The tide of fortune seems to have taken a turn for Monsieur Ive…
His handling of the robbery the previous night must have laid bare his secret, especially in the face of a disguised Beyonder masquerading as a police officer…
Had they sniffed out something amiss and laid a trap in anticipation?
The gears in Lumian's head whirred ever faster, his growing suspicion suggesting that his 'robbery' attempt on Monsieur Ive had alerted the man and his unseen benefactors.
Still, he couldn't verify any peculiarity regarding the landlord without attempting some sleuthing.
Realizing the eyes of the figure at the Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons could be upon him, Lumian abandoned the thought of paying a 'visit' to Monsieur Ive, making a hasty exit from Avenue du Marché.
An urgency overwhelmed him to execute the Prophecy Spell in order to unravel some of the mysteries plaguing him.
…
Within the confines of Quartier de l'Observatoire, near the subterranean cemetery, warmed by a flickering bonfire, Lumian spotted Osta Trul's peculiar stance. "Did you manage to procure the items I asked for?"
Osta responded with a genuine grin, "Indeed. The entrails of a lynx, tongue of a hyena, marrow of a stag, and some gray henbane. It all amounts to 5 verl d'or. Including the reward you pledged, it comes to 20 verl d'or."
Per their agreement, Lumian was to hand him an extra 5 verl d'or for each item. But, noticing the sum worth of the items was only 5 verl d'or, Osta's conscience wouldn't allow him to charge full price, hence the discount.
Lumian didn't mind. The arrangement saved him a great deal of time.
Naturally, he didn't push to pay more, handing Osta a sum of banknotes amounting to the quoted price of 20 verl d'or.
The four items were contained in either modest glassware or small wooden boxes and cloth bags. Lumian inspected them individually before sliding them into his pocket.
His gaze once again fell on Osta Trul. "Any further insights on the aquatic monster?"
Osta nodded. "Indeed."
His expression bore a plea for affirmation.
"In my effort to gather more information about the aquatic monsters, I even ventured into the underground river myself. Regrettably, the ground was treacherous, and I ended up taking a tumble."
He pulled up his sleeve, revealing the distinct marks of his slip on his forearm.
So that's why his posture seemed off… If I hadn't requested Osta to gather information on the aquatic monster, would he have avoided the injury? Yet I only enlisted him after foreseeing an imminent accident. What could have transpired if I had rescinded? A feeling of inevitability wrapped Lumian.
He was also a pawn in the game of destiny, his actions and will embedded in the luck he sensed.
Lumian curtailed his musing and responded with a light chuckle.
"I did advise you to be cautious."
The recollection of Ciel's warning for the upcoming days suddenly sprung to mind.
Did it manifest so rapidly? Is his divination prowess truly this potent? Amid his astonishment, Osta queried, "You divined I would be injured within the next two days?"
What Sequence does Ciel belong to?
Not only does he appear combat-savvy, but his divination skills are impressive!
A grin played at the corners of Lumian's mouth.
"It's not divination."
He held back further explanation, leaving Osta to his own conjectures.
Seeming to take the hint, Osta didn't press further. Instead, he shifted the conversation back to the aquatic monster.
"I've been able to piece together the whispers and conjecture, and it seems there are three kinds of aquatic monsters in the underground river:
"The first appears to be a drowned corpse, bloated and eerily pale. The second resembles a grotesquely mutated fish, standing nearly as tall as a man, covered in sturdy scales that seem impervious to harm. The third bears an uncanny resemblance to strands of black hair floating atop the water, only to suddenly reach out and ensnare the unwary souls on the banks, dragging them under.
"These aquatic monsters, however, aren't particularly formidable. Most of their attacks on humans end in failure, which accounts for the abundance of tales and rumors.
"They're an elusive lot. Sometimes seen two or three times a month, sometimes they disappear entirely. I ventured down there last night myself, but aside from my unfortunate slip, I found no trace of them."
Lumian scoffed at this, saying, "With your level of combat prowess, I wouldn't bet on your return if you ran into one of them."
Osta only managed a sheepish smile in response, not deigning to refute the comment.
The only reason he dared to venture there was due to the aquatic monsters' reputed weakness and his own divination.
Lumian's brow furrowed in contemplation. Given the aquatic monsters' record, any Beyonder team from the two Churches or Bureau 8 could effortlessly eradicate them. So, why were they still prevalent?
If the underground river concealed a greater peril, any poor soul encountering the aquatic monster should have no chance of escape.
As these thoughts spun in his mind, Lumian took the materials Osta Trul had provided and carefully concealed them between a pair of nearby rocks.
He was cautious, thinking that should he engage in a heated battle with the aquatic creature in the future, these delicate items might get damaged.
Afterward, Lumian handed Osta a 5 verl d'or note.
"This is for your insights about the aquatic monsters."
Lumian picked up his carbide lamp and, following Osta's instructions and the tunnel signs, began his journey towards the underground river.
A few moments of hesitation later, Osta quickly rose, grabbing his own carbide lamp and hurriedly following Lumian.
Upon hearing the rapid footsteps, Lumian spun around, his puzzled gaze landing on Osta.
Osta managed a strained smile and said, "I'll come with you. I might be of some assistance."
"You?" Lumian couldn't veil his incredulous disdain.
Osta cleared his throat before divulging his actual motive.
"The aquatic monster is a spiritual being. It's improbable that you'll want everything. I-I'm hoping to scavenge what you leave behind."
If fortune smiled upon him and he found a buyer for the parts, he could make a tidy sum of more than ten verl d'or!
Lumian merely stared at Osta, letting the tension build before finally breaking into a grin.
"You're welcome to tag along, but don't expect me to play your bodyguard."
From what he could discern, Osta's luck was veering away from a bloody end and instead showing promise of a minor financial windfall.
Essentially, if Osta joined him on this underground river expedition, it implied that the hunt might be relatively safe and potentially lucrative.
Of course, Lumian couldn't be entirely sure that his decision wouldn't sway the course of Osta's luck.
"No problem." Osta replied, devoid of apprehension.
In his mind, he'd merely be tailing Ciel from a distance. If they happened to encounter an aquatic monster, he'd simply keep a wider berth. The threat to his own life seemed minimal at best.
Osta's unwavering resolution prompted Lumian to study him a moment longer.
Seeing that his luck hadn't shifted, Lumian lifted his gaze, picked up his carbide lamp and resumed his journey forward.
In a way, having someone like Osta trailing behind had its benefits.
Sometimes, the art of fishing required bait. On other occasions, in the face of a formidable monster, one needn't outrun the beast. One just needed to outpace their so-called allies!
The two of them ventured deeper into the subterranean world, each step guided by the flickering light of their carbide lamps.
After roughly ten minutes, they were engulfed by an escalating humidity, and Lumian could discern the faint murmur of flowing water.
He held his lamp aloft, casting an eye over the tunnel signage before veering into a pathway shrouded in darkness to his right.
Soon, the telltale shimmer of water, distorted by the lamp's radiance, beckoned ahead.
Lumian approached the underground river with caution.
It stretched five to six meters wide, ensconced beneath a naturally-formed stone dome peppered with stalactites. The water was relatively clear, meandering through the carved gullies.
Apart from a scattering of moss, Lumian detected no signs of life at first glance.
Osta had already ceased advancing, observing from a safe distance as the dangerous Beyonder meticulously combed through the riverside.
The pair maintained a distance of over ten meters, sporadically progressing and halting.
Fifteen minutes elapsed, and Lumian's search bore no fruit.
Half an hour passed, and the situation remained unchanged.
As the path ahead began to constrict, Lumian's keen eye spotted some anomalies.
By the riverbank, several rocks lay scattered, their edges tinged with soil.
A struggle here? This thought nudged Lumian's heart as he cautiously neared the area.
He crouched down, setting the carbide lamp aside and examined the vicinity with careful scrutiny.
Soon enough, he discovered a pair of footprints and signs of something being dragged away.
Yet, where these traces led, the river flowed transparent and calm. The riverbed was clearly visible and bore no hint of lurking dangers.
Drip. A solitary droplet of liquid landed on Lumian's nape.
It was chilly and adhesive.
An immediate sense of peril overwhelmed Lumian. Without delay, he jerked his head upwards.
In the cavernous interlude between stalactites, a glistening figure of grayish-white writhed.
Its head resembled a python, the body slick with scales akin to a fish. From where fins should have been, emerged two arms and a single leg, eerily human-like.
The monster's mouth gaped open, unveiling a neat row of ferocious white teeth. From its mouth corner dripped a viscous and foul-smelling liquid.
In the following heartbeat, the monster pounced, soaring towards Lumian.
