Chapter 622: Smell of Death |
Moran Avigny was suspected to be a Mirror Person. The Demoness of Black Clarice pursued the Mirror People, and being a demigod of the Demoness pathway closely related to the Mirror World, they all shared those unusual dark gray eyes.
Too much of a coincidence, isn’t it?
“What’s wrong?” Jenna asked with concern when Franca paused.
Franca deliberated for a few seconds before revealing that the Demoness of Black shared the same eye color as Moran Avigny. Finally, she said, “None of the Mirror People we encountered previously had such characteristics.”
“Only relatively special Mirror People have them? Is the Demoness of Black also a Mirror Person?” Jenna guessed, her thoughts wandering.
“Impossible,” Franca subconsciously denied. “She even tasked me with investigating the Mirror People… Right, it’s not impossible. Haven’t we read enough stories of burglars calling the police to catch thieves?”
Anthony thought for a moment and said, “Could it be a symbol of being corrupted by the mirror’s Primordial Demoness? Could special Mirror People at a certain level have such eye color? Could it be the same for a Demoness who has become a demigod and has been corrupted?
“No, Moran Avigny should have had dark gray eyes to begin with. It’s impossible for the Mirror People who replaced him to change the color of his eyes without attracting suspicion,” Franca pondered and deduced, “In other words, does the Demoness of Black come from the same family as the original Moran Avigny? I previously thought she belonged to the Sauron family and was Browns Sauron’s elder. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have nurtured such a simple-minded Demoness. Now, it doesn’t seem so
“Not necessarily,” Franca and Jenna said in unison.
Franca hesitated for a few seconds before saying, “It’s been a while since I updated the Demoness of Black on the Mirror People investigation. I plan to visit her this week and discuss Moran Avigny.”
“Be careful,” Jenna cautioned.
A gleaming smile played on Franca’s lips as she replied, “Don’t worry. She tasked me with the Mirror People inquiry, so she should anticipate some updates. If she has ties with Moran Avigny, we might see something unfolding for the Minister of Industry shortly. If not, we can seek her assistance!”
…
On Hanth Island, Lumian strolled through the dimly lit streets, relishing the cool sea breeze that replaced the earlier heat as he casually headed back to the Berries.
Hands tucked into his pockets, his mind raced with unusual activity. He sifted through the legends and stories he had recently gathered, attempting to uncover any hints about the elusive Demon.
Had Madam Magician not issued a cautious warning, and had Naboredisley not disclosed the Demon descendant’s name and identity, Lumian might have considered using himself as bait. In such circumstances, he could have showcased his malice, devised a plan with a chance of success, triggering the Demon’s Danger Premonition, luring it out to eliminate the perceived threat. A concealed trap would await it.
It’s been a century or two. Numerous adventurers have ventured to unravel the Demon legend. Despite the Church of Earth Mother’s relentless efforts to eradicate lingering issues, there’s still no resolution. Relying on conventional methods to track down that elusive Demon seems impractical…
Looking at it from a different angle, why would the Demon choose to remain on Hanth Island?
The Church of Earth Mother already purged it once. Why take the risk to stay?
If it were me, I would have relocated ages ago. As a Demon, where couldn’t I survive?
If I truly believed I was a highly intelligent criminal—a genuine Criminal—why use such a method to taunt the clergy of the Church of Earth Mother? It would become dull after all these years…
Could there be a reason for its persistence on Hanth Island?
Is it perhaps partially sealed? Or is there something profoundly significant buried on the island that cannot be moved?
The valley ablaze with sulfurous flames?
Moreover, Demons can live for centuries, but ordinary people cannot. If the Demon indeed concealed itself in human towns, it would have to change identities every few decades, potentially leaving traces.
Hanth Island serves as a transit port for trade routes between the Northern and Southern Continents. With numerous foreign settlers, the Demon can effortlessly forge a new identity. However, how can it smoothly exit the stage with its original identity?
The residents here all devoutly follow Earth Mother. Upon their demise, they are invariably sent to the cathedral for a wake. Would a Demon have the audacity to feign death and undergo Earth Mother’s scrutiny and the purifying touch of holy water?
Yes, vanishing is the optimal solution. Whether through a sea adventure or disappearing into the forest, it effectively sidesteps corresponding problems.
Every year, people vanish in the forest outside the city… Did the Demon purposely orchestrate some accidents, concealing its ‘death’ among them? Lumian’s thoughts raced as he gradually formulated deductions and speculations.
This was also a tempering of a Conspirer’s powers and a method to digest the potion.
He had a vague understanding of the entire situation.
