Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 853

Despite the landlady's foul temper, she had indeed packed and stacked Oakland Williamette's belongings neatly, even providing an inventory list for verification.

Oakland had d all his property to the Church of All Things and Nature upon his death. Only a few personal items remained, which the landlady had stored in the basement.

Among them was a worn-out photo album, with the names and relationships of the people in each picture written on the back. According to the landlady, old Oakland's memory had deteriorated with age. Living alone, he had resorted to this method to ensure he wouldn't forget the family and friends from his distant past.

"See? These are the ones I told you look a lot like you."

The landlady pointed to the black-and-white photograph at the very front. Time had faded most of the image, but the faces of the three middle-aged men with their arms around each other's shoulders were surprisingly clear. The three men looked very much alike—and very much like Jenkins.

He flipped the photo over to read the notes on the back:

"This is my grandfather and his brothers... My father looks just like them..."

He never expected to see relatives from the original Jenkins's grandfather's generation under these circumstances. As he stared at the photograph, it felt as if the three men were staring back at him. The longer he looked, the stronger the unsettling, hair-raising sensation grew, but Jenkins couldn't understand why.

As Jenkins was preparing to leave, the landlady suddenly seemed to remember something. She asked him to wait, turned, and went back upstairs, returning with a necklace made from a worn piece of copper, which she handed to him.

"Old Oakland was still thinking about this thing right before he died. I almost forgot."

It had no spiritual aura and was even a little rusty, but it possessed a palpable weight of history and stories that couldn't be concealed. It was a quality only truly old items could have, something Jenkins, the antique shop apprentice, knew very well.

"He had it with him when he moved in. I heard it was a family heirloom passed down by his elders, a keepsake of the Williamette family. Before he died, old Oakland begged me to mail it to Nolan, but he never told me the address or the recipient... I don't consider myself a soft-hearted person, but every time I recall that scene, I can't help but get teary-eyed. He lived here for thirteen years, after all..."

Jenkins stared at the pendant in silence, and for a fleeting moment, he pictured the deceased old man and the complex, helpless story of his life.

Jenkins first took Oakland Williamette's belongings back to Old Jack's herbal shop. After greeting the old man, who was in the middle of a business transaction, he set off once more for the cemetery on the outskirts of the city.

This time, he went in his ordinary capacity as Jenkins Williams to pay respects to the old man who, though not a blood relative, was still a Williamette.

He got out of the carriage at the same spot as the day before and once again entered the somewhat gloomy cemetery. The morning sun was bright, its rays filtering through the trees lining the path and casting dappled patterns on the ground. The trees were evergreen hollies, but they seemed to be a subspecies, far more lush and leafy than the ones in his family's courtyard.

After settling Chocolate comfortably on his shoulder, Jenkins paid the driver and walked inside, carrying a large bouquet of flowers.

He had gotten them from Old Jack. Many herbs and magical potions required fresh flowers and leaves as ingredients, so Old Jack's warehouse, which was equipped with a temperature-regulating ritual formation, was filled with fresh blossoms.

He wasn't sure what kind of flowers were customary here, so he had simply picked some pretty white ones that Chocolate found uninteresting—otherwise, the petals might have sported cat-tooth imprints by the time they arrived.

He didn't see the old groundskeeper upon entering the cemetery. As a "first-time" visitor, Jenkins couldn't possibly find the right gravestone on his own.

He followed the gravel path, cleared of snow, to the small cottage. He took a moment to inspect the brass steam pipe and black gas pipe that emerged from the ground and ran into the building, briefly worrying about the wooden structure's fire safety, before reaching out and knocking gently on the door.

A moment later, the groundskeeper lazily opened the door, a damp spoon still in his hand.

Jenkins pretended to study his attire, though in reality, he had already seen the outfit before.

"I'm looking for someone."

"I'm the only living person here."

"No... I mean, I'm looking for a dead person... Well, I'm here to visit a distant relative who has passed away. His name is Oakland Williamette."

This was quite a novel occurrence for the groundskeeper. Most of the people buried here were poor souls who had died far from home or had no relatives. Having visitors two days in a row was a rare event in all his years as caretaker.

The old groundskeeper tended to the grounds regularly, so he naturally remembered where the Williamette plot was. Grabbing a key and a shovel, he led Jenkins deeper into the cemetery. Ten minutes later, they arrived at old Oakland's grave.

"I remember the day his casket arrived. Only one woman and two men came to see him off. His landlady and neighbors, I think."

The old man murmured, then began to tidy the earth and snow around the tombstone with his shovel.

Jenkins set his cat aside, bent down to lay the flowers, and stared at the headstone before him, silent for a long while.

