Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 1223

The clock ticked past five-forty, nearing the usual hour when both man and cat would stir. Chocolate finally seemed to accept that Jenkins had no intention of sleeping before nightfall. The cat rose from the pillow, hopped to the floor, and then sprang onto the windowsill.

As Chocolate padded over, Jenkins instinctively reached out and scratched under its chin. The cat narrowed its eyes, tilting its head as its short fur ruffled in the morning breeze.

Jenkins let out a long yawn into the breeze, and Chocolate immediately followed suit, despite having slept perfectly well all night.

"Awake so early, Chocolate? Oh, right. It’s almost dawn."

The young writer sighed and gestured toward the window. Sheets of fallen snow lifted from the ground, the tree branches, and the rooftop, swirling into the room. They coalesced near his nightstand, compressing and reshaping themselves into several miniature replicas of the ice palace.

"There, that should do it." Thɪs chapter is updated by novęlfire.net

Although they were still a great distance from the front lines, by the time everyone had risen and was preparing to gather for the train journey, the local church had already received a message from the command headquarters in Ruen. The hundred-strong contingent was ordered to return.

Locals had also witnessed the celestial anomaly the previous night. After cross-referencing reports from various sources, the captains from the different churches had managed to piece together most of the truth.

Finding a train to take them back to Ruen took some effort, but thanks to the Church's coordination, four carriages were temporarily hitched to a Ruen-bound passenger steam engine that afternoon. Carrying the ice sculptures Jenkins had created, the team filed into the dilapidated little station, its air thick with steam and coal dust.

Jenkins had created the ice sculptures specifically to aid in the investigation of the previous night’s events. As the only one to have seen the castle up close by day and its complete ethereal projection by night, the models he provided were invaluable.

As for the palace on the snowy mountain outside of town, an investigation party had been dispatched that morning. They found nothing but a bare, snow-covered hill. Had the celestial image not been so strikingly similar, the entire affair might have been dismissed as an episode of mass hysteria.

Thus, when the train carrying Jenkins and his contingent finally chugged back into Ruen, it was already Saturday morning. Exhausted, Jenkins disembarked with one of the ice models packed in a cardboard box and his cat in tow, only to be met by a large crowd waiting to greet him at the station entrance.

After a moment’s thought, he handed the ice sculpture and his cat over to Dolores’s servants to be taken back to the estate as mementos, then boarded a church carriage with his companions to return to the cathedral.

Those who had remained at the church held a grand welcoming ceremony for the returning party. Although they hadn’t actually done anything—or even reached the front lines—the expedition had still been remarkably fruitful.

The ice-blue heart left behind by the yeti and the dozens of palace models were taken away by the local Keepers of Secrets. Furthermore, with the sudden cessation of hostilities at the front, a demigod named Mr. Rosier, who had been urgently recalled to the Ruen diocese, was finally able to meet with Jenkins.

He was a middle-aged man with a gentle and refined demeanor, though likely older than Bishop Parrold himself. An acquaintance of the bishop, he chatted with Jenkins for a while about the recent incident before turning the conversation to Nolan.

He had been stationed in Nolan more than twenty years ago, remaining there for five years before being transferred. He was a Nolan native and had lived and worked there his entire life before ascending to the rank of demigod. As such, he had known Bishop Parrold since their youth and even remembered a young Robert Williams arriving in Nolan as a refugee.

"Saint Williamette, I remember your father. That year, very few of the poor souls who managed to escape the plague-ravaged districts ever made it to Nolan. Most of those who did sought refuge with the Church. I still recall it was a Wednesday afternoon, before sunset. He walked into the church with a small bundle on his back, explained who he was, and asked for sanctuary. I happened to be in the main chapel, listening to old Bishop Percival’s sermon... To think so many years have passed in the blink of an eye."

The gentleman warmly invited Jenkins to dine at the church, and over the meal, they spoke of Bel Diran, Nolan, and Ruen.

He was rather tight-lipped about the ice disaster and the recent incident in Ruen, merely hinting to Jenkins that the final conclusion would be determined jointly by the Church and the Hamparvo government.

Of course, given the chaos within the Stuart royal family and the widespread impact of the disaster, it was difficult to predict how everything would conclude. For now, all that those who had experienced it firsthand could do was write up their tedious reports and submit them.

"Did you know that writing reports for every little thing—even thought pieces and weekly summaries when on the front lines—is a unique tradition of the Sage Church? Some have called it an archaic holdover, a bad habit that ought to be abolished, but most of us find it rather... ceremonial."

Only a demigod of the Church would dare to joke with Jenkins in such a manner.

"I’m actually quite in favor of the practice. There’s a certain... familiar feeling to it. Still, writing them so frequently can certainly be a hassle."

A nostalgic look crossed Jenkins’s face.

Mr. Rosier asked, looking perplexed.

It was nearly ten o’clock at night when Jenkins finally left the church. Before he boarded the carriage back to Dolores’s estate, Father Fernando, the priest responsible for his affairs in Ruen, reminded him of two things. First, the Church would be holding a commendation ceremony soon and hoped for his attendance. Second, Bel Diran could issue new orders for him at any moment, so they needed to know if he intended to remain at the princess’s suburban estate.

"Of course. I’ll be staying there for the duration of my time in Ruen."

He replied, and from the look on Father Fernando’s face, Jenkins suspected the priest had misunderstood something... though on second thought, perhaps he hadn’t.

King Sarlisi II had regained consciousness during Jenkins’s absence, which meant Dolores was no longer permitted to reside outside the royal palace. Consequently, only Alexia was at the estate. She welcomed Jenkins back with a great, warm hug.