Crouched on the ground, Lumian tumbled backwards.
Simultaneously, his body coiled like a spring, catapulting his right leg upwards in a swift whip-like motion.
With a satisfying crack, Lumian, teetering on the brink of falling, landed a solid kick on the airborne monster who failed to evade the strike, hurling it towards the opposing stone wall.
Crash!
The monster collided with the rocky facade.
Lumian was back on his feet, charging at his opponent with the feral urgency of a cheetah.
As the monster slid off the wall, Lumian's form was mirrored in its muddy yellow eyes.
Lumian reached out, seizing its arm.
The monster didn't evade but opened its palm to welcome the assault.
Each of its digits sprouted sharp scales, glinting ominously with a deep blue sheen.
Without warning, Lumian twisted his elbow and flicked his wrist, clasping the monster's wrist with both hands to thwart the menacing blue scales.
He then extended his right foot, sweeping away the monster's lone leg.
With just one leg, the monster was powerless to resist. Its only option was to harness Lumian's grip on its wrist to propel itself upward, its solitary leg trailing behind and its monstrous maw leading the charge, ready to devour Lumian's entire head.
At this critical moment, Lumian relinquished his hold, lowered his stance, and rolled towards the stone wall.
Thud!
The aquatic monster landed heavily behind him.
In a fluid motion, Lumian swiveled, snatching the monster's leg. Channeling his strength from the core, he swung it towards the stone wall.
Crash!
The monster's skull crumpled upon impact.
Lumian didn't pause. He maintained his swinging momentum, battering the monster against the pillar, the wall, and the floor, with dark red blood and pale yellow fluid splattering everywhere.
Amid the pounding sounds, craters formed on the stone wall, and the monster's skull started to fragment, the contents spilling out in a gruesome red tide.
More than ten meters away, Osta Trul stood agape, utterly mesmerized by the violent spectacle.
How savage!
Incredible!
Thump! Lumian unceremoniously dropped the mutilated, lifeless aquatic monster onto the ground.
-x-X-x-
Osta Trul had never questioned Ciel's competence in tackling the aquatic monster, yet the ruthless efficiency with which he dispatched it caught him off guard.
It felt much like witnessing an adult landing a blow on a child.
A persistent inquiry bobbed to the surface of Osta's thoughts.
To what path and Sequence could Ciel possibly belong?
Why could he engage in combat and appear to wield formidable prophetic capabilities?
Within a region speckled by dark-crimson and dull-golden symbols, Lumian crouched, brandishing his ceremonial silver dagger. He slid the blade into the monster's open wound, cleaving through its flesh, and deposited it in the hollow timber container prepared earlier.
Once two containers brimmed with the monster's flesh and scales casting a dim cerulean glow, he uncapped a metallic flask and began collecting the monster's blood that burbled ceaselessly.
Witnessing this, Osta methodically closed the gap between him and the vanquished monster, lingering nearby.
Before too long, Lumian rose, pivoted, and retraced his steps.
Scrambling, Osta hastily crouched and started amassing blood, scales, and what he believed to be spiritually rich organs.
His gaze frequently darted to Lumian, who was steadily increasing his distance, showing no signs of halting for Osta.
A sense of unease began to seep into Osta.
After all, Ciel had dispatched the aquatic monster with terrifying ease. Given his earlier performance, Osta feared that Ciel could also eliminate him without much effort. Should he remain alone by this subterranean river in the depth of the darkness, and should another monster be lured by the scent of blood, he would find himself in dire straits!
With a sense of urgency, Osta hastily stowed the harvested materials, not daring to dawdle. Fighting the temptation to salvage more of the monster's remains, he left a good 90% behind and hurried after Lumian.
As their carbide lamps winked out at the tunnel's end, darkness reclaimed the area, save for the perpetual whisper of water.
After an indeterminate time had passed, a group of thrill-seeking university students made their way through the cavernous labyrinth, kerosene lanterns in hand.
They discovered a partially collapsed stone wall and a pathway disordered and fragmented.
Apart from that, all was serene and silent. Not a trace of the aquatic monster or blood stains were found.
…
Having bid Osta Trul adieu, Lumian found himself a seat in a public carriage, bound for Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman.
Retrieving the remainder of his ingredients from Auberge du Coq Doré's Room 207, he grasped his carbide lamp and plunged once more into the realm below ground.
As Lumian descended from the floor, mimicking the surface world, his pace slackened.
Under the glow of the carbide lamp, he noticed fresh, evident footprints marking the slightly damp path.
Heavy footprints… Lumian studied them for a moment, voicing his puzzlement.
From the looks of these prints, he concluded that the passerby must've weighed upwards of 100 kilograms, or been shouldering something hefty.
Who could it be? An underworld smuggler? Lumian had his suspicions, but he didn't intend to tail them.
Trier's subterranean labyrinth was brimming with people. Obsessing over each footprint would only exhaust him.
Besides, the other party had no quarrel with him. Provided they didn't interfere with his upcoming ritual magic, he had no concern even if he was ready to ensure their silence.
Turning the lamp's dial, Lumian tempered the reaction between carbide and water, thus dimming the flame's intensity and casting less light.
He was concerned that the maker of the footprints was near, and might detect the bright light closing in from behind.
Continuing his journey, Lumian suddenly halted, nose twitching.
He detected a familiar aroma.
A musky perfume designed to awaken masculine desires, intermingled with a citrus hint.
After a brief moment of mental rifling, Lumian identified the scent's owner.
Little Minx Jenna, the Showy Diva!
Could these be her footprints? Preposterous. Surely she doesn't weigh more than 100 kilograms? She's not cast of iron! Besides, the prints were clearly a man's… Lumian mulled over two possibilities.
Either Jenna is adept at concealing her tracks, leaving no corresponding marks, or she's been hoisted by a man…
It's quite ordinary for two individuals collectively to exceed 100 kilograms…
Judging by the footprints, the man stands between 1.65 and 1.7 meters tall. His gait seems slightly peculiar…
As Lumian turned this over in his mind, his brow furrowed.
Piqued by curiosity, he resolved to tail the trail and ascertain what predicament Jenna had stumbled upon, or rather, what scheme she was brewing.
It was crucial to note that this Showy Diva was suspected of being Franca's paramour. Her entanglement might reveal a clandestine secret of the Savoie Mob.
This could potentially provide Lumian, who was pursuing "loftier heights," with an opportunity.
Lowering the carbide lamp's intensity further, he hoped that once switched off, the flame would snuff out promptly.
Sticking to the tunnel's shadows, he tracked the footprints, vigilantly gauging the distance. Should anything go awry, he was ready to extinguish the light.
As the footprints appeared increasingly fresh, as though only moments old, he extinguished the carbide lamp and ventured forward in the darkness, relying on his memorized path.
Before he knew it, Lumian had reached a divergence in the path, a faint blue light emanating from the stone wall's end on his left side.
Slipping his black gloves on, Lumian inched closer, a wraith in the shadows.
The blue light radiated from a small cave nestled at the end of the stone wall.
Stationed against the stone, Lumian tucked himself into the shadow's embrace, craning his neck ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of what lay within.
At the cave's heart, a rather primitive iron-black carbide lamp sat in a relatively flat expanse.
Nearby, a capacious bag of grayish-white fabric bulged, seemingly at its full capacity.
A man loomed beside the bag, adorned in a blue cap, a common tweed suit of brown that one would see in Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman, with a linen shirt peeking out from beneath his darker jacket.
The man's breathing was noticeably labored. Standing nearly 1.7 meters tall, his side profile revealed a thin and slightly worn countenance, his brown eyes ablaze with unmasked desire.
Lumian's gaze dropped, registering the man's arousal.
He inwardly chided, Impatient, aren't we? No wonder he was lagging. That explains the irregularity in his footprints.
Lumian grew more convinced that the bag concealed none other than Jenna, the Little Minx.
She must have fallen prey to a kidnapper and rapist.
The man proceeded to remove his cap, casting it aside as his heavy panting echoed through the cave.
His countenance was laid bare before Lumian.
His eyebrows, pale and disordered, were sparse. His eyes sagged slightly at the corners. His nose was a hint of red at the tip, and his mouth bore dry, cracked lips. His complexion was a shade too pale, betraying signs of fatigue and exertion.
The man squatted, loosening the bag's ties, revealing its contents.
Lumian's intuition proved correct—it was indeed Jenna, the "Showy Diva."
Her customarily tied brownish-yellow hair was in disarray, cascading over her body. Her eyes were sealed shut, framed by a layer of deep shadows. Adorned in a white blouse and a beige fluffy short skirt, it was unclear whether she had lost or hadn't yet donned her mole.
