The Terror of Option Chapter 1078 1078: 25 COI

Lumian glanced at the shattered mirror in Franca's hand, relief and confusion evident on his face.

"But I don't feel like I was being attacked."

His Summoning Dance still had five to six seconds left before Franca grabbed his wrist.

Franca cleared her throat and assud the stance of a teacher.

"So mysticism techniques are undetectable. The mont you feel attacked is the mont of your death."

Could it be that the monster secretly influenced when I paused the Summoning Dance to enter the mirror for those brief seconds? Lumian nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes, the bleeding in that space caught us by surprise. We had no idea how to prevent it."

As he spoke, he looked at Franca's face and noticed her smooth skin, devoid of any scars. It was impossible to tell that blood had seeped out from multiple places.

Franca touched her face and pondered before saying, "It's indeed very bizarre. But we did lose so blood. As a Witch, I have a mystical perception of the amount of my blood. In other words, the damage we suffered in the special mirror world isn't fake. It's just that we didn't leave any wounds. Damn it, I didn't bring the carbide lamp!"

As she spoke, she turned around and searched through a pile of gravel on the side of the dim tunnel.

Lumian didn't have ti to retrieve his carbide lamp either. He could only observe Franca's every move with the help of the distant light.

In less than ten seconds, Franca pulled out a mirror from the rubble.

The mirror appeared to be made of pure silver. The patterns on both sides were mysterious and sinister, and its surface was dark and lifeless, as if ti had eroded it.

"As expected, there's a corresponding mirror in reality." Franca did her best to avoid being reflected in the silver mirror with its classic design. She also instructed Lumian, "In unsafe places or when encountering strange occurrences, try not to look into the mirror if you can. Otherwise, sothing terrifying might happen. We mustn't touch such mysterious and evil objects of unknown origin!"

Lumian, who hadn't ntioned to Franca that he couldn't look in the mirror after using the Mystery Prying Glasses to disguise himself, nodded.

"I understand that the exit is a mirror. What I can't figure out is how we entered that space without noticing. We didn't co across anything along the way."

"That baffles too." Franca covered the surface of the classic-styled silver mirror with a handkerchief and other items. She stood up and said, "This thing seems to be closely related to the Demoness pathway. How about you give it to ? I'll find sothing valuable to compensate you later."

"No problem," Lumian chuckled. "You don't have to ask. I can't beat you."

Franca clicked her tongue and said, "No, the spoils of war must be distributed fairly. Otherwise, there will surely be conflicts within the team. I used to be taken advantage of like this in the past. If it weren't for my good nature and not holding grudges, I would have sought revenge long ago."

Why does it sound like you're cussing , Mada… Lumian silently muttered.

If soone took his spoils and exploited him for no reason, and his strength was inferior to the other party, although he wouldn't say anything on the spot, he would definitely find a way to seek revenge later. He wouldn't simply "forgive" the other party so easily.

Stowing away the classic-styled silver mirror, Franca gestured toward the source of light.

"Let's go and have a look over there. We might co across the quarry police or other smugglers. We can ask for directions.

That's right… Lumian agreed wholeheartedly.

If it weren't for that, the Montsouris ghost would have been eradicated long ago by the official Beyonders.

The two of them proceeded through the tunnel, guided by the faint glow, staying alert for any potential attacks.

Before long, they reached a quarry cave. In the center of the cave stood a figure wearing a felt hat. The light emanated from the carbide lamp he held in his hand.

"Uh…" Franca recognized him and called out, "Fernandez!"

She realized that the figure was Fernandez, the smuggler who had been leading the way for them.

This appeared to be the quarry cave where they had arranged to et him.

Fernandez turned around, surprised, and asked, "How did you co from there? I've been waiting for nearly half an hour, but you didn't show up. I even went to the spot where the footprints vanished to search for you, but you were nowhere to be found."

Lumian and Franca exchanged glances and nodded.

Indeed, they had spent nearly half an hour in the special mirror world.

Franca approached Fernandez and casually explained, "We stumbled upon so clues and pursued them. However, we ended up circling back here and encountered an ambush on the way. We lost our carbide lamps."

"What clues?" Fernandez asked, pleasantly surprised.

Franca smiled.

"We'll discuss it with Christo directly."

Fernandez knew his place well and didn't pry any further. He led the two of them back along the sa path they had taken before.

They ascended the secondary well and entered the underground section corresponding to Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman, finally arriving at the exit on Rue Anarchie.

Only when Lumian and Franca laid eyes on street peddlers, children picking up fruit peels, holess people huddling in corners, and the bustling crowd, did they truly feel as though they had escaped from that strange realm and returned to the real world.

After boarding the carriage that "Rat" Christo had sent for them, Lumian glanced at Franca and asked in a low voice,

"What should we say later?"

