Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 1221

The sword-wielding giant roared, wrenching its greatsword from where it was plunged into the earth beneath the far northern sky. With great strides, it charged toward the snowfields to the north, each footfall shaking the ground like an earthquake.

The god in the sky nodded, satisfied. After confirming that a third of its divine power remained, it infused the castle of ice and snow cupped in its right hand with that power, along with a sliver of its soul and the very essence of its godhood.

The crystalline ice castle, which had been reflecting the god’s brilliant radiance, now began to emit a light of its own.

It floated slowly from the god's palm, ascending higher into the night sky.

In that instant, a phantasmal image of the ice palace was projected across the skies of the entire northern continent. The palace itself continued to expand, and when it finally ceased its rotation, hanging motionless beneath the stars, it nearly blotted out the heavens.

Within the palace, the swordsmen, archers, knights, astrologers, and priests all assumed their posts. They opened the great gates and stood on the plaza, gazing down at the world below.

In the distance, the sword-wielding giant moved with apocalyptic force, its strikes violently shearing a third off the nearest mountaintop.

A wave of its hand sent a slash of silver-white energy sweeping across the plains, while the breath of ice and fire it exhaled annihilated most of the snowmen. As its body shuddered, countless humanoid undead fashioned from bone and ice rained down upon the earth. They scattered in every direction like rabid dogs, herding the few snowmen who had managed to escape into one place.

An ice-blue light flickered from the castle in the sky as the god and its mount entered the palace. Down below, the giant let out one final roar before self-destructing with a peculiar, high-pitched whine, leaving a massive basin in the far northern ice cap.

From that day forward, the endlessly regenerating Cursed Item, A-01-1-8322 [Snowman Legion], was no more. In its place were only the snowman soldiers who guarded the palace and the snowman servants who cleaned and managed it.

But this, in turn, created a new problem.

"Because the palace assimilated the snowmen, everything within it—including the five chess pieces—is now bound to the northern region of the continent? To the Hamparvo Kingdom and the borders of a few neighboring nations? And even if I wanted to take them, I could only ever move two of the pieces away at most?"

This was the information the god perceived. While somewhat disappointed, it was a reality it could accept. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ NoveIＦire.net

By now, the snowmen had all vanished; no humanoid figures moved upon the great northern ice cap. Gazing down, the god saw the embers of black demonic fire still smoldering, and the vast, bleak ice plain was littered with blood and bone.

With a wave of its hand, the god retrieved its sword from the smoking basin on the ice plain. Then, it produced the box used to regulate the elemental spirits of the material world. After setting aside just enough divine power for its return, it infused the box with all the remaining divinity, now saturated with the essence of its own power.

As the god sighed, a soft click echoed—a sound almost every Enchanter in the far north could perceive. The people on the ground, still reeling from the spectacle they had witnessed, suddenly felt a white chill spreading outward from the celestial castle.

The lid of the box sprang open, and a blizzard descended upon the land. Within the falling snow, motes of ice-blue light flew from all corners of the world toward the plain, finally gathering inside the box. And the snow itself fell everywhere, blanketing the entire world.

That night, snow fell across the entire material world. People everywhere emerged from their homes—some with surprise, others with worry, some with excitement, others with fear—and all reached out to catch the delicate flakes.

Though everything would return to normal by morning, it was a night that would be forever etched in memory.

(Finney is praying...)

It was early Friday morning, long before dawn. Jenkins stood by the window in his pajamas, watching the snowflakes drift down from the night sky.

Chocolate was sprawled across his pillow, the cat's body stretched out into a long, furry line. Its chin rested on the softest part of the cushion as it cracked open one eye to sneak a glance at Jenkins.

The pocket watch on his nightstand ticked away, its open cover reflecting the soft, warm yellow glow of the gas lamp. It wasn't even six o'clock. Beside the watch sat a model of the ice palace, about the size of a cake. As it was a Series B Extraordinary item, it couldn't be absorbed into his spirit like a Bestowal, even though he was its sole controller.

The cat let out a low meow, as if urging Jenkins to come back to bed, but he paid it no mind. He rested his left hand on the windowsill, his right thumb stroking the archer chess piece he had taken from the palace model.

"I've saved the world again, and without boasting about it to a single soul," he thought. "So why don't I feel the least bit happy?"

He couldn't take the ice palace or its five chess pieces with him, but the venture hadn't been without its rewards. The moment his soul returned to his body, he keenly sensed that his [Ice Solidification] ability had evolved once more. The ability's name and color remained the same, but his mastery over ice and snow had now reached the absolute pinnacle of what a human could achieve.

"I saved the world and grew stronger in the process... This should be a good thing, yet my heart feels inexplicably heavy."

The weight didn't come from the all-planning Lord of Winter, but from a deep-seated worry for the world's fate.

Alexia had mentioned long ago that she'd sensed an imbalance in the world's elemental order for years. Now, it seemed, that imbalance was finally erupting.

It was a clear sign that the end of the Epoch might not be far off. The order of the material world was collapsing, step by step, and the decay was manifesting in every way humanity could perceive.

It wasn't just Nolan, the center of the vortex; the whole world was now shrouded in the oppressive feeling of an impending storm. The signs were simply more obvious here.

He had only come to Ruen, thousands of miles from home, because of Chocolate, and yet he'd stumbled right into this mess. It was an inevitability born from coincidence. Disasters of this magnitude might not be common, but he was certain they would happen again in the future.

This led Jenkins to wonder all the more: if this was just a precursor, what terrifying spectacle would the great cataclysm at the end of the Epoch—an event he knew for certain was coming—truly be?

He didn't dare speak the full name. He was in a temporary state of weakness following his deification, and there was no need to invite trouble.