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Chapter 118: Summoning
Circle of Inevitability

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DeadLyASgamer

DeadLyASgamer 14 Sep 2025, 17:31

+ 1 ⋅ 1 -

The Fool that doesn’t belong to this era;
The Mysterious Ruler above the Gray Fog;
The King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck;
PRAISE THE FOOL!!!

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  Green Dragon
  
  Green Dragon 5 Oct 2025, 18:19 ➥ DeadLyASgamer
  
  + 1 ⋅ 1 -
  
  PRAISE THE FOOL
  
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Peplum

Peplum 13 Aug 2025, 16:31

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Is he stupid? Did he just do a dance to attract spirits for no reason? Does he just want to die?

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  DeadLyASgamer
  
  DeadLyASgamer 14 Sep 2025, 17:29 ➥ Peplum
  
  + 6 ⋅ 0 -
  
  He's a Cuttlefish MC, ofcourse he wants to die!
  
  He wants to court death!
  
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    Green Dragon
    
    Green Dragon 5 Oct 2025, 18:20 ➥ DeadLyASgamer
    
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    Wrong
    He wants to marry it
    
    Wait...
    Klein is already it's grandson
    Lumian can't marry it
    
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confused-reader

confused-reader 11 Jul 2025, 09:07

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The taste of Demoness...

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ImagicianI

ImagicianI 3 Feb 2024, 18:11

+ 3 ⋅ 1 -

vixi, isso me parece meio suspeito

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pepper

pepper 26 Sep 2023, 05:48

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Off top but I just remembered when Leonard met the Fool for the first time properly,and when Klein told him to pick a card he chose the Star... I snickered when I remembered how Klein rigged it lmao

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  Green Dragon
  
  Green Dragon 5 Oct 2025, 18:21 ➥ pepper
  
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  That was a great scene lmao🤣🤣
  
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samanaein

samanaein 21 Jul 2023, 10:33

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Can someone tell me why he didn't ask for bone for 8 sq after he advanced ?

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IsekaidJony

IsekaidJony 10 May 2023, 15:02

+ 9 ⋅ 1 -

No new chapters yet?

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  Supreme_Ancestor
  
  Supreme_Ancestor 10 May 2023, 16:54 ➥ IsekaidJony
  
  + 9 ⋅ 0 -
  
  Chapter 124 comment
  
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    IsekaidJony
    
    IsekaidJony 10 May 2023, 20:51 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
    
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    No I mean after 129
    
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      Supreme_Ancestor
      
      Supreme_Ancestor 10 May 2023, 21:14 ➥ IsekaidJony
      
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      Yes it is there
      
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        IsekaidJony
        
        IsekaidJony 11 May 2023, 04:26 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
        
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        Ah i see
        
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Supreme_Ancestor

Supreme_Ancestor 9 May 2023, 05:02

+ 69 ⋅ 1 -

Rue Anarchie, Auberge du Coq Doré, Room 207.

Lumian tossed the wrinkled newspaper onto the table and slumped onto the bed.

After a few moments, he collapsed onto the mattress. Exhaustion coursed through his veins, making it nearly impossible to resist the urge to sleep.

He reset his body and mental state each day, but never his mind.

Too tired to bother undressing, he kicked off his leather shoes and closed his eyes.

Lumian slept deeply, dreamless.

The acrid scent of sulfur roused him from his sleep. The sun was still setting outside the window.

Lumian turned his head to gaze at the glass window, tinged with a golden-red hue, and whispered sarcastically, “Could it be that I've slept for a day and a night?”

It was clearly impossible; he always woke up automatically at 6 a.m.

Though the obituary had helped vent the sorrow in his heart, Lumian still felt somewhat despondent.

He knew that grief wouldn't simply vanish, and pain would inevitably resurface. He had to maintain a stable mental state and face his emotions without spiraling into self-destruction.

As for extreme, mad, and self-destructive tendencies, he accepted that these were inevitable, as long as they weren't severe.

I have to undergo psychiatric treatment regularly in the future. Otherwise, I'll completely lose my mind before I complete my revenge and find a way to revive Aurore. Lumian sighed and got out of bed.

