Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 939

"Do you practice divination?"

Seeing Miss Capet produce a coin, Miss Knight asked, her voice filled with hope.

"I'm afraid not," she replied. "But since we're out of options, how about we let a coin toss decide our next move? Heads—the side with the number—we wait here until dawn and then explore the mist. Tails—the side without the number—we leave and search for other clues in this mirror world. If it lands on its edge, we'll press deeper into the mist to find a path."

It was an absurd way to make a decision, but on second thought, they had no better ideas. Before Miss Capet could toss the coin, however, Jenkins held out his hand.

"Let me," he offered. "I haven't studied divination either..."

He had, in fact, but to no avail.

"But I have a strange sort of luck. Whenever a critical decision comes up, I always manage to touch the hermit's boots."

To "touch the hermit's boots" was a common saying, a metaphor for receiving a stroke of good fortune.

Jenkins tossed the coin, and it fell straight down. It should have spun on the ground for a moment, its crisp ringing echoing in the silent night before settling on heads or tails. But all four of them had overlooked the uneven, sloped pavement. The coin bounced twice upon landing and, to their surprise, began rolling across the street.

"I swear to the Sage, I didn't do a thing!"

Jenkins immediately raised his hands, worried they would think he was somehow manipulating the outcome. In truth, he knew his [Destiny's Stage] ability had to be at play; there was no other explanation.

"Let's go inside and take a look."

The huntress suggested, not quite saying whether she believed him or not. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ Nov3lFɪre.ɴet

"It must be a coincidence," Miss Knight remarked. "Perhaps Mr. Williams has some kind of passive, fate-related ability."

Miss Knight trusted Jenkins implicitly; the Saint of the Inherited Sage Church was beyond reproach. Her casual guess was surprisingly close to the truth, and Jenkins immediately nodded in agreement.

"I've seen things before," Miss Capet added. "Perhaps the hermit is indeed smiling upon us heretics."

Though her words were veiled, Miss Capet, who had only just met him, was also showing trust in Jenkins. Her attitude was baffling. The huntress's caution and Miss Knight's faith were both consistent with who they were, but there was no logical reason for a newcomer to the city to place so much confidence in a stranger.

Regardless, the priority was finding that coin. Jenkins's eyes swept the interior of what looked like a flower shop. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he pushed the door open and stepped inside first.

It was just as dark inside the building, but at least there was no fog, so their lights were unobstructed. The coin's path was easy enough to follow. Without much trouble, the group found it behind the shop counter. It was propped at an angle against the back of a rotting clown's hand, gleaming in the beams of their four lamps.

For a moment, no one spoke. Ever since that conveniently timed misfire, Jenkins had been aware of his [Destiny's Stage] ability, and now he was witnessing its power once again.

"I swear to the Sage, again, I really didn't do anything," Jenkins insisted.

Seeing his companions' stunned silence, he bent down, picked up the silver coin—which had landed neither heads, nor tails, nor on its edge—and handed it back to Miss Capet.

Judging by the state of decomposition, the red-haired clown had been dead for quite some time. Jenkins could usually detect the fading glimmer of an Enchanter's power on a body if they had died within the last three days, but there was nothing left on this corpse.

That meant he had died a long time ago. The only mystery was the lack of any putrid smell.

The body was covered in a dense network of wounds, as if it had been slashed repeatedly with a sharp knife. But it was just as plausible, he thought, that the cuts were from sharp fragments of a mirror. This godforsaken place was certainly not short on bizarre, mirror-related phenomena.

"He died eleven days ago," Miss Capet stated. "I don't know why the decomposition is so slow."

She announced her conclusion without even touching the body, which Jenkins guessed was a unique skill from the Church of All Things and Nature. This further cleared Jenkins of any suspicion; he had met with Miss Knight just last Friday, so it was impossible for him to have been in this mirror world eleven days ago.

"This wasn't a death in combat, but from some natural phenomenon."

The huntress offered her own conclusion.

"This was an evil person, but not exceptionally so."

Miss Knight added her assessment.

The women's assessments left Jenkins feeling a little awkward, as he had been unable to draw any conclusions himself.

As if sensing his awkwardness, the cat on his shoulder brushed its tail against his neck, then leaped down and began to paw at the clown's comical outfit.

Jenkins understood at once. He scooped his cat back into his arms, then pinched the fabric of the clown's costume, feeling its thickness. Near the chest, his fingers found a letter tucked away in the inner lining.

Instead of opening it, he passed the envelope to the huntress behind him. She felt the paper between her fingers for a moment before unfolding it. By the glow of the lamp in Miss Capet's hand, she began to read aloud:

"The plan has failed. Something deep within the mirror world stirred in its sleep, and the power of the malevolent object leaked out. My reflection has gained unforeseen strength. I am doomed.

Permanently abandon this mirror, number 23. After my reflection kills me, it will likely remain here for a long time. You won't be able to defeat it. Abandon mirror number 14; the Church has already established a connection there. Abandon mirror number 02; it has been occupied by a sealed, unnamed entity of evil.

I'm sorry. I can't walk this path with you any longer."

"What does that mean?"

Miss Knight asked, not yet grasping the implications.

Before she could finish, a strange sound echoed from the street behind them. The four of them turned to look. A red ball appeared from the left side of the shop's display window, bouncing rhythmically down the misty street before disappearing past the right side of the frame.

A moment later, it bounced back from the right, only to be caught by a red-haired clown. The clown's face was caked in thick greasepaint. In the fog, the normally warm colors seemed unnervingly dark. His mouth was a smear of white, but the lips, stretched in a grin that nearly reached his ears, were a vivid, bloody red.

His head twisted ninety degrees to the side with an unnatural jerk, as if his neck were about to snap. A grotesque smile fixed on his face, he stared at the four people inside the shop. Then, raising a hand clad in a lace-trimmed glove, he placed the red ball onto his nose.