As the man drew Jenna from the bag, his breathing was so labored that Lumian could discern it effortlessly, even if he wasn't a Hunter.
Such a strong desire… bordering on the perverse… Lumian found himself thinking this almost subconsciously.
Stumbling upon such a scenario, he resolved to come to Jenna's aid while he was here. If the Savoie Mob's boss ever considered appointing a new leader, "Red Boots" Franca might vouch for him.
But a hasty rescue wasn't on his agenda. Lumian intended to observe further, ascertain whether the man possessed any unique abilities that emboldened him to cross a leader of the Savoie Mob, "Red Boots" Franca.
He would swoop in once the man was mid-stripping, incapacitated in his haste.
If only I had a long-range weapon. This wouldn't be such a chore… Lumian heaved a sigh, pondering on getting the Savoie Mob to supply him with a firearm.
The man's hands found their way to Jenna's face, patting it lightly twice.
Next, he withdrew a small metal bottle, unscrewing the cap and brought it to Jenna's nose.
Achoo!
A sneeze jolted Jenna awake, her eyes fluttering open.
The man's visage reflected in her wide blue eyes, sparking alarm. An instinctive urge to rise seized her.
But in the next moment, she registered the absence of strength in her body, rendering resistance futile.
"Damn you, dog sh*t, what do you think you're doing?" Jenna mustered enough strength to spit out the words.
A twisted smile spread across the man's face.
"Do you know? I've watched you sing countless times. Each time, the desire to tear away your clothing and have you perform solely for me is overwhelming."
Jenna hurled back, her voice seething with rage, "You lunatic, a bastard who deserves being f*cked by a donkey! You're done for! The Savoie Mob will have you sleeping with the fishes!"
The man remained silent, his brown eyes gleaming with a peculiar light.
Jenna's cheeks flushed crimson, and her breathing grew shallow.
Her body twitched involuntarily, her eyes widening in shock at her own reaction.
"This is just perfect. Not only a hint of resistance but a subconscious acquiescence too…" The man stood up, brimming with anticipation, rapidly disrobing his clothes, trousers, and shoes.
Lumian, observing from his hidden spot, felt a sudden jolt of alarm.
Jenna's reaction is abnormal! Could she be under the influence of some Beyonder power?
Did every human and dog in Trier have access to Beyonder powers?
Has Jenna been coerced into arousal? This… This bears an uncanny resemblance to Susanna Mattise and Monsieur Ive's act…
Lumian's thoughts spiraled as he drew out the ritual silver dagger, tucking it into his right pocket with the blade pointed inward and the hilt pressing against the outer cloth.
Lowering his body, he silently moved from the stone wall into the cave, stealthily approaching the man from the shadow's edge.
The man's attention was fully riveted on Jenna. His eyes blazed with a fanatic light, his face twisted into a perverse grin. As he worked his belt loose and shed his trousers, his gaze roved over Jenna's form.
Emerging from the shadows, Lumian sprang forth like a cheetah on the prowl.
-x-X-x-
-x-X-x-
It was only when Lumian sprung from the darkness that the man—his gaze fixated solely on Jenna—realized the invasion of his secluded lair.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Lumian stormed in, raining a barrage of fists, elbows, knees, and feet upon the intruder.
The man was taken aback, yet not feeble. His resistance was robust, fending off blows with forearms while retreating. His chest, calves, and thighs bore the brunt of Lumian's missed strikes, but he held his ground.
With a shake of his head, his brown eyes morphed into a haunting green, casting an eerie reflection of Lumian.
Suddenly, Lumian was overwhelmed by a powerful surge of desire. Beside him, "Showy Diva" Jenna radiated a captivating allure as she strained to watch the struggle, her whole being pulsating with magnetism.
This desire exploded within Lumian like a live grenade. He ceased his assault, eyes smoldering with a reddish hue as his breaths quickened. Whirling around, he lunged towards Jenna.
Jenna sensed the abnormality and bellowed out, her voice a mix of anger and fear, "Pull yourself f*cking together!"
But her words were smothered as Lumian pinned her down.
In tandem with this action, a hard object pressed against Lumian's right side.
What was that? Reacting instinctively, his hand grazed the hilt of the ritual silver dagger he'd strategically placed for self-injury.
A vague understanding of his intent to use it flickered back into his mind.
In the next heartbeat, Lumian—now mostly irrational from his burgeoning desire—seized the handle of the silver dagger and drove it into his own flesh.
The silver tip sliced through cloth, skin, and muscle alike.
Excruciating pain thundered into Lumian's consciousness, restoring some rationality from the grips of his wild desire, allowing him to regain some lucidity.
Pretending nothing had changed, he continued his actions on Jenna, his hands wandering aimlessly.
"Are you f*cking useless? Can't even handle a pervert!" Jenna scolded, hoping to jolt her lone protector back to reality.
Seeing his opponent under control, the man hastily retrieved his own concealed dagger, preparing to strike Lumian from behind.
Just then, Lumian's hands slid and he steadied himself against the cool cave floor beside Jenna.
With a swift motion, he flexed his waist and kicked his right foot backward.
Whack!
Lumian struck, his attack to the man's groin swift and precise, akin to a whip's snap.
A guttural crunch echoed, the man's visage draining of color as pain contorted his features.
Clatter! His weapon slipped from his grasp.
Not one to squander an advantage, Lumian lunged, ensnaring his prey in a swift embrace.
His right arm snaked up, seizing the man's head and wrenching it with an unyielding force.
Crack!
The man was granted a view of his own back, his focus mercifully diverted from the torment below.
Once his adversary's life was unequivocally extinguished, Lumian withdrew his arms and produced his ritual silver dagger. With a white bandage he had in his possession, he attended to his own wound.
He held no fear of infection—even if such an eventuality arose, his Provoker constitution would endure until the 6 a.m. of the next day.
The primary purpose of his first-aid efforts was to prevent the cave from retaining traces of blood.
Jenna, sprawled on the cold ground, mustered the strength to hoist herself up. She observed as Lumian retracted his deadly grip and the man crumpled lifelessly to the ground.
Just like that? A shiver of shock rippled through her, effectively quelling her previously stoked desires.
She was no naive observer. She had gauged the formidable, almost magical aura of that lecherous man, but he was annihilated in mere seconds by this handsome rural lad!
Barely a heartbeat—eight or nine seconds at most—had transpired before a life was extinguished.
Upon tending to his injury, Lumian collected the man's outer garments and moved towards Jenna. She blinked out of her stupor and queried curiously, "Why are you here?"
Almost reflexively, she added jokingly, "Don't say you're enamored by me and have been trailing me?"
Lumian's response was a soft chuckle as he squatted down, drawing Jenna's hands behind her back.
"What are you doing?" Jenna's voice teetered on panic.
Despite her feeble struggles, Lumian effortlessly secured her wrists using the man's shirt.
In the blink of an eye, he pulled a dark jacket over Jenna's head, blocking her sight completely.
"Dogsh*t, bastard, pervert, what do you want?" Jenna's words tumbled out, a jumble of anger, anxiety, and confusion.
Lumian dismissed her outburst. Ripping off the remaining piece of his shirt, he wadded it up and thrust it into Jenna's ears and mouth.
"Mmmmm…" Jenna was silenced.
A resignation washed over her as she thought, Fine, I'll endure this like a dog bite. As long as he doesn't kill me…
Yet, her apprehension was met with stillness. Lumian had risen, leaving her side to approach the lifeless form on the cave floor.
Upon purifying his ritual silver dagger and wiping it clean, Lumian circumnavigated the petite cave, weaving a wall of spirituality.
Next, he commenced the Summoning Dance.
His intention was to invoke a spirit via this rite!
Despite this method's efficacy falling notably short compared to traditional psychic spells, the goal of the Summoning Dance wasn't strictly spirit invocation. Nevertheless, it was far better than the alternative—doing nothing.
His spirituality melded with natural forces and diffused in every direction, but was confined within the wall of spirituality enveloping the cave.
Thus, the summoning wouldn't attract any unwanted entities.
In the midst of the chaotic, mesmerizing dance, Lumian perceived the spectral form of the man.
Drawing the ritual silver dagger, he let a droplet of blood fall, commanding the spirit to bond with him.
Almost instantaneously, Lumian was gripped by a chilling sensation as an unusual and fervent heat ignited within him. This was accompanied by an overwhelming desire for women.
Is this an actual side-effect? Does it parallel the insatiable hunger experienced with the mouth-orifice monster? Lumian made a conscious effort to avoid glancing at Jenna, who was now bound and blindfolded, as he noted his newly acquired "head."