He picked up the wrinkled Novel Weekly again and studied the obituary on the front page, seeking to reawaken the familiar pain in his heart.

Then, Lumian noticed an issue.

This paper was from last week.

The paperboy had sold him an outdated newspaper!

Impossible. It's impossible for a paperboy to keep a newspaper copy that can't be sold… Lumian furrowed his brow, finding this odd coincidence inexplicable.

He carefully recalled something that Psychiatrist Susie had said: “Many times, suppressing pain and despair isn't helpful. Humans need to vent and relieve stress…”

Suddenly, Lumian understood.

This was part of his psychiatric treatment!

Madame Susie had first identified my unstable mental state and strong self-destructive tendencies. Then, she used the hope of reviving Aurore as an initial counsel. Finally, while I wallowed in my pain, she arranged for the paperboy to deliver a week-old obituary. She shattered my defenses with cold, hard facts, allowing me to release the pain and despair I had buried deep inside… Lumian mused silently.

Realizing this, he was grateful for encountering a highly skilled and professional psychiatrist. Without her, escaping his mental quagmire would have been nearly impossible.

As Lumian's gaze drifted, he noticed a few bedbugs scurrying into his room.

His keen sense of smell told him the sulfur in the neighboring room had been lit to repel the bedbugs, but the vermin mostly fled elsewhere.

Lumian chuckled at the thought of him and his neighbor inadvertently “attacking” each other by driving the bedbugs into each other's rooms. He slipped on his leather shoes and strode out of Room 207, heading for Room 206.

On the second floor of Auberge du Coq Doré, nestled in an alley behind Rue Anarchie, a washroom connected rooms 201 to 204. Opposite Room 204 was another washroom, with rooms 205 to 208 on the other side. A sizable balcony graced both sides of the corridor, so the third, fourth, and fifth floors each held ten rooms and two washrooms.

Knock! Knock! Knock! Lumian rapped his knuckles on Room 206's door.

“Who is it?” A slightly flustered voice called from inside.

“I'm from Room 207 next door,” Lumian replied, grinning. “I want to get to know my neighbor.”

Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing a lanky young man before Lumian.

Barely 1.7 meters tall, the man wore a faded linen shirt and black suspenders. Oversized black-framed glasses perched on his nose, and his unkempt, greasy brown hair looked as if it hadn't been washed for days. His dark-brown eyes betrayed his wariness.

“What can I do for you?” the man inquired.

Flashing a smile, Lumian extended his right hand.

“I'll be staying here for a while, so I figured I should get to know my neighbors. What's your name?”

The young man hesitated before reaching out and shaking Lumian's hand.

“Gabriel, and yours?”

“Ciel.” Lumian glanced into Room 206, feigning curiosity. “Why are you burning sulfur now? It's already evening-time to head out for food.”

Gabriel adjusted his glasses and offered a wry smile.

“I'm a playwright, and I'm planning to write all night.”

“An author?” Lumian raised his hand to his chin, abandoning his plan to play a prank on his neighbor to break the ice. Gabriel clarified, “Playwright, actually. I specialize in writing plays for various theaters.”

“Sounds impressive,” Lumian praised sincerely. “I admire people who can write stories. My idol is an author.”

Gabriel, flattered by the praise and Lumian's genuine expression, scratched his messy brown hair and sighed.

“This line of work isn't as glamorous as it seems. I poured my heart into my last script, which I think rivals the classics, but no theater manager will give it a chance.

“So I take on requests from tabloids, churning out trite stories to pay rent and avoid starvation. Right now, I'm rushing to finish one of those manuscripts. The editors just want steamy scenes with the female characters -that's what their readers crave…” Perhaps it was because he had triggered a scar in his heart, Gabriel was driven by an urge to share his struggles.