"Is this your grandfather?"

the groundskeeper asked as he worked.

"No, a very distant relative. Our family lost contact with him years ago. I'm here in Shire on a business trip, and my father asked me to come see him. I never imagined..."

He sighed. Seeing this, the groundskeeper decided not to press the matter and simply lowered his head, continuing to shovel the snow.

There wasn't much point in coming here, really. Old Oakland was already dead; laying flowers was a futile gesture. As for Oakland's adoptive father—the true Williamette—his grave was nowhere to be found. He had apparently passed away before Jenkins and his two brothers were even born. Around that same time, Robert had fled his hometown for Nolan, and so the family's ties to this place had gradually faded away.

A wave of melancholy washed over him as he contemplated these things. He glanced at his surroundings and then asked:

"If I wanted to move his casket elsewhere, what kind of procedures would be required? It's too pitiful to leave him lying here all alone. I'd like to move his casket to Nolan."

"You'd need proof of relation documents from the city hall, a grave relocation permit from the Church of Death and End, and you'd have to hire professional gravediggers from the Church and prepare a large sum of gold pounds. That last part is the most important. I think you know what I mean."

the groundskeeper hinted with a blink.

Jenkins nodded and knelt again, running his hand over the tombstone etched with the years of birth and death.

At the very bottom was a small line of text:

[Here lies Oakland Williamette, a generous and friendly neighbor.]

"I imagine the proof of relation documents might be troublesome, since we haven't been in contact for so many years..."

At that, he finally remembered that he was a nobleman, which came with certain privileges in this era:

"I believe I'm a baron... and I'll be a viscount in half a month. Documents and such shouldn't be an issue."

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The groundskeeper looked at Jenkins's face:

"You're certainly young for it."

Nolan was currently in the midst of an undead crisis, so Jenkins obviously couldn't move the grave there just yet. He would have to discuss the matter with Robert, though he doubted his father would object to the idea.

Jenkins sighed and prepared to leave, but then he glanced sideways at another unusually clean plot not far away.

"Has someone been visiting that grave recently, too? I noticed that area is also clear of snow."

It was a perfectly normal question, delivered in a casual tone, so the old groundskeeper suspected nothing. He peered over and easily recalled the name of the grave's occupant:

"Oh, that's poor Prier Jones's grave. She died of a bad cold."

He said, shaking his head gently:

"Such a poor soul. Someone came to see her yesterday afternoon as well. But that visitor, unlike you, didn't bring any flowers. The gentleman came empty-handed, said nothing, and just left... I won't lie, though, I have to admit his Maine Coon was quite beautiful. Even more beautiful than yours."

Chocolate bristled, about to get angry, but then it seemed to remember that the other cat was also itself. The anger vanished, replaced by a smug puffing of its chest, though Jenkins had no idea what it was so proud of.

"Having visitors is better than lying there all alone, I suppose."

The two continued to chat as they walked back. Perhaps because strangers were such a rarity here, the old groundskeeper was quite willing to talk to Jenkins.

"But that poor soul... she didn't also have only three people see her off, did she?"

"Yes, it was three people for her as well. Three women in black robes. They were very strange, those three, but their voices were lovely to listen to."

The old man said with a nod, then added:

"I heard they were all from the Silver Jasmine Opera Troupe. Do you know of it?"

"Of course. They've been performing in Nolan City all winter. I imagine everyone in Nolan knows the name..."

Jenkins's heart sank. Something was wrong. According to the information he'd gathered, only the local pallbearers had attended the funeral for the deceased apprentice makeup artist.

At the time, the opera troupe had been in a hurry to leave town. Since Miss Jones had died that winter, the director had to pay a hefty sum to hire people to bury her here. And the groundskeeper certainly wouldn't describe pallbearers as "strange women."

Moreover, as far as Jenkins knew, there were no female pallbearers. The customs of human society on the continent in this era held that having women carry a coffin would bring misfortune to the deceased's family and friends.

"If I may be so bold as to ask, just out of curiosity... what was Miss Jones's faith?"

This was tantamount to prying into the deceased's privacy. The previously talkative groundskeeper simply shook his head and fell silent. Jenkins knew he had said too much, so he patted the cat on his shoulder, bade the man farewell, and left the cemetery grounds.

This visit had yielded some results; at the very least, Jenkins now knew that Prier Jones's burial had been out of the ordinary. He was now genuinely curious about what was inside that coffin, but two things held him back. On one hand, his faint moral compass restrained him from casually digging up someone's grave. On the other, he was convinced that if he did break ground, some terrible trap or ritual would be waiting for him.