Since the man had recently perished, his other "head" was saturated with lingering emotions such as lust, pain, fury, loathing, and the instinctive urge to utilize his distinctive traits. Also present were traces of obsessions and the most profound memories.
Analyzing the situation, Lumian understood that this pervert possessed far more abilities and traits than the mouth-orifice monster.
"Inciting avarice in others;
"Becoming miserly and greedy, able to detect items that once belonged to him;
"Stimulating others' appetites;
"Maintaining a robust and healthy physical state;
"Existing in perpetual hunger and thirst;
"Constantly utilizing mental faculties to augment strength, reflexes, agility, and resilience;
"Employing one's gaze, speech, and actions to subtly induce a measure of lust in the target.
"Through direct contact and spell-like abilities, the target will experience varying degrees of lust.
"Preparing rape drugs and the like.
"Differentiating hormonal information of various individuals…"
Did Monsieur Ive utilize the first one? This pervert is indeed connected to Monsieur Ive and Susanna Mattise… A constant state of hunger and thirst. No wonder he targeted Jenna and dared to abduct her. Can this be categorized as a negative effect? Indeed, Jenna may not be his first victim… Lumian didn't select any specific trait. He was limited to general observations of the spectral companion and was unable to comprehend any of the more nuanced abilities.
Lumian made an attempt to amplify the man's most profound memories.
Suddenly, he was in the midst of a bustling theater. On stage stood a young woman clad in a divine white dress, her deeply carved features accented by lake-like eyes, crystal clear and rippling with innocence and charm.
Charlotte Calvino… Lumian identified the woman instantly. She was the reigning star of the Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons.
Simultaneously, Lumian felt the man's excitement, the predatory hunger within him intensifying.
However, with the crowd around, he refrained from any untoward behavior. He bolted to the lavatory as soon as the scene concluded.
As the memory faded, Lumian ceased the Summoning Dance, letting the man's spirit withdraw from his being.
Almost immediately, he performed the Summoning Dance again, inviting the spirit to rejoin him.
This was because each possession allowed Lumian to select only one trait, one memory, or one obsession. Once chosen, it was irrevocable.
Lumian had opted for one of the spirit's most poignant memories.
In the next instant, Jenna appeared before him, giving an overtly dramatic performance on-stage.
"…" The situation became clear to Lumian. He couldn't resist clenching his jaw and cursing, "Is there nothing else in your mind but women, women, women!"
He abandoned the idea of spirit channeling, regretting that he hadn't yet achieved the status of a Contractee, unable to forge a long-term contract with the spirit and borrow a skill. Lumian appraised the man's traits, certain that some of them would prove immensely useful in combat.
If only I could rear this spirit… Lumian sighed, conceding his present limitations.
Subsequently, he dissolved the spiritual barrier, sheathed his ritual silver dagger, and returned to Jenna. He removed the jacket shrouding her eyes and the shirt binding her hands.
Jenna winced, plucking the cloth from her mouth and ears.
She massaged her reddened wrist, throwing a skeptical look at Lumian who was busy searching the pockets of the man's clothing. She inquired, "Why did you blindfold me and block my ears earlier?"
"I was protecting you. You shouldn't see or hear what isn't meant for you," Lumian responded in a half-jesting tone, his search yielding a total of 8 verl d'or coins and three somewhat antiquated metal canisters.
Perceiving no threat from him, Jenna huffed. "What could possibly be unseen or unheard here? Unless you… you didn't… with the corpse…"
Her voice faded as she connected a few dots, roughly guessing that Lumian might have been using some power to extract information from the corpse.
Upon noticing Lumian evaluating the three metal canisters, Jenna deflected the topic and reminisced, "One of these bottles contains a gas that knocks you out, leaving you feeble. That's how he abducted me.
"Also, another bottle has this gas, extremely foul-smelling but strangely enough, it wakes you up. Damn, that pervert deserves being f*cked by a donkey!
"I don't know what's in the remaining bottle, and I can't distinguish between the other two."
-x-X-x-
Lumian crouched down, clutching the three metal canisters in his hands. He cast a glance at Jenna, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
"I know just the way to confirm it."
"What…" Jenna's curiosity piqued, but soon a hint of nervousness and panic crept into her expression, triggered by Lumian's enigmatic smile.
Unfazed by her reaction, Lumian responded with a smile of his own.
"Help me determine which canister is which," he suggested.
"What sort of joke is this?" Jenna thought, grateful for the fact that had Lumian not saved her and aware of her own weakened state, she would have unleashed a stream of curses.
However, Lumian's expression turned serious.
"Rest assured, if it contains the gas that knocks you out, the worst that can happen is you fainting again. I won't harm you, and even if I wanted to, you wouldn't be able to resist. Besides, once we ascertain which canister is which, I can use a stimulating gas to revive you and bring you back to normal."
"If luck is on your side and you encounter the stimulating gas, you'll regain most of your strength immediately," Lumian added.
That makes sense. Regardless of the outcome, it can't possibly be harmful. She was almost convinced by Lumian's words.
However, snapping out of her daze, Jenna clenched her teeth and voiced her concerns.
"But what if you end up selecting the other canister? We have no idea what it contains!"
If it turned out to be poisonous gas, there was no one present with the knowledge to treat her.
Lumian responded with a mocking tone, a smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth, "Are you daft? Canisters filled mostly with gas and those containing liquid have a significant weight difference!"
"This particular bottle should be filled with liquid!"
He picked up one of the metal canisters and gave it a slight shake.
He "clearly" heard the unmistakable sloshing sound of liquid inside before pocketing it.
"Is that so…" Although Jenna had been mocked, her attention was focused on the "experiment," and anger didn't consume her.
After a few seconds of hesitation, she closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly, determined.
"Go ahead, give it a try!"
Lumian stowed one of the metal bottles in his pants pocket, leaving only one in his grasp.
With a leisurely pace, he brought it near Jenna's nose.
In the next moment, Jenna slowly cracked open her eyes.
In an instant, an intensely pungent odor, reminiscent of fermented excrement, assailed Jenna's senses, causing her to sneeze repeatedly. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, and her nose threatened to drip.
However, each sneeze served as a catalyst, restoring a significant portion of her strength. As Lumian sealed the canister and rose from his crouch, Jenna leaped to her feet, instinctively stretching her limbs.
Jenna happily adjusted her clothing and skirt, muttering to herself, "Seems like luck is on my side!"
On her first attempt, she managed to obtain the canister with the foul-smelling gas.
But then she noticed Lumian's playful expression.
Jenna's heart skipped a beat, sensing that something was off.
Curiosity getting the better of her, she inquired, "Did you already know which gas canister was which from the start?"
Is that the reason he was able to accurately select the metal canister containing the pungent gas?
Lumian grinned and handed the metal canister to Jenna.
"Smell the cap for yourself."
Jenna eyed the canister suspiciously before cautiously sniffing the bottle.
A faint odor lingered, not particularly stimulating or potent, but still unpleasant.
"The other canister has no scent," Lumian added with a smile.
Jenna's flushed face turned an even deeper shade of red.
She felt foolish, having believed the words of the other party and willingly taken part in the so-called "experiment."
Any feelings of gratitude she had prepared were instantly quashed.
Ignoring Jenna's enraged state, Lumian pocketed the 8 verl d'or banknote and marked the metal canister with a scratch before stowing it away.
Though the man possessed the ability to sense the whereabouts of items that had once belonged to him, Lumian wasn't afraid of being tracked since the man was already dead.
As for the function of the liquid in the remaining metal canister, he planned to test it on rats, stray dogs, and other animals.
Having completed the necessary tasks, Lumian pointed at the pervert's lifeless body and instructed Jenna, "Take a good look at him and commit his face to memory. We'll need to investigate who he is."
"He probably has accomplices."
"Alright." Jenna strode toward the corpse, earnestly engraving his face into her memory.
After observing for a while, the recent events flooded back into her mind, fueling her anger. She raised her right leg and ruthlessly kicked the pervert's groin.
Again and again, without restraint.
"Dogsh*t, pervert, damn your mother, damn your entire family!" Jenna vented her emotions to her heart's content.
Lumian winced, feeling a twinge of pain, as he lowered his head to clean up the remnants at the scene.
Once Jenna had calmed down, he approached her with a large grayish-white cloth bag. As he stuffed the corpse and clothes inside, he casually inquired, "How did he abduct you?"
Jenna smoothed her disheveled brownish-yellow hair and tied it back into a simple ponytail.
