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Chapter 118: Summoning
Circle of Inevitability

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Supreme_Ancestor 8 May 2023, 16:09

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As Lumian intoned the three lines of the honorific name, a faint gray fog materialized around him, radiating an unnerving aura.

The orange candle flame adopted a bluish tinge, casting a sinister, deep glow over the entire altar.

In that instant, Lumian's thoughts seemed to decelerate. He felt an itching beneath his flesh, as if something was on the verge of burrowing out.

A distant, inscrutable gaze from an unfathomable height appeared once more. Collecting himself, Lumian resumed his prayer. Adhering to Madam Magician's instructions and incorporating sacrificial knowledge from Aurore's witchcraft notebook, he recited in Hermes, “I implore you. I beseech you to lift this curse from me…”

In all honesty, Lumian yearned to request the great existence's protection for a year, shielding him from all harm. But that was clearly unattainable. He had not yet mastered the necessary Hermes phrases to counter the threat of the Montsouris ghost. Thus, he could only allude to the curse plaguing him.

As the ritual culminated, Lumian began to draw upon the power of the herbs on the altar.

In the following moment, his vision blurred, as if a seraph with twelve pairs of luminous wings materialized before him.

Descending from above, the seraph extended its arms, enveloping Lumian in an embrace.

The wings of light closed around him, enfolding him layer by layer.

Lumian shook off his stupor and noticed the bluish candle flame had reverted to its original orange hue at some unknown point.

Recalling the surreal encounter, it felt like a dream. He couldn't help but murmur to himself, Did I just see an angel? Did that great existence send one of His angels to protect me and lift this curse?

Until today, Lumian had only heard of angels in the sermons of the Eternal Blazing Sun Church. He never anticipated experiencing an angelic embrace firsthand.

According to Madam Magician, this was at least a high-level Sequence 2 entity. Even if only a fraction of its power had been projected from afar, it was still angelic in nature… Lumian felt an even deeper reverence for the enigmatic organization that employed tarot cards as their moniker and the great existence that had sealed the corruption within him.

Simultaneously, he breathed a sigh of relief.

If the Montsouris ghost had truly inflicted a curse, it should no longer be an issue. How could a ghost that dared not confront the protection granted by the Eternal Blazing Sun Church's clergy and was confined to wandering beneath Trier compare to an angel?

Nevertheless, trepidation still gripped Lumian's heart. He had prayed for the curse to be lifted. What if the Montsouris ghost employed a different method of killing than a curse?

He waited until midnight, but Magician's response never came.

Unable to risk sleep, he lay on the bed, shutting his eyes just to rest.

Staying awake all night posed no challenge for him. At six in the morning, his body and mind would simultaneously reset.

This was both a curse and a blessing.

It wasn't until the latter half of the night that the cacophony of Rue Anarchie died down. Lumian discerned the faint chirping of insects in the distance and an even more remote whistle.

Abruptly, his body felt leaden, and breathing grew labored. It was as if someone had swaddled him in a blanket and weighed him down.

This isn't good! Lumian tried to rise, but he could only move his arms.

His eyes wouldn't even open!

His arms felt restrained, barely able to lift a few centimeters off the bed.

In the next moment, Lumian's body turned frigid, and his nose felt damp. It was as if he had been stuffed into a sack and hurled into the depths of a river.

His breathing faltered, his chest tightened with pain, and his thoughts decelerated.

Lumian's desperate attempts at resistance flashed through his mind-entering Cogitation and activating the black thorn symbol on his chest.

He dismissed the idea in an instant.

Firstly, he would likely lose control. Secondly, the Montsouris ghost bore no connection to the covert entity known as Inevitability. It might not be deterred by the black thorn symbol. Unless left with no alternative and teetering on the brink of death, Lumian wouldn't gamble his life on this seemingly futile method.

His lips and nose turned icy, as though an invisible hand was pressing them down. Paired with the sensation of drowning, Lumian found breathing impossible. His lungs were on the verge of bursting.

Words like Hunter, Provoker, Dancer, corruption, seal, and Fallen Mercury flickered through Lumian's mind, each forming fleeting thoughts before dissipating.

Fallen Mercury… Fallen Mercury! At last, Lumian had a revelation. He strained to shift his gloved left palm to the side.

He had already positioned the evil dirk in the most accessible location to handle potential emergencies.

A few seconds later, Lumian, gasping for air with his mouth agape, made contact with the hilt of Fallen Mercury and hoisted the pewter-black dirk.

Fallen Mercury was no longer shrouded in black cloth. The intricate patterns on its surface overlapped, inducing vertigo.

With every ounce of his strength, Lumian hoisted his shoulder, bent his arm, and plunged Fallen Mercury above his body.

There was nothing there. Not even a scratch, let alone blood!

Without hesitation, Lumian gritted his teeth and angled his arm toward his body. With a sickening pop, he drove Fallen Mercury into his left waist.

Crimson blood oozed out, staining the blade of Fallen Mercury. The phantom mercury droplet symbolizing the fate of immolation penetrated Lumian's body.

The pain shocked Lumian's oxygen-starved mind to consciousness. His vision blurred as the enigmatic river, composed of innumerable mercury symbols, emerged. This represented his own fate.

Ignoring the need for precision, Lumian cast his gaze downstream of the illusory river, toward a current on the verge of engulfing the other tributaries.

He then infused his spirituality into Fallen Mercury, allowing it to agitate the complex mercury symbol birthed from the river's entanglement.

In the next moment, Lumian saw himself lying on the bed, his face a purplish hue, teetering on the brink of death. The mercury symbols abruptly constricted, solidifying into a droplet that seeped into Fallen Mercury's blade. Almost instantaneously, Lumian felt his entire body relax. The sensations of drowning and suffocation vanished. Simultaneously, pain enveloped him, and he couldn't help but emit a soft groan. Flames erupted from his body, searing his flesh inch by inch.

He had utilized the pain of being incinerated stored in Fallen Mercury to trade for his fate of being assaulted by a Montsouris ghost. He had successfully escaped a state where he couldn't even struggle, and the attack didn't come again! Fallen Mercury could stab others or Lumian himself, replacing an unwanted fate!

He was ignited, reliving the agony of battling the flaming beast.

Braced for the onslaught, Lumian rolled beneath the bed.

Thumping against the floor, he rolled back and forth to smother the flames engulfing him. After a while, it was unclear whether Lumian's strategy had worked, if the fire brought on by the fate exchange had run its course, or if it was a combination of both, but he was no longer consumed by the scarlet inferno. However, his clothes were in shreds, and his body was marred with charred wounds. His nose teetered on the edge of detachment, and his singed hair emitted a burnt odor. For an ordinary person or most Low-Sequence Beyonders, this was an injury beyond resuscitation-death was the only outcome.

Lumian strained to keep his eyes open and focused, fighting the urge to pass out. As time ticked away, he sensed his life rapidly ebbing.

He clung to consciousness, gasping for air. After an indeterminate period, Lumian finally heard the eerily beautiful chime of a bell.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The bell struck six in the morning, Trier time, its peal echoing through Rue Anarchie and beyond. Dawn's first light crept over the horizon.

Lumian snapped to attention, his pain abruptly gone.

His body and mind had completely reset! Phew… Lumian exhaled in relief and stood. He looked down at the tattered remnants of his once crisp linen shirt and dark pants. His skin had returned to normal.

Already in a financial bind, he couldn't help but sigh.

He needed new clothes-a fresh expense! Still, he'd managed to survive the Montsouris ghost's initial attack. This was likely a first in the annals of its dark legend.

From the looks of it, it's not a curse… Lumian changed into fresh clothes and stepped into the washroom to splash cold tap water on his face. Gazing into the mirror, he noticed that some of his hair had shortened, and the golden dye had faded in places.

These external changes couldn't be reset. After washing up, Lumian returned to Room 207 and was startled to find another letter awaiting him.

The folded piece of paper lay innocuously on the wooden table.

Lumian muttered under his breath, Isn't it too early for a reply? You didn't sleep again last night. Did you just get home?

With a shake of his head, Lumian picked up the Magician's response and unfolded it. The handwriting was messy, but he could just make out that it belonged to a woman. “Excellent work. Engage more with Mr. K and exhibit your wild, fanatical side until he converts you and extends an invitation to his organization.

“The Montsouris ghost is not a curse. There are three solutions for your current predicament: “First, die before it. Use the corruption within you to destroy it and avenge the fallen. “Second, trade your fate of encountering the Montsouris ghost with your dirk. Haven't you ever considered using that blade on yourself? “Third, take refuge in a particular cathedral of a certain Church and never leave its sanctuary.”

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  Supreme_Ancestor
  
  Supreme_Ancestor 8 May 2023, 16:09 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
  
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  Lumian quickly scanned Madam Magician's message, committing the essential points to memory.
  
  It was evident that the first and third solutions to the Montsouris ghost dilemma were jokes. The only viable option was the second: using Fallen Mercury to swap his fate of encountering the Montsouris ghost.
  
