Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 860

Old Jack sighed and shook his head, then scooped some porridge from his bowl and brought it to his lips. Jenkins had to admit, the old man's cooking was superb, especially his control over the gas stove—it was nothing short of masterful.

"So, between you and Pomphey, who's the better alchemist?"

Jenkins asked, feigning curiosity, and earned a sharp glare from the old man. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ novel-fire.net

"Do you even have to ask? Me, of course."

If this were a world of comics, Old Jack's mustache would have shot straight up to the heavens.

"Jenkins, let me put it this way," he began. "In this day and age, in the entire material world, you won't find more than a hundred humans whose knowledge of potions surpasses mine."

He puffed out his chest with pride. Jenkins quickly shoved his spoon into his mouth to hide a grin.

The cat, stubbornly perched on his head, wondered why Jenkins had stopped teasing it. It peered down suspiciously, hesitated for a moment, and then leaped from his head onto the table.

"So, is there a way to determine if someone has awakened an ancient, exotic bloodline?"

Jenkins had finally arrived at the heart of the matter. He had been circling the topic all this time just to ask this one question. That afternoon, he hadn't been able to figure out the connection between the wooden toy dagger and his ability's evolution, but he had already begun to suspect it had something to do with elves.

He was hoping Old Jack could offer some insight, especially since he still hadn't received any news from the Church.

"Most exotic bloodlines cause a change in physical appearance."

Jenkins quickly tried to recall his reflection in the mirror. There didn't seem to be any changes.

"It's simpler for an Enchanter. The sudden emergence of a new ability is a clear sign of an awakening... Fine, there are also special items that can grant abilities without a ritual, like the B-10-3-4093 [Reader's Notebook] stored in the Noland diocese, which can only be used three times. The abilities you can learn from it aren't just limited to blue heteromorphic ones. But items like that are incredibly rare. The odds of finding one are lower than discovering your ancestors were... intimately acquainted with an exotic species."

Jenkins thought back again. While the appearance of most of his abilities seemed incredibly coincidental, they weren't entirely without cause. One of his blue heteromorphic abilities was a gift from Barnard, and another came from his encounter with the unicorn. Nothing was out of place there.

"If none of those apply, then seek your answers in dreams. The awakening of an ancient power also brings with it fragments of memory. The power of those exotic bloodlines is just that domineering."

This time, Jenkins didn't need to think back. While he often had strange dreams, he'd never dreamt of anything related to elves. A colossal black cat frequently appeared in his dreams, but Jenkins was certain he possessed no powers related to exotic felines—otherwise, his "ordinary cat," Chocolate, wouldn't be so disobedient.

The [Cat's Grace] he'd developed from his experience raising a cat didn't count; that wasn't an exotic power.

"So I probably have nothing to do with elves,"

Jenkins concluded with a hasty preliminary judgment. But he didn't completely dismiss his suspicions, deciding instead to consult an uninvolved professional—like Miss Audrey—for her opinion once he returned to Nolan.

The cat's little paw toyed with Jenkins's fork, as if sighing at his attempt to seek the truth from a diviner.

In truth, Old Jack had been entirely correct; all the signs he mentioned were indeed manifestations of an awakening exotic bloodline. The problem was, the special bloodline in Jenkins hadn't appeared in his generation. It dated back to long before the transmigrator had taken over this body at the end of last summer—a span of a hundred years. The foolish stranger from another world hadn't considered looking that far back.

Once their discussion about potions was over, Old Jack asked Jenkins if he was free tomorrow, Tuesday.

He had accomplished most of what he'd set out to do in Shire, including getting some rest. Now, he should be thinking about returning to Nolan.

"Hmm? For me, there doesn't seem to be much difference between Shire and Nolan..."

"Good. Come with me to catch Lost Butterflies..."

Chocolate's ears perked up at once.

"Is that a potion ingredient?"

"Yes, their wings are a very important potion ingredient. Unfortunately, for the last three hundred years, these little critters have only lived around Shire. They only appear in specific spots during late winter and early spring each year. Your sighting last week was pure coincidence."

Old Jack sighed. His real intention was to keep Jenkins from stirring up trouble by taking him along. If Papa Oliver were here, he would have scoffed at the idea; going out with Jenkins was far more dangerous than letting the man go out alone with his cat.

The cat, unconcerned with any danger, flexed its claws, eager to show off its hunting prowess to Jenkins—and get revenge on that flock of foolish butterflies.

The defining trait of a Lost Butterfly was its ability to randomly teleport any living creature it touched. This spatial teleportation had an extremely high priority; most abilities or items that could seal off a space were useless against them.

"Contact" wasn't limited to direct touch, either. Indirect contact through fur or clothing was judged as contact with the entire being, triggering the teleportation. Only clothing made from a few special materials could block this holistic judgment. The one Old Jack provided for Jenkins was a massive cloak that felt like it was made of silk.

While catching the butterflies, they would both have to drape their cloaks over their heads and be constantly vigilant against butterflies slipping in through the gaps at their feet.

"The last thing I want is to hear in three months' time that you've been found on some deserted island overseas."

Old Jack offered this as a warning. Jenkins dazedly clutched the cloak, thinking that Old Jack's herbal medicine shop was probably even more profitable than Papa Oliver's antique store.

The butterflies were most active in the evening near Kankela Canyon on the outskirts of Shire, so the pair set off at a leisurely pace after lunch. Their coachman was quite curious about their attire and took an interest in their tools, like the wooden boxes and nets. Seeing Chocolate, he mistook them for a team of rat-catchers heading to the countryside for work.

With nothing else to do on the road, Jenkins and Old Jack began discussing the origins of the Lost Butterflies. Their history, it turned out, was far longer than Jenkins had imagined.