Gritting her teeth, she recounted, "I encountered him in an alley next to the Salle de Bal Brise. He claimed to be a fan of my singing and asked for an autograph. The paper he handed me was sprinkled with that odorless gas. As soon as I signed it, I sensed something was wrong and lost most of my strength.
"After that, he attacked me, restrained me, and brought the bottle to my nose. That's when I passed out."
Lumian couldn't help but mock, "Aren't you being too careless?"
Jenna didn't agree.
"I've seen him several times while singing. I was certain that he genuinely enjoyed listening to me. Otherwise, I wouldn't have given him the time of day.
"And, as an unknown singer, it's an honor to have someone ask for your autograph…
"Besides, the gas doesn't have any smell!"
How could anyone have guarded against this?
Lumian scoffed.
"That's not what I meant. It's obvious that the gas dissipates quickly on paper. It needs to be used within a short period of time to have a certain effect. In other words, that pervert has been tailing you for a while and has probably figured out your routines. Otherwise, he wouldn't have cornered you so accurately in an empty alley and tainted the paper with the gas ten to twenty seconds in advance.
"Didn't you notice despite being followed for so long?"
Jenna fell silent, at times clenching her teeth, at times frustrated.
Lumian shifted his gaze and chuckled.
It was understandable that she didn't notice. That guy could discern hormonal information from different individuals.
If it weren't for the fact that Monsieur Ive was clearly weaker than the pervert and probably hadn't mastered the power of lust, Lumian would have suspected that his identity as a "robber" had been exposed.
He resealed the grayish-white cloth bag and used it to further erase any traces at the scene. Observing this, Jenna lent him a hand.
She's quite skilled at dealing with evidence… Lumian glanced at Jenna and left the cave with the cloth bag slung over his back, harboring some suspicions.
Due to Jenna intentionally not mentioning her unusual behavior under the influence of the pervert, Lumian believed that this Showy Diva had some understanding of the Beyonder world, or she might even be one herself.
And her source of information or power most likely stemmed from "Red Boots" Franca from the Savoie Mob.
When Lumian arrived at his hiding spot, he ignited the carbide lamp and held it in his hand, glancing back at the depths of the path.
The path descended. There was darkness in the distance,
a void that swallowed everything as it lay in wait for its prey to approach.
"What are you looking at?" Jenna asked curiously.
She sensed that Ciel was acting mysterious.
Lumian ended his gaze and smiled.
"I'm wondering where we'll end up if we keep going down. Perhaps the Trier from the Fourth Epoch?"
In reality, what he was truly pondering was:
The abnormal ability displayed just now was strikingly similar to Monsieur Ive's. If the two of them were accomplices, would they instinctively choose a familiar place in the underground world for the crime? The same underground destination where Monsieur Ive had entered that night?
If that were the case, perhaps he would uncover something if he continued down this path.
Disappointed, Jenna remarked, "That's not a good place."
Lumian remained silent as he retraced his steps along the path. Lost in her own thoughts, Jenna followed silently, clutching the carbide lamp left behind by the pervert.
Just as he was about to reach the level that roughly replicated the layout aboveground, Lumian halted and said with a contemptuous smile, "Do you need me to escort you to the surface?"
"You're not going back?" Jenna asked, surprised.
Lumian shrugged. "I need to find a suitable place to dispose of this corpse."
Jenna nodded and refrained from prying further. "I can ascend on my own. I've been underground before."
Does that imply you possess the means to protect yourself? Lumian watched Jenna depart with light footsteps, inwardly sighing.
Does every human and dog in Trier have access to Beyonder powers?
Is something amiss with Trier, or is something amiss with me? Why do I always encounter such individuals?
Shaking his head, he hoisted the corpse onto his back. As he dealt with the footprints, he made his way toward the hidden quarry cave where he had previously sought the boon.
Along the way, he performed two instances of anti-tracking to ensure no one was tailing him.
Upon reaching the underground quarry cave, Lumian tossed aside the grayish-white cloth bag containing the corpse and arranged the altar.
Initially, he had intended to visit the nearest hospital morgue during the night to acquire fresh corpses, but now he had a better option!
After setting up the altar, lighting the candles, and constructing a wall of spirituality, Lumian retrieved the pre-drawn faux goatskin adorned with the corresponding symbol.
The central pattern on the paper consisted of a ring formed by thorns, encircled by symbols representing eyes, curves, and rivers.
Just tracing these patterns in Room 207 had drained Lumian's spirituality.
With the faux goatskin in place, Lumian took two steps back and gazed at the flickering candles, preparing for the subsequent incantation.
In this ritual, one couldn't employ the phrase "I! I summon in my name" to beseech oneself. Instead, they had to craft a three-line description of their being and feign the role of a creature from the spirit world.
It could be done in any manner, devoid of any wielding of authority, as long as it could pinpoint the location within the wall of spirituality.
Lumian parted his lips and muttered in Hermes, "Cordu Village's Trickster King, Aurore Lee's younger brother, an entity known as Lumian Lee…"
-x-X-x-
The flame of the orange candle, representing the focal point of the prayer, flickered as though stirred by an unseen breeze. Apart from that, it remained unaffected, maintaining its ordinary hue without any hint of transformation.
Lumian sensed an unusual pulsation deep within his soul, as if a distant cry had reached his ethereal essence.
Temporarily unable to respond, he continued to recite the incantation.
"I implore you,
"I beseech to be bestowed the Prophetic Concoction…"
In this ritualistic spell, words like "help create" couldn't be used. It had to be "bestowed" or "gifted."
Lumian's spirit trembled with each uttered word, like ripples extending outward, leaving him with an unsettling sensation of both elevation and dizziness.
Taking two steps forward, he surveyed the aquatic monster's flesh, the lizard eyes, and the gray henbane. Retrieving the faux goatskin adorned with enigmatic symbols, he positioned it atop the orange candle's flame, symbolizing the target of his prayer.
Once the faux goatskin was ignited and placed within the natural hollow of the stone altar, Lumian meticulously gathered tulip powder and other ingredients, sprinkling them into the flames.
A peculiar fragrance swiftly permeated the ethereal barrier, causing Lumian to experience hallucinations.
He witnessed a profusion of mystical symbols adorning the faux goatskin, materializing in the void, in constant motion and reconfiguration, perpetually altering their collective form.
Lumian stepped back and scrutinized the diverse materials on the altar. In a resonant voice infused with Hermes' power, he invoked, "Tulip, a herb that belongs to inevitability, please pass your powers to my incantation!
"…"
As Lumian uttered the final word, his spirit's ripples merged, granting him the illusion that he could graze the candle's flame with a mere touch of his palm.
Simultaneously, a searing sensation ignited within his chest, accompanied by a faint hum resonating in his ears. His surroundings spun, akin to being tossed into the air and spun around repeatedly.
Guided by his spirituality, Lumian extended his right hand, pressing it toward the candle's flame.
His vision dimmed as his spirituality surged forth, intertwining with the flames.
The candle's flame promptly expanded, casting a radiant and ethereal glow upon the entire altar.
The disparate ingredients of the Prophetic Concoction, once gathered, stirred and converged. Blood churned, and shadows undulated, crafting an exceptionally sinister tableau.
Struggling to maintain a steady flow of his spiritual essence, Lumian observed the physical components fade into specters, completing their reassembly.
A dark crimson phantom, infused with silver-black tincture, materialized before him, condensing into a murky liquid.
The liquid incessantly bubbled, each burst releasing sinuous tendrils of silver-black light, reminiscent of slithering serpents.
Lumian advanced two steps, seizing a metal canister from the altar. Unscrewing its lid, he positioned it beneath the liquid's surface.
Having placed the vessel containing the Prophetic Concoction back on the altar, Lumian composed himself, preparing his mental state.
As Lumian calmed the ripples within his spirit, he recollected the entire process of the ritual.
If the thorn symbol hadn't reached a certain level of activation, elevating my status, I wouldn't have been able to respond and the endeavor would have failed… I can only perform two similar ritualistic spells consecutively… Lumian ruminated, gradually finding his thoughts settling.
Completing the five ritualistic spells required a minimum of Sequence 7, or even Contractee. Lumian, an Alms Monk of Sequence 8, could only accomplish it by relying on the corruption within his body.
Correspondingly, his spirituality couldn't endure for much longer.
After concluding the ritual and tidying the altar, Lumian dispelled the ethereal barrier and approached the grayish-white cloth bag to drag out the lifeless body.
With gentle care, he twisted the other party's head to its original position and opened the mouth.
Bathed in the glow of the blue carbide lamp, Lumian retrieved the Prophetic Concoction, unscrewed its lid, and poured the dark liquid into the corpse's mouth.