  In all honesty, Lumian hadn't considered stabbing himself with Fallen Mercury to proactively change his destiny. Only when he was cornered by the Montsouris ghost, teetering on the brink of death, did this desperate strategy surface in his mind.
  
  Time was of the essence, and Lumian had to act fast. He'd only managed to exchange his fate of being attacked by the Montsouris ghost, not completely avoiding one. He'd narrowly escaped the first crisis but still lingered in death's shadow.
  
  Given the choice, Lumian would have still opted to exchange the fate of being attacked by the Montsouris ghost instead of just encountering one. The attack had already occurred, and he couldn't be sure it would cease with a mere fate swap. He needed the most reliable plan to save himself.
  
  In simpler terms, what if the Montsouris ghost killed him and realized it had never met him and targeted the wrong person?
  
  I need to find someone to trade the fate stored in Fallen Mercury for a better one. Then, I'll prepare thoroughly, and when I'm ready, I'll stab myself to complete the exchange. I'll seal the Montsouris ghost encounter inside Fallen Mercury… Lumian combined his experience with Madam Magician's advice and quickly devised a way to escape his predicament.
  
  When the time came, Fallen Mercury, also known as the Cursed Blade, would cause whoever was stabbed to suffer the fate of their entire family dying, including themselves.
  
  The drawback was the time it would take for the effect to occur.
  
  Lumian drew Fallen Mercury from his waist, eyeing the blade wrapped in black cloth. He felt the Beyonder weapon's potential more acutely than ever.
  
  He seriously contemplated finding experts to repair Fallen Mercury. Otherwise, the enchanted dirk would only last until year's end.
  
  Maybe Mr. K's Beyonder Gathering could provide the resources he needed.
  
  My suspicion is correct. Madam Magician's intention for me to meet Osta Trul is to use him to attend Mr. K's Gathering and join the secret organization behind it… Lumian donned a wide-brimmed hat and a black shirt resembling formal attire before leaving Room 207 and descending the stairs.
  
  As a Hunter, he needed to start his search for prey.
  
  Upon exiting Auberge du Coq Doré, Lumian spotted Charlie sitting on the three-story staircase leading to the street. Pale-faced, he gazed at the sky, melancholic, with a lit cigarette in his right hand.
  
  “What's wrong?” Lumian asked, casually sitting beside Charlie.
  
  Charlie didn't look back. He inhaled from his cigarette and sighed.
  
  “I feel like I've lost my soul. It's gone.”
  
  He wore a white shirt, red vest, and a black suit jacket draped over his left arm—a hotel uniform.
  
  Lumian grinned and got to the point.
  
  “Did you sleep with that older woman?”
  
  Charlie turned to Lumian and emphasized, “Please call her Madame. She's only in her fifties.”
  
  He took another drag and exhaled a smoke ring.
  
  “Did you know? She gave me a diamond necklace worth at least 1,500 verl d'or. I couldn't resist. She was so dazzling and seductive that she went straight to my heart.”
  
  “It,” Lumian corrected.
  
  Charlie smiled sheepishly.
  
  “Madame Alice is captivating too. It's quite a feat to maintain her elegance at her age. She mentioned she'll stay in Trier for six months and can offer me 500 verl d'or a month…' As he spoke, Charlie's voice grew somber, and his eyes took on a melancholic hue.
  
  Just as Lumian thought Charlie would sigh over his lost soul, a long exhale escaped him.
  
  “Why can she only stay for half a year…' Lumian patted Charlie's shoulder, saying earnestly, “Take care of yourself.”
  
  Charlie's eyelids twitched.
  
  “There's a need for moderation. Madame Alice is far too enthusiastic. I was so exhausted last night that I didn't even have that beautiful dream.”
  
  Lumian chuckled and said, “You openly mentioned obtaining a diamond necklace worth 1,500 verl d'or. In Rue Anarchie, that's enough wealth to make many people go mad.
  
  Aren't you afraid I'll steal it?” Charlie laughed.
  
  “I had to share it with someone, or I'd feel awful.
  
  “I've noticed you don't seem short on money. You're even quite generous. You wouldn't commit a crime for a mere 1,000 to 2,000 verl d'or.” Lumian grinned, retorting, “Is there a chance I'm pretending not to lack money to lure someone like you into lowering your guard?”
  
  Charlie's expression froze as the dying cigarette nearly burned his fingers. Lumian changed the subject, asking casually, “Is there anyone you despise so much that you think they deserve to die?”
  
  Charlie snuffed out his cigarette on the stone steps, puzzled, “Why do you ask?”
  
  He intended to pocket the extinguished cigarette butt but decided against it, tossing it aside instead.
  
  A nearby vagrant darted over, grabbing the warm cigarette and taking a few drags. Without waiting for Lumian's response, Charlie continued, “The person I despise most is our head attendant. You've no idea how detestable he is. Haha, I've never thought of wanting him dead, but I just wish I could hood his face and beat him up one day.
  
  “I don't think many people truly deserve to die. One is Baron Brignais, the market district's Savoie Mob leader. He colludes with loan sharks, driving many to bankruptcy. A friend of mine jumped off a building in desperation. But what did that accomplish? His son vanished mysteriously, and his daughter was forced into the Salle de Bal Brise. Although she's supposed to only sing, in reality, well…”
  
  “That's right. If he had the courage to kill himself, why didn't he think of a way to kill Baron Brignais and the others?” Lumian nodded slightly. Charlie stared at Lumian, taken aback.
  
  “Your thoughts are a little extreme.”
  
  He added, “The second person deserving death is Margot, leader of the Poison Spur Mob. He manipulates people into swindling women new to Trier. After bleeding them dry, he forces them into prostitution. That's how Miss Ethans in Room 8 on the fourth floor ended up in the motel. Most of the money she earns is taken by Margot. She's tried to escape several times, but she's been beaten within an inch of her life before she could leave Rue Anarchie.”
  
  Market district has quite a few mobs. No wonder it's chaotic at night… Lumian glanced at Charlie, saying, “It sounds like you sympathize with Miss Ethans.”
  
  Charlie puffed out his chest. “True Intis gentlemen empathize with ladies in tragic situations and offer help when appropriate.' Lumian tersely acknowledged. “Do you know where Margot lives?”
  
  “I don't know.” Charlie shook his head. “But he frequents the motel in the evenings, extorting money from Miss Ethans. If you hear a woman crying, shouting, and cursing on the fourth floor, that's Margot and his thugs.”
  
  Lumian nodded pensively and inquired, “Who else do you think deserves to die?” Charlie considered for a moment, replying with a contorted expression, “Monette, that Islander. He swindled me out of 10 verl d'or! “Can you imagine? I'd been unemployed for some time and hadn't found a new job yet.
  
  That was my last bit of savings. I nearly starved to death because of him!”
  
  “Where does he live?” Lumian asked nonchalantly.
  
  “He was staying at the motel initially. But after know scamming me, he moved out. I don't where he went.” Charlie's anger flared as he spoke. “I was waiting for him to hook me up with a job…”
  
  Once he'd calmed down, Charlie eyed Lumian quizzically, “Why's your hair different?”
  
  There were strands of varying lengths, gold mingled with black.
  
  “Don't you think it's rather stylish?” Lumian asked earnestly. Charlie snorted, his expression dubious. His experience with the Idiot Instrument made him instinctively question Lumian's intentions in such matters.
  
  After a few moments, Charlie glanced at the street vendors and waved his hand.
  
  “I've got to head to the hotel. I'll see you tonight.”
  
  Lumian stayed put on the stone steps outside the hotel, waving at Charlie's retreating figure.
  
  That afternoon, Lumian took a public carriage to Quartier du Jardin Botanique. After walking over 300 meters, he reached Mason Café.
  
  The café occupied the ground floor of a beige four-story building near the botanical garden. Green plants twined around the building's exterior. The ground-floor shops were set back nearly a meter, with pillars supporting an outer walkway for pedestrians.
  
  Mason's Café boasted dark green walls and large windows. Sunlight streamed through the glass, illuminating the tables and chairs outside.
  
  Lumian, dressed in a dark suit and wide-brimmed hat, entered the café. The first thing he noticed were the intricate plant sculptures on the wall, interspersed with Intisian sentences: “Who holds supreme power in the country? The president or parliament?
  
  [1] Adapted from the opening chapter of “Histoire Insolite des Cafés Parisiens” which was used in an early 21st-century bibliography. The original text was too lengthy, so it has been condensed.
  
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    Anineer
    
    Anineer 8 May 2023, 17:18 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
    
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    The sage who gives us a food you will be rewarded for your good deeds
    
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Supreme_Ancestor 8 May 2023, 11:48

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Lumian initially planned to scope out Mason Café before noon to ensure he'd know where to escape after his treatment the following day. However, the incident with Baron Brignais had significantly delayed him. He had no choice but to find Osta Trier first and visit the Quartier du Jardin Botanique later in the afternoon.

Osta was in his usual spot, by the entrance to the catacombs, a bonfire flickering against a stone pillar.