Lumian listened intently before responding with sincerity, “I've read many authors' biographies and interviews. Most of them experienced hardship, living in cheap hotels or cramped attics. I believe you'll find someone who appreciates your work and helps you become a renowned playwright.' Gabriel removed his glasses and rubbed his face. “You're only the second person to encourage me. Everyone else mocks my dreams, accusing me of being out of touch with reality.” If it weren't for the fact that you share a profession similar to Aurore's, I would've mocked you too. And my mockery would be worse than theirs… Lumian thought, before asking curiously, “Who was the first person to encourage you?”

“Miss Séraphine, from Room 309,” Gabriel replied, glancing at the ceiling. “She's a figure model. I haven't seen her in a few days. She might've moved out.”

The same figure model Ruhr and his wife mentioned? Lumian nodded and extended an invitation.

“How about a drink at the bar?”

Gabriel was sorely tempted but ultimately declined.

“Another time. I have to submit my manuscript tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Lumian waved and returned to his room.

Peering out the window at the bustling Rue Anarchie, Lumian resolved to find a restaurant and indulge in Trier's culinary delights.

Just then, a shrill female voice echoed from upstairs: “You bastard! You pig!

“Your mother spawned you with a devil…”

The cursing halted abruptly, as if silenced by force. Lumian's heart raced as he flung open the window.

“If you're so fond of women, why not go to your mother?

This time, Lumian pinpointed the voice to the fourth floor.

Miss Ethans, the one forced into prostitution?

He recalled Charlie's description. That also meant Margot-the leader of the Poison Spur Mob-had arrived with his henchmen to collect their dues.

In the Intis Republic, there were two types of prostitutes: the registered ones in places like Rue de la Muraille and Rue de Breda, and the unregistered, illegal ones. The latter, who neither paid taxes nor could do their business without the authorities stepping in, outnumbered the former by ten or even twenty times.

After some contemplation, Lumian donned a dark suit and positioned himself between Rooms 202 and 203. A staircase led to the next floor.

He retrieved the cheap cologne he'd purchased from Bigorre, intending to pour it on the wooden steps for Margot and his henchmen to tread upon as they passed.

Unsure when the Montsouris ghost's next attack would strike, Lumian was desperate to find his prey and complete the fate exchange. a brief moment, he abandoned the idea of directly pouring the cologne, opting instead for a more discreet approach to avoid detection by After any Beyonder powers.

Lumian loosened the lid and feigned a clumsy slip of his hand, failing to grip the thick glass bottle securely.

With a clang, the cologne bottle hit the bottom step, and some liquid seeped out, the pungent fragrance filling the air.

Lumian crouched down, feigning frustration, picked up the bottle, and screwed the lid back on.

He smeared the spilled cologne with his palm, rubbing it against his body to not waste it.

Soon, most of the liquid had evaporated, and the night breeze pouring into the balcony swept away the lingering scent. Only then did Lumian retreat to Room 207. He concealed himself by leaning against the door frame while keeping an eye on the stairwell.

After more than ten minutes, footsteps sounded from above.

By now, the cologne in the corridor had significantly dissipated.

A thin man led four others down the stairs.

With closely cropped yellow hair, single-lidded blue eyes, a prominent nose bridge, thin lips, and faint scars on his face, the man suspected to be Margot wore a red shirt and a dark leather vest. His hands were tucked into his milky-white pants as he descended step by step.

A bulge on his left waist hinted at a hidden weapon, and his feet were clad in strapless leather boots.

Suddenly, the man frowned and deftly leaped over the two steps and a section of the second-floor corridor tainted with cologne. The three male thugs trailing him failed to detect anything unusual and trampled the remaining traces of the scent. Lumian's heart pounded at the sight. Is Margot acutely sensitive to smells, with a strong aversion to being contaminated by peculiar odors?

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  pumpkinthighs
  
  pumpkinthighs 16 May 2023, 00:34 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
  
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  This Junior bows to Venerable Supreme Ancestor
  
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Karmic_daoist

Karmic_daoist 9 May 2023, 00:45

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Want more?

of course u cab read the chapters below or u can wait while chatting with fellow ranobe users at https://discord.gg/pRjCestc96

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Supreme_Ancestor

Supreme_Ancestor 8 May 2023, 22:34

+ 44 ⋅ 2 -

Lumian couldn't help but smile when he saw the “slogan” on the wall.