Rather than immediately permeating through the larynx, the liquid remained within, akin to a pool of water.
Suddenly, Lumian sensed the quarry's breeze turning colder, and the carbide lamp's light deepened to a richer blue.
Almost simultaneously, he heard a rumbling sound, witnessing the corpse's throat writhe as it consumed all of the Prophetic Concoction.
In the next moment, the naked corpse sat upright, engulfed in an unnatural darkness that defied illumination.
His eyes snapped open upon his pallid, worn face. The once-brown irises had lost their color, now crystal-clear and devoid of hue.
Within the depths of those translucent eyes, layers of vibrant colors seemed to reside. A pure light hung high, countless nearly imperceptible figures, and flickering silver radiance…
Withstanding the bone-chilling cold, Lumian composed himself and inquired, "Where will Guillaume Bénet, the former padre from Cordu Village in Dariège, Riston Province, Intis Republic, appear in a month?"
During the interim, Lumian had contemplated the three questions he wished to pose.
Four primary rules governed the questioning:
First, it must pertain to the future. Inquiries regarding someone's whereabouts or past actions were forbidden.
Secondly, the description had to be precise enough, or an unanswered query would arise. The name Guillaume Bénet was commonplace in other parts of Intis. Numerous individuals shared the same name. Unless the village of origin was specified, the corpse might reveal the future fate of a different Guillaume Bénet.
Thirdly, regardless of the corpse's country of origin or familiarity with the corresponding language, it would respond in the same language as the question posed.
Lastly, a question could only contain one element requiring an answer. It could not be framed in the manner of "when and where will it be?"
The corpse's pale countenance took on a dark green tinge. It parted its lips and uttered in Intis, "Trier's Quartier de la Princesse Rouge."
The voice resonated with an illusory and ethereal quality, as if it emanated from another realm. It bore no resemblance to the deceased's living voice.
So, it can only be narrowed down to the Quartier de la Princesse Rouge? Lumian's brow furrowed slightly.
He could comprehend the reason behind it—this was not a Prophetic Concoction obtained from hidden entities. Its creator was essentially an Alms Monk, hence the effects naturally wouldn't be outstanding.
Lumian proceeded to raise his second question.
"Where will I encounter Louis Lund, the former butler of the village administrator in Cordu Village, Dariège, Riston Province, Intis Republic?"
He refrained from mentioning Madame Pualis since he was uncertain of her connection to Madame Night. He feared that her elevated status might interfere with the prophecy's accuracy.
The corpse's eyes remained vacant and translucent as it gazed ahead. It responded with an ethereal voice, "Trier's Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman Avenue du Marché."
Avenue du Marché? It seems Louis Lund's presence there isn't mere happenstance… Lumian mused, a sense of satisfaction washing over him.
As he contemplated, he noticed the strange visions reflected in the corpse's transparent eyes gradually fading. Acting swiftly, he posed his third question.
"Where will Monsieur Ive, the proprietor of Auberge du Coq Doré in Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman, be from 11 p.m. to 12 p.m. this Sunday?"
Having observed Monsieur Ive previously entering the underground at this time, Lumian sought to ascertain the specifics of his destination.
Considering that Monsieur Ive had recently been "robbed" and had visited the police headquarters, he might refrain from venturing into the underground for the time being. Lumian specified the time as Sunday.
The corpse swiftly replied, "Trier's Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman, Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons."
With that, the corpse thudded to the ground and closed its eyes once more, emanating the putrid stench of death.
Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons once again… Lumian bundled the corpse back into the cloth bag, intending to bury it even deeper underground.
…
In front of a beige three-story building, a stubbly-bearded tramp found himself cornered by two valets beside a pillar.
"I-I'll leave now," he stammered, trembling.
At that moment, a man dressed as a butler approached, his face filled with surprise.
"Master, is that you? Master!"
"What?" The tramp was perplexed.
The butler couldn't contain his excitement.
"Don't you remember? You're the owner of this place, and we are all your loyal servants. You suffered a head injury and lost many memories. One day, you suddenly ran away from home.
"It's been months. I've finally found you! You've returned!"
"I'm not, I'm not…" The tramp remembered his past clearly.
However, the butler and the two valets refused to listen to his explanation. They "encircled" him and led him into the building.
"Madam, Madam, the Master has returned!" the butler shouted with elation.
Before long, the tramp laid eyes upon an elegant and beautiful woman.
She wore a light-green dress, her eyes exuding a mature allure.
Overwhelmed with joy, she burst into tears and threw herself into the tramp's arms.
"You're back! You're finally back!"
As he inhaled the sweet scent of her perfume and felt the softness of her body against his, the tramp attempted to argue that he wasn't her husband, but the words caught in his throat.
In a daze of confusion, he was guided to the dining room. There, under a crystal chandelier, he beheld a sumptuous feast—a dozen oysters, a pot of succulent chicken, a plate of beef stewed with prunes, suet pudding, salad, and a bottle of White Elixir wine…
Simultaneously, the tramp's gaze fell upon the oil paintings adorning the walls of the dining room.
One of them was a portrait, strikingly similar to him.
Could it truly be me? But I recall every experience… Could there be another who bears my resemblance? The tramp grew even more bewildered.
After indulging in a hearty meal and savoring fine wines, he was led to the bedroom. Soon, the beautiful and elegant madam entered, dressed in a silk nightgown.
Her eyes shimmered with tears as she spoke, "Do you still remember my passion?"
The tramp's breathing quickened, and he couldn't resist taking a step forward.
The two of them embraced passionately, tumbling onto the bed, their desires overwhelming them.
In that moment, the tramp began to "believe" that he truly was the owner of this grand house. He had a beautiful wife, a professional butler, and a multitude of servants.
Even if the original master were to return, he would ensure that the other was exposed as a fraud!
…
Lumian resurfaced and entered Auberge du Coq Doré, carrying the extinguished carbide lamp.
Madame Fels, who manned the front desk, immediately stood up upon seeing him.
"Ciel—Monsieur Ciel, Baron Brignais wishes to meet you at the Salle de Bal Brise after dinner."
Baron Brignais is seeking me? What could it be about? Lumian nodded.
-x-X-x-
Salle de Bal Brise, the café on the second floor.
Lumian strolled over to Baron Brignais with an air of nonchalance and took a seat.
Not only did he lack any sense of deference or humility, but he also showed a blatant disregard for basic politeness, as if they were equals.
Louis, standing discreetly behind Baron Brignais, silently shook his head.
He had encountered many such individuals before, and their fate had always been the same—either handed over to the police by the Savoie Mob or gravely wounded in a violent gunfight, losing their capabilities in the process. They had no choice but to become subservient, like dogs wagging their tails, in exchange for the gang's protection. Some met their demise due to various reasons, their bodies cast into the dark recesses of the underground world or packed into wooden barrels filled with stones and thrown into the depths of the Srenzo River.
"Good evening, Baron," Lumian greeted with a disarming smile.
Baron Brignais betrayed no sign of anger on his face. He leisurely took a puff from his mahogany-colored pipe and casually inquired, "Where have you been this afternoon?"
"Underground," Lumian responded, resembling the corpse that had imbibed the Prophecy Concoction. He answered the other party's questions without any elaboration.
If "Little Minx" Jenna and "Red Boots" Franca concealed the fact that he had dispatched the pervert and saved the former, his response would have been a display of utmost candor.
Baron Brignais appeared momentarily taken aback but refrained from further probing. As he rubbed the mahogany pipe in his hand, he calmly stated, "I have a task for you."
Without waiting for Lumian to inquire, he explained with a smile, "I hold great expectations for you. I believe you can become a crucial member of our Savoie Mob, entrusted with significant matters.
"However, my favorable opinion alone is insufficient. You must demonstrate strength that surpasses most and make contributions that garner their recognition."
A carrot dangling before a donkey? Lumian scoffed inwardly.
Outwardly, he deliberately narrowed his eyes.
"And what might this be about?"
Baron Brignais set aside his mahogany pipe, took a sip of his coffee, and adopted a soothing tone as he spoke,
"Assault any prominent member of the Poison Spur Mob. It would be best if you inflict severe injuries. Killing them outright works too."
Lumian chuckled.
"Just two days ago, you cautioned me against causing a commotion and provoking an all-out conflict between the Poison Spur Mob and us.
"Aren't you concerned that such actions might transpire, ultimately leading to you becoming a target of the police headquarters?"
Although he had intended to lie in wait for the Poison Spur Mob's "Hammer" Ait, Lumian refused to be treated as a fool by Baron Brignais.
"You are far more intelligent than those who surround me.