The sound of footsteps approaching caught Osta's attention, and he looked up from under his black hooded robe.

Expecting to make a quick buck, he instead froze in place.

Quickly recovering, he stood up and forced a smile. Before Lumian could speak, Osta preempted him, saying, “I contacted the organizer this morning, told him I have a friend who's into mysticism and wants to attend the gathering. He hasn't replied yet.”

Lumian nodded, not questioning how Osta had reached out to the organizer. He walked over to the bonfire, found a rock, and sat down. Casually, he asked, “You've duped plenty of people, but you're always in the same spot. Aren't you scared they'll track you down?”

Osta laughed and replied, “Most of the time, it's not really deception. As a true Beyonder and Secrets Suppliant, using my spirituality to perform divination for them isn't a scam.

“My predictions are far more accurate than most in the mysticism club!

“Sometimes, different folks need different strokes. If I'm ever exposed, I can always talk my way out.”

“How?” Lumian inquired with a smile.

Osta coughed.

“The key is to not be too clear or absolute from the start. That way, you can accuse them of misunderstanding your intentions.”

Lumian's smile deepened.

“When it came to the Samaritan Women's Spring, you agreed too easily and made your promise too definite.”

Osta's expression fell.

“Yeah, I was cornered by Baron Brignais. I just wanted the money right away.

“The right approach would've been to say I had a solution, but it was difficult to achieve. After you begged me repeatedly, I'd reluctantly accept your cash, warning I couldn't guarantee success…”

Evidently, Osta had pondered his mistakes the previous night, considering how to avoid risks if he had to start over. He grew more animated as he spoke, only stopping when he noticed Lumian's subtle grin.

How could he openly tell this dangerous man how to swindle him? Osta awkwardly smiled and said, “But I doubt this would've fooled you either. You're the most cautious person I've ever met.”

Lumian smiled and shook his head. “You really picked the wrong pathway.”

Osta didn't dare to carry on. Instead, he asked, “I thought about it last night. I never mentioned gatherings when we talked. I just said I bought the potion's main ingredient. How'd you know it was a mysticism gathering?”

Lumian chuckled.

“It was just a gut feeling.”

Internally, he criticized, Aren't there only two possibilities? Either a one-on-one deal or a gathering. There was at least a 50% chance of guessing right! It was just a casual comment.

No harm done if I was wrong!

Osta stared at Lumian, increasingly fearful.

It was becoming harder to guess this dangerous man's Sequence. He appeared skilled in combat, possessed strong spirituality, and had an intuition bordering on precognition.

Lumian savored the warmth of the bonfire and offhandedly asked, “How did you get involved with the mysticism gathering?”

Osta's face took on a nostalgic expression.

“Everyone comes to Trier with hope. Painters dream of having their works chosen by the World's Artists Exhibition, but most fail. Every year, some succumb to madness or suicide. “Poor authors living in cheap apartments hope to replicate the success of best-sellers like Aurore and Meniere, but they end up selling their stories to small newspapers. They're forced to bear scathing reviews like 'trite,' 'mediocre,' and 'cliché.' Many of them have even stooped to writing smut for underground booksellers, risking arrest by detectives.

“Over a decade ago, I came to Trier from Cécilis Province, eager to make a fortune. I lived in a leaky attic, climbed scaffolding, worked in factories, smuggled illegal books, and sold soda. I made some money, but with each passing year, I realized I'd never be rich. Owning a home and enjoying leisurely mornings before work were impossible dreams.

“Eventually, I discovered mysticism magazines like Psychic and Mysteries. Perhaps I still fantasized about gaining superpowers overnight and changing my fate, so I started attending gatherings with fellow enthusiasts. Those magazines would publish the relevant information.

“Earlier this year, a friend from the group asked if I wanted to join a gathering with real Beyonder powers. I couldn't refuse. You know the rest.”

Lumian listened without interrupting Osta's account.

When Osta finished, Lumian asked, “Is that friend the gathering's organizer?”

“No,” Osta shook his head. “The organizer goes by 'Mr. K.' He always wears a massive hood, practically covering his entire face.”

“Mr. K…” Lumian committed the codename to memory and pondered for a moment. “What abilities has he shown?”

Osta shook his head again.

“I've never seen any. But after becoming a Secrets Suppliant, I sensed I was facing shadows and deep darkness when meeting him. I think he's very powerful.” He seems powerful. I wonder who's stronger— him, the padre, or Madame Pualis… Lumian mused before asking curiously, “Did you sense anything special around me?”

Osta hesitated before admitting, “No, but your dangerous aura frightens me more than even Baron Brignais.' Lumian glanced at his left chest and smiled.

“That's good.”

Osta was taken aback, not understanding Lumian's meaning.

Lumian changed the subject. “Have you heard of the Montsouris ghost?”

“Of course.” As a con artist posing as a warlock, Osta knew many stories about Underground Trier. “Legend has it that an evil spirit lurks in this dark, vast underground. It always travels alone, never seeming to reach its destination. Those who encounter the ghost either die instantly or suffer mysterious deaths along with their families within the year.

“Those who've claimed to see the Montsouris ghost went mad and died within a year. I've heard both Church factions sent experts to search for the spirit, but they found nothing.” It sounds plausible… Lumian didn't inquire further. Standing, he told Osta, “I'll catch up with you tomorrow night or the following morning.”

“Alright.” Though Osta didn't believe Lumian would harm him now, he couldn't help but sigh with relief at the departure of the dangerous man.

No ordinary human could feel at ease around a tiger!

On his way back to the surface, Lumian carried the carbide lamp and passed by the entrance to the catacombs. Once again, he saw the arch adorned with white bones, sunflowers, and steam symbols.

Looking at the words “Stop! The Death Empire lies ahead!” Lumian cautiously approached the natural doorway separating the inner and outer chambers.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from behind the stone arch and bellowed, “Halt!” The figure donned a blue vest and yellow pants. He was an elderly man with gray hair and wrinkled skin.

His light-yellow eyes, slightly clouded, locked onto Lumian.

“Can't I go in?” Lumian feigned the innocence of a foreigner.

The old man scrutinized him. “You need to purchase a ticket upstairs and bring a white candle with you.”

“I have a friend buried inside. Do I need to buy a ticket to pay my respects?” Lumian fabricated a friend on the spot.

The old man eyed him suspiciously, “Don't tell me you're one of those Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative college students? Those troublemakers always concoct lies to sneak into the tomb. They sing, dance, and feast in the ossuary! Fine, go in. Just remember to bring lit white candles like them. That's my only demand!”

Lumian once worried that if he attended university, he'd be too different from his classmates. Now, it seemed his concerns were unfounded.

Those students were even wilder than he was! “Alright,” Lumian feigned disappointment. “I'll bring a white candle next time.”

The old man nodded, relieved. Lumian turned and followed the restored path to the stairs leading to the surface. Over a hundred meters away, he suddenly spotted a black shadow from the corner of his eye.

The shadow hunched slightly, shuffling behind a row of stone pillars on the left. Lumian glanced over and noticed its intangibility, as if it were almost illusory.

Instinctively, he raised the carbide lamp, casting a bluish-yellow glow. The shadow disappeared, as though it had never existed.

Lumian quickly scanned the surroundings but found nothing.

Is it an illusion or an underground ghost? As Lumian pondered, he suddenly wondered: Could it be the Montsouris ghost? Did I encounter the Montsouris ghost?

His pupils widened, and his expression grew unusually grave.

Moments later, Lumian erupted into laughter, nearly doubling over. He laughed until tears threatened to spill from his eyes. “Haha, come on, come at me! I want to see how you'll kill my entire family and how you'll cause my mysterious death!”

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  Supreme_Ancestor 8 May 2023, 11:48 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
  
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  As planned, Lumian circled the vicinity of Mason Café in Quartier du Jardin Botanique before making his way back to Auberge du Coq Doré on Rue Anarchie. He headed straight for the third floor and arrived at Room 310, where the lunatic resided.
  
  Bang! Bang! Bang! He hammered on the door.
  
  “I'm dying! I'm dying!” The wailing from inside grew frantic.
  
  “I'm f*cking dying too!” Lumian spat, his face expressionless.
  
  Startled by his response, the lunatic fell silent and offered no reply.
  
  Lumian didn't knock again. He produced a small wire he carried with him, inserted it into the keyhole, and fidgeted with it.
  
  With a click, the grimy brown wooden door swung open.
  
  Inside, Lumian found the madman, clad in a linen shirt and yellow pants, kneeling with his thick black beard nearly covering his eyes.
  
  Lumian entered and casually closed the door. He crouched before the lunatic and lowered his voice.
  
  “I've encountered the Montsouris ghost too.” The lunatic visibly trembled, his fear-filled blue eyes showing the faintest glimmer of lucidity.
  
  After a few seconds, he caught his breath and asked in a deep voice, “Are you sure it was the Montsouris ghost?”
  
  He's in that state of intermittent lucidity Charlie mentioned? Lumian smirked and replied, “I don't know. That's why I'm asking you to confirm it.
  
