Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 1166

There were no traps or hunting snares at the bottom of the hole Jenkins had fallen into, only a circular opening that glowed with a soft white light. The moment he entered the Mysterious Realm, Jenkins wasn't surprised at all; instead, it felt like a perfectly logical turn of events.

"This is just too much for me!"

After enduring two consecutive spatial transfers, Jenkins was struggling to keep himself from throwing up. He lay on his side on the cold marble floor. Aside from the feeling of the cat squirming in his coat, trying to escape, all he could see was the massive floor-to-ceiling window before him, which revealed a bizarrely crimson world and a yellow moon.

He now understood that Mysterious Realms originated from the worlds of the Dominators. The phantom scenery outside meant that at the moment the Dominator who owned this place achieved their power, the night sky of the material world likely still had only its primordial yellow moon.

Before Jenkins could even think about sitting up, a pair of large hands supported his arm. He turned his head to see that two companions were already waiting here. The one helping him up was a sturdy, middle-aged man in a heavy cotton coat. His skin was dark, and he had a distinct mole near the corner of his left eye. Not far away, a young woman in a mink coat was surveying their surroundings. She was taller than both Jenkins and the unfamiliar man.

Judging by her attire, she looked like a noblewoman, and her demeanor only reinforced that impression.

"Where in the world is this? Is it some local custom for aristocrats to personally participate in exploring Mysterious Realms?"

Jenkins couldn't figure it out, but his head was starting to feel a bit clearer, so he spoke up to thank the man who had helped him. His complexion, however, was still ghastly; the aftereffects of the spatial shift hadn't fully faded.

No one gave their real name. The strangers introduced themselves as Mr. Stone and Miss Glasses. Jenkins, in turn, decided to call himself Mr. Cat, since he did, in fact, have a cat with him.

With that, they prepared to face the adventure ahead.

From the looks of their surroundings, the room with the enormous floor-to-ceiling window was clearly an artist's studio. Canvases and oil paintings were scattered everywhere. Easels were arranged irregularly around the room, leaving only the area near the window clear.

Every easel held a canvas on a board, but most were blank. The few canvases that did have content depicted strange and grotesque scenes or creatures.

One couldn't look at these paintings for long, or else they would get the illusion that something was about to step out of the canvas, accompanied by a sense of inexplicable panic. It reminded Jenkins of the first Cursed Item he had destroyed—the painting that could manifest one's inner desires.

Thinking back, that had been over half a year ago.

Besides Jenkins and the two strangers, at the other end of the clearing by the window, a young painter stood with his back to the three of them. In his left hand, he held a palette, his thumb hooked through the hole, while his other hand held a brush, dabbing paint onto the blank canvas before him.

He wore an extravagant red formal suit, adorned with intricate tassels and lace even on the back. Atop his head sat a fluffy beret, and on his feet were a pair of brown, lace-up leather boots. He certainly looked the part of a painter.

Because they were so close, the trio could clearly see what he was painting: the three of them, right down to the cat poking its head out from between Jenkins's buttons. The painter's brush moved continuously across the canvas, yet he could effortlessly apply any color he desired.

Ignoring his cat's gaze fixed on the yellow moon outside the window, Jenkins looked at his companions. Seeing that they were reluctant to speak first, he cleared his throat and began.

"Excuse me, sir. I'm sorry to interrupt your work, but I was hoping you could tell us how we might leave this place."

His voice echoed through the vast, empty studio, the reverberations stirring an instinctive unease.

"You can leave after creating three paintings. It doesn't matter if you each paint one or if you divide it differently. As long as you can paint them, and paint them completely," the artist said, his back still to them. His voice was weary and cold, clearly annoyed that Jenkins had disturbed his train of thought.

Jenkins nodded. He scanned the room but couldn't find what he was looking for, so he glanced at Mr. Stone. It was his turn to ask a question.

The middle-aged man didn't hesitate. Understanding what Jenkins meant, he spoke up.

"In that case, if it's convenient, could we possibly borrow some paints and brushes?"

"The paintings here don't require paints or brushes. They require emotion! Memories! You untalented lot wouldn't understand." Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn NoveIꜰire.net

All three of them felt the sting of his contempt, but they couldn't exactly march over and beat up the painter who refused to face them.

But at least now they had a general idea of the situation. Unlike the anticlimactic doomsday Mysterious Realm Jenkins had experienced before, the rules of this one were clearly much simpler.

The trio, now temporary allies, moved a short distance away from the painter who wouldn't turn around and began to discuss their strategy in hushed tones. Jenkins was relieved that his companions were not new to Mysterious Realms; no one was trying to force someone else to go first.

"Rather than waste time, let's keep it simple. We'll draw lots to decide the order..." the woman suggested, then looked at Jenkins. "You make the lots, and we'll draw."

It sounded fair, but the abilities of Enchanters were notoriously strange, and Jenkins couldn't be sure if either of them had some power to control the outcome. The result, at least, was excellent for him: he drew the third position, Miss Glasses the second, and Mr. Stone the first.

"Destiny's Stage is a passive ability. I can't help it," he apologized silently to his companions. Mr. Stone, unable to hear Jenkins's thoughts, could only stare at the slip of paper with '1' written on it and sigh repeatedly, though he showed no signs of regret.

There were plenty of blank canvases around, so they had many to choose from. Mr. Stone looked from side to side before selecting the outermost one on their left, simply because it was the closest.

He turned back to look at the woman, as if to say something, but closed his mouth as soon as he opened it. Shaking his head, he walked alone to the canvas. He glanced at his empty hands, then, under the watchful eyes of the other two, extended his right index finger and touched the center of the canvas.

The man's body lurched violently. Then, with his finger as the epicenter, thick oil colors began to spread across the canvas like liquid.

At the same time, similarly uneven splotches of oil paint appeared on the studio walls. As the vibrant colors continued to spread, the space of the studio gradually began to blur.