Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 606

Once Jenkins had recovered, the rest of the affair became much simpler. He shared what he knew about Mr. Clark’s origins and the organization known as the Treehouse, while Magic Miss, in turn, promised to keep everything she had heard a secret.

The two had forged a tentative friendship through their shared battle. Although some friction arose when it came to dividing the spoils, they ultimately resolved it peacefully.

Jenkins claimed the long, black rifle for himself. To compensate her, he gave Magic Miss his returning dagger and the majority of the books from the secret chamber.

"But these things aren't yours to give!"

She gestured toward the bookshelves, declaring:

"I've looked into this place. The current owner is Jenkins Williams, the leading candidate for bishop of the Sage Church's Nolan diocese. And you are clearly not him."

"But he doesn't even know this secret chamber exists," Jenkins retorted. "Besides, the Orthodox Church would never allow a bishop managing worldly affairs to become an Enchanter. By keeping him away from all these secrets, I'm doing him a favor. He ought to be thanking me!"

Whether she found his logic sound or simply wished to preserve their newfound friendship, they ultimately sealed the deal. Jenkins then stored the rifle within his spirit, right before her eyes.

The place was far from the nearest village, so there was little risk of their earlier fight being discovered, but they still decided to wrap things up quickly. Their plan wasn't to take Mr. Dagger with them, but to interrogate him one last time and then kill him on the spot.

"How much do you know about the Treehouse?"

"Do you know about the Children of the Mist plan?"

"A little. The original version of the plan was exposed prematurely due to the unexpected appearance of a demon. The current version is a collaboration between the organization and the great God's Child. It will absorb the power of the Children of the Mist."

Jenkins glanced over at Magic Miss. Her back was to him as she browsed the old books and experiment logs on the shelves, clearly unwilling to comment. More accurately, she wanted nothing to do with any God's Child. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel✶fire.net

"What is the nature of your collaboration with the Gear Artisans' Association?"

"Have you had contact with the vampires?"

"I once saw that gentleman meet with an aberration."

"The nature of the collaboration."

"The vampires' current location."

"What information do you have on the vampires?"

"One of them caught a very bad flu. The flu currently spreading through Nolan City probably originated from them."

Magic Miss, behind him, snorted. Thinking back, her voice had indeed been a bit hoarse earlier. He glanced at his shadow; it was normal.

"Recite every ritual, ability, and piece of knowledge you possess. Start with the most important."

Magic Miss finally turned from the bookshelves, a smile playing on her lips as she walked to Jenkins's side.

He had to be back at the church before sunset, or people would surely notice he had once again spent his afternoon loafing about.

After extracting Mr. Dagger's secrets, the two buried him in a corner of the cemetery outside. Beside him, they interred the heap of parts that was all that remained of Mr. Clark.

Even if reassembling the hundreds of thousands of minuscule components would be nearly impossible, Jenkins took a portion of them back to the city to scatter, just to be safe. He didn't know if Mr. Clark could be revived once put back together, a theory that would have to be tested to be certain.

Still, he could lower his guard against the Treehouse for the time being. Mr. Dagger knew nothing of the "Real Illusion," and it seemed certain he was the only local member of their organization.

Before parting ways with Magic Miss, Jenkins arranged to see her again on Saturday. Too many things had been left unsaid, and given his rush to return to the church, they needed to speak again at length.

"Oh, Mr. Candle, look here," she proposed. "This steam engine looks like a first-generation antique. Why don't we sell it and split the gold pounds? I'll bring you your share on Saturday. I doubt a man of Mr. Williams's standing would miss the money."

That was Magic Miss's final proposal before they left the cemetery. Perhaps it was the most heartbreaking part of the entire evening.

The day's events had once again reminded Jenkins of the capriciousness of fate—and the wisdom of his cat, Chocolate. To reward the feline for his meritorious service, Jenkins took advantage of the little time he had after flying back over the city to buy him a strawberry cake.

Jenkins gave a slice of the cake to the young girl, Fini, who was grieving the unexpected death of her cousin. The cat, however, was perfectly content with just the plump, tempting strawberry on top.

"Sometimes I get the feeling you're too smart to be a cat."

He was perched on his room's windowsill, gazing out at the rare, clear starry sky. There was still some time before his night class, allowing him a moment to enjoy the view.

Unsure if Jenkins was joking or testing him again, Chocolate lowered his head and nuzzled his hand.

"But that doesn't matter. Just don't ever leave me. If you disappeared, I would truly be all alone."

Jenkins chuckled, stroking the cat under his chin. Chocolate simply stared back, bewildered, unable to offer any verbal comfort.

He tapped a finger on the windowsill, and the miner's lamp—a contraption of assembled metal parts—materialized before him. Silvery-white motes of light swirled across the surface of the glowing sphere within its cage, and the text etched on the lamp's exterior pulsed with a faint glimmer.

This was a unique ability, born from the light of a Star Spirit, Jenkins's own knowledge, and the very essence of disease—a power whose creation could never be replicated. Jenkins's abilities were numerous but eclectic; he had always lacked a solid defense and an attack potent enough to turn the tide of battle with a single strike. Now, he finally had one.

He reached out and took the lamp by its iron handle, a makeshift grip fashioned from a string of screws and wire. A hair-thin beam of light shot from the silvery-white sphere and struck a teacup sitting nearby. Instantly, the entire cup—tea and all—disintegrated into a shower of tiny components.

Having figured out how to control the beam's width, the drain on his spirit was significant, but at least it didn't leave him completely depleted.

"Let's give this a try."

He summoned his Book of Memories, laying it open beside him. Its pages displayed detailed diagrams of the teacup's deconstruction, captured in the instant it happened.

"Hopefully, I can piece it back together before night class."

It was far more difficult than he'd imagined. The components, some smaller than a fiftieth of a fingernail, easily numbered in the thousands. Even with the book's captured images as a guide, Jenkins couldn't restore so much as the cup's base.

The interlocking gears and lever mechanisms required a precise assembly sequence. Otherwise, he'd find that even when he knew exactly which part came next, he couldn't physically fit it into its designated slot.