  “What did the Montsouris ghost you saw look like?”
  
  With a shiver, the lunatic described, “A black shadow, like a lonely old man. Its back was slightly hunched, and it moved very slowly.
  
  “After I spotted it, it vanished into the darkness. I didn't realize it was the Montsouris ghost until my parents, my wife, and my children started dying one after another…”
  
  It's eerily similar to my experience… Lumian frowned, suspecting that he had indeed encountered the Montsouris ghost.
  
  He contemplated for a moment.
  
  “How did your family die? Were you attacked?”
  
  The lunatic hastily shook his head.
  
  “I-I often felt something watching me from the shadows. But I didn't face anything else. Otherwise, I wouldn't have made it this far.
  
  “My child became gravely ill and died in the hospital. We had just cleansed and interred him in the catacombs when my wife-my wife, snapped and hanged herself in our room.
  
  “That's when I recalled the legend of the Montsouris ghost. I took my parents to the cathedral and asked the padre there to protect us.
  
  “The Church took it very seriously and assigned three clergymen to stay at my home. Nothing happened during that time. I thought the nightmare was over.
  
  “But after the New Year, the clergymen left. Soon after, my father strangled my mother and ended his own life with a table knife. I can't remember much after that. Sometimes, I wake up and realize that I moved here at some point…”
  
  The lunatic's blue eyes revealed unmasked anguish. Lumian felt like a tightly wound spring, ready to snap at any moment.
  
  “They said the Montsouris ghost would kill anyone who encountered it back then. But this lasted until the New Year.” Lumian keenly noticed the lunatic's account differed from the legend.
  
  The lunatic shook his head.
  
  “I don't know why it happened. I thought the nightmare was over. Otherwise, the three clergymen wouldn't have left…”
  
  A curse with no time limit until all targets are dead? Lumian formed a new hypothesis about the Montsouris ghost legend.
  
  He stood up and told the lunatic, “I might have encountered the Montsouris ghost too. Let's see which one of us lasts longer. If I figure out how to break this curse, you can pay me to help you.”
  
  “A way, a solution…” The corners of the lunatic's mouth twitched as he echoed Lumian's words, caught between tears and laughter.
  
  He raised his hands and clutched his hair.
  
  “I'm dying, I'm dying!”
  
  Lumian intended to ask the lunatic's name, something to inscribe when he was laid to rest in the cemetery or catacombs, but he shook his head, opened the door, and left Room 310 instead.
  
  Back in Room 207, Lumian sat on the bed, mulling over how to break the curse brought by the Montsouris ghost.
  
  Although theoretically, the curse might not take effect until year's end, leaving no urgency for now, Lumian couldn't rely on the Montsouris ghost's apparent delay. Moreover, he had no immediate family, so he stood a high chance of being the curse's first victim. It could happen in the latter half of the year, next week, or even tonight.
  
  Come to think of it, that man might still be alive. If the Montsouris ghost could help me kill him, I'd owe it a debt of gratitude… Lumian's thoughts raced, and he suddenly laughed at himself.
  
  In the dream, he had lied to Ryan and the others, claiming he'd forgotten his original name. He simply wanted to avoid mentioning or remembering it.
  
  When he was young, his family had been well-off, but the man he called father turned out to be a philanderer and later a gambling addict.
  
  His mother died from grief-induced illness, and his grandfather went bankrupt. They lived together in the slums until his grandfather's death a few years later.
  
  Thus, after being adopted by Aurore, Lumian had willingly asked to take her last name and change his own.
  
  Lumian didn't know if the man who had only provided genetic material was dead or alive. If he was dead, it was a blessing. If not, he hoped the Montsouris ghost would step up its game. As for himself, Lumian dared not assume the Montsouris ghost wouldn't harm him just because he harbored the taint of an evil god and the mark of a great existence.
  
  As long as it didn't possess him, the ghost could do anything! According to Madam Magician, Lumian was convinced that many Beyonders and monsters could easily kill him, but they would have to face the ensuing corruption as a consequence. I'm not certain if this is a curse or not… But I can't just sit here waiting for death. I have to take action… Aurore used to say that the best skill for the weak or underage is 'finding their parents'… With this in mind, Lumian's eyes brightened. He stood up and walked to the table to find a pen and paper.
  
  He planned to update Madam Magician on the mission's progress. Simultaneously, he would mention his encounter with the Montsouris ghost, questioning if he had been cursed and how to address the issue.
  
  Though the woman with the Magician code name wasn't his parent, she was undoubtedly his superior in the current circumstances. It was logical to seek assistance from his superior when in trouble!
  
  Lumian pondered for a moment before writing: “Esteemed Madam Magician, “I have followed your instructions and gained Osta Trul's trust. I've also requested his introduction to Mr. K's mysticism gathering… “On my return from the catacombs, I regrettably encountered the legendary Montsouris ghost. Of course, I cannot be certain. “The specific legend is as such… “I seek to know if I have been cursed by the Montsouris ghost or if another influence is at play. How should I proceed?”
  
  Towards the end, Lumian intentionally added the code name “Seven of Wands” to remind the recipient not to overlook his status as an external member of their enigmatic organization.
  
  Lumian deduced this from the lady's use of the tarot cards' Magician code name and his Seven of Wands.
  
  He suspected Madam Magician might belong to a clandestine organization symbolized by tarot cards and devoted to a powerful entity. The Major Arcana were official members, possessing formidable abilities. The Minor each Arcana served as peripheral members who undertook various missions.
  
  After folding the letter, Lumian meticulously cleaned the room. He crushed a few bedbugs that had crept in from next door and disposed of them in the bathroom trash can. Once done, he lit the candle and conjured a spiritual barrier to summon Madam Magician's messenger in his name.
  
  Before long, the candle flame transformed into a deep blue hue.
  
  This time, an arm-height, doll-like messenger in a light-gold dress materialized atop the flames, floating there.
  
  Its unfocused, light-blue eyes scanned the surroundings before gently nodding. “Much better than last time.”
  
  The voice was otherworldly and ghostly, far from human-like.
  
  “Truth be told, I'm not fond of those bedbugs either,” Lumian chimed in.
  
  The doll messenger smiled. “Right? No creature appreciates those pests!”
  
  Lumian sensed a shared sentiment, as if both sides despised the same thing. With that, the doll messenger extended a pale-white palm, devoid of any skin texture, and the letter floated up.
  
  Lumian watched the “doll” seize the letter and vanish like a bursting bubble. He sighed with admiration and thought, Having a messenger is so convenient… After concluding the ritual and tidying up the wooden table, Lumian returned to the bed, awaiting the messenger's response. As time passed, the night outside deepened.
  
  Songs echoed from the underground bar, but Lumian received no reply from Madam Magician. This made him furrow his brow. Does Madam Magician have other matters to handle and no time to read my letter?
  
  I can't keep waiting. I must devise other ways to protect myself…
  
  Neither Hunter nor Provoker grant me the power to combat curses—if it is indeed a curse…
  
  Dancer doesn't either. Unless I genuinely pray to that concealed entity after the sacrificial dance. But how would that differ from suicide?
  
  Ah, if I can't pray to that hidden being, I can seek out that great existence!
  
  I bear His seal upon me. I even obtained His permission when I claimed the boon. I'm not afraid to beseech Him again!
  
  Yes, I can entreat Him to help me lift this curse.
  
  Lumian acted swiftly, setting up the altar. Since Madam Magician hadn't specifically outlined the ingredients for the great existence's domain, Lumian believed that whatever he employed wouldn't impact the final outcome, as long as it didn't invoke other deities.
  
  He arranged orange candles made of citrus and lavender. Two symbolized the deity, and one represented himself.
  
  After completing the preparations, Lumian stepped back and examined the three yellowish candles. He recited in Hermes, “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…”
  
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    Good_Night
    
    Good_Night 8 May 2023, 15:24 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
    
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    This cliffhanger is nuts,
    
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      Supreme_Ancestor 8 May 2023, 16:09 ➥ Good_Night
      
      + 11 ⋅ 2 -
      
      Here read
      
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Supreme_Ancestor 8 May 2023, 08:08

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Lumian didn't swivel or hesitate, striding confidently toward the public carriage sign. He scanned the area nonchalantly, his eyes settling on the glass window of a nearby café.

Him in a dark jacket was reflected there, and not far from him, another figure in a canvas jacket and a cap.

Lumian averted his eyes, abruptly quickening his pace as if trying to catch the departing double-decker carriage.

As expected, he felt the man in the blue cap break into a jog.

The public carriage glided away silently, turning down the street. Lumian knew he couldn't catch up and halted abruptly.

Using the shop windows lining the street, Lumian caught sight of the cap-wearing man stumbling to a stop. Seizing the moment, he spun around and surveyed the dance hall opposite.

As Lumian passed the public horse stop sign, he gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Continuing on, he ducked into a shadowy alley blocked by a barricade.

The man in the cap pursued him, vaulting the ramshackle barricade with ease, but Lumian had disappeared.

