Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 526

The Earl muttered, "My apologies, Baron Williams. I'm not sure what you're referring to."

The rhythm of his ringed fingers drumming on the tabletop changed, a detail Jenkins shrewdly noted.

"Whether you admit to knowing is irrelevant," Jenkins stated. "What matters is that I know what's in those letters."

Jenkins's expression turned grave. He rose, clasped his hands behind his back, and gazed out the window. It was another overcast night. In the sprawling, dimly lit city below, countless sins were likely unfolding under the cover of darkness.

The Earl gripped the arms of his chair, moving to rise, but some instinct held him in place.

"Do you have any idea what you've gotten your hands on?"

His voice was severe.

"I know. Of course, I know," Jenkins replied. "This is information that could plunge the kingdom into chaos. I grew up in this great nation, I have witnessed the madness and the progress of this age, and I certainly have no desire to see it destroyed."

The Earl finally shot to his feet, his face flushed crimson, his hair practically standing on end.

"Where did you get those letters? What is it you're planning?"

"I don't intend to do anything. I merely want you to be aware of what I possess... Naturally, should a time come when I need your assistance, I trust you will be very generous. I can also assure you that I am the only one who knows of these letters. Neither the Church nor the kingdom is aware of them."

After speaking, he let out a rather clumsy sneer and drew a circle in the air with his finger.

"At least a few hundred people know I came to visit you this evening. I trust you're not about to do anything foolish, are you?"

The Earl leaned forward, like an enraged old lion ready to pounce, but then he let out a self-mocking laugh and sank back into his chair.

Jenkins wasn't sure if his performance had been convincing, but he was confident he had achieved his objective. He desperately needed a secure channel for mundane information; investigating every lead himself was far too dangerous.

"Perhaps the man I've been investigating isn't you at all," the Earl mused. "But let me offer a word of warning. The matters involved in those letters run deep. If you don't wish to die a violent death, you'd be wise to keep your distance. You have no idea, you reckless young man. What you hold in your hands is more dangerous than a steam bomb."

The Earl clearly knew something about the witches, but it seemed he hadn't yet guessed that Jenkins was one of those peculiar Enchanters.

"I understand," Jenkins said. "But this is a matter between the two of us. If word of it gets out, the blame will fall squarely on you."

He was adamant on this point.

"So, who are you really working for?"

The Earl shook his head, clearly unconvinced. To obtain something so dangerous, Williams had to have a powerful faction behind him. As he stared at that young, handsome face, his mind drifted back to an incident a few months ago. It was at Marquis Mikhail's dinner party, where the marquis and the surprise guest, Duke Douglas Gerrod, had exchanged a few puzzling remarks. Later, in private, Marquis Mikhail had hinted at things the Earl hadn't grasped at the time...

For some reason, his thoughts jumped to the Queen, to the royal family, and to a photograph he had seen at Coldspring Palace in his youth. His mind reeled as if struck by lightning. A chain of seemingly unrelated events snapped together, pointing toward the most impossible conclusion.

His eyes widened as he stared at the young man's golden hair and his almost impossibly youthful face, remembering the innate aristocratic bearing he'd displayed at dinner.

If Jenkins could read minds, he would have heard the older man's despairing inner groan.

The young writer found the way the Earl was staring at him peculiar, but he assumed his threats were simply having the desired effect. He cleared his throat and gestured with his right hand.

"I'm rather pleased with the current atmosphere of our discussion. Let's continue... I agree to your proposal."

"Well... what? Oh..."

The Earl looked as though he were waking from a profound dream. He opened his mouth, on the verge of blurting something out, but then shook his head with a sigh. "I believe that was your proposal, wasn't it? What sort of hidden clauses are you looking to add?"

"No, I don't require any hidden clauses. As you're aware, I'm just a devout believer who occasionally finds himself entangled in small troubles."

He instinctively reached out to stroke Chocolate, only to remember he'd left his cat at home. A pang of longing hit him, followed by a wave of concern for the fate of his kitchen.

He had hidden the desserts in a rather obvious cupboard; the cat should have no trouble finding them.

"Don't tell me all those threats were merely to stand up for Hathaway."

Earl Hersha asked, his voice laced with a weary mockery.

From the Earl's expression, it was clear he didn't believe a word of it.

In truth, Jenkins didn't believe it either. Recent events had taught him the necessity of having additional information channels. His conversation with the Earl today was just the beginning; he was certain he would have use for the man in the future.

"Well then, that concludes my visit for this evening. Professionals from the Church will handle the subsequent discussions with you. Whether or not you get what you desire will depend entirely on your attitude."

The Earl nodded, his gaze lingering on Jenkins for a moment. There was a profound depth in his weary eyes.

"You're just like a shadow."

"I don't understand what you mean." The source of thɪs content is n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net

The older man stood up, his imposing presence—intimidating even without anger—filling the room. "You're standing right here before me, and I know your file inside and out, yet... you feel completely unreal. It's as if I'm speaking to an illusion."

He was surely being sarcastic, mocking how the pure-hearted writer persona Jenkins had crafted was so at odds with the cunning he'd shown in their conversation.

But what did it matter? A shadow, an illusion—it was all the same. Jenkins often had to remind himself of his "current" identity to keep his secrets from being dragged into the light.

"Like a... real illusion."

the Earl concluded, his gaze distant, his thoughts inscrutable.

Jenkins couldn't quite put his finger on the results of their meeting, but he felt that these high-society power struggles were largely irrelevant to him. He had accomplished his goal. To prevent the old lion from having a sudden, desperate change of heart and deciding to drag him down with him, Jenkins decided it was best to head home early and deal with his own little gluttonous cat.