Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 874

The soundproof glass ensured the middle-aged man outside was the only person present who hadn't heard Jenkins's words. His body drifted toward the window, pressing against the pane before passing through it as if walking through a cascade of water, emerging inside the room.

He settled by an inch, the soles of his leather shoes tapping sharply against the expensive wood floorboards.

His gaze swept over the people before him. He raised his right hand and snapped his fingers, a flame instantly erupting from their tips.

"Your Highness, there's no need to worry. I'm here to help you," he said. "Of course, don't forget the promise you made."

It was clear Howard Stuart was utterly bewildered. The two Enchanters beside him, who had been disguised as ordinary men, had abandoned their cover and were gripping his arms, poised to flee at a moment's notice.

"But the man from the Tree House is already here, isn't he? Why do we still have to run?"

Jenkins felt he had just heard a rather significant name.

He fixed his gaze on the newcomer's face.

"Then will you surrender? The Tree House welcomes any ambitious soul. We could even send you to Nolan, in the Fidektri Kingdom. They happen to be rather short on people there."

His voice was elegant and composed, carrying a persuasive quality that made one instinctively trust his words.

"In that case, you can die!"

As his voice boomed, Jenkins instantly merged with his [Inexhaustible Fire], his body transforming into its elemental state. Roaring flames sent the temperature soaring, triggering a sharp pressure drop that stirred a wind within the sealed room.

And through that swirling wind, Jenkins threw his right fist forward.

The middle-aged man didn't dodge. Instead, he confidently threw his own right fist to meet the blow. His knuckles were wreathed in black shadows, and Jenkins, who had once briefly visited the Shadow Realm with Chocolate, recognized the scent of its power.

Their fists met head-on, and the man was sent flying backward. He never reached the window, however, as a thin tendril of water coiled around his right wrist.

Jenkins yanked him back. Taking advantage of the moment the man was suspended in mid-air with no leverage, he drove his fist forward again, smashing it into the man's face.

Judging by the impact, his nose was surely broken. But it wasn't over.

With a guttural cry, his fiery form subsided. Drawing on a memory of Chocolate toying with a mouse, Jenkins activated [Cat's Grace]. His brow furrowed in concentration as he unleashed a rapid, powerful flurry of blows. The visceral, flesh-on-bone impact of each punch was brutally clear.

He still lacked Chocolate's finesse, but the sheer force of the assault was more than the man could handle. When the barrage ended, he was flung backward again like a ragdoll. Yet before he could shatter the window, the tendril of water caught him once more, pulling him short and dropping him to the floor in a motionless heap.

Throughout the exchange, he had uttered little more than grunts, but the sheer power radiating from his standing form—hands hanging loosely at his sides—was palpable to everyone in the ballroom.

Jenkins raised a foot and brought it down hard, crushing the man's wrists and ankles. Then he gestured to those behind him, signaling that they could begin to secure the scene.

He was strong, yes, but not strong enough to face a level-seven Enchanter and win so effortlessly. The victory had been secured by the demigod Alexia. The moment the fight had started, she had muddled the man's mind. In reality, Jenkins had been doing little more than pummeling a senseless slab of meat.

As the dust settled, the ballroom fell deathly silent. The lingering scent of blood and fire still hung in the air, but the most powerful image was that of the young man—in his black-robed form—standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

Jenkins repeated the name, his brow furrowed as if he'd stumbled upon an unsolvable riddle.

Every piece of information he had gathered pointed to one conclusion: the stage for this epoch's great drama of destiny was Nolan City, on the west coast. So for a group ambitious enough to vie for the title of Savior to appear here in Ruen, in the farthest reaches of the north... something was deeply wrong.

Excluding the possibility that the unconscious man had been lying, there had to be some hidden truth to this that Jenkins was not yet privy to.

His gaze shifted from the man being dragged across the floor and settled on the prince and his entourage, who were still enclosed within a transparent barrier.

He muttered the name in his mind. A blurry black shadow materialized behind him, then shot forward, leaving a fleeting afterimage as it raced toward the barrier.

A deafening explosion rocked the manor, shattering every pane of glass on the entire floor. Black flames and shards of glass erupted outward in all directions. From outside, it looked as if someone had detonated a massive steam bomb right in the window frame.

Alexia threw up a sapphire-blue shield, protecting those around her. Jenkins was caught in the blast of fire and glass, but the others could only see his back. They didn't see him healing his own wounds as he strode toward the ruined window.

The tinkle of falling glass was completely masked by the heavy, deliberate tread of his footsteps. For now, at least, Jenkins's mysterious persona remained intact.

The prince's barrier had been utterly obliterated by the Twin Demons. The two Enchanters who had erected it now lay unconscious amidst the acrid smoke and the rubble of the splintered floor.

The section of the second floor by the window was on the verge of collapse. The floorboards simply hadn't been built to withstand the force of the Twin Demons. Had Alexia not intervened, Jenkins's reckless move might have brought down half the building.

He stood in the gaping frame of the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down. Below, men holding kerosene lamps were closing in, forming a semicircle against the manor wall. Dozens of beams of light converged on young Howard Stuart. He was sprawled on the ground, his face smeared with blood, but he was still struggling to push himself back up.

"At least he wants to have the dignity to be arrested on his feet," Jenkins remarked. Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on novel{f}ire.net

"No," Alexia whispered in reply. "I think it's just that the ground is covered in broken glass. He has no choice but to get up."

For the moment, the fighting inside the manor was over. From start to finish, only a single Enchanter from the Tree House had appeared. Jenkins had expected at least one demigod to show his face, but Alexia reminded him that across the entire continent, there were likely fewer than a hundred Enchanters who had reached the eighth level.

The vast majority of those demigods belonged to the various divine orders, including the cults of heretical gods. The few who operated independently, like the mad Constantine from long ago, would never dare cause a disturbance in the kingdom's capital. After all, Ruen, much like Nolan City, was a major diocese. The number of demigods standing guard here was, if anything, even greater than in Nolan.

Even if the Tree House did have other demigods in its ranks, they would never reveal themselves so openly within the city. These might be somewhat chaotic times, but order and peace were still the prevailing themes of the age. To those who walked a darker path, the power of the Churches remained a terrifying force.