His quarry seemed to have evaporated into thin air.

Just as the cap-wearing man prepared to give chase, Lumian sprang from his hiding place in the corner, like a predator pouncing on its prey. He seized the man's shoulders and yanked him backward, driving his knee into his back.

Crack!

Lumian's knee connected with the man's waist, contorting his face in pain and buckling his knees.

He collapsed to the ground with a thud, stirring up a cloud of dust.

Lumian crouched and gripped the back of the stalker's head. In a gravelly voice, he demanded, “Who got you to follow me?”

“I'm not! I'm just taking a shortcut!” the man in the cap protested anxiously.

Lumian chuckled, grabbed his head, and slammed it into the ground.

The man in the cap howled in pain, his forehead bruised, swollen, and bloody.

“Who sent you to follow me?” Lumian pressed.

The man in the cap felt indignant.

“I'm not following you! I don't even know you!”

“Alright.” Lumian released his grip.

In an instant, he struck the stalker behind the ear.

The man in the cap crumpled, unconscious.

Lumian hoisted him up and thoughtfully lowered his hat to cover his tightly shut eyes.

Then, as if aiding a drunken friend, he strode out of the alley and rounded the corner. There stood an entrance to the underworld.

Lumian had “waited” for the stalker in the alley knowing he could slip underground if needed, and the setting was suitably “quiet.”

When the man in the cap came to, his vision was swallowed by darkness. Only a faint light in the distance weakly revealed his surroundings.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! The sound pierced his ears, approaching and receding through layers of obstacles.

As a native of Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman, he was no stranger to such a scene. He suspected he'd been taken underground. A steam subway passed through the “street” next door, providing the faint light.

Lumian sat in the shadows, eyeing the man in the cap. He grinned and said, “You have two choices now. Either tell me who sent you to follow me, or I'll take you deeper underground and bury you there. You should know that many people go missing in Trier every day. You won't be the only one.”

Seeing the stalker's silence, Lumian knew his mental defenses were wavering. He added, “As for me, I'll navigate these underground streets and move to another district.”

Realizing Lumian had an escape plan and was ready to silence him forever, the man in the cap's fear overwhelmed him. He blurted, “I-it's Baron Brignais!”

Baron Brignais? The boss of the Savoie Mob and a creditor of Osta Trul? Why is he tracking me? I met him at the apartment on Rue des Blouses Blanches last night and didn't even speak to him… Lumian was baffled and at a loss. This convinced him the man in the lying. If he wanted to fabricate a story, he cap wasn't wouldn't have chosen a mastermind that Lumian couldn't fathom.

Lumian frowned, asking, “Why is he following me?”

“I don't know,” the man in the cap replied, trembling. “He just wants me to follow you and see where you'll go.”

Lumian pondered for a moment and asked, “Where is Baron Brignais now?”

“If there's nothing else, he's usually at the Salle de Bal Brise on Avenue du Marché.” The man in the cap strained to read Lumian's expression, but the light was too dim. Salle de Bal Brise? Lumian recalled the landmark buildings in Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman from his recent recon.

Avenue du Marché was the main road connecting Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman to the Suhit steam locomotive station, stretching two kilometers. Salle de Bal Brise was near the market district, its unique statue at the entrance unforgettable. Lumian's lips curled into a smile as he told the stalker, “Take me there. I want to talk to Baron Brignais.”

The man in the cap sighed in relief, feeling as if his life had been spared.

Who would hold the upper hand or be “accidentally” killed at Salle de Bal Brise was no longer his concern.

Salle de Bal Brise occupied the bottom two floors of a khaki-colored building. The second floor housed a café, while the first was a bustling dance hall-though it had just opened and few customers were present. A white, spherical statue composed of countless skulls greeted visitors at the entrance. Inscribed in Intis were the words: “They sleep here, waiting for the arrival of happiness and hope[1].”

Lumian surveyed the scene and trailed his 'guide' around the statue to the dance hall entrance.

Two burly men in white shirts and black coats stood guard. They simultaneously rested their right hands on their waists and questioned the man in the cap, “Maxime, who is he?”

“H-he's here to see Baron Brignais,” Maxime stammered.

Under the guards' suspicious scrutiny, Lumian replied coolly, “It's up to Baron Brignais to decide if he wants to see me or not, not you. Do you want to bear his wrath?” After a moment's hesitation, one of the guards turned and entered the dance hall.

As they waited, Lumian casually asked Maxime, “What's up with the statue and the inscription? They don't match the dance hall at all.”

Of course, it was cool. Maxime nervously glanced at the grinning Lumian and explained, “This was originally an moved annex to the cathedral. Later, the bones were to the catacombs, leaving the area empty. Then, this building was constructed. “Although those bones were purified or just ashes, the Savoie Mob found it too creepy after buying this place. We had no choice but to commission a statue symbolizing death and an inscription representing the dead to appease any lingering bones that might remain underground and unexcavated.” Lumian found the idea of people dancing here amusing, considering it could disturb the skeletons below, essentially dancing on their heads.

Just then, the guard returned and informed Lumian, “Baron Brignais will meet you at the café on the second floor.”

“Alright.” Lumian held his head high and strutted into the Salle de Bal Brise.

First, he noticed the dance floor encircled by railings and the half-height wooden stage up ahead for singers. Then, his attention was drawn to the haphazard seating and the various perfumes and cosmetics wafting through the air.

Maxime hesitated before following Lumian. He felt compelled to report the situation to the baron, lest he end up missing in the underworld.

Upon reaching the second floor, Lumian recognized the gentleman he had encountered the night before.

In his thirties, the man sported a black, thin-tweed formal suit. His brown hair appeared naturally curly, and his brown eyes held a confident smile. His features were sharply defined. Baron Brignais set down his coffee and grasped the mahogany pipe with his diamond-adorned palm.

“What would you like to drink?” He was surprisingly polite and generous.

Eyeing the four thugs with their hands on their waists, Lumian addressed Baron Brignais, “Why did you send someone to follow me?”

last Baron Brignais smiled and admitted candidly, “I saw you at Rue des Blouses Blanches night and again near Rue Anarchie today. The more I observed you, the more familiar you seemed, so I had Maxime follow you to confirm your intentions in the market district.

“You were searching for Osta last night too, weren't you?”

“He tried to scam me out of my money,” Lumian replied before inquiring, “Why do I seem familiar to you?”

Baron Brignais took a puff from his pipe and grinned.

“To experienced individuals like us, your actions can hardly be considered a disguise.

“Once we grow suspicious and connect the dots, we'll naturally recognize you—Lumian Lee, a wanted criminal with a 3,000 verl d'or bounty.”

My bounty is only 3,000 verl d'or? Lumian's initial reaction was confusion.

As the source of Cordu's time loop, how could his official bounty be lower than that of the padre and Madame Pualis?

“However, merely providing information about you is worth 500 verl d'or,” Baron Brignais added with a smile. “Young man, you need a book called Men's Aesthetics. Don't be embarrassed. In Trier, it's quite normal for men to wear makeup. It'll help you conceal your true identity.”

This “gentleman” had also applied eyeliner and powder.

Lumian smirked.

“Are you planning to capture me for the bounty?”

[1] This quote is from an inscription on the entrance of the Salle de Bal Brise in Paris during the Victorian era. I made some modifications to the original inscription. The ballroom was indeed built on the site of an old cemetery, and even used the stones left behind after the cemetery was relocated. It's like dancing on graves. The previous mention of walking turtles also refers to events that really happened during that time.

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  Supreme_Ancestor 8 May 2023, 08:08 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
  
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  Baron Brignais didn't immediately respond to Lumian's question. Setting down his mahogany-colored pipe, he calmly took a sip of coffee.
  
  After a moment, he smiled and said, “I'm not an official. I have no obligation to help them capture wanted criminals.
  
  “Turning over anyone who's wanted would cost my Savoie Mob a great deal of valuable talent.
  
  “More importantly, your bounty isn't impressive. It's far from tempting me. However, if you cause any trouble in the market district, I won't hesitate to tie you up and hand you over to the police for a considerable bounty.”
  
  The unspoken message from Baron Brignais was clear: There were many wanted criminals in the Savoie Mob. As long as you behaved, he could turn a blind eye.
  
  Lumian understood. “You had someone tail me to confirm my intentions?”
  
  Baron Brignais nodded approvingly.
  
  “I'm glad you comprehend.”
  
  Lumian scanned the faces of the thugs, then calmly stated, “You've seen my wanted poster, so you've seen the others.
  
  “My sole purpose in Trier is to find them.”
  
  “Excellent.” Baron Brignais recognized that Lumian had no intention of crossing the Savoie Mob.
  
  He gestured to the chair opposite the booth.
  
  “Care for a cup of coffee?”
  
  “No need.” Lumian declined the offer. “I just want to locate those people as soon as possible.”
  
  He spread his arms wide and proclaimed, “Praise the Sun for allowing us to live in the light!”
  
