Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 1159

It was rare for the old elf to speak at such length, and his expression was exceedingly grave. Jenkins, therefore, listened intently, trying to parse every word.

"So, the ultimate theme of this epoch isn't 'Steam' as foretold by the Millstone of Fate?"

"No. The Millstone of Fate provides the most accurate records of the future, but they aren't comprehensive. Do you understand, Jenkins? Sometimes, an incomplete truth is far more terrifying than an outright lie."

Jenkins understood this perfectly. After all, he himself was a master of that very art.

Before leaving, the old elf had asked when Jenkins planned to brew the elven potion. Jenkins was ready now, so after calculating the lunar phases, he decided to begin his preparations on the next full moon—at the start of the coming month.

"You will be pleased,"

the elf said, his voice filled with anticipation.

"Are you saying I'll be able to uncover the Williams family's secrets?"

After leaving the old elf's home, Jenkins summoned a unicorn to fly him back to his own house. He had decided to perform the ritual in his basement.

His home was well-stocked with wood; plenty of firewood remained from the winter. After building a bonfire, he treated the mercury with the alternating heat of his Inexhaustible Fire and the cold of his Frost Punch.

When he applied the mercury to the book's cover, no unusual text appeared. With little else to do, Jenkins sat before the blazing bonfire, glanced at his cat waiting by the wall, and opened the book to the first page.

The book had no ; the first page was simply the beginning of the first story. He cleared his throat and began to read aloud:

"At the dawn of the 15th Epoch, the Rhodil Empire..."

His approach seemed to be working. As Jenkins read from the mercury-coated book, a strange sound emanated from the flames before him. He quickly memorized the next line, slowed his reading pace, and looked up to see the once-calm fire suddenly surge, its flames licking the basement ceiling.

Within the orange blaze, images flickered past in rapid succession. At first, they were so blurry that Jenkins couldn't discern what they depicted. But as the images slowed, they eventually settled on a familiar scene.

The central figure in the flames was Jenkins himself. He was seated alone on the left half of the vision, in the dim light of his study, pen in hand, writing a manuscript. The room's layout was unmistakable—it was the scene of him writing the "Stranger's Story Collection" last year. In stark contrast, the right half of the image was bright and glamorous, depicting a lively ballroom where fashionably dressed young men and women reveled in their youthful exuberance.

"What is this supposed to mean?"

Jenkins wondered, lowering his head to continue reading. The book wasn't thick; each story was brief, focusing on the conclusion rather than the journey. He estimated he could finish it in about an hour and a half without a problem.

As Jenkins looked down, the light on the page shifted, indicating that the fire before him was wavering.

The crackling of the fire soon gave way to a different sound, a low hum like a swarm of bees. It took Jenkins a moment to realize it was the murmur of a large crowd of people talking.

He quickly memorized the next sentence and looked up, only to find he was no longer in his basement. Instead, he was in the lively ballroom from the vision.

Everyone was dancing with abandon, the spirited music making his heart pound in time with the rhythm. Jenkins, sitting on the floor clutching a tattered book, was a complete anomaly. Fortunately, the dancers all seemed to subconsciously steer clear of him.

Jenkins paid it no mind. All he had to do was finish reading the book.

Suddenly, he heard a flurry of clicking high heels. Five beautiful young women, as if just noticing him, danced over in a whirl of motion and encircled him.

The young women's heels tapped out an energetic rhythm on the floor. As they spun, their beautiful dresses flared up, giving the seated Jenkins a view of their fine silk stockings and the skin just above them.

"What a remarkable era," he thought, "that silk stockings could be crafted with such finesse."

He caught the faint scent of perfume on the air—a floral fragrance that happened to be his favorite.

"Sir, would you care for a dance?"

The young women extended their invitations one after another with warm smiles, but Jenkins paid them no heed, his gaze fixed on the book.

"If this is a test," he mused, "it's a little too simple."

He licked his finger to turn the page, then rubbed his nose, which was slightly sensitive to the women's perfume. With a soft pop, the ballroom vanished, and Jenkins found himself back in his damp, chilly basement.

The abrupt silence that followed the lively noise made the empty basement feel eerily quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his cat, bored, batting at a black ring on the floor. Jenkins nodded to himself and returned to his book.

The fire crackled. Jenkins was reluctant to look up and see what had changed this time, but the firelight itself forced the issue, projecting a shadow play—like a scene from a paper cutting—onto the blank margins of the page.

Though rendered only in black and white—or rather, black and yellow, against the book's aged pages—it managed to depict a complex scene with surprising precision. Thıs content belongs to novel·fire.net

Like the previous vision, this one was split in two. On the left, a silhouette that resembled Jenkins walked alone under an umbrella, traversing a deserted street on a gloomy night. A figure lay in wait for him at a distant alleyway. If Jenkins remembered correctly, that should have been an ambushing vampire. On the right side of the image, the scene was not formed by shadows but by the yellowed paper itself, which depicted the figures. It appeared to be a Williams family dinner. Everyone was present, even his older brother, Newman, who shouldn't have been in Nolan at the time.

"Is this supposed to be a test, too?"

If he didn't have to keep reading, Jenkins would have snorted with derision. But as the thought crossed his mind, the heartwarming scene on the right instantly changed. The silhouettes of Hathaway and Briny appeared in the blank space. The two young women were seated at a long dining table, seemingly deep in conversation.

The strange buzzing sound returned. When it subsided, Jenkins was no longer in his basement but in an exquisitely decorated dining room.

Hathaway and Briny, dressed in comfortable house clothes, sat facing each other from opposite sides of a long dining table.

Jenkins could hear their voices now. The two of them were discussing their futures, fantasizing about what life would be like after they were married... married to him.