It reminded him of something Aurore had once said: “In Trier, the café holds a unique status. It's the birthplace of riots, the sanctuary of conspiracies, and the wellspring of scandals.” Throughout Intisian history, innumerable riots had been sparked in cafés, and countless literary works and political struggles had brewed within them.

Unlike the neighboring Loen Kingdom, Intis had its own private clubs, but they were fairly exclusive or high-end, with limited access. Be they former nobles, current members of parliament, high-ranking government officials, financiers, bankers, industrialists, renowned authors, newspaper editors, military generals, or university professors, everyone enjoyed frequenting different cafés to engage in spirited conversations, presenting a more approachable side to the public. After all, the Republic's political slogan and image were built upon “freedom, equality, and fraternity.”

Naturally, the cafés frequented by various social strata were vastly different, often distinguished by location, price, and style. So, when Lumian heard from Charlie that Laurent had used his mother, Mrs. Lakazan, to seek opportunities in upscale cafés, he wasn't surprised or puzzled. Many people did this, often becoming archetypes for novelists, but only a few succeeded.

At the same time, banquets and salons were all the rage in Trier. If any high society member didn't host a salon once a month, others would assume something had befallen their family or that a financial crisis had jeopardized their political future.

Aurore, who clearly adored this metropolis, stayed away partly because artists like authors, poets, painters, and sculptors seemed like tamed butterflies, fluttering about the salons of various politicians, financiers, and officials. It appeared that only by gaining their approval could the value of their work be realized.

The amalgamation of salons and cafés supplanted most club functions.

In this system, taverns, beer houses, dance halls, and cafés shared similarities, but the latter held far greater significance, leaning more towards the upper classes.

Upon seeing a customer enter, a female attendant in a grayish-white dress greeted him with a smile.

“Do you have a favorite seat, or are you meeting a friend?”

Lumian nodded.

“Cabin D.”

The female attendant led him to a secluded corner.

Beside a window, he could see a lush, tree-filled botanical garden.

“What can I get you to drink?” The female attendant presented a brown-covered wine list.

Lumian opened it, momentarily taken aback by the dazzling array of choices.

Fermo Coffee, Highlander Coffee, Reem Espresso…

Sibe Black Tea, Marquis Black Tea, West Balam Black Tea…

Fruit Slushy, Frangipani Cocktail, Ambergris Lemonade, Venus Sacred Oil…

Summer Wine, Kirsch, Rose Dew, Walnut Spirit, Orange & Lemon Wine, Cherry Spirit…

Absinthe, Fennel Absinthe, Gin, Bitter Curaçao, Apple Brandy, Grape Dregs Brandy…

Sweetwine: Perfect Love, Barbarian Cream, Little Rose, West Pyro…

Considering he had a psychologist's appointment later, neither alcohol nor coffee seemed fitting. Lumian thought for a moment and said, “Ambergris lemonade.”

“Four licks,” the female attendant inquired.

“Do you need cake, bread, or other food?”

“Not for now. I'll decide when my friend arrives.” Lumian surveyed the surroundings of Mason's Café and noted the absence of customers at this time.

The lunch crowd had cleared out by 2:30 p.m., leaving more than an hour before teatime.

Soon, the female attendant returned with a tray, placing a glass filled with a colorless liquid and a few lemons on the table. Lumian eyed the empty seat across from him, picked up his cup, and took a sip.

A sweet, elegant fragrance filled his nostrils, and the refreshing sour taste invigorated him.

As the minutes passed, Lumian noticed the wall clock nearing 3:30 p.m. He couldn't help but glance at the café entrance.

Green plants adorned the area, but no customers entered.

Just as Lumian looked away in disappointment, a soft female voice sounded from the booth behind him.

“I'm already here. Good afternoon, Mr. Lumian Lee.”

Lumian assumed the woman didn't want a face-to-face conversation, so he didn't turn around. He lowered his voice and asked politely, “Good afternoon. How should I address you? Can you hear my soft voice?”

