Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 904

As he gave his instructions to the cat, Jenkins put on his sternest face, hoping the small creature—still oblivious to the current state of affairs—would grasp the gravity of the situation.

The cat nodded obediently before Jenkins set it down on the floor. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ Novᴇl_Fire(.)net

Seeing Jenkins turn to leave, it let out another soft meow, as if pleading with him to stay. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before his form began to fade, vanishing piece by piece.

The cat let out a mournful cry, staring at the spot where Jenkins had vanished for a long time before slowly padding over to B-08-2-8214.

It lifted a hind paw and gave the metal contraption a kick. Instantly, every trace of the unusual phenomena vanished, as if the preceding moments had been nothing more than an illusion.

A pitch-black hand emerged from the shadows in the corner, sliding open the left drawer. The items Jenkins had placed inside moments before floated out one by one, hovering in front of the cat.

It lapped up more than half of the Water of Grace, but in the end, it refrained from touching the Life Pearl.

A note of longing tinged its cry as it gently patted the glowing green orb suspended in the air. After giving the pearl one last, reluctant lick, it gestured for the shadowy hand to stuff everything back into the drawer.

As the cat cried out, a few wisps of fur detached from its tail and drifted into the drawer. The kitten's eyes widened. It opened its mouth, made a strange gagging sound, and finally spat out a scrap of paper no larger than a fingernail.

With a push of its paw, the scrap of paper fluttered toward B-08-2-8214. A moment later, the drawer slammed shut with a resounding bang.

The cat turned its head away, a look of reluctance in its eyes. After a long moment, it finally settled down, tucking its paws beneath its head to wait quietly for the reactivated machine to grind to a halt once more.

Upon his return to the Evergreen Forest, Jenkins's first act was to urge the surrounding animals to flee. While he couldn't understand the languages of rabbits, cats, squirrels, or deer, they all seemed to comprehend his words perfectly.

Jenkins then entrusted Chocolate's physical body, which he had left in the forest, to the care of the rabbits. He carefully tied Chocolate to the back of the largest rabbit. The creature looked less than thrilled, but it didn't struggle as Jenkins secured the bonds.

As he watched the throng of animals scamper away from the battlefield, Jenkins took a deep, steadying breath. He clenched his fists and broke into a run, heading for the forest's eastern edge.

The numbered items contained within the Evergreen Forest weren't scattered randomly; they were concentrated in one location near a grove of elder trees on the forest's eastern side. That area, constructed to look like a cemetery, served as a containment facility—and it was the very place Jenkins had long since designated as the stage for the final battle.

While forcing destiny's hand might seem like a reliable strategy, Jenkins preferred to let fate unfold a little more naturally.

The battle between the skeletal giant and the dragon was raging right there. As Jenkins sprinted through the trees, he could feel the earth shuddering with every footfall.

The mist grew steadily thicker, and as it did, the forest itself began to glow. A faint, pale green radiance, visible to the naked eye, drifted through the gray haze.

The glimmering light was clearly attempting to drive back the dense fog, but for the moment, it was struggling to make any headway.

The closer he drew to the elder grove, the louder the sounds of battle and explosions grew. Through his monocle, Jenkins could see the Benefactors stationed there, locked in combat with legions of the undead. Their figures were scattered throughout the dense fog; from a distance, all he could make out were dark silhouettes clashing and weaving between blinding flashes of light.

For the moment, no mindless skeletons blundered into his path, but the swooping specters above seemed to have taken a keen interest in him.

A white-robed specter dove straight from the sky, hurtling toward Jenkins, only to "coincidentally" slam into a jutting tree branch.

It was nothing more than an ordinary branch, yet the moment it touched the ghoul's spiritual form, she instantly dissolved.

Focused on his destination, Jenkins didn't notice what had happened behind him. He failed to realize that every potential attack aimed his way was being intercepted by the seemingly tranquil forest.

But Jenkins quickly ran into a problem: he couldn't find Skryu Pompey. His monocle could pierce the fog, but not the dense woods, and his Eye of Reality revealed only a chaotic swirl of countless colored lights, making it impossible to pick out Pompey's signature.

Even trying to locate the highest concentration of undead was futile; as far as his eyes could see, the forest was crawling with the wretched things.

He stood still, debating whether to summon his unicorn, when his skin prickled at the touch of an unnervingly cold wind sweeping in from afar.

As the wind arrived, the power of death intensified, flooding the area like an oppressive tide. The mindless skeleton Jenkins had just kicked apart began to reassemble itself, bones knitting back together on their own.

He had no time to spare for the reanimating corpse; the bone whistle hanging around his neck had begun to tremble violently. A sudden, powerful tug snapped the cord, and the whistle shot out from his collar, vanishing into the dense fog.

Jenkins froze the lunging undead solid with a single punch, then broke into a sprint, chasing after the bone whistle.

He spotted several familiar faces locked in battle along the way but had no time to even nod a greeting. The bone whistle shot ahead at incredible speed, but a path miraculously cleared before him—free of weeds, vines, and trees—allowing Jenkins to pursue it without breaking stride.

The wind grew more ferocious. Against the backdrop of the clashing dragon and giant, Jenkins steadily closed the distance to his whistle.

It was just within his reach when a deathly pale hand shot out from the mist and snatched it from the air. Skryu Pompey emerged from the fog, his form still that of a rotting corpse.

"I never would have guessed that the celebrated author, Jenkins Williams, is a Scribe for the Sage's Church."

Jenkins hadn't even noticed that his own body was now emitting a faint light—a soft, warm, golden radiance that stood out as the most brilliant color in the oppressive gray.

The Sage's holy emblem shimmered on his forehead; it was from this mark that Pompey had deduced his identity.

"You're the Saint?" Pompey mused. "Truly, I never would have expected it."

He pinched the bone whistle between his fingers, shaking his head slowly.

"Leave now," he offered, "and I might just let you live."

"You think I'd just walk away?" Jenkins shot back. "Not a chance, you monster!"

The two men stared each other down from opposite ends of a small clearing. In the background, the dragon unleashed another torrent of fire, but the skeletal giant raised its arms and incredibly, blocked the flames. A shower of sparks rained down, setting the surrounding trees ablaze. Jenkins and Pompey now stood in the heart of a burning forest.