Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 620

The room, less than a meter wide, was cluttered with mops, buckets, and cleaning supplies. The moment Jenkins opened a crack in the door, Chocolate darted inside. By the time he could see clearly, the cat was already proudly pinning down a beautiful, tiny, winged person. It was the first time Jenkins realized his cat could actually catch mice; it just wasn't interested.

"What is this? A sprite?" Follow current novels on n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net

The creature pinned by the cat was smaller than Jenkins's little finger. It probably couldn't speak, letting out little squeaks as it struggled under the paw. Yet, he had to admit, it possessed an exquisitely beautiful face, far surpassing even the most stunning women Jenkins had ever known.

When it saw Jenkins, it turned its head and gazed up at him with a pitiful expression.

He stared for a moment at the tiny creature's festive clothing and the faint runes on its face:

"I think I've heard of you... Are you a Festival Sprite?"

It let out a series of high-pitched squeaks and nodded its head repeatedly.

B-01-5-2200, the Festival Sprite. It was an exceedingly rare subspecies, so unusual that it had been classified as a numbered species. It was also one of the few sprite races that held no malice toward intelligent beings. In fact, they were the very creatures from folklore said to bring luck and gifts during holidays. Festival Sprites only appeared during major festivals, and typically only in places where large groups of Enchanters were gathered.

"I remember hearing you can grant wishes."

Jenkins used a Life Pearl to trade for the little sprite's freedom from his cat's paw. She immediately hugged his index finger, kissing it and nodding at him again and again.

"Why were you hiding in here?"

He cradled the tiny creature in his palm. He'd asked the question, but he didn't expect an answer.

He first gave the well-behaved cat crouching by his feet a patient pat as a reward, then quickly returned to his room with them both. From under his bed, he retrieved Mr. Hunt's Fruit Platter.

The only condition for making a wish to a Festival Sprite was to offer it some fruit as payment. Jenkins was thankful; in his anticipation of a full dinner, he hadn't used the fruit platter yet tonight. Otherwise, things would have been quite complicated.

He placed a tempting cherry and a plump apple on the table next to the peering sprite. She immediately drew closer, squeaking up at Jenkins once more.

"Can you grant my wish?"

he asked, looking down.

"I want to add a blank bubble. Can you understand what that means?"

One shouldn't be too greedy when making a wish, and all he wanted right now was a blank bubble to hold that defensive divine art.

The little sprite looked up at Jenkins, hesitated for a few seconds, then gave a slow, firm nod—

Then, Jenkins fell into a gate of endless white light that had appeared beneath his feet.

The little sprite looked fearfully at the cat, dutifully pushed the plump cherry toward it, and then hugged the apple to itself, grinning foolishly.

Chocolate nodded in satisfaction. Just then, the door was pushed open.

"Jenkins, hurry up. Everyone's waiting for you."

Miss Bevanna called out from the doorway. When there was no reply, she peeked inside, just in time to see the beautiful little sprite clutching the apple as it dissolved into motes of golden light and vanished from the table.

"Was that... a Festival Sprite?"

She was greatly surprised, and her eyes swept around the room:

"Where's Jenkins? Don't tell me Chocolate made the wish?"

The cat replied, cherry in its mouth. It was only a cat, after all. How could it possibly answer a human's question?

Jenkins felt like he had been deceived by the information he'd read.

From what he understood, Festival Sprites, while unable to grant just any wish, would at the very least never fulfill a wish in a malicious way.

According to the records, Festival Sprites always chose the simplest and safest methods. All he'd asked for was to add one bubble; he simply couldn't understand why he'd been sent into a Mysterious Realm.

"Could it be that, for me, the safest and simplest way to add an ability bubble is through a Mysterious Realm?"

He absolutely refused to believe such a conclusion.

After the nauseating spinning and bizarre illusions vanished, Jenkins's feet finally touched solid ground again.

He kept his head down, pressing his hands against the sandy surface for a while to steady himself. When he finally looked up, there was no one around.

"This seems to be my first trip into a Mysterious Realm without any companions."

That was easy enough to understand. After all, the way he'd entered this Mysterious Realm was highly unusual. If companions had appeared, Jenkins would have been truly startled.

Visually, he seemed to be in a vast desert. But the sky was dark, with only black clouds visible overhead. The distance was hazy, and only on the highest dune before him could he faintly make out a person standing there.

The air was incredibly dry, as if all moisture had been sucked out of it. The temperature was manageable, though. While his formal evening wear felt a little chilly, it was still within a tolerable range.

Standing on the dune was an old woman holding a black umbrella. Her clothes were entirely black, save for the white beaded flowers on her cuffs, which stood out conspicuously.

She was hunched over, staring blankly at Jenkins as he struggled to the top of the dune. The wrinkles on her face were so deep they could probably trap a mosquito.

The closer he got to her, the more he felt a soul-piercing chill. Jenkins risked opening his Eye of Reality to look around her. The desert was packed with countless spirits, crammed together, all grinning foolishly at him like madmen.

Yes, they could all sense that Jenkins was watching them.

"Is there something I need to do?"

he asked cautiously, trudging through the sand. He didn't dare look into the woman's eyes, nor did he risk observing the nearby spirits again.

The old woman with the umbrella waited a few seconds before speaking, her voice sounding as if it were clogged with thick phlegm:

"This desert has buried too many travelers. No matter where they came from, they all met their end here. If you wish to leave, then try to free the souls here. If you succeed three times, you will earn your freedom."

Jenkins wondered, confused.

The old woman's accent was strange. Although Jenkins could understand her, something felt off. Her voice was thick and sluggish, with a peculiar dragging quality that was especially noticeable between the third and fourth syllable of every sentence.