Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 1143

Even though he had just sworn not to speak of Rynsarm's son, seeing his old friend in his final moments made the old elf's heart soften. He shared one last piece of news:

"Your son is doing very well... Though he lost an arm, he found a way to fit himself with a prosthesis. He leads a respectable life, and while he hasn't started a family, he has his own business. He's long since discarded the name you gave him. I can't tell you what he calls himself, but I can tell you the alias he uses among his friends. He's a good man—unlike you. A truly good man who cares deeply for his friends... He now goes by the name Mr. Hood."

The dying man let out a strained gasp, not out of sorrow or sentiment, but because Jenkins's hand, gripping the arrow embedded in him, had suddenly twitched, sending a jolt of excruciating pain through his wound.

Jenkins fought to keep his expression neutral, forcing himself not to dwell on this revelation about Mr. Hood. But at least the old elf had been right—Mr. Hood was indeed a man who cared for his friends, even if he was a little too proud.

"Jenkins Redemptor Williams."

As if a final wish had been granted, the old man's features relaxed considerably. He turned his gaze back to Jenkins, to the young man who had dealt him this mortal wound.

"I don't know if you were lying to me before, but after speaking with you for so long, I understand that we are the same kind of lonely soul... If what you said was true, if you really are a stranger standing apart from this era, then you must live well. You only have one life. I've lived for so long, wanting to die with every passing second, but now... now I fear death. I curse you to be forever alone. I bless you that you may find happiness. I curse those around you to suffer every misfortune. I bless you that you may find meaning in your fleeting life. I curse you..." The source of this content ɪs Novᴇl_Fire(.)net

His voice grew fainter and fainter, trailing off before he could finish his sentence. His heart must have been a storm of contradictions in his final moments, Jenkins thought. He knew the man must have hated him with a passion, yet also felt a sliver of pity for the fellow 'stranger' who shared his fate.

Jenkins stared with a touch of fear at the arrow in his hand, which now resembled a fine silver sculpture. The old elf was still grieving his friend's death. Mad and wicked as the man had been, they had known each other for over a century. It was impossible for the elf not to feel a profound sense of loss.

"Even among elves, this kind of arrow is a forbidden object," the elf said, his voice heavy. "Except as a sacrificial offering to the Great Ones, any elf using such an arrow without authorization... it would be the equivalent of a human tossing a steam bomb into city hall. I don't know how this one found its way to the material world, but you must seize this opportunity. There is only one arrow, but there are four angels."

The elf sniffled and apologized to Jenkins, then turned to retrieve a handkerchief from the table. Jenkins could tell the old elf was deeply dejected, but he didn't know how to comfort him.

"I am certain that if you are the one to use it, this arrow can wound an angel," he continued. "What I'm not certain of is whether it can truly inflict a fatal injury. But no matter what, it's worth a try. I can lend you my bow."

"It will be enough," Jenkins said with conviction. "It has to be."

Jenkins sighed and rose to his feet, gazing from the dim room out into the night. Darkness had fallen without him noticing, but for a city like Nolan, which had been battered by a torrential downpour all day, the change was meaningless.

He pushed open the window, and a fierce wind immediately swept in, carrying a spray of rain. The ashes of Rynsarm Carmel were caught in the gale, but instead of scattering around the room, they swirled in a trajectory that defied the laws of fluid dynamics, flying out the window and leaving not a single trace behind.

Jenkins stroked his docile cat before pulling out his final Sin Coin. Ignoring the unsavory materials it was likely forged from, he pressed a kiss directly onto the coin's surface.

Holding the arrow in his left hand and the Sin Coin in his right, flames surged forth from both of his arms. The instant the arrow and coin made contact, the fire completely enveloped them.

Even the old elf, observing from nearby, could not see what was happening within the heart of the flames, but he could feel an extraordinary power brewing in Jenkins's hands.

The fire in the young man's hands completely overwhelmed the light of the candles in the corners of the room. Flames swirled and writhed up and down his arms, swaying like living, dancing snakes. The blaze gradually pulled away from Jenkins's sleeves, but the two streams still converged at the point where his hands met.

Gradually, the roiling flames illuminated the entire room, casting the faces of Jenkins, the old elf, and Chocolate in a crimson glow. The fire twisted and coiled around his arms, finally forming the symbol for infinity.

At the very center of the infinity symbol lay the arrow and the Sin Coin, and within them, a tiny point of white light was beginning to form.

The normal method for imbuing the arrow with power was simply to press the Sin Coin against it. This unorthodox approach Jenkins was taking was something the old elf had never even heard of.

But just as he didn't care in the slightest why Jenkins had called himself a 'stranger,' he also didn't care where Jenkins had learned such a peculiar method. After all, a sacred bloodline was noble, mysterious, and potent. Unless Jenkins suddenly flew up into the sky and proclaimed himself a god, the old elf would not be surprised by anything he did.

But a moment later, he was surprised. A brilliant golden orb of light flew out from Jenkins's pocket. It was the final crystallization of the divine child's power, and it plunged into the tongues of flame, fusing with the crimson infinity symbol.

The instant they made contact, shimmering golden motes of light spread along the rotating, flaming infinity symbol. Yet they didn't replace the crimson, but instead fused with it in perfect harmony.

The elf swore that in his long, thousand-year life, he had never seen such a dazzling and brilliant color. The erupting gold and crimson seemed to leap for joy at the birth of a new power, and the infinity symbol now represented a vast wellspring of energy.

Veins pulsed on Jenkins's forehead. He bent forward slightly, lowering his arms and straining to force the Sin Coin and the arrow together. The moment that degraded divine energy had fused with the flames, the two objects in his hands had begun to repel each other with an incredible force, as if they now shared the same magnetic polarity.