Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 1052

Inside the old apartment, the elf on the bed felt the familiar flow of life's spirit and let out a sigh of relief. Then he suddenly froze, as if sensing something incredible. His free left hand rose to his eyes, rubbing them before he leaned forward, squinting to study Jenkins's face.

Jenkins was currently disguised by his black robe, so the old elf shouldn't have been able to perceive the truth. But he noticed the elf's eyes were an unnatural emerald green, like some kind of mystic sight. As Bruce finally saw Jenkins's face, he let out a terrified cry:

"Oh, by the World Tree!"

The elf cried out in terror. Perhaps it was the effect of Jenkins's healing, but he managed to wrench his arm free and scramble to the far side of the bed.

The exclamation was much like a human crying out, "My God!" in surprise, so Jenkins didn't think much of it.

"Is something wrong?"

Jenkins glanced from the elf to his own hand, the old suspicion about his own heritage resurfacing.

"No problem! Not a problem at all!"

"I've never met you before," Jenkins stated, "and you couldn't possibly know who I am through my current disguise."

He raised his right hand, and a green aura flickered in the air like an unsteady candle flame.

"Do you recognize this?"

The moment the words were out, the old elf clamped a hand over his mouth. He knew perfectly well that the more he said, the more trouble he'd be in; silence was safety.

"So you do recognize it," Jenkins concluded.

Jenkins fell silent for a moment, his hand gently stroking his cat, who stared up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

The heavy silence only intensified the old elf's anxiety. What had been a mere suspicion before was now, as he carefully sensed the young man's life spirit, an absolute certainty.

"Oh, great Lord, this is..."

He had long resigned himself to never returning home, to dying alone in the material world. He never imagined fate would play such a cruel joke. At this moment, Bruce would rather have faded away in silence than be drawn into something . He had lived a very long time; he knew exactly what Jenkins's presence signified.

After a stretch of silence, Jenkins asked the question abruptly. The old elf on the bed remained utterly still, saying nothing. He was extraordinarily cautious, far more so than Jenkins had anticipated.

"Your silence is an answer in itself," Jenkins mused. "It means I truly do have some connection to the elves. Interesting... so it's true after all."

Jenkins fell into thought once more, reviewing the myriad events of the past half-year since his arrival in this world. The old elf's face had gone pale with fright. He wanted absolutely no part in the machinations of fate.

"What is it you truly want from me?" the elf pleaded. "Oh, young man, please, just let me lie here and wait for death's messenger to carry me away. I am just a pitiful elf who strayed from his homeland by accident, fated to die in a foreign world."

He desperately wanted Jenkins to leave, but Jenkins had no intention of going anywhere. It was a rare opportunity to converse at length with a non-human who was so clearly aligned with good.

"Death's messenger?" Jenkins picked up on the phrase. "So, who is responsible for the souls of the material world? The Righteous God, 'Death and End,' or the sovereign lord known as the 'Ancient God of Death'?"

Jenkins asked another, even more sensitive question.

The old elf's face went a shade paler. He clamped his hand over his mouth again, making it perfectly clear to Jenkins that he would not utter another word.

Jenkins posed a few more questions, but the old elf refused to answer. He looked utterly terrified, shrinking away as if Jenkins carried a plague. Jenkins couldn't fathom the reason for such a strange and fearful reaction.

"Even if I do have elven blood, he shouldn't be this afraid of me," Jenkins thought. "We're practically kin. Do pure-blooded elves discriminate against those of mixed heritage? But Mr. Saramanda, in that simulated world, was perfectly friendly."

After a moment of thought, seeing that Bruce remained resolute, Jenkins decided to set the matter aside and focus on his original purpose for being there.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the photograph of the fruit platter, and offered it to the old man on the bed.

"This was yours originally, wasn't it?"

"It was. Oh! So this is why you came looking for me!"

The old elf's face filled with regret. "I should have moved after the theft," he muttered. "Damnation."

"Your fruit platter was stolen and passed through several hands before I came to own it," Jenkins explained calmly. "If you want it back, I can return it. But first, I'd like to know what, exactly, it is."

"No, no, you needn't return it. It's better off with you..." the elf said quickly. "It was made long ago, yes, before the elves withdrew from the material world. It's crafted from the bark of the World Tree, certain elemental essences, the ground pits of the Fruit of All Things, and a variety of other odds and ends. I wasn't yet born when it was made, but I know its creation involved certain... unrepeatable processes. To put it simply, it can generate any fruit that has ever existed in the material world. I found it at a flea market twelve years ago and bought it simply because it was a creation of my people."

"'Any fruit?' Jenkins asked, his interest piqued. 'You mean it's not limited to just... ordinary fruit?'"

As Jenkins spoke, Chocolate's ears twitched. The cat could forcibly activate the platter's extraordinary functions, but a less taxing method would certainly be welcome.

"It is not limited to ordinary fruits. But to obtain a fruit with extraordinary properties, you must perform a ritual at the proper time, taking into account the phase of the moon, the weather, and the nature of your own spirit. Of course, if your luck is exceptionally good, you might get an extraordinary fruit without all that complexity, but the odds of that are about as high as your cat learning to speak. If you want the specific details..."

The old elf pointed a trembling finger toward the desk across the room.

"The left side, second drawer from the top. Inside, there's a notebook with a white cover. Turn to page thirty-four. The dozen or so pages that follow describe the platter in detail. I was planning to burn it before I died, but since you're interested, you might as well take it."

Jenkins glanced over his shoulder at the desk, then nodded. He set the cat down on the edge of the bed and stood up to retrieve the notebook. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs novelꜰire.net

As Jenkins turned away, the old elf shrank deeper under his covers. The movement jostled the cat, who, clearly displeased, let out an indignant "meow" at the old elf.

Before the bleary-eyed elf could get a good look at the audacious feline, Jenkins had already returned with the notebook.

"There, there," he said, "don't make a fuss. You must respect your elders."

He murmured, stroking his cat. The feline gave a soft purr in response and settled obediently on his lap, its large amber eyes fixed on the notebook.