Chapter 1751: Chapter 1751

The fissure in the wall began as a crack no longer than a pencil, but once it was noticed, it began to expand rapidly. Jenkins faintly heard a sound like shattering glass.

A powerful suction emanated from the depths of the endless white light. Professor Burns and Audrey quickly took a step back. Jenkins, meanwhile, grabbed his cat with one hand and his cousin with the other, watching as the fissure widened until it became an irregular white portal, large enough for two people to pass through.

"Don't worry, we'll be back soon." Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs NovєlFіre.net

He shouted over the wind generated by the suction, then stepped through the door to the Mysterious Realm with the woman at his side.

The white light was a maelstrom of bizarre, incomprehensible illusions. When his feet finally touched solid ground, Jenkins was forced to let go of Chocolate and Sigrid. He dropped to one knee on the soft earth, one hand clamped over his stomach to keep from throwing up.

His last meal had been the birthday banquet, where he'd eaten and drunk a little too much. Combined with the intense nausea from the spatial transfer, Jenkins came dangerously close to defiling the patch of earth beneath his feet.

The air was cold, but colder still were the raindrops that fell from the sky, striking his body relentlessly. Back in the church, the summer heat had caused him to sweat lightly, leaving his pores open. Now, before his body had any chance to acclimate to the new environment, it was shocked by the sudden chill of the rain. Jenkins shuddered, a nasty premonition that he might catch a cold creeping into his mind.

The cat, not fond of being wet, quickly wriggled from his grasp and burrowed into his pocket. Beside him, Sigrid pressed tightly against his right arm for warmth. The rain wasn't heavy, but for two people without an umbrella, it might as well have been a downpour.

The rain plastered Sigrid's golden hair to the sides of her face, and water trickled down the strands.

Behind them seemed to be a forest, but visibility was so poor that they could only faintly make out withered branches reaching toward the bank like the gnarled fingers of a witch from a fairy tale. Jenkins shook his head, telling Sigrid not to look back. From experience, he knew the darkness behind them likely marked the boundary of the Mysterious Realm.

Though there was no apparent source of light, the shimmering stream still reflected a gleam from somewhere unknown. Using the water's reflection, Jenkins strained his eyes through the rain, finally spotting a figure in a gray robe sitting on the opposite bank, almost completely blended into the darkness.

But Jenkins didn't immediately lead Sigrid toward the nearby stream. Instead, he spoke to the young woman leaning against him:

"I couldn't really talk freely back there. Now that it's just the two of us, go ahead and ask."

The golden-haired young woman shivered from the cold, and Jenkins belatedly remembered that her constitution wasn't as robust as his. He raised his right hand, as if to grip a pen, intending to sketch a large umbrella into existence. But just as he activated his [Psychography], the ability fizzled out. Jenkins glanced up into the falling rain, puzzled. The rules of this Mysterious Realm seemed to be prohibiting his actions.

"I only have one question. Once you answer it, I think everything else will make sense. Who... who were our ancestors, really?"

The nun from the Church of All Things and Nature hadn't noticed his attempt, her voice trembling slightly as she asked her question. Jenkins then tried to summon his bestowed fire to bring them some warmth, but the flames had barely licked his skin before they were extinguished and drawn back inside him.

It was the same as what had happened with [Psychography]. It wasn't that the ability failed, but rather that its use was being actively suppressed.

"Our ancestors were priests of the World Tree."

Jenkins said softly in her ear. For a moment, it felt as if they were back in the mirror realm, facing a similar trial. As he spoke, he led Sigrid toward the edge of the stream. The creek was the only thing "glowing" in this entire Mysterious Realm, and past experience told him that meant their task would unfold by its banks.

Sigrid whispered in wonder. As she acclimated to her surroundings, she quickly recovered her composure. Noticing the undignified way she was leaning against Jenkins, she gracefully shifted her weight away from him.

"Yes. Our ancestors were priests of the World Tree, part of the elven royal family. Because of this bloodline, even as half-elves, we possess a natural talent that surpasses even that of ordinary elves. We can even learn the elven tongue instinctively, through the power passed down in our veins."

He nodded, his gaze fixed on the figure across the stream. That person was likely the narrator for this Mysterious Realm, the one who would explain the rules. Normally, it was best not to look directly at such beings; doing so could cause psychic damage. But surprisingly, Jenkins felt no ill effects this time. He could even see that the figure was holding a lute.

"So, this Mysterious Realm... is it a trial for us, from the World Tree?"

