Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 602

It wasn't until he received a letter from his lawyer that morning that Jenkins remembered he knew the whereabouts of one more Bestowal. Since he happened to have the time, he took a carriage to the outskirts of the city and then walked to the abandoned cemetery.

This burial ground, along with the Augustus family cemetery that had been cut off by a mudslide, was the only real estate the Viscount had left to Jenkins. The land was now his private property, but since it had been acquired as a gift rather than a royal fief, he had to pay taxes on any activities conducted there. Thus, he remained a nobleman without an actual fiefdom.

Viscount Augustus's intention must have been for Jenkins to look after the land where his ancestors were buried. Therefore, Jenkins couldn't possibly level the family cemetery for other uses. The abandoned cemetery he now stood in, however, had no such restrictions. Most of the remains had already been moved; once the remaining tombstones and structures were cleared, it could easily be used as farmland.

"It's a bit small, but the view from the cliff's edge is quite nice. You can see for miles. Perhaps I could fund a private villa... a villa in a cemetery?"

He found his own thought amusing.

It was clear that no one had set foot here for a very long time; the snow was marked only by the tracks of wild animals. His boots crunched on the fluffy surface, packing it down with a creaking sound as he quickly approached the old groundskeeper's hut.

The blizzard from a few days ago had completely collapsed the roof, and a broken beam lay across the doorway, blocking entry. Jenkins checked the marks he had left last time, confirmed no one had been there, and then opened the sealed entrance to the hidden cellar.

His hurried sealing on the last visit was clearly imperfect. The significant influx of air had caused extreme damage to the items stored underground, especially the books.

After moving the skeleton to the side of the wall, Jenkins stood on the lowest stone step and activated his Eye of Reality once more, scanning everything around him. Still, he saw no white aura indicating a Bestowal.

He murmured to his cat, whose sense of smell and intuition were both exceptionally sharp.

The cat on his shoulder batted at his outstretched hand with a paw, unwilling to move. The ground was simply too filthy.

The cellar was about a third the size of the Williams family's living room. Most of the space was taken up by a workbench, bookshelves, a table, and a first-generation steam engine in the corner, leaving few places to hide anything.

"Alright, I'll search for just one hour. If I don't find it, I'm heading back."

With that in mind, he took off his coat, draped it over an iron chair, and began to rummage through the clutter.

He had already searched the bookshelves last time, so this time he focused on the table and the workbench. Finding nothing, he began tapping along the walls. On the wall directly opposite the staircase, he actually heard a hollow sound.

A few metal tools lay beside the steam engine. Jenkins used them to carve out a hole in the wall. Inside, he found not the Corpse-Wrapping Nun's Habit, but a collection of letters.

"Just how much did he hide away?"

The force of breaking through the wall had coated the top letter in a layer of dust. After wiping it clean, the broken red wax seal immediately caught Jenkins's eye. The emblem on it was a small house built on a tree branch.

"Treehouse... Hmm, the Treehouse? A follower of the Lord of Immortality who died here fifty years ago was actually connected to the Treehouse?"

It was indeed the same fanatical organization Jenkins knew of. The letter's content wasn't sensitive; it was merely a sincere invitation for the recipient to join their group.

Whether the dead cultist had ever replied was now impossible to know; since the Ouija board had shattered, Jenkins had lost his means of communicating with the dead. He leafed through the other letters, which were also records of this cultist's correspondence with Enchanters outside his own order. That was likely why the letters had been hidden.

From this, it seemed the groundskeeper from fifty years ago was not content with being a low-ranking member of his church.

"Very interesting. The Treehouse is a truly secretive organization."

The letters were of no use to Jenkins, so he casually tucked them into a bookshelf. A further inspection of the wall revealed no other suspicious sounds, and seeing that his time was nearly up, he decided to return to the city.

He had just lifted his foot onto the stone steps when he turned back toward the skeleton. He violently ripped off the tattered rags it was wearing and summoned a flame to incinerate them. In moments, they were reduced to ash.

"I'm just being paranoid."

With that, he truly began to leave.

The moment his head emerged from the cellar stairs, he felt the chain of his pocket watch vibrating frantically. He instinctively ducked back down just as three fireballs, each the size of a washbasin, flew overhead.

Holding his breath, he listened, then opened his eyes again. On the other side of the groundskeeper's hut, two Enchanters were locked in combat. One of them was Agnes Howard; her aura and pentagram pendant were unmistakable.

Miss Howard's opponent was a level-five Enchanter, and he was clearly no match for the level-six woman (she was level five the last time Jenkins noted it, so he assumed she had leveled up in the past six months).

As Jenkins calmly rounded the other side of the hut, the man was ensnared by a glowing rope that materialized from Magic Miss's hand.

"You don't seem surprised to see me here," Jenkins remarked.

"I sensed someone was nearby," Magic Miss replied. "And for you and your associates, showing up anywhere isn't exactly strange."

As she spoke, she tightened the rope, securing it more firmly. It wasn't an Extraordinary item, but an effect created by her ability. Read full story at NoveIＦire.net

"I'll be on my way immediately. I won't disturb you."

With that, she bent down to hoist the gray-haired man, who had a prominent brandy-nose, onto her shoulder. Jenkins had never seen that hair color before; it didn't look natural, but rather like a side effect of prolonged exposure to spirits of the dead.

"I'm also leaving right away," Jenkins stated calmly. "But before I do, I'd like to know what brings you two here."

Magic Miss turned and looked at him with a helpless expression. Wary of the New God cultists' power, she felt compelled to answer his question.

"Mr. Candle, you should recognize this man. He's Mr. Dagger, the one who fled the gathering on that summer night when we first met. I need an item in his possession, so when Mr. Hood told me he had returned to Nolan, I started tracking him. I assume you're not some so-called champion of justice, so there's no need for us to fight over a wanted man."

"Of course," Jenkins shrugged. "How you deal with him is none of my business, but I need to ask him a few questions. May I?"

"Certainly," the woman said.

She snapped her fingers, and the man, who had been struggling silently, immediately let out a torrent of curses, causing the two standing over him to frown in unison.