Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 849

The butterflies, glowing in the darkness, followed the train for nearly an hour before gradually dispersing as they approached Shire. They ascended into the distant night sky like a luminous ladder. To Jenkins, their flight toward the twin moons seemed more like moths drawn to a candle flame, though the analogy didn't feel entirely fitting.

The passengers in the dining car had been chattering excitedly by the windows, most considering it a symbol of good fortune. After all, very few people ever had the privilege of witnessing such a sight.

Setting aside their unusual nature, the butterflies were truly a breathtaking sight. Not even a swarm of summer fireflies could compare to their beauty. But Jenkins, who knew the truth, had remained on high alert the entire hour, half-expecting the butterflies to suddenly merge into some giant monster and devour the train in a single gulp.

Chocolate, however, had been meowing incessantly, her calls laced with an unmistakable hostility toward the butterflies. It then occurred to Jenkins that this would be the first spring since he had adopted her. Perhaps even a cat that loathed exercise might find some interest in chasing butterflies.

The train pulled into the station at 11:32 PM. After saying his goodbyes to a Mrs. Forant, Jenkins grabbed his small suitcase and was the first to step off the train.

He had been concerned he might not find Old Jack, but to his surprise, the old man was waiting right at the exit for the VIP carriage. He stood beneath one of the station's stone pillars, flipping through a book in the warm, yellow glow of an overhead kerosene lamp.

"Good evening, Jenkins. I'm surprised your train wasn't late."

He didn't lift his head, having identified Jenkins by the sound of his footsteps and the cat's meows alone. He snapped the book shut and pulled Jenkins into a great, hearty hug, an enthusiastic welcome that left Jenkins feeling a bit overwhelmed.

"Good evening, Mr. Jack."

"You must have been waiting a while, haven't you? I'm sorry to trouble you, having you come out to meet me so late at night."

"Not at all," Old Jack chuckled. "Besides, from Papa Oliver's letter, it sounded like if I didn't show up to meet you, that grumpy old coot would probably have smashed my shop to pieces. Haha, but enough about that. Let's get going. It's far too late. You'll stay the night with me, and we can head to the church in the morning."

The night in Shire was vastly different from that of Nolan City. Away from the metropolis perpetually shrouded in mist, the sudden lungful of damp, late-winter air felt almost jarring to Jenkins.

The temperature here was slightly warmer than in Nolan; Old Jack had already shed his heavy winter coat. During the carriage ride back, the old man chattered on, pointing out Shire's local attractions. It seemed he had received Papa Oliver's request to "have him stay a little longer."

But as pleasant as Shire was, it wasn't home. Jenkins still preferred the coastal city of Nolan.

As they stepped out of the carriage and turned into an alley leading to the herbal medicine shop, Jenkins brought up the swarm of glowing butterflies he had seen earlier. Old Jack, who was walking ahead, stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes, not the least bit clouded by age but instead as bright and clear as a child's, fixed on Jenkins.

The alley was unlit, the only illumination coming from the peculiar miner's lamp Jenkins held. He usually explained it away as a light source created by his abilities, a claim no one ever questioned—the power of the cosmos within it was simply too palpable.

It was self-evident that the power of the cosmos was primordial and gentle; it would never be the cause of a gruesome, violent end.

"You encountered them?"

The old man's face lit up with excitement. After receiving Jenkins's confirmation, he turned and quickened his pace. The sign for the "Kingsley Teashop" had broken in half and fallen onto the path, forcing the two of them to clamber over it.

"So early this year? That's a good sign! They're an exotic species called Wayward Butterflies, and they're most active around Shire in early spring. Most of the Benefactors in this city know about those little critters. Beautiful, aren't they?" ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel·fiɾe·net

Old Jack's herbal medicine shop was located midway down the alley. Despite its somewhat secluded location, Jenkins had heard from Papa Oliver that business here was even better than at the antique shop.

While Old Jack was known to peddle harmless fake remedies, he was also a genuine herbalist whose prescriptions could cure most common ailments in a flash.

"Wayward Butterflies? Are they dangerous?"

Jenkins asked the question while gently rocking Chocolate in his arms, hoping to lull her to sleep. He failed to notice the cat's whiskers twitching, her adorable nose wriggling as she sampled the air of this unfamiliar city. At the same time, she looked up at him with an expression that clearly said, "Are you an idiot?"

"Not at all. Those little critters hate getting close to any living creature. An ordinary person witnessing them, like you described, is something that hasn't happened in decades. I wonder what could have attracted them."

The old man mulled it over for a few seconds but couldn't come up with an answer. Seeing his shop just ahead, he started fumbling in his pockets for the key.

"The only extraordinary ability the Wayward Butterflies possess is teleporting any creature they touch to a random 'safe' location. It's quite a nuisance, actually. I go out to catch a few every spring for my remedies—their wings are excellent ingredients. I remember one time, about seven years ago, I was careless and tore a tiny hole in the fingertip of my glove. The next thing I knew, I was teleported to a small fishing village on the eastern coast of the continent. Oh, what a disaster that was..."

Old Jack's shop had a similar layout to Papa Oliver's antique store, though the retail space was smaller, while the warehouse out back was enormous. The second floor served as the living quarters, and one of the rooms had been tidied and prepared as a guest room for Jenkins to use for the night.

The visiting author found himself quite taken with the place. Confined spaces always gave him a sense of security, and the blankets on the bed smelled not of mist, but of sunshine—a simple fact that brought him a great deal of pleasure.

Back in the shop, the two men soon retired for the night. Chocolate was initially uneasy in the strange bed, but after a bit of wandering, she eventually settled down and curled up by Jenkins's pillow.

Jenkins rolled over in bed and gazed out the window at the sparsely scattered stars. Suddenly, it all felt a little unreal. So far from Nolan, the star-dusted sky was utterly unfamiliar, and a pang of homesickness for his own city struck him.

"Chocolate, do you miss home?"

The cat just wanted to sleep.

"Tomorrow, we'll head to the church first, then go out to the cemetery in the suburbs to get the lay of the land. I think our trip to Shire is going to be quite interesting. I remember there are a lot of delicious local specialties... Have you ever heard of green radish soup with boiled carrots?"

The cat suspected Jenkins was messing with her, and her suspicions were correct. The traveler's internal cookbook was vast; even if he couldn't cook, his intimate knowledge of ingredients allowed him to "draw" them into existence. On those occasions, the cat got to sample those unique flavors. It was a shame Jenkins didn't do it more often; if he did, Chocolate would be even more fond of him.

She was trying to wish Jenkins a good night, but he couldn't understand her. This made the cat feel a sudden flicker of irritation, and she resolved to give him the cold shoulder for a while in the morning.