“No problem,” the gentle female voice replied. “You can call me Susie.”

“Hello, Madame Susie.” For some reason, Lumian felt relatively calm facing this psychologist. His usual habit of inward commentary dissipated.

A familiar uneasiness washed over him a second later.

“What's wrong?” Susie, seated behind him, inquired gently.

Lumian pondered for two seconds and didn't conceal his feelings.

“I'm a little uneasy. It's an odd yet familiar sensation.

“Yes, I must have experienced something similar when I met an information broker yesterday.”

Susie spoke rapidly, apologetically, “Sorry, I'm used to reading your thoughts. That might be causing your discomfort.

“Your body is infused with intense corruption and is in a delicate balance. The slightest disturbance triggers a reaction. In other words, you're highly sensitive to hidden and invisible influences, surpassing Beyonders of the same Sequence or higher.”

“Is that so…” Lumian wasn't angry. In his view, a psychologist needed to read thoughts for effective treatment. Rely on words alone?

He then furrowed his brow. “Was Anthony Reid also reading my thoughts back then? I'm referring to the information broker.”

“I know.” Susie understood. “Where did Anthony Reid come from? What did he do before becoming an information broker?”

“He had a West Midseashire Coast accent, a retired soldier,” Lumian recounted. After a brief silence, Susie said, “If he's truly from West Midseashire Coast, it's indeed possible he's a Beyonder of the Spectator pathway.”

The Spectator pathway… Lumian had read about it in Aurore's Warlock notebook, but she only knew that its corresponding Sequence 9 was called the Spectator. They possessed remarkable observational abilities, deciphering true thoughts from subtle expressions and body language.

So a Sequence above the Spectator pathway is a Psychologist… As this thought crossed Lumian's mind, he heard Susie correct him.

“It's Psychiatrist.”

“That sounds more reassuring.” Lumian smiled. “What Sequence is Anthony Reid?” After learning the other's pathway, he felt Anthony Reid should have recognized him and sensed his anxiety, concern, and attempts at intimidation.

“According to your description, he's at least a Sequence 8,” Susie concluded.

Lumian smirked. “If he's really a Psychiatrist, that's interesting. He didn't even treat the aftereffects of his battlefield trauma.”

“It's not unusual. When a Psychiatrist suffers severe psychological trauma, it's incredibly difficult for them to recover alone. They often need the help of another Psychiatrist, and treating a Psychiatrist is far riskier than usual.

One misstep can result in the infection of the patient's mental illness,” Susie explained succinctly.

As the conversation shifted and the atmosphere lightened, Lumian gradually relaxed, no longer feeling uneasy or anxious.

He took the initiative to say, “Shall we begin the treatment?”

“Talking is part of the treatment.” Susie's gentle voice hinted at a smile.

Realizing that the first stage of the treatment was simply conversation, Lumian eased further. He leaned back against the booth partition and asked, puzzled, “I know it was a dream, but there are many details I can't comprehend.

“Since it's my dream, how can I know the various abilities of the three official investigators? Why am I so familiar with the unique abilities of the padre, the shepherd, and company?”

Susie's tone was warm as she replied, “The three official investigators were forcibly drawn into your dream. It's as if their subconscious came close to yours, in a semi-open state.

“They would actively participate in the dream, revealing all sorts of information they know. Even if they only think about it, your subconscious can sense it.” In other words, with Ryan, Leah, and Valentine's involvement, certain parts of the dream are created through “interaction?” Their responses are a collective creation of my subconscious and theirs, adhering to unspoken rules? Lumian considered this as he pondered previously unresolved questions.

Susie's voice remained steady as she continued, “You must have some suspicions about why you know the abilities of the evil god's followers, right? But you're just unwilling to confront them?”

At this, Lumian's eyelids twitched involuntarily.