"For the past two days, I've been closely observing the Poison Spur Mob's reactions, and it seems they have no immediate plans for revenge against you.
"What does that imply?"
"It means they're terrified of our Savoie Mob," Lumian replied with a jest.
It was, of course, a jest. If the Poison Spur Mob feared the Savoie Mob, they would never have grown to become the second-largest mob in Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman.
Baron Brignais shook his head.
"In the past, they would have undoubtedly retaliated, exacting a higher toll than just medical expenses from our Savoie Mob.
"Moreover, after Margot's demise, they merely put on a show on the surface. In reality, they took no actions that would attract the police's attention. It seemed they were searching for the true assassin amidst the chaos.
"These recurring anomalies lead me to believe that the Poison Spur Mob is preparing for something significant—something very, very important. That's why they remain patient and restrained.
"I can't be certain whether their forthcoming actions will impact our Savoie Mob, but we cannot idly wait for answers."
At least you're astute… Lumian grudgingly commended Baron Brignais within his thoughts.
With a smile, Lumian posed a question, "Are you suggesting that I eliminate their key members and observe their reactions?
"If they endure it without retaliation, it signifies a considerably grave problem. We would need to instigate a full-blown conflict and compel them to expose the issue, wouldn't we?"
Baron Brignais chuckled.
"I enjoy conversing with clever individuals.
"So, are you willing to undertake this task?"
Though his tone appeared inquisitive, his posture, gaze, and actions left no doubt that it was an order.
Should Lumian refuse, the Savoie Mob would withdraw its protection.
Lumian chuckled.
"I require information on all the significant members of the Poison Spur Mob—names, appearances, capabilities, distinguishing traits, and whether they have immediate family or spouses…"
Louis, who stood behind Baron Brignais, was taken aback.
Why is he asking about the family members of the Poison Spur Mob leaders? Is he planning to use them?
Among Trier's mobs, an unspoken rule prevailed—one that everyone abided by unless it was an exceptional circumstance: never target family members who weren't involved in the mob.
Most individuals had parents, spouses, and children. If they were to abandon all moral boundaries and kill without hesitation, none would be spared. Everyone would be in jeopardy.
Secondly, dealing with the families of low-ranking mobsters held no value. However, at Baron Brignais's level, his family remained confidential, known to only a select few. Furthermore, they resided outside Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman.
Thirdly, those who held a certain status within the mob could be deemed ruthless. Threatening them with their families would only ignite their fury.
Fourthly, the annihilation of a family would inevitably make headlines, angering the higher-ups at the police headquarters and triggering a severe crackdown.
Thus, it was only in the process of eliminating a faction that they would confront the family of an enemy leader, avoiding the sowing of seeds of animosity and serving as a deterrent to other mobs.
What was Ciel's intention inquiring about the immediate family and wife of a crucial member of the Poison Spur Mob?
Baron Brignais gazed at Lumian for a few moments before a slow smile crept across his face.
"The boss of the Poison Spur Mob is Roger, known as Black Scorpion. He resides at 126 Avenue du Marché. I'm uncertain if he has a wife or immediate family. Even if he does, they aren't in the market district. They might not even be in Trier.
"He possesses sinister spells and magical powers. Even I wouldn't dare to confront him."
Baron Brignais seized the opportunity to caution Lumian about the formidable strength of "Black Scorpion" Roger. It was wise to avoid any designs against him, for death would be the only outcome.
Sinister spells… A Beyonder focused on spellcasting? Considering Roger's ability to subdue Margot, he must be at least a Sequence 7. He might even possess a mystical artifact or Beyonder weapon… If Beyonders of this caliber lack robust bodies or special life-preserving abilities, they may resort to traps, close-range assassinations, and other methods. If their bodies aren't weak and they excel in close combat, or if they possess a substitution spell like Leah's paper figurine, I'll have hardly any chance of victory. Unless I employ the Luck Enhancement Spell to prearrange his misfortune and make him sufficiently unlucky… Lumian's thoughts raced like lightning, fleeting as they disappeared.
He nodded and inquired, "What about the others?"
Baron Brignais took a leisurely puff on his pipe before responding,"The Poison Spur Mob once had four powerful and significant members who were slightly inferior to us in the market district. However, after Margot's demise at your hands, his replacement, Wilson, is quite feeble. Their overall strength has greatly diminished.
"Roger's deputy, 'Baldy' Harman, is one of them. Initially, he and Roger arrived in the market district, establishing the Salle de Gristmill and gradually recruiting a group of individuals to form the Poison Spur Mob.
"He's highly skilled in combat, on par with Margot in that regard. Additionally, he possesses peculiar abilities. For instance, he can withstand a blade and only suffer minor injuries. At times, he exhibits sudden bursts of violence, as if under the influence of some drug. He can instill fear in others. Oh, and he wields a knife coated with poison.
"He's exceedingly cruel. He doesn't have a family or a mistress, but he takes a keen interest in women. He often dallies with street girls under the Poison Spur Mob.
"His usual residence is 'Black Scorpion' Roger's house. When he seeks the company of a woman, he opts for a relatively clean motel or hotel within the market district."
Lumian listened attentively, gradually formulating a plan.
There's a highly effective trap for 'Baldy' Harman.
Regardless of how Harman acquires such formidable defenses that only result in minor injuries after being slashed, it suggests a high probability that he's willing to trade injuries for victory. He relies heavily on his strengths in this aspect.
If that's the case, I can provide him an opportunity. However, Fallen Mercury will be the one to inflict those minor injuries upon him.
Even minor wounds can bleed!
Baron Brignais continued, "Most of the dancers under the Poison Spur Mob are under the supervision of Castina from Feynapotter. She was abducted to Trier and later became 'Black Scorpion' Roger's mistress.
"'Short-legged Candlestick' was her nickname back when she worked as a dancer, owing to her relatively petite stature."
Lumian envisioned a compact candlestick and formed a rough image of Castina in his mind.
"Castina doesn't engage in frequent fights, but she exhibits remarkable combat skills when she does. She's cold and merciless when dealing with disobedient dancers. Perhaps she's forgotten the hardships she endured," Baron Brignais remarked with a touch of gentlemanly courtesy. "She resides in an apartment at 19 Rue du Rossignol. We're unsure of the specific floor or room she occupies. She often frequents Roger's house."
What right do you have to speak of her like that? Why don't we discuss the person who became a singer at Salle de Bal Brise after her father was forced to die due to a debt? Lumian never believed that mobsters possessed a true conscience.
No matter the camaraderie, loyalty, or care they exhibited toward their peers, they were merely wildflowers adorned with mud. They essentially sought out victims among the dancers, street girls, ordinary individuals persecuted by loan sharks, and the peddlers they extorted.
Brignais proceeded to introduce the final leader of the Poison Spur Mob.
"'Hammer' Ait was originally a member of our Savoie Mob. He possessed courage, intellect, and a sturdy physique. I held him in high regard and planned to recommend him to the boss. However, he betrayed us and joined the Poison Spur Mob. He swiftly acquired Beyonder powers.
"I suspect he consumed a potion from the Warrior pathway and has already reached Sequence 8. His towering height, nearly 1.9 meters, and his conduct during conflicts lead me to this deduction.
"'Hammer' describes his fists, which possess the hardness and force of iron hammers. He typically fights unarmed, but he's also adept with a revolver and a dirk.
"He resides at 25 Rue des Pavés, adjacent to Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman. There is a sizable contingent of Poison Spur Mob members in that area."
Pugilist? Will Beyonder characteristics manifest upon his demise? Lumian nodded and queried Baron Brignais,
"I also require their approximate travel patterns. Additionally, provide me with a revolver, an ample supply of bullets, and a portable weapon. A dirk, dagger, bayonet, or axe will suffice."
"No problem. I'll have Louis deliver them to you tomorrow morning." Baron Brignais nodded with satisfaction.
After observing Ciel depart from the café, Louis lowered his voice and inquired, "Baron, are we truly going to let him confront the leaders of the Poison Spur Mob?"
Baron Brignais chuckled.
"Didn't you hear my explanation earlier? I didn't deceive him about this.
"However, the leaders of the Poison Spur Mob are not easily dealt with. Whether he struggles and requires our aid and protection afterward, or if he fails and finds himself on the brink of death, we can crush his arrogance and make him obedient."
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Louis exclaimed in surprise, "What if Ciel fails and gets done in by the Poison Spur Mob?"
Baron Brignais chuckled and replied, "When has our Savoie Mob ever kept all its members?"
…
On the way back to Auberge du Coq Doré, Lumian found himself in quite a good mood.
