Lord of The Mysterious Realms-Chapter 64: Death?
He was still weighing his options, the scales in his mind tipping toward refusal, but Papa Oliver suddenly spoke up.
"No problem," Papa Oliver said. "Business has been slow lately. I can let Jenkins leave early."
He clapped Jenkins on the shoulder from behind. Jenkins immediately changed his tune.
"In that case, yes," he agreed. "Thank you for the invitation. Is there anything I need to prepare?"
A sweet smile bloomed on Miss Mikhail's face once more.
"I hope you can prepare a few stories."
"Huh?"
After the young woman left, Jenkins looked at Papa Oliver, puzzled.
"You were about to refuse, weren't you?"
Papa Oliver cut in impatiently.
"Yes," Jenkins replied. "Didn't you tell me my luck has been bad and that I shouldn't go out unless I have to?"
"That depends on the situation."
With a look of profound disappointment, he motioned for Jenkins to sit down and then began to explain.
"You should know that while the Fidektri Kingdom has followed the other two nations in establishing a parliament, most of the real power remains concentrated in the hands of the nobility. Briny's father, Marquis Mikhail, may only be a marquis, but he's a noble with genuine influence—he commands most of the Nolan navy! Even the majority of the dukes in this kingdom have to show him respect.
Therefore, the friends Briny Mikhail keeps are all children of the kingdom's most prominent nobles and wealthiest capitalists. Getting to know people like that will be immensely beneficial for your future. Unless they decide they want to go exploring in some demon-infested forest over the weekend, you absolutely must attend!"
Jenkins nodded, still a little lost. He didn't know much about such worldly affairs. Most of his time was spent studying the Orthodox Churches, pseudo-gods, and other occult matters. Even in his leisure time, he was more likely to be found reading books on mathematics, history, or grammar.
"And one more thing."
Papa Oliver wasn't finished.
"You're turning twenty-one soon, aren't you? Just because you work for me doesn't mean you can't take a day off. You're cooped up in this shop every day, never socializing with people your own age. What are you going to do about getting married?"
A jolt went through Jenkins. He never expected Papa Oliver to bring up that subject.
In this world of relatively low productivity, commoners married young; it wasn't at all unusual for girls to become mothers in their teens. His own parents, Robert and Mary Williams, had married at sixteen. And while his older brother, Newman, wasn't married yet, he had been with his sweetheart for a long time and they were only waiting to set a date for the wedding.
So, ever since Jenkins had "turned over a new leaf," Mary Williams had made finding him a wife her top priority.
It wasn't just his mother. Even Bishop Parrold would bring up the subject with great enthusiasm whenever Jenkins ran into him during his weekly church visits.
"But you just said that Miss Mikhail's friends are all children of the true upper class," Jenkins protested quietly. "I'm just a humble antique shop apprentice..."
"Do you think my only titles are 'shopkeeper' and 'honorary university advisor'? Being my apprentice is nothing to be ashamed of..."
Papa Oliver shot him a sideways glance.
"Besides, you sacrificed a measure of divinity to the Goddess. You're destined to be recognized as a Saint of the Church. When that happens, as long as you're not aiming for a princess, won't you have your pick of any bride you want? Don't come in during the day on the weekend. Get yourself cleaned up, go socialize with people your own age, and for heaven's sake, don't be nervous when you talk to girls. Don't you dare embarrass me."
"I can't believe I transmigrated just to get pressured into marriage," Jenkins muttered to himself.
Despite his internal grumbling, he had no choice but to agree.
There was still some time before the next secret gathering, and the investigation he'd commissioned the huntress to undertake was still in progress. He had already submitted his on the castle-themed Mysterious Realm, and besides the professor's promise to take him to another gathering, there was indeed nothing particularly urgent on his schedule.
When Jenkins got home, he showed his family the copy of *The Stranger's Fairy Tales* he'd bought and casually mentioned he would be attending a reading salon on the weekend.
He had only meant to let them know he would be home late that night, but he hadn't counted on the sharp senses of Mary Williams, who immediately seized upon the most critical detail.
"Will there be many girls there?" she asked.
And so, Jenkins found himself the new owner of a full black formal suit, a pair of calfskin leather shoes worth twelve gold pounds, and several spare white shirts to choose from.
On Sunday evening, a rather weary Jenkins arrived at Papa Oliver's shop by carriage. Pinned to his chest was the silver brooch from Bishop Parrold, and tucked into his pocket was the silver watch from his brother. He wore a sleek silk top hat and carried a solid wooden cane.
The whole ensemble concealed his youthful features, making him look far more mature—like a true gentleman.
Even the cabman had charged him five pence more than usual.
"You clean up nicely."
Papa Oliver nodded. "I'm sure your mother picked that out for you. To be honest, your own sense of style is dreadful."
Before Miss Mikhail arrived, Papa Oliver did more than just verbally jab at Jenkins; he also shared a piece of news.
"A Benefactor from the Church of Death and End was killed this morning while on a mission. A Cursed Item he was carrying was taken by the murderer."
"What level was the Enchanter?"
"A level six."
Papa Oliver's expression was grim. "It shouldn't affect us for the time being. The killer has no way to block divination, so the Gravedigger Squad is already on his trail. His capture is only a matter of time. But the stolen Cursed Item is the real danger. Its safety is rated at level four, meaning it can be used after a strict review process, but the ratings for these things are notoriously unreliable. Honestly, by the Sage, I don't think any Cursed Item is worth trusting."
"Which Cursed Item was it?"
Jenkins pressed.
"It doesn't belong to our church, and the Church of Death and End is embarrassed by the incident, so they haven't sent out a formal notice yet. All we know for now is its designation: A-12-4-6701, the 'Shard of Death's Cloak'."
"Death?"
Jenkins was stunned. The churches of this world were incredibly strict and precise when it came to naming artifacts. They would never use the word 'god' lightly, as it would be considered blasphemy.
"That's right."
Papa Oliver closed his eyes, murmuring as if to himself. "I think I heard about this item back when I was young. It's a strange one. It seems that for a certain price, it can guarantee the death of any living creature..."
He trailed off, but Jenkins was certain that the so-called "price" was far more severe than a simple equivalent exchange. The first part of the word for Cursed Item—'詭'—wasn't there for decoration. It meant treacherous, and it was never a joke.
.
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Chapter 64: Death?
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