If I want to locate the Demon concealed among humans, I must find the mysterious valley ablaze with sulfur flames deep in the forest. To unravel the valley’s secret, I must rely on that Demon. These two matters are likely intertwined and inseparable.
Lumian had a tentative plan for tomorrow’s investigation.
I’ll begin by exploring the forest, utilizing my Hunter powers to search for the remains of the missing. If I discover one or two, and they still retain some edible structure, I’ll bring them back to Ludwig and determine who the deceased last encountered.
Throughout this process, without alerting the clergy of the Church of Earth Mother, I’ll delve deeper into the island to identify any anomalies. If they exist, what kind of anomalies they are…
As he strolled leisurely, Lumian suddenly looked up and observed the stars in the sky veiled by dark clouds.
In an instant, torrential rain poured down.
Drops of rain misted in front of Lumian. Without an umbrella, he had no choice but to dash under the eaves of a three-story building on the street and seek refuge outside a café with its lights off. He waited for the storm to end impassively.
The few pedestrians on the road unfurled their umbrellas.
Lumian couldn’t help but chuckle as he recalled the common depiction of the Berserk Sea’s islands in the travel guide: The weather is highly erratic; remember to bring an umbrella or a hat when out.
Clearly, Lumian didn’t take the reminder seriously.
He wasn’t in a rush. Leaning against the cafs two glass windows, he quietly observed the raindrops streak down and the people returning home late traverse different streets.
The sound of the rain masked all movement, and white mist veiled most of his vision, creating the sensation for Lumian as if he were in another world.
Observing this scene, Lumian reminisced about his wandering days.
Wanderers often struggled to predict the weather, making it challenging to secure refuge in cathedrals and other places in Directly support the authors on WebNovel!
advance. Consequently, he would occasionally huddle in a corner of a street, sheltered from the rain. He watched the rain with fear, worry, uneasiness, and gloom, praying that no other vagabond would snatch his temporary shelter.
But now, his mood was entirely different.
The heavy rain in the Berserk Sea ceased as swiftly as it had arrived. In less than half an hour, only stagnant water remained on the street.
Lumian chuckled and tucked his hands back into his pockets. He strolled along the wet street toward the harbor and boarded the Berries.
Just as Lumian pushed open the door and entered, he saw Lugano wiping Ludwig’s dripping hair with a dry and fluffy towel. Ludwig looked as if he had taken an unexpected plunge.
“You didn’t bring an umbrella?” Lumian asked with a smile.
Lugano replied awkwardly, “I thought I was a Planter and could predict changes in the weather in advance, so I didn’t bring an umbrella and led Ludwig to the streets to buy supper. He said he didn’t want to eat cakes and biscuits tonight. Sigh, who knew that even though I predicted a rainstorm, it only took tens of seconds before it arrived. At that time, I wanted to carry Ludwig and rush back to the ship before the rain started
Seeing that the Doctor didn’t seek an objective reason and only complained about his lack of ability, Lumian kindly added,
“This is the weather in the Berserk Sea. Even Planters can’t predict it.”
This was also one of the reasons why the islands in the Berserk Sea, clearly under the rule of the Church of Earth Mother, didn’t always experience bumper harvests like the Feynapotter Kingdom.
“Yes, yes, yes.” Lugano heaved a sigh of relief.
Lumian turned to Ludwig, whose hair was now dry, and casually inquired, “Do you smell anything?”
Is there any particularly alluring “food” hidden nearby?
Ludwig nibbled on a tortilla and responded, “There’s the smell of death.”
Smell of death? Lumian frowned slightly.
“Did someone die near the night market?”
Ludwig shook his head.
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“When it rains, there’s the smell of death everywhere.”
What… what does this mean? Lumian probed, voicing his doubts.
Ludwig replied candidly, “I don’t know. It disappeared later.”
It happens when it rains, but not after… Is this an abnormality from the Berserk Sea, or is it the island’s abnormality triggered by the Berserk Sea’s weather? Lumian pondered for a moment, but he wasn’t in a rush to write to Madam Magician and inquire.
This was a digestion opportunity for him. He felt that he should avoid relying on the power of a high-ranking person to digest it better unless it was crucial.
That night, Lumian fell asleep with a heavy heart.
In his hazy dream, he saw many familiar and unfamiliar things.
The pale-white Samaritan Women’s Spring, the mountain- sized Blood Emperor’s afterimage dripping with yellowish magma, and the unknown object protruding from the spring…
The scene suddenly changed, revealing Lumian wandering alone in the deep darkness underground.
It was as if he had become the Montsouris ghost.
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