Lord of The Mysterious Realms-Chapter 22: The Flower Girl
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Starting from this chapter, further translation by Gemini 2.5 Pro!
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Jenkins was naturally overjoyed. He never expected such a wonderful opportunity. With just one job, he could earn three separate incomes—from the Church, as an apprentice, and a commission on acquisitions—and he’d get to learn for free on top of it all. He suspected that even the trade apprenticeship his father had pulled strings to secure couldn't compare to a tenth of this.
"That one gold pound you gave the young man," Jenkins began, "was that its actual value as an antique?"
Jenkins hadn't forgotten about the matter.
"You think I was too harsh, that I didn't show the young man enough consideration."
He asked in return.
Jenkins immediately waved his hands in denial.
"Of course not. I know that the better the storyteller, the more likely their goods are fake. I just want to learn more about antiques."
"You know about that?"
Papa Oliver looked at him with a hint of surprise.
"Yes, my family used to run a small shop, and my father would sometimes buy second-hand goods. I heard it from him."
In truth, he'd read it in novels from his past life.
"Well said. The young man might very well be a student, but that thing is definitely no family heirloom. He didn't even glance back at the ring when he left, which shows just how desperate he was to get rid of it. The way I see it, it's either some piece of junk he dug up somewhere, hoping to get lucky, or it's stolen property."
Jenkins opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. This era wasn't nearly as glamorous as it appeared on the surface. Countless sins and shadows lurked in the slums and sewers; gangsters and assassins were hallmarks of the age. And he had simply been lucky enough to land in a fortunate position.
"As for its value as an antique, if I were to appraise it myself, it's only worth two pounds. Everything I said during the appraisal was true," Papa Oliver chuckled.
"So you still made a pound."
Jenkins grumbled internally, though he didn't see anything wrong with it. On the surface, Pops Antique Shop was a legitimate business. If it didn't operate by the book, its true purpose would have been discovered long ago.
Just as Papa Oliver had said, no other customers came in for the rest of the morning. Jenkins diligently finished copying the Tadpole-like Writing one hundred times, and by the end, his head was spinning. He even gagged a few times.
Papa Oliver said this was normal. He scoffed at the Church of Death and End's method for accumulating Spirit at the lower levels, which involved getting close to corpses to "comprehend death" in some bizarre fashion. Now that, he remarked, was true suffering.
Jenkins couldn't feel any effect from the task, but that was because his sensitivity to Spirit was still low. After a few months of using his abilities and growing accustomed to the flow of Spirit in his body, he would be able to feel a faint current of energy just from copying a single character.
After lunch came a half-hour break, during which Papa Oliver tested Jenkins's knowledge of history. Upon discovering it was an utter disaster, he had no choice but to assign him some reading. Jenkins was to practice only after he had grasped the basic facts and terminology.
"At least you can read."
Papa Oliver muttered under his breath from behind the counter, leaving Jenkins standing nearby, too embarrassed to know what to say.
"It's all the original owner's fault!"
The rest of the day passed peacefully. Papa Oliver didn't involve Jenkins in dealing with the ring, but as he was about to leave, the old man tossed him a few history books to take home.
"You know about that giant octopus, so hurry on home."
Papa Oliver called out the reminder just as Jenkins was stepping out of the shop, and only then did he remember that whole affair.
In Nolan City at the end of July, the sun set late. Jenkins's home was to the west, while to the east lay the chaotic docklands. Both his family and Papa Oliver had warned him to stay away from there unless he had a very good reason, because the only place in Nolan with worse security than the slums was the docklands.
Worried he might run into that octopus again if he stayed out late, Jenkins decided to take a carriage home. To avoid being looked down on by the driver this time, he smoothed out his more mature-looking clothes, trying his best to pass for a middle-class gentleman just off work. Tucking the books under his arm, he strolled to the intersection of Fifth Queen's Avenue, where several carriages were parked, their drivers just beginning to hang out their kerosene lamps.
"Sir, would you like to buy some flowers?"
A timid voice piped up from beside him. Jenkins turned and saw a shabbily dressed little girl standing at the mouth of a nearby alley. She couldn't have been more than ten, with a plain face and dull blonde hair tied in a simple, thick braid down her back. Her shoes were so worn that her toes poked through the front.
"I have money now, anyway. I'll buy a bouquet to take home as a celebration."
With this thought, Jenkins smiled and walked toward her—though he was careful not to step into the alley itself. In this era, as long as one stayed on the main roads, common thugs and gangsters wouldn't dare cause trouble. But the labyrinthine alleys, teeming with filth and crime, were beyond the reach of the police.
"Sure," Jenkins asked cheerfully. "What kind of flowers do you have? How much for a bouquet?"
The girl’s face immediately lit up, and she lowered her head to pull a white flower with a three-inch green stem from her small basket. It looked like some subspecies of pinwheel chrysanthemum, but it was pretty enough.
"Sir, two pence for three."
"I was hoping for something red, but... this is fine too."
Not wanting to disappoint her, Jenkins reached into his pocket for the money. In Nolan, a day laborer earned about eight pence a day, and the girl's little basket likely couldn't hold more than twenty flowers. Considering they had to be kept fresh, the price wasn't expensive at all.
He had some change on him, and he carefully counted out two copper coins. Just as he was about to place them in the girl’s outstretched palm, a sudden, icy current surged straight into his eyes.
Instantly, the girl, the flower, and the basket before him all began to radiate a dark, inky glow.
"Black... that means it's a Mysterious Object."
The thought sprang into Jenkins's mind unbidden, and he felt his expression freeze.
"What is happening? I just wanted to buy a flower."
He stood frozen, not daring to move a muscle. A light evening breeze drifted through the summer city, but all Jenkins could feel was a hot flush spreading across his face.
"Sir? Aren't you going to buy it?"
Seeing Jenkins freeze, the little girl's expression shifted from slight confusion to hurt. A passing gentleman with a black hat and a walking stick glanced at the pair, pursed his lips, and strode on.
"I'll... I'll buy it."
"The defining trait of a Mysterious Object is its strangeness. If you encounter one, run if you can, and never look back." —Oliver
That was the secret to a long life Papa Oliver had shared with him just today. Right now, Jenkins didn't fully grasp what he had stumbled into. He didn't dare provoke the girl, but buying the flower meant coming into contact with a Mysterious Object. Weighing his options, he decided the girl was likely more dangerous than the flower—after all, she was a living person.
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Chapter 22: The Flower Girl
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