Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 907

"What I have... is far more than you!"

Jenkins mimicked Pomphey, raising the runed wooden sword and pointing it at his opponent. Behind him, hundreds of animals burst forth from the burning forest.

Jenkins did nothing, yet a gale suddenly erupted. It was a fierce wind, entirely different from the ceaseless, eerie breeze that had been blowing. It swept in from the east of the valley, carrying motes of vibrant green light. Accompanied by the howling wind, the entire forest rustled as if in response.

The sound was powerful enough to resonate with the very earth, and in the heart of the forest, the great tree began to tremble the moment Jenkins's sword appeared. As Chocolate led the animals charging out of the sea of fire, green ripples began to emanate from the tree's trunk.

These ripples seemed to resonate with the sword in Jenkins's hand. The fawns that leaped from the sea of fire were suddenly clad in silver armor. The eagles carrying Chocolate down from the sky found their feathers turned a noble gold. The rabbits' bodies swelled in size as they summoned a gentle breeze, and the long snakes leaped into the air, sprouting wings as delicate as white silk...

In an instant, these transformed animals surged past the Church's Benefactors and Jenkins, clashing head-on with the advancing undead army.

Jenkins, for his part, locked eyes with Pomphey across the battlefield, feeling the immense power flowing from the sword in his hand.

"So, who's the protagonist now?"

The truth was, Jenkins didn't really know what was going on. His earlier cry—"What I have... is far more than you!"—had just been a desperate hope for a response from his allies behind him. As for the animals' transformation, he was utterly clueless about the mechanics of it.

"Pomphey claimed no weapon in this era could surpass the Skull Sword, so I decided to forge my own. He claimed no power in this world could overcome it, so..."

He raised his sword high toward the sky, toward the dim, starry expanse.

The sea of stars churned. A beam of starlight shot down through a break in the dark clouds. The once-dim starlight now shone as brightly as a stage spotlight, casting a straight beam from the night sky to illuminate Jenkins and his sword.

A silver-blue light flickered in his eyes, and a silent, ancient starlight settled on the blade of his sword. This celestial light merged perfectly with the green glow of life, making Jenkins the most conspicuous figure on the land.

"I, Pomphey, am the protagonist!"

For a moment, the knight hesitated, his instinct telling him to retreat as he'd done before. But the Skull Sword had already clouded his judgment, and Jenkins's youth gave him the false impression of weakness.

He shook the reins and charged at Jenkins once more. A sweeping aura of death followed his sword, leaping over the clashing animals and undead as it rushed forward.

Jenkins met the charge, sword in hand. The beam of starlight moved with him, continuously feeding him power.

The two met head-on in the center of the battlefield and the inferno, the flames casting a red glow on both their faces. As the two swords clashed, the runed wooden sword snapped on impact. The Skull Sword was knocked from Pomphey's grasp, spinning away into the dense, burning woods. Both men froze for a second, then Jenkins, with a flick of his wrist, thrust the broken wooden sword forward again.

Against a normal living person, such an attack would have had little effect. But unfortunately for him, his opponent was a living man who had transformed into an undead. The power of the stars and of life tore through the bone armor, and the jagged end of the broken sword plunged into his heart with almost no resistance.

After the brief exchange, the man and his horse pitched forward and fell to the ground. Jenkins, still bathed in starlight, stood with his back to them, watching as the transformed animals slaughtered the undead on the battlefield.

He turned around, holding the broken sword, and took a deep breath of the scorching air from the sea of fire. He gave a faint smile to the Church Benefactors, who were still trying to process what had happened. Weak from exhaustion, he soon stumbled and collapsed.

In the heart of the inferno, the hero with the broken sword watched the fallen demon king before collapsing to the ground, losing consciousness.

Naturally, he didn't see Captain Bincy's panicked rush, nor the inscrutable look in Chocolate's eyes as the cat perched on a rabbit's back. And he certainly didn't see that Pomphey, despite losing the Skull Sword, still had a way to escape via spatial teleportation right under everyone's noses.

Although he had lost his weapon, he still possessed his knowledge of necromancy. Although he was gravely injured, with a decade or so of recovery, he could still make a comeback.

Leaning against the alley wall, he spat out a mouthful of black blood. The armor on his body had completely flaked away, and in his escape, he had discarded all his equipment, including the nun's habit. A thin fog filled the air. Blood trickled down the hand he used to support himself against the wall.

But it was discarding the nun's habit that had saved his life. Otherwise, the clash between the spirit of life and the undead energy would have already killed him.

"Damn you, Jenkins Williams!"

He howled silently, spitting blood. A loosened tooth fell out with a ragged breath and landed in the pool of black blood on the ground.

He clutched the wound on his chest with his right hand, taking a long time to push himself into a sitting position. He paid no mind to his clothes, which were covered in dust and torn. His gaze fell upon the thick fog and the filthy alley. Trash was piled in the corner, and vulgar graffiti was scrawled on the wall. It was clearly an ordinary alley somewhere in the city. Official source ıs novel_fіre.net

"I have to get out of Nolan as fast as possible. I'll be back one day."

He didn't dare speak loudly, afraid of aggravating the wound in his chest. He staggered toward the mouth of the alley, but before he could even see where he was, a man's foot brutally kicked him back.

Pomphey lay sprawled on the ground, black blood slowly spreading out from under his body until it formed a pool. He struggled to lift his head and look forward, but his vision was failing. He could only vaguely sense that the man before him looked familiar.

"Damn it. You made me lose so much face in front of my friends. How am I supposed to face them at the next gathering?"

Mr. Hood stood there, holding the top of his hat. The dim streetlight cast his shadow long, completely enveloping Pomphey in the alley.

The middle-aged man muttered to himself, complaining. In his left hand was a compass whose needle pointed directly at Pomphey. In his right, he gripped the handle of a butcher's knife.

Even in the late-night fog, the blade still glinted with a cold light.

"I know Mr. Candle, Mr. White Cat, and Mr. Silver Flute won't say anything, but MrMagic will definitely laugh at me in secret. That woman is always like that... No, maybe Mr. Candle will be laughing at me at home, too. He looks so serious, but I can tell he's definitely not that stoic... You actually made me lose face in front of my friends..."

He knelt beside Pomphey's head with the knife, his face under the hat twisted in a look of disgust:

"Sorry, sir. I believe I'll be borrowing your head."