Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 1094

Jenkins strained to lean his body out the window, but the speeding carriage brought little in the way of a cool breeze. Behind him, the villagers were still gathered under the large tree, yet the old man who should have been at the center of the crowd was now standing apart from them.

He looked at Jenkins, smiled at the young writer, then bent at the waist and gave a deep bow.

Pure white wings and a brilliant golden aura manifested naturally behind the old man, a sight that nearly brought tears to Jenkins's eyes. Before the coachman could warn him of the dangerous maneuver, Jenkins pulled himself back inside and sat down in the carriage once more. Chapters fırst released on novᴇlfire.net

His face was etched with shock.

"So what I heard half a month ago wasn't an auditory hallucination after all," he murmured. "An emissary of the Mother Earth Goddess really did descend upon the mortal realm in March to inspect the spring planting... And it wasn't just for a day. It's been almost a week."

He picked up his cat and tapped its little head with a finger, earning an immediate, disgruntled "mewl."

"But what I just saw seemed to be..."

He tried his best to recall the moment he activated his Eye of Reality—the golden aura that seemed poised to engulf the entire world, and the immense, pure white wings he had glimpsed in a daze.

"That couldn't have been an angel of the Mother Earth Goddess, could it? Angels are messengers of the gods, so I suppose that fits..."

He had no intention of conversing with the being he suspected was an angel. Jenkins knew his own identity was somewhat sensitive, and rashly approaching a creature connected to a Righteous God could very well stir up unforeseen trouble.

Still, after being in this world for so long, he was thrilled to finally see an angel for the first time. Though the old man's frail and homely appearance was a far cry from the beautiful angels of his imagination, he was nevertheless delighted to have encountered a new kind of extraordinary life form.

"I wonder how angels are born," he mused. "Perhaps they really are created when a god transforms the soul of a devout believer."

It was already half-past three in the afternoon by the time he reached York Town. Declining the coachman's offer to wait and take him back to Nolan, Jenkins paid the fare and walked into the town.

There was truly nothing much to see; the place was essentially on par with the least developed districts of Nolan. Since the town was small, Jenkins quickly found his destination—a pub at the end of the street. Given the time of day, however, it looked deserted.

Pushing the door open, he was met with a foul odor that nearly made him choke. The combined stench of cheap tobacco, alcohol, and old food was like a bucket of kitchen slop left to sit for a week.

Although Jenkins was tall, perhaps his gentle appearance—and the small cat he carried—made him look like an easy target. He had barely taken a few steps before a burly man with a thick beard started walking toward him.

The instant they brushed past each other, Jenkins's hand shot out and grabbed the one reaching for his pocket. He twisted it sharply. Amid the man's pained shriek, Jenkins kicked him into the nearby wall.

Ignoring the astonished looks from the few other patrons in the pub, Jenkins walked straight to the bar and spoke to the bartender, who was holding a book.

"I'm here to deliver a letter. Papa Oliver sent me."

He noticed the book the bartender was reading was a copy of the Detective Knight Biography—a pirated one, at that.

The bartender, who had a large, ruddy nose, glanced up at Jenkins and asked with certainty. He took the letter, slid out the paper, and casually poured the contents of a nearby glass over it. The writing on the page immediately transformed.

The bartender nodded, deftly picked up a matchbox, struck a match against the counter, and, as Jenkins watched, set the alcohol-soaked paper alight.

The paper must have been made from some special material by Papa Oliver; otherwise, there was no way it would have burned so quickly after being soaked through.

It seemed Papa Oliver hadn't sent Jenkins merely to deliver a letter. After burning it, the bartender told him to wait, then came out from behind the bar and headed toward the back of the pub.

He returned a moment later, handing Jenkins a simple wooden jewelry box.

"Check the goods. I don't want to have to explain myself if Papa Oliver comes asking."

Jenkins nodded. Although he didn't know what Papa Oliver had sent him to retrieve, he confirmed that neither the box nor its contents gave off any spiritual aura, then opened it without worry.

Inside was a ring—a very familiar-looking one.

He looked up at the bartender. Having just picked his novel up again, the man asked with a surprised look on his face:

"What's wrong? Is there a problem with the goods?"

There was nothing wrong with the ring itself; it was clearly authentic. But Jenkins had seen its design before. Last week, while he was watching the shop, Silver Flute Miss—Mrs. Mistara Flaunt—and the old elf's friend, the elderly Halama Rynsarm, had both come to the antique shop trying to sell similar rings.

Silver Flute Miss had been unhappy with Jenkins's offer and refused to sell, but the antique shop had purchased the one from Mr. Rynsarm.

"Could there really be something wrong with these rings? Did Papa Oliver see a problem that I missed?"

He wondered, his hand slipping into his pocket to feel his banknotes. He gauged their thickness, picked out a ten-shilling note, and pushed it across the bar to the bartender.

"I'd like to know where this ring came from."

The bartender pushed the bill right back.

"Doing business with Papa Oliver means following the rules. Since this has already been sold to him, I can't reveal anything else about it. You can ask him yourself, young man. I'm not saying another word."

With that, he lowered his head and went back to his book. Seeing he'd get nowhere, Jenkins left the banknote on the counter, turned, and walked out.

He couldn't use a unicorn on the way here for fear that the letter's recipient and Papa Oliver might discuss his arrival time when they next met. But he didn't have to worry about that on the way back to Nolan. He wasn't returning to the antique shop right away—he could give the ring to Papa Oliver tomorrow. As long as the old man didn't find out he was back in the city before six in the evening, he could even teleport using The Real Illusion.

The only reason he didn't was because of the cat. He could return with an illusion, but the cat couldn't. Even if he trusted its sense of direction, Jenkins would never abandon it so far from home.

Compared to the tedious journey to York Town, flying back on a unicorn was far more interesting. Gazing down from high above at the villages, farmlands, and rivers below was much more invigorating than dozing off in a stuffy carriage.