Sigrid asked. Back in the church, Jenkins hadn't mentioned a "Lord".

"No, not the World Tree," Jenkins corrected. "It's... a being of a higher order than even the Righteous Gods."

The golden-haired nun fell silent. She had never heard of such a being and was unsure whether to believe him.

"It's difficult to accept, I know. But in truth, worlds exist beyond the material plane where intelligent life can persist for eons, though those realms are often strange and perilous. Their masters are more powerful and far more difficult to comprehend than the Righteous Gods. I can't tell you their titles—you must understand that sometimes, a mere name or designation holds immense power. But I can tell you what the elves believe. The name of the one who is testing us now. Yes, that great being is commonly known as the Lord of Blossoms."

The moment the last syllable left his lips, Jenkins felt a gaze descend upon him from an impossibly high place. But as he lifted his head, the sensation vanished. It was somewhat like being watched by the Sage, but the Sage's gaze was far gentler than this.

At the same time, a trickle of red blood seeped from the corner of Sigrid's mouth, but the small amount was quickly washed away by the rain.

They were both priests of the World Tree, beloved by the Lord of Blossoms, which was why Jenkins had dared to speak the name aloud to Sigrid.

"I... I think I understand."

After a moment of dazed comprehension, the golden-haired young woman nodded. In that name, she had received a wealth of information that she was never meant to know.

Jenkins said no more. The two of them walked quickly to the edge of the stream, stopping on the pebble bank without stepping into the water. They watched as the gray-robed figure on the opposite side lifted the lute, plucked a string—the note piercing the sound of the rain—and began to sing in a low, elegant elven tongue.

The song that drifted through the rain was exceptionally sorrowful, yet it carried a sense of ancient, weathered wisdom—a timeless quality. It was an elven ballad Jenkins had never heard before:

"An ancient story begins with the first of a line, The first blood, Bound by sacred pact beneath the boughs.

When history fades to legend, When legend turns to myth, When myth is but dust in the wind, One thing remains eternal, The story that flows ever onward.

The veins on the leaf mark the passage of light, The grain of the bark lets the river of time run.

And a day will surely come, Once more, And once again, When blossoms bloom across the forest deep.

A surge of vibrant life, Will let the most ancient tree stand tall upon the world.

I come to you from the rain, To sing the tales of old, And witness a new myth unfold."

The voice was distinctly male, and Jenkins breathed a sigh of relief. Had it been a woman's voice, he would have suspected that the Lord of Blossoms might descend into that body at any moment to speak with him.

He was quite certain that, just as the Sage never walked the material world in a male form, the Lord of Blossoms would not choose to speak to him through the body of a male elf.

The gray-robed figure also had no umbrella. After finishing the song, he did not raise his head, leaving his face shrouded by the robe's hood. He must have known through some extrasensory perception that the two on the opposite bank had approached the stream, because he stopped singing and addressed them:

"There is one more of you than I anticipated, but I welcome you both. It is my honor, esteemed ones, to be here and prepare your trial."

He spoke in an exaggerated, theatrical voice, as if reciting poetry. For some reason, Jenkins felt that the voice was familiar, that he had heard it before.

Bored in his pocket, the cat attempted to poke its head out, only to be immediately pressed back down by Jenkins.

"Do not be alarmed. This Mysterious Realm holds no danger, nor is failure a possibility. While it is impolite to have you both stand in the rain, those are not rules of my making, so I ask for your forgiveness. Furthermore, this realm prohibits all abilities, items, and rituals unrelated to life. This is the supreme rule here, and you both will have to bear with it."

Seeing that neither Jenkins nor Sigrid had any questions, the figure extended a long, slender finger from beneath his robe and pointed upstream:

"The rules are simple. In a moment, bodies will begin to float down from upstream. Your task is to retrieve them from the water and bury them. I do not know the exact number of bodies, but it should not prove too troublesome."

His voice carried clearly through the rain, ensuring both Jenkins and Sigrid could hear him perfectly. But Jenkins looked around at the pebble-strewn bank:

"And we are to bury them here?"

The woods in the darkness behind them might have soil, but Jenkins had no desire to leave the area illuminated by the stream's faint light.

"Yes, right here. You need only cover the surface of the corpses. It should be little more than manual labor."

the elf on the opposite bank said.

Jenkins glanced at his cousin, but Sigrid just shook her head, indicating she had no questions. With that, Jenkins had none either. Noticing the rain was growing heavier, he felt a bit troubled and began to consider whether he should grow a tree from a seed to give them some shelter.