Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 965

Convinced he had uncovered the truth, the burly man spoke as green flames erupted from his pores, engulfing his entire body. His already stout frame swelled, his height stretching to well over ten feet. Armor that looked like molten rock materialized across his skin, and on his chest, the twisting green fire coalesced into a strange, flickering rune.

"A Green Fire Balrog!"

Jenkins finally recognized the creature before him. This being, a Green Fire Balrog, was a subspecies of the legendary Balrogs—a bizarre race born from ancient human sacrifices to their kind.

Unlike the terrifying Balrogs, the flames of a Green Fire Balrog burned a venomous green. They were also weaker—in relative terms—but possessed the ability to traverse the Shadow Realm. The creatures were intensely hostile toward humans, and according to Church records, none had been seen in the material world since the 15th Epoch.

A greatsword materialized in the balrog's hands, and wreathed in green fire, it swung down at Jenkins. With no time to dodge, Jenkins could only summon the White Bone Holy Sword to block the blow.

The clash of steel rang out as immense force surged through the greatsword. The impact nearly tore the blade from Jenkins's grasp, and his feet sank deep into the soft earth. Had he not braced himself, that single blow would have flattened him.

The green-wreathed balrog roared at Jenkins, its greatsword—gleaming with a dark light—rising once more before crashing down. Amid the shriek of metal on metal, Jenkins’s body shuddered, but he managed to stand firm.

The balrog sneered, its sword falling, rising, and falling again in a relentless rhythm. Each blow sent a numbing shock up Jenkins's arms, yet he endured every strike.

On the seventh strike, the sound of the impact changed. As the greatsword met the White Bone Holy Sword, a sharp crack echoed, and the blade shattered at its center. The broken half flew over the carriage and plunged deep into the earth on the far side of the path. The balrog, left holding only the hilt, froze for a moment. It then tossed the useless remnant aside, and its hand, now a wicked claw wreathed in malevolent fire, lunged for Jenkins’s heart.

Freed from the pressure of the greatsword, he could finally maneuver. His strength was no match for the creature's, so he sidestepped the claw and retreated.

He tossed a freezing charm forward. The activated spell instantly coated the balrog's skin in frost, but the creature's flames melted it away in seconds. The balrog roared and lunged again, but its massive frame was no match for Jenkins's feline agility.

Sidestepping another lunge, he deftly circled behind the balrog and slammed a frost-infused fist into its back.

The blow only made the balrog stagger before it spun around to lunge at Jenkins again, but the layer of ice on its back stubbornly refused to melt.

"Meow~" ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novelFɪre.net

Chocolate stood beside the carriage, its tail flicking lazily to swat away the small insects buzzing over the barren ground.

Seeing that his Frost Punch was effective, Jenkins changed tactics. He didn't dodge this time, instead letting his right arm take the creature's blow. As his right side went numb, he pressed his left hand directly against the balrog’s chest. Frost instantly bloomed across its skin.

The balrog faltered for a second before its claws shot toward Jenkins’s neck. Jenkins ignored the attack, his left hand striking the creature’s chest in a rapid-fire succession of blows, so cold that frost began to creep up his own arm.

The claws found their mark. Green fire seared Jenkins's neck, raising a string of nauseating blisters. But that was the last thing the monster would ever do. The power of the frost had already seeped into its heart, and for most creatures with "balrog" in their name, that burning heart was their very core.

As the extreme cold of the Frost Punch enveloped its heart, the balrog's strength drained away. It opened its mouth wide, as if to utter one last curse, but no sound came out. The green flames covering its body flickered and died.

"Too bad monsters in this world don't drop things like magic cores."

The strange words came out in a raspy, damaged voice; his vocal cords had been scorched. Fortunately, it was an easy fix. A simple touch of his hand, and the injury was gone.

He stood still for a moment, watching as the blue spiritual aura signifying the creature finally faded to nothing. Only then did Jenkins turn to check on the coachman he had kicked from the carriage.

He wasn't dead, just had the wind knocked out of him. Jenkins lifted the man's shirt and found a tattoo over his spine: the crossed symbols of a whip and a sharp blade. He narrowed his eyes, thinking hard for a moment before the meaning finally came to him.

"The Dead Man's Whip cult... So, followers of the heretical god, the Lord of Slaughter, are in Nolan? I hadn't heard a thing... Besides, why would a cultist be working with one of those creatures?"

He mulled it over but couldn't make sense of it. In the end, he simply conjured some rope, tied up the coachman, and shoved him into the carriage along with the balrog’s corpse.

Once that was done, Jenkins glanced back at the empty fields, making sure he hadn't left anything behind. Then he scooped up his cat and climbed onto the driver's seat. Picking up the reins, he turned to Chocolate and asked:

"Chocolate, do you know how to drive a carriage?"

The cat, naturally, ignored the ridiculous question.

"What a coincidence. Neither do I."

Jenkins couldn't even ride a horse, let alone drive a carriage.

He picked up the whip lying on the seat, glanced at it, and set it back down. Instead, he tried mimicking the coachman, giving the reins a little shake. To his surprise, the horse, which had been placidly munching on roadside grass, began to move. It wasn't fast, but it was walking, and it was following the road.

"Great... wait, not that way, turn!"

Despite a few bumpy moments, Jenkins managed to get back to the church before his arithmetic class began. The horse turned out to be far more docile than he'd imagined. While it didn't always understand his commands, at least it didn't throw a tantrum and bolt.

The experience gave Jenkins a much deeper appreciation for just how different Chocolate was from ordinary animals when it came to intelligence.

The horse showed no hostility toward the writer who had knocked out its previous master, and in the end, it dutifully delivered the man, the corpse, and the cat to the church.

He had the guards at the church gate take the carriage to the stables out back before hurrying to Miss Bevanna’s office. He had a combat lesson with her that evening, so she was still there. She looked up, a little surprised, as he knocked and entered.

"Good evening, Jenkins," she said. "Did I get the time wrong? I thought our lesson wasn't for another two and a half hours."