He returned to the city and projected himself back to Nolan to check on the situation. As news of an impending plague spread like wildfire, a palpable sense of dread hung over the entire city.

People first recalled last year's "Silver Vertigo," then thought of all the major epidemics of the past decade. But no one dared to speak openly of the great plague from thirty years ago. Everyone was worried, everyone was trying to avoid the topic.

The circus grounds were still sealed off, and access to the Evergreen Forest and most of the local cemeteries was forbidden. With nowhere else to go in Nolan for the moment, Jenkins decided to visit the abandoned cemetery he now owned.

Come to think of it, the Augustus family cemetery, with the power of the [Ancient God of Death] it presided over, could suppress the reanimation of the dead. If he could lure the Skull Sword there for a final battle, he could at least effectively neutralize the interference from an army of undead.

But Jenkins didn't want to disturb Mr. Augustus, who had helped him so much. Besides, he couldn't explain the source of that area's special abilities to the Church.

He could use excuses like "I dreamt..." or "I had a premonition..." and the Church wouldn't doubt him. But he couldn't overuse such pretexts; he still needed them to distance himself from the followers of the "God of Lies."

The abandoned cemetery was located on the far outskirts of Nolan, beyond the reach of the city's fog. It was just as he'd left it, with no new traces other than some animal tracks and droppings.

Jenkins had given up all hope of finding C-12-1-3011, the Corpse-Wrapping Nun's Habit. Past experience had taught him that every attempt to search for it only led to trouble. This time, however, seemed a little different.

First, he tried using The Unknown Path, but nothing happened. Then he held Chocolate and let it sniff around. But the cat was uncooperative, struggling in his arms, so he had to abandon that attempt as well.

"Well, I might as well try divination..."

Even he knew how unreliable that suggestion was.

He took out the amethyst pendant Miss Broniaons had given him as a welcome gift to her school of thought, placed it on his forehead, and after waiting three seconds, stood in the center of the cemetery and closed his eyes.

With his sight gone, his other senses gradually sharpened. His ears picked up the whistling wind and the rustling of branches. His nose caught the scent of the perfume added to Chocolate's bathwater the previous night when it had been forced to take a bath. The aftertaste of his lunch still lingered in his mouth.

Mysticism acknowledged a sixth sense beyond the five, what Jenkins usually called "perception." This transcendent sense could not only detect information beyond the five senses but could sometimes even traverse time and space to perceive things far more remote.

But doing so was extremely dangerous. Humans could never know what strangeness existed beyond the "island" of the material world.

Of course, it was difficult to distinguish between the sixth sense and mere illusion. For instance, Jenkins sometimes looked at Chocolate in the shadows and felt a sudden, inexplicable sense of fear—a classic example of a severe illusion of the sixth sense.

With his eyes closed, the young writer tried to capture that "flash of inspiration." But he probably had no talent for divination whatsoever. No matter how he tried to perceive it, that peculiar feeling never came.

The cat at Jenkins's feet grew impatient. It had always hated waiting. The cat, of course, knew where the "rag" Jenkins was looking for was.

Although it was very well hidden, Chocolate's nose had easily picked up the scent of decay.

It wanted to do something to guide Jenkins, but just then, Jenkins moved.

He opened his eyes and walked quickly to a spot directly opposite the entrance to the cemetery's crypt, at the back wall of the mostly collapsed groundskeeper's cottage.

With a flick of his hand, flames melted all the snow on the ground. Staring at the now-dry patch of earth, Jenkins fell into deep thought.

He suddenly clutched his head and cried out, "Not here! It's an illusion!"

It wasn't there, indeed, but Jenkins had been just a hair's breadth away from success.

By the time he returned to Shire, night had fallen. When Jenkins arrived back at Old Jack's herbal shop with his cat, he was just in time for dinner.

He recounted the general experience of his visit to Oakland Williamette's grave, and Old Jack expressed great sympathy for the poor man who had died so far from home.

"If you want to move the casket to Nolan for burial, you don't have to do it all yourself. Just mention it to Bishop Parrold in Nolan, and he'll take care of everything for you... But you'll still need to choose a new burial plot, and that's important."

"That's fine. My maternal grandfather and grandmother also need their graves moved, so my father will pick a location."

Hearing this, Old Jack nodded and said no more. But Jenkins had more to say. He had been formulating his words all afternoon.

"I noticed something strange when I was at the cemetery this morning. Yes, very strange... not far from my distant relative's grave..."

"Go to the church and apply for a permit to investigate the cemetery. Since it's managed by the Church of Death and End, the application might take some time."