  With that, Lumian turned and strode toward the stairs, unconcerned about the hidden guns of the thugs.
  
  Once his footsteps vanished down the staircase, Baron Brignais turned to the reserved Maxime and said gently, “Tell me exactly how you were discovered and coerced by him. Spare no detail.”
  
  With the mahogany-colored pipe back in his mouth, Baron Brignais leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
  
  Trembling, Maxime recounted his ordeal from start to finish.
  
  After hearing the account, one of the thugs asked indignantly, “Baron, why didn't you teach that punk a lesson? Why let him walk away so easily?”
  
  Baron Brignais tapped the mahogany pipe on the table twice and inquired with a smile, “Teach him a lesson? Do you know his Sequence, his abilities, or his weapons?”
  
  “I don't,” the thug admitted.
  
  Baron Brignais rose, gripping the mahogany-colored pipe and smashing it against the thug's head.
  
  Blood flowed from the gash in the thug's forehead, but he didn't dare to cry out or dodge. He stood there, terror etched on his face.
  
  Baron Brignais withdrew the pipe and regarded him coldly.
  
  “You dare challenge him without knowing anything? Go ahead, take my place. Let's see how long you'll survive!”
  
  Ignoring the thug's response, Baron Brignais smiled again.
  
  As he wiped his pipe with a folded white handkerchief from his chest pocket, he casually remarked, “Didn't you notice something off about Lumian Lee's wanted poster?
  
  “The difference between the bounties for capturing him and providing information is too small. One is a mere 3,000 verl d'or, the other 500. “What does that mean? It means the authorities don't want us handling Lumian Lee directly. They want us to provide intel so they can act themselves.
  
  “Two possible reasons come to mind. First, Lumian Lee is incredibly dangerous. Allowing bounty hunters to pursue him would cause widespread casualties and unnecessary losses. Second, he possesses something valuable that officials don't want to end up in the hands of the bounty hunters.
  
  “If I had just taught Lumian Lee a lesson, the second scenario would've been fine. But if it's the first possibility, what do you think our chances of survival are?”
  
  The thug nodded repeatedly, not daring to argue.
  
  Baron Brignais sat back down, picked up his coffee cup, and continued, “Moreover, based on how he dealt with Maxime and his audacity to approach me directly, I can tell that he's ruthless, decisive, and utterly confident in his abilities.
  
  “I wager that if I had threatened him, demanding his total submission, he would have attacked without hesitation. He's the type who won't hesitate to kill.
  
  “Heh, this is both his strength and his weakness. Unaware of my capabilities or the number of traps laid here, he still dares to confront me with the intention of killing me to ensure my silence. Sooner or later, he'll pay the price.”
  
  Baron Brignais sipped his coffee and closed his eyes.
  
  “Let's wait and see if we should offer him assistance and protection. This ruthless country boy with a warrant on his head could prove to be a very useful weapon.' Outside the Salle de Bal Brise.
  
  Lumian glanced back at the white spherical statue made of skulls and headed toward the nearest public carriage station.
  
  On his way here, he had already devised a plan to deal with them, but ultimately didn't execute it.
  
  He had expected that if Baron Brignais threatened him with the wanted poster or showed any hostility, he would feign fear and reveal that he was wanted for stealing a powerful Beyonder weapon from Cordu's ruins.
  
  He'd offer to hand it over in exchange for protection.
  
  If Baron Brignais was strong and confident, and allowed Lumian to approach with the weapon, Lumian would launch a fake assassination attempt, a ruse to actually hand over the Fallen Mercury to the other party.
  
  In that case, the unsuspecting Baron Brignais would become the evil dirk's puppet due to his gloveless hand. Having interacted with and occasionally “communicated” with Fallen Mercury for some time, Lumian had earned a degree of control over it. As long as it didn't conflict with its instinct to find a knife wielder, it would follow Lumian's orders, even when in someone else's hands.
  
  Eventually, Baron Brignais would abandon his animosity and become an ally. After a few days, when no one suspected Lumian, the baron would mysteriously vanish into the depths of Underground Trier with a handful of his subordinates who knew about the matter, never to be seen again.
  
  If Baron Brignais didn't allow Lumian to approach with Fallen Mercury and instead sent one of his thugs to retrieve the pewter-black dirk, Lumian's strategy would be to first transform the thug into the wielder. Then, he would use cunning to hide the abnormality and give Fallen Mercury the corresponding instructions.
  
  In the future, if he made the puppet attack Baron Brignais, the baron would inherit the fate of being the wielder. After completing this task, Lumian would escape if possible or surrender and wait for the fate exchange to finish. Even if the puppet died due to exhaustion, as long as Fallen Mercury wasn't severely damaged, the fate exchange wouldn't stop.
  
  As for the torture he might endure after surrendering, Lumian didn't mind. As long as he wasn't dead, he would fully recover by six the next morning. Regarding the possibility of Baron Brignais becoming a wielder and turning into a zombie with evident signs of decay, Lumian had a solution.
  
  Baron Brignais himself had mentioned that men wearing makeup in Trier was common, and he was likely an avid reader of Men's Aesthetics.
  
  Cologne could mask the stench of decay, and cosmetics could conceal rotting skin! Truth be told, Lumian had struggled with whether to act in the café on the second floor of the Salle de Bal Brise. Ultimately, he decided against it because Baron Brignais had shown a degree of kindness to a wanted criminal like him.
  
  Such kindness from a villain often meant they wanted to exploit him.
  
  If Baron Brignais truly wants to use me, he'll definitely help me conceal my identity and inform me of any unusual movements from bounty hunters in advance… As Lumian thought, he smiled.
  
  This was a good thing!
  
  As for the risk of ending up in a dangerous situation due to being used, Lumian already had a plan.
  
  By then, he should be well-acquainted with Baron Brignais. Familiarity made striking easier! Lumian had only one option when being used for dangerous and unthinkable tasks: kill Baron Brignais.
  
  Phew… Lumian exhaled and considered how to better disguise himself.
  
  Initially, he had been confident in his disguise. As long as he didn't “reveal” his connection to the padre and Madame Pualis like he had with Anthony Reid, he wouldn't be recognized. However, the incident with Baron Brignais made him realize that he had underestimated other Beyonders.
  
  If there were Hunters adept at tracking, there might be other Sequences even better at recognizing people.
  
  Baron Brignais or one of his subordinates must possess similar abilities… Lumian nodded imperceptibly.
  
  This was confirmed by the fact that Osta had relocated several times.
  
  With this realization, Lumian halted at the stop sign and boarded a brown double-decker carriage. He paid 30 coppets to secure a spot inside the carriage. Had he chosen a seat on the roof, it would have cost him only 15 coppets. The carriage gradually moved toward Quartier de l'Observatoire.
  
  Lumian gazed out the window, taking in the sight of hurried passersby dressed in various attire.
  
  He observed ringing bicycles, rental carriages from different companies, and humanoid machines composed of gears, valves, pipes, and levers. The metal backpack on its back spewed white steam, propelling it forward step by step.
  
  “Praise the Sun!”
  
  The blazing sun beat down on the pedestrians, their arms outstretched in the street. Clang! Clang! Clang! The nearby cathedral bell chimed. It was noon.
  
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    Anineer 8 May 2023, 08:15 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
    
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    you are our savior
    
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      Good_Night 8 May 2023, 15:06 ➥ Anineer
      
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      The messiah..
      
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Supreme_Ancestor 7 May 2023, 09:05

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Almost simultaneously, Lumian felt his hair stand on end as a chill ran down his spine. He experienced a strong sense of impending danger.

Subconsciously, he pulled out Fallen Mercury from his waist, ready to rip off the black cloth wrapped around it at a moment's notice.

The translucent figure with turquoise hair and leafy coverings floated in midair, scrutinizing Lumian in the room. Its emerald-green eyes shifted between a misty and smiling expression, reminiscent of a deep vortex enticing the human soul to sink into it.

On one hand, Lumian experienced a familiar yet foreign urge that swept through his mind, disrupting most of his thoughts. On the other hand, he couldn't help but feel fear, akin to a flying insect encountering a spider spinning its web.

He slowed down his dance, prepared to stop at any moment.

The translucent female figure displayed an eager expression, but it instinctively sensed that something was amiss and hesitated to approach Lumian.

Sometimes it leaned forward, sometimes it retreated into the curtains, but ultimately, it did nothing.

After Lumian finished his Summoning Dance, he heard a faint sound in his ears. It was so close it seemed like it was right next door, causing the strange creatures lingering in the room to vanish one by one.

The last to leave was the female figure with turquoise hair and leafy coverings. It appeared both reluctant and perplexed.

Lumian heaved a sigh of relief and closed his eyes, quietly listening to the indistinct voices within him.

He couldn't make out a single word but yearned to hear each one clearly.

After a moment, Lumian opened his eyes and gazed at the window obscured by the tattered curtain. He muttered to himself, What was that?

His intuition told him that the translucent female figure was far more powerful than the other summoned strange creatures. It wasn't something Beyonders at his level could handle.