“Based on the information Madam Magician provided, most of Guillaume Bénet and Pierre Berry's abilities stem from the evil god's Sequence, Contractee. So, it's impossible to predict their abilities beforehand. It depends on which creature they've signed a contract with,”

Susie gently analyzed. “In other words, we can rule out the possibility that your subconscious obtained corresponding knowledge from the seal's corruption. Without a knowledge base, you couldn't imagine those abilities nothing. They're not imaginary.” The woman's tone suddenly turned grave.

from “Clearly, at some point before Cordu was destroyed, you saw Guillaume Bénet, Pierre the others use their abilities. Moreover, you were neither harmed nor Berry, and traumatized. Otherwise, it would have manifested in the dream.

“From the dream's analysis, what truly left a scar on you was Pualis and company's actions. “How do you think you witnessed those evil god followers using their powers?” Susie's words were like sharp arrows piercing Lumian's memories, making the sturdy barrier waver.

Lumian's face twisted slightly. Amidst excruciating pain, he saw images surface from the depths of his memories.

It was the third floor of the administrator's castle.

The walls were adorned with pale, translucent faces, but the fighters were no longer Ryan, Leah, and Valentine. Instead, it was Guillaume Bénet, Pierre Berry, and Sybil Berry!

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  Supreme_Ancestor
  
  Supreme_Ancestor 8 May 2023, 22:34 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
  
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  Blood-red flowers bloomed on the pitch-black vines hanging from the ceiling, sealing off the third floor of the castle.
  
  Guillaume Bénet, Pierre Berry, and Sybil Berry fought off the 'midwife' and her accomplices as they charged towards the tower.
  
  A series of fragmented scenes flashed through Lumian's mind.
  
  In a tower filled with bird-clawed infants, the invisible Guillaume Bénet touched the midwife's shoulder with the help of Shepherd Pierre Berry. The midwife exploded as if a bomb had been planted inside her.
  
  Though Sybil Berry had been killed by the lady's maid, she was reborn in the other woman's body and took control of it.
  
  Floating in the air, Louis Lund gave birth to a child in the room.
  
  Unfazed, Louis Lund teamed up with Administrator Béost to subdue Shepherd Pierre Berry.
  
  In the wilderness leading deep into the mountains, the padre, Guillaume Bénet, was surrounded by countless undead in linen garments…
  
  Lumian's face contorted in pain. These memories felt like a sharp weapon piercing his soul. Extracting them would do more harm, making him instinctively resist recalling them further.
  
  Eventually, the scenes faded, and Lumian panted heavily.
  
  “How was it? Did you find anything?” Susie's voice was gentle, as if inquiring about today's breakfast.
  
  Lumian pondered and replied, “I remember the battle between the padre and Madame Pualis's subordinates. The scene was chaotic and fragmented…
  
  “Sometimes, I feel like I'm watching in person, and at times from afar via certain means…”
  
  This left him deeply puzzled about his position and role in these events.
  
  At times, he seemed to be part of the two groups, embroiled in the conflict. Other times, he appeared to be a mere bystander, unconnected to either side.
  
  Susie asked, leading him on, “Besides that, is there anything else you don't understand about the situation in your memory?”
  
  Lumian said as he recalled, “I don't think I saw Madame Pualis… She only appeared when the padre was surrounded by a horde of undead in the wilderness…
  
  “The padre and his allies seemed drained after dealing with Louis Lund, Cathy, Béost, the midwife, and Madame Pualis's subordinates. If Madame Pualis had joined, I don't think they could have won…
  
  “Why did Madame Pualis willingly give up and leave Cordu without stopping the padre and his allies…”
  
  “Not willingly, but forcibly sent away,” Susie corrected him. “The ritual in your dream to send the Spring Elf away should be about sending Pualis away. The Spring Elf symbolizes a bountiful harvest, the end of a harsh winter, and the budding of new life. It's very similar to the abilities displayed by Pualis's group.”
  
  “That's even stranger…” Lumian's voice grew pained as he clenched his fists, feeling unable to remember any more.
  
  Susie said gently, “If you don't want to recall, don't. Recovering all your memories isn't something that can be achieved in one session of therapy. Take your time. There's no rush.”
  
  Phew… Lumian slowly exhaled a sigh of relief, his body relaxing.
  
