Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 1152

Chocolate crouched quietly to the side, watching Jenkins. From the cat's perspective, as soon as the man closed his eyes, tears began to seep uncontrollably from beneath his lids. And when Jenkins came to his senses, his only thought was the fear that he would never hear such a beautiful song again.

But even the most perfect melody must come to an end. As the woman's voice gradually softened, thunderous applause once again erupted from all directions, punctuated by the occasional cheer.

A sliver of white light appeared in the center of the red curtains as they were slowly drawn apart. The blinding glare made even Jenkins, with his eyes shut, feel a sense of discomfort. It wasn't a visual sensation but a kind of phantom perception, so forcing himself to gaze upon the scene behind the curtain wouldn't cause any physical harm.

Just as Jenkins had imagined, a massive stage, like that of an opera house, lay behind the curtain. The brilliant lights and magnificent decorations were beyond anything a mortal could conceive. Yet, the audience below was empty, and Jenkins still couldn't fathom the source of the applause.

Standing center stage was a woman in a floor-length golden gown. Not every woman could carry such a regal color, but this one was clearly suited for it. Or, to be more precise, the magnificent golden dress couldn't fully capture the woman's inherent nobility.

Unfortunately, Jenkins couldn't see her face. The scene before him was as bizarre and fantastical as a dream, with strange white patches of various shapes filling his vision, preventing him from seeing the stage in its entirety.

But he could at least hear the woman let out a soft sigh after finishing her song. He also noticed her take a step forward, a book clutched in her arms, clearing the very center of the stage.

She took only two steps before turning around. Then, she extended her right hand, clad in an ornate lace glove, toward the spotlight-flooded center of the stage.

Silently, another equally noble and elegant woman appeared in the light. She seemed to be an echo of the first woman's shadow, or perhaps she had emerged from the first woman's very being.

The woman holding the book withdrew her hand, turned, and walked off the stage, settling comfortably in the center seat of the front row. The woman left alone in the spotlight then began to sing, her voice soaring with unrestrained passion.

Though her voice didn't possess the same quality as the lullaby, it was just as melodious, just as soul-stirring. But Jenkins was in no mood to appreciate the music. He forced his eyes open before the vision had even ended, beads of sweat rolling one after another down his forehead. Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn NoveIＦire.net

His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape in astonishment. He didn't even notice the tears streaming down his face.

He had stumbled upon an unimaginable truth:

"The God of Music... [Wondrous Musical Score]... is an avatar of the Sage?"

Jenkins might have misidentified other deities, but the first woman, the one holding a book and humming a lullaby, was unmistakably the Righteous God—the Legacy Sage. Both the familiar aura and the warmth on his forehead were irrefutable proof. And the vision he had just witnessed undoubtedly pointed to a terrifying fact:

"The Pseudo-God [Wondrous Musical Score] is an avatar of the Righteous God, the Legacy Sage!"

This revelation spawned countless questions, the most important of which was that Jenkins had never, ever imagined such a relationship could exist between a Righteous God and a Pseudo-God.

If he didn't already know for a fact that there were two distinct paths to godhood, he might have gone mad from the thought that "there is no way to become a god; all gods were simply born as gods."

But even knowing that mortals could ascend, Jenkins was still terrified by the question of just how many Pseudo-Gods were avatars of Righteous Gods, or even higher beings. This was a grave problem. If the God of Music knew his secrets and had spent the last six months guiding him to defeat the Skull Sword, then the Sage must know as well.

And even setting aside the connection between the Sage and the God of Music, the very idea of a Righteous God creating a Pseudo-God as an avatar was staggering to consider.

"The Sage's divine domain already includes art and knowledge, so it's not illogical that She once held the [Music] domain and then split it off to create a new god. But why?"

He couldn't fathom the reason. Before this, he had never even considered such a possibility. In his mind, Pseudo-Gods and Righteous Gods were equally great but fundamentally different. They were intertwined, but never in this way. If a Pseudo-God could be an avatar of a Righteous God, then could a Righteous God be...

He pinched himself sharply, forcing himself to stop thinking about it. The mere possibility made his head throb and his chest tighten. He desperately tried to distract himself, to prevent his mind from returning to such a fatal question.

But the more anxious he became, the harder it was to stop thinking about it. His nose started bleeding without him even realizing it. Jenkins only knew he was bleeding when he felt the warm wetness touch his lips.

He fumbled for the towel on his nightstand, frantically trying to deal with the strange symptoms.

"Don't think about it, don't think about it..."

He muttered neurotically, then picked up his cat and began to stroke it relentlessly. It took a long time for his throbbing head to clear, but with that clarity came the certainty that a far more terrifying truth awaited him down that forbidden line of thought.

"But why? Oh! Don't think about it, don't think about it."

He anxiously kneaded Chocolate, who squirmed and let out a sound of displeasure but didn't struggle to escape.

To recover from the mental trauma, Jenkins spent the entire afternoon in bed. His deathly pale face startled Captain Bincy when he came to visit.

Captain Bincy was staying in the room next to Jenkins's; the two had already seen each other that morning.

"Papa Oliver was right to have you stay at the church, Jenkins. Don't push yourself. You need to recover properly before you can get back to work."

That was his advice, but Jenkins was in such a daze that he couldn't even find a suitable reason to argue.

Due to his terrible mental state, both his Wednesday evening arithmetic class and Miss Bevanna's combat lessons were canceled. When Jenkins woke up again, it was already six in the evening. A dark, rainy night raged just beyond his brightly lit bedroom. Hearing the groan he let out while clutching his head, the nuns waiting outside knocked before wheeling in his dinner on a cart.

Raindrops pattered against the glass, a dense, drum-like rhythm that carried the unique muffled dampness of a downpour.