in hand, he started back toward the antique shop, his thoughts preoccupied with the mysterious note.

Miss Stevel had been one of Papa Oliver's former apprentices. As for the "Engus bark," it was an incredibly precious material. It had a texture far superior to modern industrial paper for writing, and it was highly resistant to decay, making it ideal for long-term preservation.

More importantly, Engus bark was an exceptional medium for storing spirit. Rituals inscribed upon it would lose their power at an incredibly slow rate. This made it a highly sought-after material in the modern study of charms. Alongside talismans made from metals and gemstones, scroll-based charms were quite popular, and Engus bark was considered the absolute best material for crafting them.

Judging by the note, this must have been a Reading Festival gift from his former student some years ago—a gift Papa Oliver had apparently never found.

For whatever reason, Miss Stevel had never mentioned it to him, and so the gift had remained hidden all this time.

Jenkins's first instinct was to use the bark as a way to investigate Papa Oliver, but he quickly dismissed the thought. It felt rude, not to mention pointless.

"I'll just give it to Papa Oliver when he gets back. It'll be a good conversation starter. He's bound to tell me something about it."

With that thought, he restrained his cat, who had padded over from the other side of the counter for a sniff, and tucked the bark inside a notebook before storing it behind the counter.

"This belongs to Papa Oliver, not me," he told his cat. "So no eating it."

He said to Chocolate, then watched in amazement as the cat actually stopped struggling.

The thought struck him with a jolt of alarm, and he immediately retrieved the bark from behind the counter.

"You want to eat it?"

He offered the bark to his cat. Chocolate twitched its delicate nose, then gave him a look of utter disdain. After all, it had feasted on something far more delicious just last night.

"Are you sick? Does anything hurt?"

he asked, still unsure. The cat let out a soft meow that sounded perfectly healthy.

"If you're feeling sick, you have to let me know."

he said, his brow furrowed with worry. He reached out to gently press Chocolate's belly, checking for any lumps, but his hand was swatted away by an impatient paw.