Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 568

It was already seven in the evening by the time they met Hathaway and Papa Oliver at KalFax Field.

Discharging a firearm within city limits was a grave offense, especially when the shots had been fired so close to a bustling thoroughfare. To make matters worse, a member of the nobility had been involved in the incident.

Papa Oliver tutted as he looked at the scratch on Jenkins's face.

The man's aim had been even worse than Jenkins's; his bullet had struck the brick wall at the mouth of the alley. Miss Mikhail had been shielded and was, of course, unharmed, but Jenkins's left cheek bore a bloody line from the flying brick fragments.

The boy's own dagger, flung from the writer's enraged hand, had buried itself in the man's throat with a precision that surprised even Jenkins.

Thus, when the policemen on patrol nearby arrived, the scene that greeted them was of the Baron comforting the noble lady, standing over a corpse and a severely wounded boy.

Thanks to the intervention of Marquis Mikhail and the Church, Jenkins and Miss Mikhail were permitted to leave the police station after giving their statements.

Night had fully fallen. Papa Oliver and Hathaway were waiting to greet them at the iron gates of KalFax Field, personally escorted there by a police officer with stars on his shoulders. Further down the street, the Mikhail family carriage and their old butler stood waiting. The butler, tactful as ever, did not approach, but simply waited with an impeccable smile.

Hathaway threw her arms around Miss Mikhail without hesitation. Jenkins glanced at Papa Oliver, who simply shrugged, as if to ask whether he should embrace Jenkins as well.

"I heard what happened as soon as I got home. I was absolutely terrified."

Hathaway pulled back from Miss Mikhail, sniffling, then turned to Jenkins and reached a hand toward his cheek. A piece of white gauze, held in place by medical tape, covered the wound—the work of the police medic at KalFax Field. It was entirely unnecessary, of course. The injury was just a minor scratch that wouldn't have lingered on his face for long, even without treatment.

"Jenkins, your face... It won't leave a permanent scar, will it?" ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by novel-fire.ɴet

The question didn't come from Hathaway, who was well aware of Jenkins's healing abilities. It was Miss Mikhail who had asked. She stepped closer to the pair, while Papa Oliver tactfully retreated to stand by the carriage.

"It shouldn't. It's only a scratch."

Jenkins shook his head. "Besides, haven't you heard the saying? Scars are a man's finest medals. It's not a problem at all."

Hathaway looked as if she were about to laugh at Jenkins's remark, but she had to maintain her composure in front of Miss Mikhail. Instead, she just shook her head softly and stepped back to her friend's side, saying no more.

When Jenkins looked up at her, she gave him a quick wink.

The shaken Miss Mikhail soon departed with Hathaway in their carriage. Jenkins and Papa Oliver stood on the street corner, watching it recede into the distance before climbing into the Church's carriage waiting nearby.

That was the first thing Papa Oliver said after they were settled in the carriage.

Jenkins wasn't quite sure which of his actions the comment was referring to, but he quickly assumed it was for once again maintaining the peace and security of Nolan City. He smiled and nodded at his mentor.

Papa Oliver knew, with absolute certainty, that Jenkins had completely missed his point.

Although Jenkins had been injured that evening, it was merely a minor incident in the grand scheme of his life. The Church would handle the aftermath. As for the boy he had severely wounded, it was highly unlikely he would survive.

In truth, even without the Church's involvement, the Kingdom would not have lightly forgiven a commoner who dared to harm a nobleman. From that perspective, Jenkins was now truly a member of the privileged class.

The most significant consequence of the entire affair was that he would have to let the scratch on his face heal naturally. Quite a few people now knew he was injured, and while he could claim its disappearance overnight was a "miracle," there was no need to go to such lengths for something so trivial.

After dinner, Jenkins was pulled away to tell stories to the children living at the church. His fame as a great author was at its peak, and the children were eager to hear the tales of love and justice he spun for them.

Someone suggested that Jenkins compile his many stories into a supplementary volume for his "Stranger's Story Collection". Jenkins didn't refuse. He simply delegated the task to a priest who occasionally sat in on the storytelling sessions and announced that all the gold pounds earned from publishing these tales would be d to the church.

The benefits of such a gesture far outweighed the loss of the gold pounds.

Around eight o'clock, he returned to his bedroom. He was washing up in the lavatory when Bishop Parrold knocked on his door.

The door was unlocked, so Jenkins, in the middle of brushing his teeth, mumbled for the bishop to come in. The old man pushed the door open to see Jenkins's cat curled up obediently on the mattress. The gas lamp on the nightstand was lit, illuminating a book lying open beneath it.

"Sorry, Bishop, I was just washing up. Is there something I can help you with?"

Bishop Parrold had come for two reasons. First, to check on Jenkins, as he too had heard about the incident that evening. Second, the bishop had to travel to a small town in the countryside the next day for the inauguration of a new church. He wanted to entrust Jenkins with attending the streetlight ribbon-cutting ceremony in his stead tomorrow evening. The Legacy Sage Church had contributed the most gold pounds to the project, so it was unthinkable that the mayor wouldn't invite them.

"But is that appropriate? I'm not even a member of the clergy."

"We've discussed it, and your attendance is perfectly appropriate. Besides," the bishop added, "I've heard that the whole idea for the streetlights came from you in the first place."

The bishop patted Jenkins's shoulder.

Of course, it wasn't that simple. The true aim of the Nolan diocese and the Holy See was likely to further elevate Jenkins's standing within the Church. They were happy to let people believe he had a promising future in the Church's secular affairs. This would not only effectively conceal his identity as an Enchanter but also allow the Saint to reasonably exercise more ecclesiastical authority.

Once his task was assigned, Bishop Parrold departed. And before his own trip to Ruen, Jenkins retrieved the hidden B-03-2-8383, the Cup of Hidden Fear.

He checked again to make sure the curtains were drawn tight, then tilted his head back, raised the cup, and let a minuscule amount of the liquid slide down his throat.

The black liquid had the fragrance of jasmine and was as cold as if it had been chilled with ice. It sent a sharp shiver through him as it hit his stomach, but the sensation was incredibly refreshing. The taste was excellent, as was the effect. Although Jenkins didn't dare drink all the liquid collected by the descendant of the Tobie family at once, sipping a few drops intermittently was enough for him to feel a noticeable increase in his spirit.