Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 861

"One thing is certain: Lost Butterflies are a product born from a concept. They embody humanity's fear of the unknown world, a relic from a more barbaric age."

"They're a truly ancient race, then!"

Jenkins exclaimed in amazement. He shifted on the carriage seat to give Chocolate some room as the cat looked around, then asked curiously,

"Then why didn't the Lost Butterflies withdraw from the material world along with the other aberrations?"

"No, they did leave with the other aberrations. At least, in the last Epoch, the Church of the Righteous God has no records of any human sightings... The ones around Shire are likely a newly formed colony. Since they are born of a concept, they can reappear anywhere at any time."

The carriage wheels must have hit a rock; the carriage jolted violently. Old Jack immediately reached out to steady a wooden box at his side.

"So, are there any old legends about these butterflies? Seeing as they originate from such a distant age, I imagine they must have some fascinating stories."

Jenkins steadied his cat as well. Though it had already settled back onto his lap, the sudden lurch had clearly been a fright.

It wasn't a cigarette, as Old Jack wasn't using tobacco. According to him, the long, thin, yellowish leaves had a stimulating effect on the mind. Smoking them this way kept him alert all day.

Most importantly, the smoke he exhaled was odorless—otherwise, Jenkins figured, Old Jack wouldn't have been smoking inside the carriage.

"Stories about the Lost Butterflies are plentiful; some are even common knowledge. You've surely heard the tale of the legendary paladin, Strange of the Silver Hand. In the popular version, a butterfly guides him to the lost Silver Sword. The truth is, that lucky fellow was simply transported to some ancient ruins by a Lost Butterfly."

Jenkins immediately feigned a look of surprise. The story of that ancient hero was one of the most beloved adventure legends among young boys.

"Take the story of the Lost Butterflies and the ancient calamity, for instance. There's no written record of it; it's only been passed down through oral tradition."

Chocolate's ears twitched a couple of times.

"That too is a tale from a bygone era. A terrifying creature once encountered a swarm of Lost Butterflies, and a fierce battle erupted. In the end, the overwhelming swarm transported the nameless creature to a distant desert. Their battle, however, indirectly tore a hole in space at the Great Maelstrom, at the far eastern edge of the material world's ocean."

Jenkins's expression was again one of wonder; he loved stories . But he failed to notice the cat on his lap meticulously licking its paws. Chocolate hated those butterflies.

The two bid farewell to the driver in the outlying village of Log Village, arranging a time for him to return. Then they followed a muddy path through the settlement and toward a canyon deep in the mountains.

Log Village was the closest settlement to their destination, making it an unavoidable stop. The writer and his cat, both from the city, were initially curious about the small rural village. But after only a few steps, the foul stench sent them scurrying away.

The villagers had little concept of sanitation. People and livestock lived side-by-side, and animal waste was piled up everywhere, creating a serious problem for the air. It was a good thing this wasn't Nolan; if a major plague were to break out, none of the villagers would survive.

It was around four in the afternoon by the time they reached the canyon. After hiking for nearly two hours, Jenkins was feeling weary. No path led to this place, forcing them to trek through wild fields and forests. This was made all the more difficult by the cat perched on his shoulder; Chocolate, naturally, had no desire to navigate the uneven, dung-strewn forest floor. The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the novel·fiɾe·net

Old Jack, however, seemed completely unaffected. Compared to the winded Jenkins, he looked more like the vigorous young man of the pair.

"Since I was thirty-five, I've been constantly taking various potions to improve my constitution. That's why I say, compared to appraising antiques, concocting potions is a far more worthy pursuit for a promising young man like yourself."

Old Jack still hadn't given up on trying to sway Jenkins, but Jenkins remained resolute. His display of loyalty deeply impressed the old man; the more steadfast Jenkins was, the more Jack felt that Oliver had truly found a treasure.

Catching Lost Butterflies wasn't particularly dangerous, so to gather what they needed quickly, the two split up upon entering the canyon. The canyon floor was dark and damp, the ground still covered in unmelted snow. Old Jack headed toward the middle of the canyon while Jenkins positioned himself at the entrance, ensuring that when the swarm appeared, at least one of them would be in its path.

Before they parted, Old Jack reminded Jenkins several times to keep his cloak on. Jenkins nodded as he arranged his gear, then scooped up his cat, who was sniffing everything in sight, and tucked it into his pocket. He was worried it might get teleported away.

"Don't you dare move!"

he warned. Looking down, he saw a small feline head poking out of his pocket. The cat nodded obediently, its wide eyes looking impossibly cute.

"I don't fancy having to find you thousands of miles from here," Jenkins added. "Without me, who's going to feed you every day?"

he cautioned. The cat gave another docile nod.

His pocket watch read ten minutes to six. Bored, Jenkins stood idly at the bottom of the valley, his cloak pulled over his head as he gazed at the setting sun. Suddenly, a great gust of wind blew from the west, carrying with it glittering specks of light. Jenkins looked up and saw, in the gathering dusk, vast clouds of faintly glowing butterflies approaching from the distance.

They were like a shimmering tide in the air, or a stampede of horses across a snowy plain. In an instant, they streamed over Jenkins's head, forming a glittering ribbon of light through the canyon.

He immediately swept his net high into the air. The moment it made contact with the butterflies, translucent ripples spread through the air, and the swarm passed right through the net as if they were mere illusions.

They could transport living creatures, so naturally, they possessed spatial abilities of their own. But Old Jack's net had been imbued with a special ritual, one that had a chance of canceling out the butterflies' spatial shifting. The odds weren't high, so he had to keep trying. Eventually, one attempt was bound to succeed.