Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 986

The second jump came sooner than he expected. Jenkins had just sat down on the bench to rest for a moment when, before the old painter Grant could return, a wave of drowsiness washed over him again.

He soothed his agitated cat, then leaned back against the hard, unyielding backrest of the bench as his consciousness slowly sank deep within himself.

"You shouldn't sleep here, you'll catch a cold!"

This time, a sweet, girlish voice roused him. He opened his eyes to find a little girl standing before him, holding a flower basket and dressed in a pretty little skirt. She looked like a flower seller, but from what Jenkins knew, they rarely dressed so finely. They certainly wouldn't wear hats trimmed with lace, nor would their skirts be adorned with rows of beautiful frills.

He was still on the same bench. It seemed he was still in the near future, and the gallery continued to exist. On the wall, where the painting of the cat and butterfly had once hung, there was now an ordinary landscape. It depicted a beach at sunset, a young woman bent over, gathering seashells.

"Hello. I'm just so tired."

He murmured to the girl, pressing a hand to his forehead as his headache intensified. A faint wave of nausea followed. It seemed he got sick not only from spatial travel, but from 'time travel' as well.

"Uncle Jenkins, what are you doing here? I thought you'd be at the royal palace in Bel Diran."

The girl asked softly, standing on her tiptoes for a moment before gathering her skirt and sitting down beside Jenkins, her manner warm and familiar. The gallery was still bustling with people, though he had no idea which artist's work was being exhibited this time.

His head snapped up, startled. The girl with the flower basket actually knew him. She had just said his name so precisely, which meant she must know him well.

"She called me 'Uncle'..."

By local custom, the only people who would call him 'Uncle' were the children of his brothers, John and Newman, or the children of very close friends. For instance, if he had remained neighbors with Mr. Goodman and stayed on good terms with the family, Mr. Goodman's daughter might have grown up calling him 'Uncle Jenkins'.

"Oh, I'm in Nolan on some private business... What about you? What are you doing here?"

He asked vaguely, covering his face to feign exhaustion. He ignored her comment about the palace, guessing that his future self must be on very good terms with Miss Windsor, who had apparently become queen.

"Oh, Uncle Jenkins, I'm here for a school activity! Mr. Sanders arranged for us to be flower girls at the exhibition for half a day. It's our final exam for practical studies!"

The girl's voice was light and cheerful; she must have a very good relationship with the future Jenkins.

"That's nice. A flower girl..."

Jenkins still hadn't figured out his connection to the girl.

"Oh, what time is it? I think I might have slept for too long."

"Uncle Jenkins, it's three twenty-five in the afternoon, on the first weekend of the Month of the Artisan and Sweet Dew, year 1880 of the Universal Calendar! You really shouldn't sleep here! You'll catch a chill!"

The girl announced, holding up a delicate pocket watch. It was encircled by a ring of what looked like diamond chips and seemed to be specially made for a child.

"Twelve years last time, fourteen years this time..." he thought. "Thank goodness for children. I only wanted to know if it was morning or afternoon."

As he was thinking this, the girl beside him reached out and placed her hand on his forehead.

"Uncle Jenkins, do you need a doctor? I noticed you look awfully pale."

"No, I think I'm just very tired."

Jenkins answered quietly, his mind buzzing with curiosity about his life in this future, but he didn't know how to ask.

"Here's a flower for you. I hope you feel better."

The girl said with surprising thoughtfulness. Jenkins rubbed his face and accepted the flower. Seeing the expectant look on her face, he pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and pressed it into her hand.

A brilliant smile immediately lit up the girl's face.

Jenkins muttered, feeling the drowsiness return. It meant his time was up.

"I'll be going to Bel Diran to study soon, Uncle Jenkins. Can I stay at your place? Grandfather's house is so far away, and Grandmother hates living in the city..."

Jenkins understood then; the girl had to be his niece, the daughter of one of his brothers. Judging by Mr. Goodman's age, it was impossible for his own parents to still be alive in this era.

"I love the pancakes Aunt Hathaway makes, but Aunt Alexia is always telling me to study, and then there's Aunt Chocolate..."

Unfortunately, Jenkins didn't quite catch the last name. Still, he was smiling when he came to, because this glimpse of the future showed that the girls could all live together in peace.

But his happiness couldn't completely mask his physical discomfort. This second jump had yielded no useful information, but his headache and nausea had grown significantly worse. He was so out of it he didn't even notice the worried expression on his cat's face.

The old painter, Grant, returned just before the third jump began. Noticing Jenkins's poor color, he suggested it was time to head home. But Jenkins felt like he could pass out at any moment; all he wanted was to stay put until the effects of B-07-1-6233 wore off. Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on NovelHub(.)net

So he made the excuse of being thirsty and asked Grant to fetch some hot water. The old man shot him a worried glance before hurrying away.

The third jump occurred three minutes and twenty-five seconds later. As he awoke from his stupor, a bone-chilling wind made Jenkins shiver uncontrollably.

He found himself in a quiet, deserted corridor. The dim interior was unlit, save for an open window at the far end of the hall that allowed moonlight to stream inside.

It must be late autumn, he thought, as the nights had grown significantly colder. He glanced at the opposite wall and saw a portrait of Dolores Stuart, resplendent in a crown and magnificent gown.

The young woman in the portrait looked a little more mature, though not by much compared to the 'present.' The perceived maturity was likely just an effect of the artistic style. In essence, she was still the sixteen-year-old girl he knew, full of a charming, youthful grace...

"It looks like she really succeeded," he thought. "What a magnificent dress. So her title is Queen Dolores Stuart...? But wait. Why would a portrait of the Queen of the Hamparvo Kingdom be hanging in an unofficial gallery in the Fidektri Kingdom?"

The portrait's frame appeared to be solid gold. It was protected by a glass case set into the wall, and a guardrail below it kept anyone from getting too close.