Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 906

Typically, gods do not descend to the material world lightly, nor do they readily interfere in the affairs of mortals. An exception might be made if another god is involved, if their church faces annihilation, or if a power from beyond the world invades the material plane—like the Hanging Mother Goddess's Shadow last year.

So, even when the Skull Sword appeared, the gods made no move, at least not openly. That was why the divine power now radiating from Jenkins struck Pomphey with such astonishment. He had never expected to face such an opponent.

With a flick of the reins, his horse neighed and charged, cutting straight through the inferno toward Jenkins. The brilliant glare of the flames washed out the color of his white bone armor. He raised the terrible sword high, and within the fiery glow, the black blade clashed against pages of gold.

At the heart of the sea of fire, a knight and a cleric battled. Their unrestrained spirit was so potent it nearly formed a tidal wave of energy, forcing even the forest fire to recede for several seconds before surging back. The dragon and the giant paused their own struggle for a moment before tangling with each other once more.

"The Sage says all things have their order, and the dead should return to the earth!"

Clad in a white robe, Jenkins held a book in one hand and a staff in the other, channeling the formidable power coursing through him. His words alone triggered a divine art, requiring no ritual to invoke.

A golden radiance spread out from him, colliding head-on with the Skull Knight's darkness a moment later.

For an instant, the world seemed to consist of nothing but black and gold. The battle between the living and the dead had only just begun.

The knight's sword and the cleric's staff collided, showering sparks. Neither gained an advantage.

"Death is the destination for all."

The knight wheeled in the air, unleashing a tide of souls upon the living. Amplified by the Skull Sword, the wailing spirits, laden with envy and hatred, rushed forward like an unstoppable flood from a broken dam.

"The Sage says books are the soul's companion!"

The book in his left hand became a vortex, absorbing the spectral forms. The cleric seized the opportunity, his staff clashing against the blade once more as a torrential waterfall of golden lightning erupted toward his target.

"The breath of death will eventually envelop the world. All mortals must die!"

The horse's hooves, treading on empty air, suddenly echoed with a clip-clop sound. A massive, ghostly shield materialized before the knight, deflecting the golden lightning completely.

The sword danced through the air in a blur, and ripples formed in the space behind the knight. As sword and staff met again, tens of thousands of undead emerged from beyond the spatial wall, and the black energy once again gained the upper hand.

"The Sage says mortals are fearless, for knowledge is our strength."

The voices of the cleric and the Scribes resonated as one. Even the heretics standing in the flames raised their weapons, preparing to face the impending, inescapable end. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ novel•fire.net

The cleric flew forward, his staff blooming with an incomparably brilliant light; the knight charged on his steed, his blade radiating a chilling power.

The next second, the orbs of black and gold light collided. The impact sent trees toppling in waves and spiderweb cracks racing across the ground. The blast of energy tore through the dark clouds above, but behind them, there was only the dim night sky.

The fire that had destroyed the forest still blazed, encircling the men and the undead on the barren land. No sunlight shone upon the living, for the night was deep.

The Benefactors from the five major churches stood together, their expressions resolute. Jenkins knelt on the scorched earth, every trace of the otherworldly power gone from him.

Pomphey stood on the other side of the clearing. His armor was flaking away in pieces, revealing half of his face, and his steed was missing a third of its bones.

But he remained mounted. His undead army, though more than halved by the divine art's purification, still shrieked, poised to attack.

"You see? I am the star of this stage. There can be no mistake."

Pomphey's voice was weak but steady. He planted his sword in the ground to steady his mount. Through the half-shattered helm, thick, black blood could be seen trickling down his grimy face.

"No. You are not the star of the stage."

Jenkins pushed himself up from the ground, every muscle screaming in protest. Someone behind him moved to help, but he waved them off.

"Cough, cough... You have already lost. A Saint's blessing is not the same as a divine descent. You were merely wielding a finite power bestowed by a god, and now that power is gone. But I..."

He pulled the sword from the earth and pointed its blade at the living.

"I still have Death and my army!"

The undead let out a piercing shriek as the crackling flames cast their terrible forms in a crimson glow. Beyond the sea of fire, in the background, the giant finally brought the dragon down, and dragon blood rained across the forest.

"What do you have left, Jenkins Williams? Even if your life has been smooth sailing, even if you became a Righteous God's Saint at the age of twenty, you are not the protagonist. I am! You are just a stepping stone for me. Tell me, what do you have left, Jenkins Williams!"

His voice suddenly took on a crazed edge, and his body trembled in unison with the sword. In Jenkins's eyes, the spiritual auras of Pomphey and his blade had become one.

Jenkins stood straight and raised his right hand. He looked to the sky, and red blood, just like Pomphey's, trickled from his own forehead, but his gaze remained firm. For the first time, he truly felt like he was the protagonist of this world.

A short, sharp eagle's cry cut through the air. A hawk carrying a black cat soared over the elder tree forest, circling before entering the space above the inferno. On the left side of the clearly divided battlefield stood Jenkins and the Benefactors; on the right, Pomphey and his undead legion.

The hawk flew beneath the boundless dark clouds. A green bead, tied with a red string, fell from the cat's paws and dropped from the sky, landing perfectly in Jenkins's waiting hand.

"I still have my cat!"

He lowered his right hand but kept it raised at his chest, palm down. The red string was wrapped around his index finger, the bead hanging below.

The green bead misted with an emerald aura, glowing with light and heat like a burning green fireball.

An ultimate sense of verdant life erupted from the bead, and the column of green light took the form of a long hilt. Jenkins's hand closed around the handle where the bead had been, and with a flip of his wrist, he raised the pillar of light.

The light dissipated, revealing a runic longsword in Jenkins's hand. Vines wrapped around the hilt, a sundial was embedded within the blade, and the wooden body bore the rings of an ancient tree, radiating a weathered aura that seemed to have witnessed the growth of all things.