Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 543

On the frantic ride back to the church, the blue moon, once swallowed by the eclipse, had already begun to re-emerge. By the time Jenkins finally climbed into bed and shut his eyes, its azure light streamed unimpeded by the crimson glow.

But it felt as if he had only just closed his eyes when a flurry of footsteps echoed from the hallway, followed by a series of hurried knocks on his door. Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs Nov3lFɪre.ɴet

The combat squads were back, and some of them needed immediate attention for severe blood loss. Standard healing abilities typically worked on injuries and curses, not replenishment, so they had no choice but to rouse the sleeping Jenkins once more.

He left Chocolate alone in his room, giving the cat its favorite metal block to placate it, before rushing off to begin his work.

The work kept him busy until four in the morning. He collapsed onto his bed, and when he next opened his eyes, the world outside was already shrouded in the dusty haze of day.

Still groggy, he fumbled for the pocket watch on his nightstand, nearly knocking over a glass of water in the process.

“Ten o’clock? Oh, I’m late!”

He snatched up the cat snoozing beside his pillow and shot out of bed. Amidst Chocolate's disgruntled meows, he threw on his clothes without even stopping for breakfast and bolted out the door.

He pushed open the shop door and leaned against the counter, panting heavily under Papa Oliver’s surprised gaze. Although he’d only sprinted across the street after hopping out of a carriage, Jenkins figured that appearing this winded would make it hard for the old man to scold him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I'm sure I had Bishop Parrold send you a message this morning. I told him it was fine for you to come in whenever you woke up. You must have been swamped last night. A terrible business.”

The cat, who had been unceremoniously stuffed into his overcoat moments before, finally managed to wriggle its head free from the collar. Judging by the glare it shot Jenkins, it was furious.

Last night’s events had caused a massive stir. The phenomenon of the red moon dominating the sky had been visible across the entire continent. Even in this age, where people were not as superstitious as they once were, any eclipse—solar or lunar—was still seen as a harbinger of disaster. The morning paper, at least, had dedicated its entire front page to the celestial anomaly.

But Papa Oliver had far more information. It was from him that Jenkins learned that three arcane mazes had been activated the night before. The one created by a demigod-level vampire had caused the most damage, and the Enchanters who faced it were the same ones Jenkins had healed.

The other two level-seven aberrations had fared little better. One had run into a demigod priest from the Church of the Storm Lord and Miss Bevanna, while the other had encountered a follower of a New God riding a unicorn. The first was nearly killed by the two demigods; the second was severely wounded by the Twin Demons during an aerial pursuit.

“Things are even worse than we imagined,” Papa Oliver said, his voice grave. “Their goal last night was clearly to harvest the blood of powerful individuals, but we have no idea why.”

Papa Oliver looked deeply troubled. “And the followers of the New Gods have shown up again. It seems they're everywhere. They're like shadows—no one knows who they are, and they leave no trace. And yet, they are undeniably real, and the incidents they stir up never cease.”

“But in this case, at least, the followers of the New Gods did help us.”

Jenkins reminded him.

“You could say that,” Papa Oliver conceded. “But the followers of the New Gods constantly toe the line of illegality. If you were to draw lines between good and evil, they would undoubtedly be the most dangerous of neutrals.”

“But this world has never been about absolute good and evil.”

Jenkins only dared to think the words, not speak them aloud.

A carriage clattered past the shopfront, its passengers hurrying on to some distant destination. Inside, the metalwork in the display window caught the soft glow of the hearth, the flickering light casting an alluring sheen on Chocolate’s beautiful black-and-white fur.

Jenkins listened to Papa Oliver’s account of the previous night while scanning the newspaper. Whether it was for the sake of the “Real Illusion” or because of that dangerous mirror, he knew he had to continue his investigation into the vampires.

His greatest mistake the night before had been not using his divinity outright. While it would have meant depleting his most powerful “weapon” once again, the power of the Star Spirit—promised to manifest in the material world upon the mirror's destruction—would have been both immense and decisive.

“I can’t hold back like that next time.”

He nodded in response to Papa Oliver, silently resolving that the moment he found another trace of the mirror, he would not hesitate.

Since Jenkins couldn't return home for the time being, and Hathaway, as a follower of the Earth Mother, couldn't exactly waltz into the Sage's Church, they had arranged to discuss the new opera script at Pops Antique Shop.

After lunch, Jenkins and Papa Oliver took inventory of the shop's stock, while Chocolate enjoyed a dessert Jenkins had bought as an apology.

Hathaway arrived to find Jenkins in his shirtsleeves, standing on his tiptoes as he tried to shove a cardboard box onto the highest shelf. The box was filled with neatly stacked gift caskets for customers who had rather exacting packaging requirements.

“It's really quite something.”

Papa Oliver sent them up to the small parlor on the second floor so they wouldn't disturb his business. As soon as Hathaway sat down, she cut off the compliment about her dress that was forming on Jenkins’s lips and remarked with a sigh:

“To think that the kingdom’s most celebrated young author and nobleman is still here, doing the work of a stockboy.”

Hathaway understood that the significance of this job lay not in the work itself, but in the context behind it, which was why she had never tried to persuade him to leave the antique shop.

“Life is always interesting,” Jenkins said. “Besides, there's no shame in honest labor. We all do our part for society—ahem, I mean, we all have to make a living. And I can't think of many other places that pay as well as Pops Antique Shop.”

Sinking into the quiet comfort of the moment, the memory of soaring through the frigid sky on a unicorn just a dozen hours earlier—shivering all the while—suddenly felt rather surreal.

“Besides, I need the backing of the Church. It's very advantageous for me.”

He shrugged and smiled at Hathaway.

“I've always hoped you would understand that, Jenkins. In that respect, at least, you're far more fortunate than most.”

The two hadn't seen each other since the dinner party at her father's estate. To avoid suspicion, the red-haired young woman had refrained from sending him any letters. And so, while she had inferred a few things from the change in her father's behavior afterward, she still had no idea what had actually transpired between the two men in the study that night.