Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 1142

"Of course, it was for the best. As his father, I had a duty to put him out of his misery early. Besides, he stood in my way... Hmm? How do you know about him?"

Rynsarm trailed off, a flicker of unease in his eyes. The old elf snorted before replying:

"Because he's alive. That's right, your son is still alive. He fought tooth and nail to crawl out of that grave, and it took him over a decade to nurse his body back to health. I ran into him last week while I was helping Jenkins find information on the 'Dead Man's Whip.' After so many years, I barely recognized him.

He's a good man now, makes an honest living. As an Enchanter, he's a decent sort—even offered to help me deal with those cultists. We talked about what happened thirty years ago. He told me about his terrible ordeal but refused to say who was responsible. I had my suspicions, but to think it was actually you..."

The old elf's back was to Jenkins, so he couldn't see the complex emotions on the man's face. Still, the whole situation was starting to feel like something out of a convoluted chivalric romance. At this point, Jenkins thought, nothing could surprise him anymore.

"He's still alive? Where is he?"

The old man demanded, his face flushing crimson.

"He's right over there."

The old elf spun around and pointed directly at Jenkins, who could only stand there with his jaw agape as a wave of pure shock washed over him.

He hastily stepped aside, allowing the old elf to point at an empty spot in the room. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ɴovelfire.net

"He's still in this city, but I'm not telling you where he lives. You can forget about ever finding out. Jenkins, it's time. The four angels outside are waiting."

As he agreed, Jenkins detached the fortune-telling chain from Alexia's pocket watch. He carefully wound it in a tight spiral around the shaft of the arrow. The shaft was already covered in fine, multi-colored runes, and now, entwined with the silver chain, it looked even more extraordinary.

"At least tell me how he is, or I'll never be able to rest in peace."

"If your eyes won't close on their own, then for old times' sake, I'll close them for you."

The old elf's reply was sharp and merciless. He then nodded to Jenkins, signaling him to proceed.

Jenkins walked up to the old man slumped on the floor, gripping the arrow in his right hand with the tip pointed down.

"I don't usually waste words before I act, but this is a special case. I'll allow you one final statement."

He aimed the arrowhead at the old man's heart, ready to strike at any moment.

The old man stared blankly, his gaze passing through Jenkins as he tried to see the elf standing behind him. His eyes shifted back to the arrow in disbelief. He opened his mouth, as if to unleash another torrent of curses, but no words came out.

A rare sense of helplessness washed over the thousands-of-years-old man. He knew that today, he might finally face the death he had long awaited. Strangely, the thought brought him a flicker of relief.

"Since you claim to understand how I feel, can you tell me: how exactly do you see your own future?"

Rynsarm asked this final question.

Jenkins hesitated. He hadn't intended to answer, but just as he was about to strike, he changed his mind:

"I don't know if I was lonely before, but I know I'm changing now. What I don't understand is, even with your curse, did you really not try to love someone in all those thousands of years?"

"I tried. And then she died."

"That's... pitiful. But my perspective has changed. I still know I don't belong here, but I'm going to try to accept it all. Fate loves to play cruel jokes, but people always find a way to live on."

He silently thought of the people he'd met in this world, and the inexplicable sadness that often washed over him.

"Listen. You're a despicable, disgusting man, but as the person about to send you on your way, I'm going to offer you some advice. We're both lonely, but I dare to face my fate instead of wallowing in self-pity and wasting my life away. Maybe your divinely cursed destiny is tragic, but at least you're alive—and for the most part, you've lived well. Perhaps the gods never meant to punish you, but only wanted you to understand something. Do you realize that every single peaceful day a mortal experiences is a divine work, built upon a mountain of miracles? You should be grateful just to be alive, not trying to seize what you don't deserve at the cost of other people's lives."

"Aren't you trying to use my life right now to gain a power that doesn't belong to you?"

Rynsarm stared, dumbfounded. Jenkins's speech had sounded profound at first, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like pure sophistry.

"No. You take lives to gain power for yourself. I'm doing this to save an entire city. That's the difference between us... probably."

Jenkins had never been good at persuading people; that last speech was the best he could muster.

"In the end, you're just... oh..."

The old man looked down at the arrow piercing his chest, then looked back in disbelief at the young man's stern expression.

"Sorry. I said you could have one last statement. You've said too much."

The cold arrow, wrapped in its silver chain, sank into the old man's chest. His clothing offered no resistance, parting as if it weren't there at all.

Jenkins felt as if he had pierced a thin sheet of paper with a sharp knife. As the arrow sank deeper, the once-cold shaft began to grow warm.

The runes etched into the shaft began to glow, lighting up in sequence from where the arrow entered the old man's flesh. The silver chain, which Jenkins had wound around it moments before, started to slither along the shaft of its own accord, finally seeming to merge with the arrow itself, transforming it into a composite of wood and metal.

The runic clasp from the watch chain fused into the intricate patterns on the arrow, while the ancient runes from the shaft overlaid the clasp. The two designs complemented each other perfectly, both silently siphoning power from the old man's body.

Rynsarm could only stare at Jenkins as his face turned deathly pale. It was as if time itself had accelerated its hold on him; deep wrinkles etched themselves across his face while age spots bloomed on the backs of his hands and his neck.

His voice grew raspy and faint. Just then, the old elf stepped up from behind Jenkins to see his old friend on his final journey.