Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 1118

Chocolate, having just woken from a nap and eaten its fill, let out a soft meow. It stood on the sofa, surveying its surroundings with an imperious air. Jenkins, lost in thought, paid it no mind, but the old elf’s eyes were fixed intently on the kitten. This update ıs available on novel·fiɾe·net

“It really is... *that one*...”

The elf's mind drifted back to the distant past, to a childhood that had grown hazy with time. He recalled how the elders, wanting to quiet the mischievous young elves, would often invoke characters from frightening tales.

Human society had a similar tradition. Mary and Robert used to "frighten" the three Williams brothers with stories of devils or the strange old man who lived in the Dock Area. The elves, however, employed far more terrifying figures.

That fear was so deeply rooted in his childhood memories that even after so many years away from his homeland, the old elf Siannod still remembered those legendary calamities.

“The one who devoured the moon...”

He didn't dare let the thought finish, hastily averting his gaze from the cat, which was stretching lazily with its eyes narrowed to slits. Chocolate glanced at the old elf, and seeing that he knew his place, dismissed him from its thoughts.

The old elf had no idea he had been a hair's breadth from real trouble. He waited quietly for Jenkins to either ask another question or decide to seek the truth on his own. In truth, he knew a fair bit about the contest of Saviors at the end of an epoch; he had simply never intended to get involved.

"The World Tree Seedling is unique," he thought. "For it to appear in such a sensitive era, Jenkins must have already secured one qualification... No, perhaps more than one, maybe even two. A bold guess might be that he already has more than half of them. If he truly wishes to seek the mark of The Stranger, perhaps I should help him. It might bring a swifter end to fate's design... Thank goodness I gave up that chance to observe the Millstone of Fate ninety-seven years ago. Otherwise, I would have fallen into destiny's trap long ago... Ah, fate..."

He sighed softly and resumed his silent wait. Suddenly, his nose twitched, as if catching a foul stench. He looked at Jenkins, his face a mask of horror. He hadn't seemed this terrified even when he first discovered Jenkins's true identity:

“Have you... have you learned an ability related to death?”

“Yes,” Jenkins replied. “A very strange one called Embrace of Death. I couldn't find any information on it, even when I searched the church archives.”

The old elf Siannod looked as if he was about to faint—and then he actually did, slumping in his seat. Fortunately, the man who could be considered Nolan's finest healer was right beside him. Jenkins revived the elf with a sharp pinch to the pressure point beneath his nose, marveling at how similar elven anatomy was to a human's.

“Oh, Blessed Blossoms~”

Awake again, the old elf reached a hand toward the ceiling as if grasping for something in the air. He sat trembling on the sofa, muttering incoherently. After a long moment, meeting Jenkins's puzzled gaze, he finally managed a question:

“After you acquired this power of death, have you experienced any... physical discomfort?”

“No,” said Jenkins. “Aside from dreaming of a giant black cat sometimes, I believe I'm in perfect physical and mental health.”

“It has nothing to do with the black cat.”

The old elf shot a furtive glance at Chocolate and quickly shook his head, muttering to himself:

“Is there a problem?”

“Embrace of Death is a supreme talent, one that can only be acquired by an undead aberration favored by the spirit of Death itself. It's analogous to a human being a Child of Nature, an elf possessing the Eternal Life of All Things, or a merfolk with the Breath of the Sea. While one or two might appear in any given era, it is absolutely impossible for it to manifest in a half-elf like you.”

He had finally acknowledged Jenkins's suspicions about his elven bloodline.

“Embrace of Death allows its wielder to passively absorb and convert the very spirit of death. Without any effort at all, they can become a supreme undead being. Jenkins, how is this possible...”

As he spoke, the elf buried his face in his hands. Though his hair was entirely white, it was still remarkably thick.

After a moment's hesitation, Jenkins also told him about his encounter with the Shard of Death's Cloak. But the old elf still refused to accept that a half-elf could perfectly reconcile the forces of life and death. To him, it was more unbelievable than a divine miracle.

“But regardless,” the elf insisted, “you must not accept any more of death's power. You are a half-elf—cough, cough—alright, I admit it. Therefore, you must have the pride of an elf! Do not taint yourself with such a filthy power.”

The old elf pleaded with great sincerity.

While Jenkins didn't consider the power of death "filthy," he had no intention of embracing it further, so he outwardly agreed to the old elf's advice.

After that, they discussed the matter of the ring again, agreeing to meet back here tomorrow with old Mr. Rynsarm. Jenkins then saw the unicorn off, and cradling his cat, walked toward the church.

He passed the inn where Miss Capet was staying and glanced up at the row of windows on the upper floor, though he didn't spot his friend, of course. Currently, in addition to Nolan's five local churches, several of the Twelve Orthodox Churches—the Church of All Things and Nature (represented by Miss Capet), the Church of Sun and Justice (Miss Knight and others), the Church of Destiny and Order (Miss Audrey), and the Church of Creation and Machinery—had all publicly, and for very plausible reasons, stationed personnel in Nolan.

And it was certain that the other three churches, even if they hadn't sent anyone publicly, had their own agents in the city, operating either openly or in the shadows. The huntress, Miss Warfield, for example, had ties to the Church of War and Victory.

“What troubled times,” Jenkins mused. “But I have no idea if this business about The Stranger is even real. And where am I supposed to find a female diviner from thirty years ago? I can't even be sure she's still alive.”

He rounded the street corner ahead and saw the great doors of the cathedral. It was Sunday afternoon, and the crowd of worshipers was thick. Jenkins slipped among them, unnoticed.

“Thirty years ago... a female diviner...”

His stride faltered for just an instant before he resumed his normal pace. Come to think of it, he did know of a remarkably powerful female diviner who had arrived in Nolan thirty years ago. He even knew that she had come as a stowaway on the same ship as Robert Williams.

“Could it be Miss Brolignans? She had indeed planned to come to Nolan thirty years ago, but Robert had said she vanished before the ship docked. He'd always believed he was the sole survivor. Could the diviner who foretold the Savior's identity be Miss Brolignans?”

It was a question only she could answer, but Jenkins had a nagging feeling that the demigod diviner wouldn't part with the truth so easily.