If not for the corruption sealed within his body and the bluish-black pattern on his chest deterring spiritual creatures from subconsciously approaching him even without activation, Lumian suspected something might have happened to him.

This piqued his curiosity.

How do other Dancers survive?

He had only dared to perform the Summoning Dance after confirming the area wasn't too dangerous, yet something nearly happened. How could other Dancers avoid such risks?

Is it because I obtained my boon through theft and lack some mystical knowledge, or is it because other Dancers can only attract strange creatures similar to themselves? Additionally, the Summoning Dance comes from a hidden existence, so there shouldn't be any problems under normal circumstances? Lumian pondered for a moment. The more he thought about it, the more he felt he was the anomaly.

He believed that the corruption in his body was on an extremely high level. Even sealed, it could occasionally attract strange and perilous entities.

Thankfully, the corruption also provides protection… Lumian exhaled, stowed away Fallen Mercury, and lit the iron-black carbide lamp. He sat at the wooden table and flipped through Aurore's notebook.

Reading the mysticism notebook from back to front was excruciating. Lacking the corresponding knowledge, he would occasionally feel illiterate. He had no choice but to take out Aurore's earliest notebook and memorize the corresponding symbols' symbolism and mystical meaning.

However, Lumian couldn't sit down and learn bit by bit from front to back. He believed that if Aurore's witchcraft notebook truly concealed crucial information, it would definitely be in the content from the past year or two when abnormalities gradually appeared in Cordu Village and the shepherds began their “hunt.”

After nearly two hours of struggling with the knowledge known as Lightning, Lumian admitted defeat and decided to continue the next night.

He washed up briefly and lay on the bed.

Recalling the strange creature he had just summoned, Lumian placed Fallen Mercury beside the pillow, feeling apprehensive.

Before leaving Cordu, he had inspected the wicked pewter-black dirk and confirmed that the fate it had exchanged from the flaming monster was “pain from immolation.” The darkness gradually deepened, but Rue Anarchie never experienced a moment of peace. Singing, shouting, cursing, fighting, chasing, coughing, crying, and exercising filled the air, composing a nocturnal symphony. Lumian had grown accustomed to the noise, which even made him feel alive. Unknowingly, he drifted off to sleep.

At 6 a.m., the distant cathedral chimed, reminiscent of Cordu.

Lumian woke up punctually but was reluctant to open his eyes.

After a few minutes, he sat up and fastened Fallen Mercury to his waist.

His dreams had been chaotic throughout the night, but nothing out of the ordinary occurred. “Am I overthinking it?” Lumian muttered.

He opened the door and walked into the nearest washroom. Using the morning light streaming through the window, he examined himself in the mirror.

Compared to the same moment the day before, he hadn't changed at all.

The color and length of his hair were external factors and wouldn't reset with his physical condition.

Lumian bent down and brushed his teeth.

As he rinsed his mouth, he caught sight of Charlie entering from the corner of his eye. “Don't you live on the fifth floor?” Lumian spat out the liquid and turned to ask Charlie. Charlie had changed into a yellowed white shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows. He yawned and said, “Can you believe it? Those guys are already up before six. The washroom on the fifth floor is packed!” He then grinned.

“I still like this washroom on the second floor the most. Do you know why? It's clean! “Although that bastard Laurent has very high eyebrows and doesn't know how to help his mother at all, he has his strengths. He loves cleanliness. As long as he's in the apartment, he cleans the room every day and takes care of the washroom too. Haha, could it be that he can't use the toilet if it's dirty?” So he's the one cleaning… Lumian was surprised.

His impression of the young man named Laurent had been that he was cold, haughty, and impeccably dressed. He clearly thought highly of himself and seemed oblivious to his mother's plight. He didn't strike Lumian as someone who'd clean a bathroom. Previously, Lumian had assumed that the other tenants on the second floor had grown fed up with the landlord's penny-pinching ways and had taken it upon themselves to clean their shared spaces. Noticing Charlie's haggard face, as though he'd been up all night, Lumian grinned and asked, you hit up Rue de la Muraille last night?”

“Did Rue de la Muraille was Trier's infamous red-light district. “How can I afford to go to Rue de la Muraille?

But I'll definitely go there one of these days!” Charlie clenched his teeth and continued, “I got back to the hotel at 10 p.m. last night. Then I went to the underground bar and drank with the guys till midnight. In the wee hours, I even had a… shall we say, quite a vivid dream. Ciel, our names sound the same, but they're spelled differently. Can you imagine how ecstatic I was in that dream? And when I woke up, how crushed and how… uh, uh…”

“Empty?” Lumian supplied the adjective.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Charlie walked to the toilet and unfastened his belt.

His already narrow eyes crinkled with satisfaction.

Lumian pinched his nose and scoffed. “You had a wet dream?”

Charlie shivered, shook his right hand, and laughed.

“It was the most lifelike dream I've ever had.

The woman in it was far more beautiful than any on Rue de la Muraille. She was so tender and passionate. I never wanted to wake up.”

“Well, clearly you couldn't hold out for too long. Waking up was a mercy,” Lumian jested. Charlie didn't bother to argue, and instead said earnestly, “I'm planning to head to Rue du Rossignol on Sundays after I get paid and when I'm off work. There are a few dance halls there with some affordable pussies. A coworker told me that I only need 52 coppet to treat myself. “But right now, I've lost interest.” Suddenly, Charlie's excitement surged. Lowering his voice, he confided in Lumian, “You know what? A wealthy guest at the hotel has been treating me really well, asking me to deliver food and help tidy up the room.”

“A man?” Lumian inquired with a hint of mischief. Charlie hurriedly shook his head. “No, it's a lady. I think she's taken a liking to me. I'm torn. If she makes a proposal, should I compromise my principles? You know these sorts of things are pretty common in Trier. If my ticket to my first big payday, I could soon own my own hotel.”

she's “I figured you wouldn't hesitate.” Though they'd only known each other for two days, Lumian was convinced that Charlie's moral compass was quite flexible.

Charlie sighed, visibly troubled, and admitted, “She's in her fifties.”

Lumian let out a long “oh” and his expression conveyed his thoughts.

Bidding Charlie goodbye, Lumian returned to his room to change into a jacket, pants, and other attire suited for Rue Anarchie. He spent 6 coppet on a scallion pancake and 1 lick on half a liter of Apple Whiskey Sour. Settling into a corner of the street, he leisurely ate his breakfast.

Shadows from the buildings on either side cloaked him as he relished the flavors of onions and flour, observing the hawkers, women shopping for groceries, hustling workers, children scavenging for trash, and a barricade in a nearby alley.

It was 9 a.m. when Lumian finally rose, dusted himself off, and returned to Auberge du Coq Doré. He climbed to the third floor and knocked on Room 5's door. The information broker, Anthony Reid, resided here.

After a sequence of knocks, a composed male voice with a West Midseashire Coast accent “Please come in.” Lumian turned the handle and pushed the door replied, open. The first thing that hit him was a faintly acrid, minty odor, likely meant to repel insects.

Then, he saw a man in his forties seated by the bed.

The man wore a military-green shirt, matching pants, and laceless leather boots. His hair was cropped to a fine buzz cut.

He didn't possess the tidy, efficient air of a veteran. His light yellow hairline had receded considerably, leaving a vast expanse of forehead. His face had grown plump, his beard meticulously shaven. His skin was slightly oily and his nose pores clogged. He appeared somewhat guileless and unsophisticated. As Anthony Reid turned to face Lumian, his dark brown eyes mirrored Lumian's figure. For some reason, Lumian suddenly felt a twinge of unease.

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  Supreme_Ancestor
  
  Supreme_Ancestor 7 May 2023, 09:08 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
  
  + 51 ⋅ 3 -
  
  Anthony Reid regarded Lumian coolly and inquired, “What's the problem?”
  
  “I heard from Pavard that you're a reliable information broker.” Lumian quickly disclosed his source to avoid wasting time on mutual probing.
  
  With his plump face, Anthony Reid nodded knowingly and gestured towards a chair at the center of the room.
  
  “What information do you need? Or rather, what information would you like me to uncover?”
  
  Lumian felt a twinge of unease as he faced Anthony Reid, who exuded an air of honesty and dependability. He took a seat and stated succinctly, “I'm searching for two individuals.”
  
  “Names, appearances, and distinguishing features.” Anthony Reid shot a glance at Lumian's left hip.
  
  Lumian reflected for a moment before answering, “One is Guillaume Bénet, formerly a padre of the Eternal Blazing Sun Church. The other is Pualis de Roquefort. Over a month ago, she arrived in Trier with her husband, Béost, their butler Louis Lund, and her lady's maid, Cathy.
  
  “I don't have any pictures of them. All I can tell you is that Guillaume Bénet has short black hair and blue eyes. He possesses a solemn demeanor and strong ambitions. His most notable feature is his aquiline nose. Pualis has long, brown hair and bright brown eyes. Her eyebrows are lighter and thinner, and she exudes an elegant yet alluring aura…”
  
  Anthony Reid listened intently before rising from his chair. He crossed the room to a wooden table near the window, opened a drawer, and retrieved a stack of white paper and a sharpened pencil.
  
