Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 1141

"You despicable Stranger."

Hearing Rynsarm once again list the friends he had sacrificed, the old elf atop the bookshelf couldn't help but curse aloud. But neither Jenkins nor Rynsarm paid him any mind.

"You can still sacrifice yourself."

Jenkins watched him with a peculiar gaze. Follow current novels on novel⁂fire.net

Old man Rynsarm furrowed his brow, then his head snapped toward the window.

"You realized it long ago. That's why you were so terrified when the angels appeared. I imagine you know that your sacrifice could save this entire city—an act of immense significance for Nolan at the end of an Epoch. The curse could finally be broken. But you can't bear to part with your near-eternal life. As much as you carry the curse of longevity, you've also enjoyed its conveniences. That's why you sought out [The Stranger], hoping for a way out that didn't require sacrificing yourself..."

"Those are a god's angels out there, young man. Even if I bravely charged out with a kitchen knife, it would likely be useless."

"Destiny has already marked its price..."

"Since you also believe in destiny, you should have guessed what you need to do now. Thirty years ago, Mr. Siannod, who was supposed to go on that expedition with you, survived by a twist of fate because he was busy raising money to buy an elven creation. And the item he bought..."

"B-01-1-8381 [Elf's Arrow of Ruin]. Sacrifice a mortal soul, a special creation, and an expensive coin to fire one arrow in its most powerful state... Only a creature with elven blood can use that arrow, and once fired, it can never be retrieved. But at its weakest, it can destroy an entire forest."

The old elf relayed this information, his gaze sharp as he looked at Jenkins.

"Even in the world of elves, this is a divine object that takes centuries to forge—a mortal creation worthy of being offered to the great ones we worship. In my current state, if I fired it at the ground without any special preparations, I could probably destroy a third of Nolan. But if its power is enhanced through an offering, the more peculiar and twisted the soul, and the more wondrous the special creation, the greater the arrow's power will be. But the Sin Coin..."

"I have a Blasphemy Seed, so that won't be a problem."

Jenkins said, then looked at the old man he had pinned down.

"I also have a special item that can be sacrificed. But as for a fresh soul... I think you'll have to make that sacrifice. It's for your own good, isn't it? Haven't you always wanted to be free?"

Jenkins didn't consider himself a completely terrible person, but as he said those words, he had the distinct feeling that he was, in fact, a true villain.

Rynsarm, still in his grasp, shuddered violently, then squeezed the words from his throat.

"No, no, I don't want to be sacrificed! I have my own way of dealing with the curse, I don't—"

"Are you still waiting for [The Stranger]?"

His free left hand struck the old man's abdomen again. While Rynsarm was clutching his stomach and convulsing on the floor, Jenkins turned, shooed away a curious cat, and picked up the ancient book that had fallen.

It was a handwritten manuscript, filled with fairy tales all recorded in the same script. But it was obvious that these stories, likely adapted from real events, were far from uninteresting—most were terrifying. The writing style was closer to non-fiction, and every single tale ended in tragedy.

"If someone could possess the power of [The Stranger], how could every single holder die a miserable death? It's not like the ability itself is a curse."

Jenkins didn't believe a single word of the stories. He skimmed through them quickly before turning his attention to the simple sketch on the cover.

It was the only illustration in the entire book. If there was a valuable clue to be found, it had to be here.

The drawing depicted a lone figure with its back to the viewer, facing a vast, snowy sky. In the distance were rolling, misty mountains, and besides the falling snow, there was nothing else around.

He ran his hand over the cover but felt no hidden compartment. Jenkins had to admit that, for the moment, he couldn't find any clues, but admitting it felt like a loss of face.

He had to find a way to change the subject.

"Anyway, we need a sacrifice right now. And of the three of us, you're the most suitable candidate. After all, you've been seeking death, whereas Mr. Siannod and I would rather not die just yet."

This was just twisting logic, and of course, old man Rynsarm wouldn't accept such an argument. He huddled by the wall, cackling as he stared at Jenkins like a madman.

"I won't accept it! Even if you sacrifice me, I will not accept it! I lost to you only because destiny chose you, not me. I didn't lose to you—I lost to fate! I can't accept it!"

The old elf started to speak but stopped, letting out a deep sigh instead. With the agility of a monkey, he leaped down from the bookshelf, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked into his bedroom.

Moments later, he returned with an exquisite, slender box folded from stiff paper. Jenkins could see the vibrant dual-colored glow of red and blue emanating from within.

"B-01-1-8381 [Elf's Arrow of Ruin] cannot touch any metal, which makes it very troublesome to store. I had planned to take it with me to my grave. That way, even if I couldn't return to my homeland, I wouldn't feel like I died a stranger in a foreign land. Now, it's yours."

He pressed the box into Jenkins's hands, then turned to his old friend without a backward glance, his face etched with sorrow.

"Rynsarm, I will only ask you this once. Little Frankie, who went on the expedition with you all thirty years ago... did you kill him too?"

"Yes. He tried to persuade me not to kill anyone, so he was the first to be sent to his eternal sleep."

"But he was your son..."

"I've lived for so many years and left behind countless descendants, but not a single one has met a good end. Even if I hadn't killed him, he would have died one day at the hands of that damnable fate. I did a good thing. In that regard, my conscience is clear."

Jenkins looked down at the box in his hands, no longer willing to listen. Hearing a madman talk was just a waste of his time.

"Do you really think that was a good thing? Even after you cut off his right arm, pierced his left chest with a sword, and left him to lie alone in a sealed tomb... you call that a good thing?"

the old elf asked again, his voice seething with rage.