Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 872

Alexia pointed this out, and Jenkins didn't bother to conceal his thoughts.

"...Yes, I suppose I am."

He was tempted to clutch his forehead and groan. More than the Skull Sword, whose whereabouts were unknown, it was the family banquet at the end of the month that truly troubled him.

While early spring had already arrived in distant Nolan on the west coast, the northern city of Ruen remained draped in a blanket of silver. The night air was frigid, most roads were covered in snow, and spring was still a long way off. The harsh weather would likely persist into April, perhaps even May.

Tonight, the group of four hadn't lingered in the study, instead leaving the royal palace at a carefully chosen moment. The heavily guarded palace complex might have been a dangerous labyrinth to others, but with Julia as their guide, Miss Stuart had even taken Jenkins to see the study where her father, King Salsi II, handled his daily affairs.

Jenkins had to admit, the decor in that study was exquisite.

The air was crisp and clear, revealing a vast, star-filled sky overhead.

A bright moon hung high amidst a river of stars. Their carriage sped along the city's narrow roads, leaving two parallel ruts in its wake, only to be quickly erased by the fresh snowfall.

At first, Jenkins assumed it was a group of drunks brawling in the street, but he soon distinguished the crack of gunshots within the din.

As the carriage pressed forward, the clash of cold steel, furious shouts, and sporadic gunfire grew more distinct, making Jenkins wonder if a rebellion had broken out in the city.

"No, it's just a gang war."

Julia explained quietly, and seeing that Jenkins was still confused, she added:

"The Skoll Vipers from the lower district and those thugs from the Masons' Association are fighting over turf. Winter is ending in two months, and they're vying for control of the area around the train station."

Although advances in the steam industry allowed trains to traverse the northern kingdom's icy landscape, the winter schedule was much more limited than the summer one for safety reasons.

"Of course, that's just the official story... In truth, Her Highness's people are having a showdown with the Eleventh Prince's men."

"The Eleventh Prince... As I recall, he's just a boy of thirteen."

"In our country, thirteen is old enough to be considered an adult. After all, some men have already become fathers at that age."

Julia explained patiently, concluding with:

"This is nothing major. Prince Howard Stuart is too young. He jumped into the 'war' rashly, completely unprepared to fight for the crown. Her Highness simply wants to teach him a little lesson and extract some information..." Chapters fırst released on novel•fire.net

While Julia spoke, Miss Stuart tried her best to suppress a proud expression. Yet she couldn't resist glancing at Jenkins, peeking at him from the corner of her eye in a way that reminded him of his cat, Chocolate, trying to look innocent after being caught stealing a treat.

"Do you need my help?"

"We're just spectators."

The carriage carried the four of them through streets and alleys. People occasionally sprinted past, chasing or being chased, but no one dared approach the opulent vehicle. Jenkins wasn't sure if they feared its owner or the large escort of guards that followed, but it hardly mattered.

Although Howard Stuart was only thirteen, unlike his sisters, he had already earned the right to his own residence. The young prince lived in a quiet neighborhood on the edge of the commercial district, but tonight, the area was anything but quiet.

When Jenkins stepped out of the carriage, holding his visibly sulking cat, he saw that on both sides of the luxurious little estate, houses and trees were ablaze.

The glow of the flames cast a crimson hue upon the snow. The crackle of burning timber and the dangerous blaze licking at its surroundings were things that had no place within a city.

The estate gates had been thrown open, the ground at the entrance trampled with chaotic footprints. Even more conspicuous were the bodies being dragged away and the earth stained black with blood. When their carriage came to a halt, most of the men present bowed to Miss Stuart.

"What's the situation?"

Julia asked, and the only woman at the gate who wasn't occupied immediately hurried over.

"Our people have made it inside, but the Eleventh Prince has some unusual people on his side. Our forces are currently pinned down in the second-floor ballroom. Should we..."

"That won't be necessary. Her Highness will handle it personally."

Julia declared, then glanced back at Miss Stuart. The Third Princess nodded in approval. With a wave of her hand, a blast of arctic air erupted from her sleeve, freezing the entire burning building solid.

she warned, and the men standing nearby immediately looked at her with fanatical adoration.

Jenkins found their reaction unsettling. He had only ever witnessed such fervor among the rarest of religious zealots. This, he supposed, was true charisma. As someone who excelled at working alone—practically a one-man "Congregation of Lies"—Jenkins couldn't help but admire such an ability.

Miss Stuart's hand was trembling; freezing an entire building in an instant was impossible with her power alone. She must have used some kind of special ritual or item. The effort had left her somewhat drained, but she didn't appear to be in any danger.

The fighting on the estate grounds had not yet ended. As he walked the gravel path toward the main building, the brutal scene left Jenkins speechless. He wanted to cover Chocolate's eyes to shield the cat from the gore, but the feline had already leaped onto his head, still sulking.

Bathed in flickering firelight and the color of blood, the group entered the manor. The scene inside was even more horrific. The foyer, watched over by a massive portrait, and the wide staircase were almost completely stained black with blood.

Gore clung to the metal banister, and a cherub statue, smeared with blood and grime, looked more like a demon. Only three of the oil paintings on the wall remained hanging; the rest lay scattered across the stairs and floor. To Jenkins, it felt less like watching art being destroyed and more like seeing stacks of crowns go up in flames.

The higher they climbed, the clearer it became that the battle was still raging. As they reached the second-floor landing, a young man with a severed left hand charged them with a dagger, only to be instantly riddled with bullets by their guards.