Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 1188

Disasters sparked by mortals who rashly meddled with the supernatural out of greed and desire were nothing new to Jenkins; he had seen it happen in Nolan more than once. But now, with the succession to the throne at stake, anything was possible.

The thought made Jenkins sigh. He turned his gaze out the window. Their carriage had already entered the city, where snow from the previous day still blanketed the ground, the temperature not yet having risen enough to melt it. It was as if the city had been plunged back into winter overnight.

But the chill did nothing to dampen the people's festive spirits. On the contrary, the snowfall only intensified the citizens' enthusiasm for the Ice and Snow Festival, many considering it an excellent omen.

"I still have no idea what the Ice and Snow Festival is actually supposed to celebrate."

To dispel his unease, Jenkins deliberately changed the subject.

"Every festival has a reason for being, of course," Alexia began, "but the records I've been able to find only show that it's existed locally since at least the 13th Epoch. It went by a different name back then, but the modern Ice and Snow Festival is undoubtedly a continuation of a traditional holiday celebrated by the continent's northern natives. No one can truly explain its origins. It's incredibly ancient—older than the most authentic histories recorded by the churches."

"Oh, really?" Jenkins replied, intrigued. "Most festivals in human civilization are born from a connection to deities or god-like natural phenomena. Since this is an Ice and Snow Festival, it could be related to some powerful ice creature from a bygone era. Or perhaps the ancient natives worshipped a god with an ice and snow domain, or even some Extraordinary being or Cursed Item with similar powers."

He paused for a moment, then realized that none of the pseudo-gods with ice-related domains had any connection to the festival. For a celebration this significant, if it were truly linked to a specific deity, Jenkins was certain he would have heard of it.

"The vast divine system of the Righteous God, the Spirit of All Things, includes the Four Seasons," Alexia pointed out. "If you were to break it down further, the domain of Winter would fall under that great being's purview."

"That makes it all the more fascinating," Jenkins mused. "A festival from the distant past with no clear point of origin, one that has survived to this day with its core meaning—the celebration of ice and snow—intact. That in itself is unusual. There must be something more to it."

"Don't get too wrapped up in it, Jenkins," Alexia said. "Honestly, festivals with untraceable origins aren't that uncommon in human society; the Ice and Snow Festival is just the most famous of them. Let's not dwell on it. We're here to celebrate today, aren't we? It's not every day you get to appear publicly in Ruen. I don't think we need to waste our time on such peculiar matters."

The petite woman's words were enough to convince him. Jenkins nodded immediately, stroking the drowsy cat on his lap and pushing the matter to the back of his mind for now.

They didn't find Dolores at the designated club after arriving in the city. A letter from Julia arrived sometime later, explaining that the princess had been summoned by her father to attend the opening ceremony of the Ice and Snow Festival with him. She wouldn't be free until that afternoon. Read complete versıon only at novｅlfire.net

Jenkins, of course, didn't mind the change of plans. Alexia, on the other hand, seemed quite pleased.

As was tradition, the festival's opening ceremony involved a public speech by the king in front of the Parliament Square. Aside from his address at the Year's End Festival, it was one of the few times a year King Salhir II made an appearance before the public.

Had Dolores been with him, Jenkins wouldn't have minded attending. But since she wasn't, he saw no reason to subject himself to such a tedious affair.

"So," Alexia asked, "have you time to go shopping with me? Spring is just around the corner, and I was in such a rush when I came to Ruen that I didn't pack nearly enough clothes."

Jenkins considered her smiling proposal. It certainly sounded more interesting than listening to a speech, so he readily agreed.

Their "shopping trip" didn't last long. Alexia bought a single scarf, more as a token gesture than anything, and had Jenkins purchase a bag of pinecones from the frost pines unique to the far north as souvenirs for his friends in Nolan. With their errands done, she began leading him on a tour through the city.

Jenkins privately worried whether the pinecones would survive Chocolate's claws until they returned home.

The sudden drop in temperature had forced everyone back into their bulky winter coats, making the already jam-packed streets feel even more crowded.

A wax museum in the southern part of the city was offering free admission for the day, and as lunchtime approached, Jenkins and Alexia found themselves stopping there. When Jenkins casually remarked that "wax figures are far more interesting than ice sculptures," the old curator—a man whose beard was even longer than Bishop Parrold's—overheard him and enthusiastically invited them in, even opening an exhibit that was meant to be closed to the public.

"Look at this," Jenkins said, gesturing. "This wax figure of a cat is incredible. It looks almost real."

He craned his neck to get a better look. On his shoulder, Chocolate snorted with a look of pure disdain. Alexia, watching from the side, let out a soft laugh. She was, of course, well aware of the complicated relationship between Jenkins and his cat.

"I would have thought your attention would be drawn to the nude wax figure next to the cat," Alexia teased. "Truly, you never cease to surprise, Jenkins."

"Why would I pay any mind to something so indecent?"

Jenkins assumed the main reason this particular exhibit was rarely opened was that most of the wax figures were unclothed. Alexia held a contrary view. As the curator had just explained, all the pieces here were the work of a single master, an artist whose creative style emphasized natural beauty over attire.

Lacking any deep artistic appreciation, Jenkins was about to form a shallow rebuttal in his mind when he suddenly froze. He stared at the wall beside them, and a moment later, Alexia turned her head in the same direction, a puzzled look on her face.

"Is it just my imagination?" Jenkins murmured. "I thought I heard screaming... and the sound of frantic footsteps. Is there a riot outside?"

Alexia spoke hesitantly, then raised a hand and swept it across her eyes. A blue light flared in their depths as her gaze seemed to pierce through the walls, trying to see far into the distance.

"There's trouble in the city," she announced, her voice tight. "It seems to be coming from the city center. That's where... Has King Salhir II's speech ended yet?"

Jenkins didn't know whether the king's speech was over, but he could certainly recognize the booming report of a steam cannon. Unlike conventional gunpowder artillery, steam cannons used steam for their initial propulsion, which drastically increased their range and accuracy. The trade-off was that the beautiful, brass-colored pieces of mechanical art were incredibly difficult to move. Unless mounted on a locomotive powered by the most potent of steam engines, they had to be fixed in place once assembled.

And it was common knowledge that there were no railway tracks in the city center.