  After he had calmed down for nearly a minute, Susie said, “You can sleep and see if you can find more answers in your dreams.”
  
  At first, the Psychiatrist's voice was gentle in Lumian's ears, but then it became increasingly ethereal, as if it had receded and entered another world.
  
  His eyelids grew heavier and heavier until they finally closed.
  
  Lumian's eyes snapped open to the familiar ceiling above him.
  
  He bolted upright, taking in the reclining chair, the wooden table by the window, the small bookshelf, and the wardrobe with its full-length mirror.
  
  This was his bedroom, his home in Cordu.
  
  For a few seconds, Lumian stared blankly before leaping out of bed and sprinting from the room.
  
  He flung open Aurore's bedroom door and found the desk littered with manuscripts, papers, fountain pens, ink bottles, and other items, just as he remembered. He noticed the chair with the pillow was empty.
  
  His gaze shifted to the vacant bed before slowly retracting.
  
  Quietly, he closed the door and moved to the next room.
  
  No familiar figure awaited him in the study either.
  
  Lumian raced downstairs.
  
  He dashed through Cordu Village, arriving at the entrance of the Eternal Blazing Sun cathedral.
  
  Not a single villager crossed his path. Every house was eerily silent.
  
  Gazing up at the onion-like dome, Lumian strode into the cathedral.
  
  The altar had been altered, adorned with tulips, lilacs, and other flowers. A black thorn symbol was etched into it, seemingly with liquid flowing on its surface.
  
  Still, nobody was here.
  
  Lumian searched the padre's room before heading to the basement.
  
  Piles of bones and sheepskin lay around, just as in his previous dream, but the altar in the middle remained untouched.
  
  He examined it cautiously but felt no burning sensation in his chest.
  
  Realizing this was a dream, the power representing the past, present, and future seemed to have vanished.
  
  Having gained nothing, Lumian stood by the underground altar, deep in thought. He then dashed up the stairs, out the side door, and into the nearby cemetery. Guided by the memories of his previous dream, he quickly located the tomb where the owl had flown in. Crouching down, he pushed open the stone slab sealing the entrance. Without hesitation, Lumian descended the stairs, traversed the passageway, and found the black coffin in the shadowy tomb.
  
  No owl was present, nor was there another Lumian. Only the faint light seeping in from outside illuminated the scene.
  
  In a daze, Lumian turned his attention to the black coffin.
  
  The lid had already slid to the side, revealing its contents.
  
  Hesitating for a moment, Lumian recalled Aurore nearly losing control in his dream when she spied on the dead Warlock's corpse in the coffin.
  
  Two or three seconds later, his expressionless steps carried him forward, approaching the black coffin. He cast his gaze inside.
  
  A corpse quickly appeared before his eyes.
  
  With golden hair cascading down its sides and eyes tightly shut, the corpse's pale-white face was adorned with a light blue dress.
  
  It was Aurore!
  
  Aurore lay in the coffin of the dead Warlock!
  
  Lumian's pupils dilated, his face contorting with horror.
  
  The scene before him fractured, crumbling inch by inch.
  
  Lumian's eyes snapped open, his expression a mix of bewilderment and dread.
  
  “What did you see?” Susie's voice echoed in his ears.
  
  Lumian replied in a distant tone, “I saw Aurore lying in the coffin of the deceased Warlock… “How can this be…”
  
  Susie reassured him, “This is more symbolic.
  
  “Consider this: there's no real Warlock legend, and in the dream, the story you subconsciously created transformed your and Aurore's home into the Warlock's former residence. Aurore knows nothing about this or the legend. “Her loss of control was because she wanted to see the Warlock's corpse in the coffin clearly.”
  
  “So, the Warlock who died in the legend represents Aurore. What does the owl symbolize? What does the entire story signify?”
  
  Questions flooded Lumian's mind, each like a sharp blade tearing at his head. Lumian instinctively raised his hands to clutch his head.
  
  “You might need to recover more memories before you can analyze it. Moreover, sometimes, multiple layers of symbolism exist in a mixed state,” Susie said gently. “That's enough for today's treatment. Your subconscious is already resisting. Continuing may backfire and harm your mental state.
  