  In no time, he sketched two portraits.
  
  “See if these resemble them.” Anthony Reid handed the sketches to Lumian.
  
  Lumian inspected the drawings and was struck by their vivid, lifelike quality. Aside from the absence of color, they were nearly indistinguishable from photographs.
  
  He looked up at Anthony Reid in astonishment, remarking, “Uncanny. How can you reproduce their likeness so accurately based on my brief description?”
  
  He had assumed Anthony Reid would draft several sketches for him to review before finalizing the portraits.
  
  Anthony Reid cracked a rare smile.
  
  “I recreated the images from the official wanted posters.
  
  “The authorities are searching for them as well.”
  
  No wonder… Suddenly, it all made sense to Lumian.
  
  Both Padre Guillaume Bénet and Madame Pualis were devotees of evil gods who had been granted boons. Once Ryan and his companions reported the situation, it was bound to attract the necessary attention!
  
  With this realization, Lumian's disquiet grew.
  
  I must be wanted too… Did Anthony Reid see my portrait? Does he recognize me? Trying to maintain his composure, Lumian queried the information broker, “I'm not surprised. I want to know the value of their bounties.”
  
  “Guillaume Bénet has a bounty of 20,000 verl d'or. Each piece of information is worth 500 verl d'or. The same goes for Pualis,” Anthony Reid replied nonchalantly.
  
  Lumian smirked. “If you uncover any useful information, you can cash in on the bounty twice.”
  
  He was implying that Anthony could claim one share from the authorities and another from him.
  
  Anthony nodded in agreement.
  
  “I'll take your assignment. 500 verl d'or, with 100 upfront.
  
  “These are my terms. If you can't accept them, find another information broker or bounty hunter.”
  
  Lumian knew there was no room for negotiation. He could only nod slightly and concede, “No problem.”
  
  Just as he was about to hand over the money, a gunshot suddenly erupted from outside the window.
  
  Anthony Reid's entire body shuddered as if confronted with his mortal nemesis. He instinctively ducked beneath the wooden table for cover.
  
  Lumian was taken aback.
  
  Wasn't this reaction a bit extreme? Wasn't this typical of life in Rue Anarchie?
  
  Gunshots, brawls, and large-scale skirmishes were commonplace here. Those who lived in this area should have adapted by now, only needing to steer clear of the windows to avoid stray bullets.
  
  Before long, the commotion died down. Anthony Reid took a few seconds to regain his composure before emerging from under the table.
  
  He offered Lumian a sheepish grin and explained, “I apologize. A few years back during the war, I suffered from post-traumatic stress on the battlefield and had no choice but to retire and return to Trier.”
  
  Then why choose to live in Rue Anarchie, where gunfire was a regular occurrence? Lumian didn't press further. He had no interest in Anthony Reid's psychological issues. He withdrew a 50-verl d'or note and gently traced his finger over the image of Levanx, the bustling commercial streets, and the silhouettes of passing merchants.
  
  Feeling the remaining texture, Lumian handed the grayish-blue banknote, two Louis d'or, and two five-verl coins engraved with the Sunbird to Anthony Reid.
  
  His wallet felt a third lighter, and he couldn't shake the sense of money slipping through his fingers.
  
  As he examined the Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman behind the banknotes, Anthony Reid bent his finger and flicked the surface to verify its authenticity under the sunlight. Satisfied, he pocketed the money and inquired, “Do you want to check in with me periodically for updates, or should I have an address? If I come across any information, I can drop it off at your place.”
  
  “I'm in room 207.” Lumian knew he couldn't conceal his stay at the Auberge du Coq Doré from Anthony Reid, so he provided his room number.
  
  Upon leaving Room 305, Lumian's expression grew increasingly solemn as he muttered to himself, I need to be extra cautious in the coming days to prevent Anthony Reid from betraying me… Perhaps I should find an opportunity to demonstrate my strength in front of him, convincing him that I won't let any transgressions go unpunished.
  
  As Lumian mulled over his thoughts, he made his way towards the stairs. Suddenly, he heard someone exclaiming, laughing, and sobbing, “I'm dying, I'm dying!”
  
  Lumian glanced in the direction of the voice and spotted a man squatting by the door of Room 310.
  
  The man wore a filthy linen shirt and yellow pants. His unkempt black hair cascaded down to his shoulders.
  
  At that moment, he clutched his head with both hands and stared at the ground, repeatedly muttering, “I'm dying, I'm dying!”
  
  His voice oscillated between fear and insanity.
  
  The occasionally lucid madman that Charlie mentioned? Lumian sized him up for a few seconds, leaned in, and asked curiously, “Why do you think you're about to die? Do you have a terminal illness?”
  
  Without raising his head, the man continued to yell, “I'm dying, I'm dying!” Lumian smirked and strode past him into Room 310, its wooden door flung wide open.
  
  The room's layout mirrored his own in 207. It was relatively tidy, save for the inevitable bugs that couldn't be evicted.
  
  Lumian's gaze swept over the kerosene lamp, a multitude of books, fountain pens, suitcases, and other belongings. The madman stood up and declared in a daze, “This is my territory.”
  
  “I know,” Lumian replied with a grin. “But if you're about to die and you don't have any children or relatives, why not use your inheritance to help poor neighbors like us?”
  
  He observed that the madman was only in his late twenties. His bushy, black beard had been left unshaven for who knows how long, causing his blue eyes to appear as if they were buried deep within a forest.
  
  The madman stared blankly for a few moments before clutching his hair and screaming in anguish, “They're all dead. They're all dead! I saw the Montsouris ghost. They're all dead. I'm about to die too!”
  
  The Montsouris ghost? Lumian finally heard something distinct from the madman.
  
  He had deliberately provoked the other man to see if he could elicit a different reaction. The positive feedback made him feel as if he were making progress with digesting the potion.
  
  One of the acting principles of a Provoker is that provocation is only a means and not an end? Lumian studied the madman thoughtfully and inquired, “Why would the Montsouris ghost cause them to die and push you to death's door?”
  
  The madman lowered his head and mumbled, “Anyone who sees the Montsouris ghost will die. Their family will die too. They'll die within a year!”
  
  Is this the madman's delusion, or did something like this actually happen? If so, was it a curse? Lumian prodded, “Where did you encounter the Montsouris ghost?”
  
  “Underground, underground! It's beneath the market district!” The madman crouched down again, his back pressed against the wall as he hugged his trembling body. The underworld beneath the market district? Couldn't he just report it to the two Churches and have them send people to eradicate the unclean beings? Lumian mused silently. Seeing that the madman had reverted to his “I'm dying, I'm dying” state, he abandoned his pursuit of the matter, exited Room 310, and descended the stairs.
  
  Tomorrow was Sunday. Lumian planned to visit the Mason café in Quartier du Jardin Botanique at noon to familiarize himself with the area. In the afternoon, he'd head to the underground cemetery to see if Osta had received a “reply” from the gathering's organizer.
  
  The alleys around Rue Anarchie were cluttered with obstacles made of rocks, wood, branches, and assorted debris. Even on the main road, one could stumble upon them from time to time. However, there was already a path wide enough for two carriages to pass through. These were called street barricades, and they could be found in many districts. Some bore the marks of smoke and fire, while others still had remnants of dried blood. They were a unique feature of Trier, contrasting starkly with the pedestrian streets of the arcade.
  
  Lumian stepped over a low point at the edge of emerged from the dim alley, and a barricade, entered the street.
  
  He then made his way towards the public carriage sign, intending to take such transportation to Quartier du Jardin Botanique. As he walked, Lumian spotted numerous vagrants lying in corners, basking in the sun and picking at lice. All were filthy, gaunt, and devoid of energy. This brought back memories of his own days as a vagrant.
  
  Unlike the Loen Kingdom, which prohibited vagrants from sleeping on streets and in parks, the Intis Republic had no such rules in place.
  
  However, they were forbidden from entering fee-paying establishments or private venues. They often mocked Loen for its lack of culture.
  
  Lost in thought, Lumian's eyes narrowed.
  
  He sensed someone was tailing him!
  
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    Anineer
    
    Anineer 7 May 2023, 10:20 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
    
    + 13 ⋅ 2 -
    
    Doing gods work
    
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    floki
    
    floki 7 May 2023, 11:36 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
    
    + 5 ⋅ 1 -
    
    Where did you get these?
    
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      sullya
      
      sullya 7 May 2023, 13:30 ➥ floki
      
      + 4 ⋅ 1 -
      
      looks like from
      Webnovel
      , it's privilege chapters
      
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    Good_Night
    
    Good_Night 7 May 2023, 12:32 ➥ Supreme_Ancestor
    
    + 8 ⋅ 2 -
    
    It's not your first time doing this, right?
    
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Chapter 118: Summoning | Circle of Inevitability

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Chapter 118: Summoning
Circle of Inevitability