Initially, he had intended to apprehend a significant member of the Poison Spur Mob, probing into their source of power and their affiliation with the wicked deity Madame Pualis worshiped. But now, the Savoie Mob had assigned him a similar task. It aligned perfectly with his desires.
This way, he not only swiftly gained detailed information about multiple targets, saving valuable time, but he could also fully utilize the Savoie Mob's resources, such as weaponry, manpower, and connections.
A moment ago, Lumian contemplated requesting explosives from Baron Brignais, mulling over the possibility of setting a trap to blow up one of the leaders of the Poison Spur Mob.
In the end, he decided against it. Firstly, he felt it was too brazen and would attract unwanted attention from the police. Secondly, being a wanted criminal, he couldn't afford to be investigated. Thirdly, if he obliterated his target entirely, how could he gather any information?
Of course, he could employ the Summoning Dance and the wall of spirituality to allow the deceased spirit to cling to him and enhance the memories that left the deepest imprints. However, this method was entirely unpredictable. Who knew if those individuals' minds would be as deranged as the previous pervert's? Moreover, each Summoning Dance could only amplify a single memory. If luck wasn't on his side, it could take a significant amount of time to find useful information. This contradicted his intention of swiftly departing from the scene of the assassination.
Initially, Lumian planned to deal with "Hammer" Ait, but upon hearing Baron Brignais's description, he considered "Baldy" Harman as a viable candidate as well.
Compared to Ait, Harman had notable "weaknesses" that Hunters could exploit to set traps!
His power granted him exceptional body resilience. On numerous occasions, he sustained only minor injuries despite being slashed with knives.
Lumian recalled Aurore's words: "Those skilled in swimming are prone to drowning."
In Harman's case, one could interpret it as, "Those adept at blocking weapons with their bodies are more susceptible to perishing by weapons." As for Lumian, he possessed Fallen Mercury, the Cursed Blade.
Furthermore, in comparison to "Hammer" Ait, who frequently traveled with a large entourage and resided within the Poison Spur Mob's settlement, "Baldy" Harman ventured out alone occasionally, seeking street girls and dancers. Consequently, he proved to be a simpler target for assassination. Moreover, he was closer to the core power of the Poison Spur Mob and held more secrets.
However, the conundrum arose. If Lumian were to set a trap and employ Fallen Mercury to deal with "Baldy" Harman, capturing him alive and extracting information would be impossible.
If Lumian could overpower "Baldy" Harman after stabbing him and dragging him to a secluded corner in Underground Trier, why bother stabbing him initially?
If he couldn't, his only recourse would be to stab the enemy and allow him to flee. Alternatively, after his escape, Lumian could await the intervention of the Montsouris ghost to "assist" in the target's demise.
Whether this would implicate the target's family wasn't his concern.
Hence, the pursuit of "Baldy" Harman and "Hammer" Ait presented their respective pros and cons. Lumian was not yet able to reach a decision.
He intended to contemplate his target selection after receiving more detailed information, weapons, and ammunition from Baron Brignais the following morning.
"What's all this?" Lumian inquired curiously as he traversed the lobby.
Weren't these the same elderly folks peddling counterfeit street ma?tresse d'atelier photos at Suhit steam locomotive station? Why were they bringing back such a sizable bag?
Ruhr ceased pulling at the cloth bag, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He forced a smile and replied, "Don't you know, Monsieur Ciel? We moonlight as scavengers by night. We salvage discarded items that might still hold value."
Informed by Charlie's "advertisement," the couple was aware of Ciel's newfound leadership role in the Savoie Mob. Consequently, they saw no issue with Ciel seeking answers from them since Auberge du Coq Doré was his turf.
From their perspective, as the guardian of Auberge du Coq Doré, Monsieur Ciel needed to stay informed about the establishment to prevent any mishaps.
Juggling two occupations, one of which involves deception… It certainly reeks of all sorts of rubbish… Lumian pinched his nose and silently muttered. He pondered and asked thoughtfully, "Do you hoard all this trash in your room?"
Ruhr wore an ingratiating smile and confirmed, "Indeed. We visit the waste disposal site every few days. People drop off various items there. Heh heh, while scavengers are filthy, without us, Trier would be overwhelmed by foul odors. Every nook and cranny would be brimming with refuse."
In Trier, scavengers served as supplementary cleaners.
No wonder there's a stench in the room. No wonder you perpetually reek and forgo bathing… As Lumian ascended the stairs at a leisurely pace, he stole a glance at the wrinkled faces and slightly stooped postures of Ruhr and Michel. He casually inquired, "You're not young anymore. Why do you still toil so diligently for money?"
Ruhr and Michel were taken aback, their smiles faltering subtly.
After a brief pause, Ruhr mustered a pained and helpless smile.
"It is precisely because we are old that we must labor so strenuously.
"We arrived in Trier when we were very young and took up various occupations. We had a child, but he did not survive to adulthood. The monthly wages we received merely sustained our survival. As our health began to decline and our strength waned, fear gripped us. We were uncertain of what the future held.
"What if we grow too old to engage in our usual work someday? What would we do? Deplete our meager savings within a few months and rely on the charitable acts of the Church and the government to eke out a meager existence until we perish from hunger?
"I-I do not wish for such a fate…"
Lumian was suddenly reminded of something his sister had once uttered. "Intis is exceedingly harsh now. There is no protection for hardworking individuals in their twilight years."
Stirred by his thoughts, Ruhr continued, "Thankfully, our appetites have diminished with age. We don't eat or sleep much. That leaves us with more time to earn money. We don't have to worry about anything else. We can save most of what we earn.
"In the coming years, we should be able to enjoy a few more good ones by relying on our savings…
"Heh heh, truth be told, compared to most people, we're considered fortunate. None of them made it to our age."
Madame Michel, standing beside him, wore a wistful expression.
"Once we've saved enough, we'll return to Aurmir and purchase a plot of land to cultivate grapes. Even if we lack the strength in the future, we can hire assistance. We don't have extravagant expenses anyway."
Aurmir stood as the provincial capital of Champagne Province, renowned as the foremost hub of wine production in the Northern Continent.
Silently, Lumian nodded as he observed the elderly couple laboriously hauling the bag of trash upstairs.
After a brief respite, he put on simple makeup and changed his attire. Clad in a linen shirt, brown overalls, loafers, and a dark bowler hat, he made his way straight to Salle de Gristmill.
Since "Hammer" Ait remained one of his targets, he needed to personally observe him.
It was the late hours of the night, and Salle de Gristmill buzzed with activity. Amid the pulsating music, men and women gyrated on the dance floor, releasing their frustrations.
Concerned about being recognized by the Poison Spur Mob, Lumian approached the bar and ordered a glass of rye beer before making his way to the dance floor. As he swayed to the rhythm, he surveyed his surroundings.
Before long, he spotted "Little Minx" Jenna appearing on the raised wooden platform in front of him.
She wore a similar outfit to the one she had donned in the afternoon, a short white blouse and a flouncy skirt, showcasing her fair chest.
This time, she sported a mole on the bridge of her nose.
It signified audacity.
Impressive mental strength she possesses. Despite the afternoon's events, she's back at work in the evening… Lumian couldn't help but marvel.
In his opinion, since Jenna was "Red Boots" Franca's lover, there was no need for her to be so committed.
The rhythmic drumbeats halted, and all eyes on the dance floor turned to Jenna, panting.
Jenna began with a high-pitched tone.
"Ernest, stay away from my wife and pipe!"
Laughter erupted from the crowd as if a collective realization had struck them.
In sync with the cheerful and bawdy singing, they swayed their bodies gently.
As Jenna sang, she executed high kicks, shifting her position and winking at the audience from different angles, even performing an exaggerated split.
During this display, her gaze briefly crossed paths with Lumian. She appeared momentarily stunned before returning to her normal demeanor.
Once she finished her song, the intense drumbeats resumed. Jenna wasted no time resting. She leaped onto the dance floor, navigating through the sudden eruption of cheers, whistles, and men vying for proximity. She approached Lumian and shouted with a playful smile, "Handsome lion, dance!"
In Intis, the lion was often used to describe alluring men due to their radiant mane, akin to the sun.
Lumian sensed that Jenna had something important to share. He set aside his beer and joined her on the dance floor, engaging in a lively dance with the Showy Diva, face-to-face.
Just as they were about to embrace, Jenna threw herself into Lumian's arms and whispered into his ear, "You're quite the talented dancer. By the way, I've discovered the identity of that pervert. His name is Hedsey. He used to reside in Room 504 at Auberge du Coq Doré."
Charlie's room? The occupant of Room 504 who put up Susanna Mattise's portrait? Lumian was taken aback.
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