  Would you like the second treatment in two weeks or a month?” Lumian didn't hesitate.
  
  “Two weeks from now.” Susie paused for a few seconds before adding, “Lastly, I must remind you that you have a strong tendency for self-destruction.”
  
  “Self-destruction…” Lumian repeated the words, his expression unchanged. Susie's voice carried warmth again. “I understand why this happened, and I don't want to forcibly eliminate it. Unless you're willing to let me erase all memories at the root of the problem, every treatment will only alleviate, not eradicate it.
  
  “I just want to remind you that Aurore loves living and life.
  
  “She has many unfulfilled wishes. She wants to see you attend university. She wants to travel to Trier as an ordinary person for a while. She wants to find clues about her home. She wants to resolve her issues with her parents. She wants to savor all of Trier's delicacies, every concert, and experience every art exhibition.
  
  attend “She's one step away from complete death. If she's conscious, I don't think she'd give up. She's like someone who's fallen into an abyss, clinging to the cliff edge with one hand. If even you give up, no one will pull her up again.” Lumian's expression shifted, but he couldn't show any defined emotions.
  
  It seemed he had forgotten how to smile or cry.
  
  Susie didn't pressure him to respond. She sighed softly and said, “Many times, suppressing pain and despair isn't helpful. Humans need to vent and relieve stress. “Alright, that's it for today. We'll meet again for the second treatment, same time in two weeks.”
  
  Lumian closed his eyes.
  
  “Thank you, Madame Susie.”
  
  Susie didn't reply, as if she had already left.
  
  After more than ten seconds, Lumian slowly exhaled and opened his eyes.
  
  He instinctively glanced outside Mason's Café and saw a golden retriever with a small brown bag vanishing around the corner.
  
  A female figure appeared to be beside the dog.
  
  Lumian lingered for another ten minutes before finishing the remaining ambergris lemonade. He stepped out of Mason's Café and made his way to the nearest public carriage stop.
  
  A green double-decker carriage pulled up, inviting passengers to board.
  
  Lumian paid 30 coppets and found a window seat, his gaze distant.
  
  “Read all about it! Only 11 coppets each!” A child in old clothes approached the window, hoisting a stack of newspapers in his hand. Self-destruct… live… self-destruct… live… Lumian's mind replayed the psychiatrist's words. He felt like a walking corpse, oblivious to the newsboy.
  
  Suddenly, he noticed the newspaper's title— Novel Weekly.
  
  That's right, it's Sunday… Lumian snapped back to reality. He handed the child two 5-coppet copper coins and one 1-coppet copper coin, opened the window, and grabbed a copy of Novel Weekly.
  
  Unfolding the newspaper, Lumian began to read, illuminated by the bright sunlight streaming through the window.
  
  As the carriage slowly rolled forward, a message caught Lumian's eye: “Obituary: “Our eternal friend, the renowned bestselling author, Aurore Lee, has been confirmed by our editorial team to have passed away in an accident in April…”
  
  Lumian's gaze froze, his hands trembling.
  
  Abruptly, he lowered his head, raised the newspaper, and shielded his face with it. A wet mark materialized on the newspaper's surface in the afternoon sun.
  
  More and more wet marks emerged, merging into one splatter.
  
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2. Offline
  
  Good_Night
  
  Good_Night 9 May 2023, 03:46 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
  
  + 6 ⋅ 0 -
  
  Wasn't S8 telepathist?
  
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3. Online Offline
  
  IzuChukwu
  
  IzuChukwu 9 May 2023, 10:45 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
  
  + 19 ⋅ 0 -
  
  Major Tarot Club members have Minor Tarot Club subordinates, Ms Justice has Susie, the World has Danitz, and Miss Magician is initiating MC.
  
  All the orthodox churches have their secret "SWAT" teams, Nighthawks, Hivemind, Punishers, the Inquisition and the Tarot Club.
  
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Chapter 118: Summoning | Circle of Inevitability

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Chapter 118: Summoning
Circle of Inevitability