Judging by Jenkins's expression, the man in the hunting attire knew his explanation wasn't cutting it. He spoke again:
"I have no desire to gamble against a lucky soul like you, one so clearly favored by fate. I refuse to let my future hinge on whether or not you ascend to godhood. So, let's make a deal. What will it take for you to overlook my infraction? I can't just do anything, you know. As you said yourself, these are special tis—the end of an Epoch. What I did, while not exactly right, wasn't egregiously wrong either."
He spoke evasively, but his intent was clear: he wanted to offer compensation to make Jenkins drop the matter. The last part of his statent was a veiled warning, a subtle hint that Jenkins shouldn't ask for the moon.
"First, I need to be sure. How much control does the Difference Engine have over you? Can I even trust you?"
Jenkins demanded, his grip tightening on the demonic sword, giving him a nacing look. Of course, the cat on his shoulder looked even more intimidating. Unsure of what Jenkins was thinking, Chocolate decided it was best to act docile to earn his "forgiveness."
She believed Jenkins was just giving her the silent treatnt.
The chanical, human-faced serpent Jenkins had encountered on the first floor had been willing to sacrifice itself just to halt his progress. With that in mind, he couldn't be certain that whatever "compensation" he received wouldn't be a trap.
"Truthfully, it doesn't control much at all. But the benefits it offered were substantial. It helped repair the forge and even gave so of its fire. This forge was in ruins before, nothing like what you see now. It was a wreck before that machine invaded. As for ..."
He rapped a knuckle against the tallic part of his body:
"Don't be fooled by this half-tal, half-stone appearance. It's a ruse to deceive that machine, to make it believe I'm on its side. How else would it agree to help repair this place? The damn thing has so impressive repair skills, I'll give it that, and the fire it provided is incredibly potent. Changing my look and giving you a hard ti in exchange? Absolutely worth it."
Seeing Jenkins's disbelief, the man in hunting attire thrust his hand directly into the river of fire that flowed ceaselessly from the sole remaining doorfra. Instantly, the flas engulfed him, setting his entire body alight.
A mont later, the torrent of fire receded, continuing its flow toward the forge behind the gate. The man in the hunting attire stood there completely unscathed, his clothes untouched. The only difference was that his body was now entirely stone—the tallic parts had vanished.
"You see? As long as the fire burns, I can never be controlled by another power. I am the keeper of the fla here. It is my duty, my very mission. Until this fire is extinguished, no one can control ."
It was the truth, and Jenkins believed him. Still, the man would have to pay a price for his forgiveness. His actions had been deplorable—deceiving the Difference Engine, harassing Jenkins. From the looks of it, he was the only one coming out ahead.
But Jenkins was still puzzled:
"So, this place... it isn't just a simple Mysterious Realm ford from the spatial fragnts of a shattered world, is it?"
"Of course not. The origins of Mysterious Realms are complex and varied. You must understand, the spatial fragnts drifting through the void don't all co from shattered worlds. So are prisons for sealed evils, others are bizarre dinsions born from the whims of probability, and so are even functional spaces created by great beings—like this one."
The man gestured toward the forge behind him:
"You can think of this realm as a kind of failsafe. If the material world were to be destroyed by so unforeseen cataclysm—I an completely annihilated—the fla here would sustain it. The mories and experiences of the powerful, those who were incinerated and reforged, would return to the material world. Of course, this isn't the only failsafe. The great beings created many such bizarre realms on a whim."
"Will the end truly co?"
Jenkins asked.
"I don't know. I can't see it coming, at least not yet, but one must always have a contingency plan. It's like insurance for a house—no matter how low the chance of collapse, you still get a policy... Does 'insurance' still exist as a concept in your ti? In any case, the most important function of this place, in my view, isn't to prepare for so ultimate doomsday. It's to provide spellcasters in the material world a ans to summon heroic souls. There are still thods circulating in your world to call upon the spirits of past heroes, aren't there? A small fraction of those thods connect directly here."
Jenkins had heard of such rituals. While not popular in the current age, the "School of Spirit Calling" had once been a major branch of the mystical arts.
"And you've been guarding this place the entire ti?"
"Yes, yes. It's a dreadfully boring job, but since I can travel to past eras and seek out the powerful who have died, it's not all bad. In fact, there's sothing else I can tell you. A Mysterious Realm like this, one that multiple people can enter repeatedly across different ages, only appears at these special junctures—at the end of an Epoch. In normal tis, Mysterious Realms are a one-ti affair."
"That's news to ."
Jenkins was mildly surprised, though not entirely shocked. The recent Mysterious Realms—the ancient town and the shadow castle—had clearly been entered by more than one person. He'd already considered the possibility.
"Alright, alright. I've explained the basics of this place. Now, what do you want as compensation?"
The conversation finally circled back to the beginning. Jenkins now understood that the man had "frad" him simply to repair the forge, essentially using the Difference Engine as a patsy. But even though the man had, in a way, helped him master his newfound power, Jenkins wasn't about to forgo his compensation. He had, after all, been doing the man's dirty work for him. It was only right that he get paid.
"Fix my sword."
He summoned the shattered White Bone Holy Sword.
"Sorry, can't do it... What's with that look? I'm not lying."
The man imdiately held up his hands:
"You should know this yourself. This sword is part undead, part wood. Fire is the natural enemy of both. I can't repair it without destroying its original properties. You have to understand, I'm no blacksmith. I'm just the keeper of this place."
"But you said before that the other two swords could be used to repair it..."
Jenkins asked, his voice laced with suspicion. The man replied with a sigh of resignation:
"That would have essentially annihilated the sword's original power, doing little more than fixing its shape. It might have even damaged the other two intact swords in the process. I wasn't trying to trick you—it was that steam-breathing monstrosity that told to do it."
"So you really can't repair it?"
Jenkins confird, a note of regret in his voice.
"That's right. But why repair it? The blade is broken, but the power remains. After you leave this nine-story tower, find a patch of fertile soil and plant the two pieces together. It should nd itself in two or three years. But don't use any nature spirits to speed up the process. It must heal on its own, completely naturally. If anything goes wrong otherwise, I take no responsibility."
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