Fernandez knew the carriage driver and had taken a seat beside him, so he wasn't in the carriage.

Franca chuckled.

"We'll simply say that we entered an unknown space, discovered so traces, and managed to escape using my mirror magic.

"The rest has nothing to do with Christo."

Lumian didn't say another word. He closed his eyes and recalled his encounters in the special mirror world.

The four-wheeled carriage swiftly turned onto Avenue du Marché, hurtling toward Suhit's steam locomotive. It veered into the alley that led to the depot.

"Rat" Christo awaited them in the nearby warehouse.

Before long, Lumian and Franca caught sight of the rat-like smuggler.

Christo approached them with a grin and exclaid, "Thank you, by Steam! Erkin and the others are back!"

Erkin… Franca's eyes narrowed as she blurted out, "The missing caravan has returned?"

Erkin, Christo's younger brother responsible for the smuggling caravan, had vanished previously, and Franca still had his divination handkerchief.

And now he's back?

What the f*ck was going on?

Christo nodded, still smiling.

"Indeed, the goods have returned as well!

"They arrived over an hour ago."

Over an hour ago? Wasn't that the sa ti when we discovered the spot where the footprints vanished and entered that peculiar mirror world? Lumian frowned, a hint of confusion stirring within him.

It was only because he had already experienced unbelievable phenona like the ti loop and the vivid dream that Lumian managed to keep his composure, unlike Franca.

Observing the surprised and perplexed expressions of Franca and Ciel, Christo smiled and stated, "I'll let Erkin explain it himself."

He turned and headed a few steps toward the entrance of the warehouse, calling out, "Erkin, co out for a mont!"

Seizing the opportunity, Franca tilted her head slightly and whispered to Lumian, "This is highly unusual…"

Lumian's lips curled into a smile as he lowered his voice and replied, "I even suspect that Rat and the others conspired to set a trap for us. They used the disappearance of the goods as bait to lure us underground into that perilous realm."

Franca studied him, amusent in her eyes, and remarked, "You don't have much trust in others, do you?"

Lumian spoke candidly, "The dancers' salaries make Giant and Baron Brignais resentful, and I possess the coveted Salle de Bal Brise. Only 'Rat' has no conflict of interest with us, so he was made to intervene."

Franca fell into deep thought, seriously considering the possibility of being deceived.

In that mont, Lumian grinned.

"This is rely a conjecture. It doesn't account for the footprints and other traces in the mirror world."

As soon as he finished speaking, a man who appeared to be under 30 years old erged from the warehouse.

He was not particularly tall, standing at about 1.6 ters. Apart from the absence of rat-like whiskers, he bore a striking resemblance to Christo.

"It is indeed Erkin," Franca whispered to Lumian.

Then, she turned her gaze to Christo and Erkin, who were approaching together, and inquired, "Erkin, what happened?"

Erkin's dark-blue eyes revealed a blend of fear and joy.

"We entered a peculiar world within a section of the tunnel and couldn't find a way out. In the afternoon, while we were searching in all directions, we suddenly found ourselves back on our original path."

Did our entry provide them an opportunity to escape? Franca had a suspicion.

Lumian stared at Erkin, his expression devoid of any emotion, as if assessing an adversary who might bring him calamity.

In his mind, he recalled the droplets of blood left behind on the ground of the mirror world. Gradually, they coalesced, staining a whole area crimson.

Could soone who had lost so much blood truly return alive?

Franca had evidently pondered this as well. She regarded Erkin and asked, "What happened to you there?"

Erkin couldn't help but tremble.

"We started bleeding inexplicably. Towards the end, many were on the verge of death.

"By Steam, we managed to find the exit in ti. As soon as we erged, we recovered."

Is that so? Franca felt that Erkin, adorned with the Sacred Emblem, was relaying his account in line with her own experience and could be explained. Thus, she could only temporarily set aside her doubts.

Beside them, "Rat" Christo cast a glance their way and invited them with a smile,

"Regardless of the circumstances, I must express my gratitude. Would you like to sample the most authentic Savoie roast chicken?"

"Alright," Lumian responded on Franca's behalf.

Christo produced a set of keys and tossed them to his brother, Erkin.

"Go to my office and bring all the spices to the kitchen."

"Alright." Erkin received the key and ascended the iron stairs embedded in the outer wall of the warehouse. With his left hand, he inserted one of the keys into the door of Christo's office and turned it to unlock it.

Franca was montarily taken aback before muttering to herself, "I recall that Erkin habitually uses his right hand…"

Why would he awkwardly open the door with his left hand when he wasn't holding anything?

Hearing Franca's remark, Christo nodded and replied, "Indeed, he is right-handed."

-x-X-x-

Right hand… Franca's body jolted with a sudden shudder.

As a Witch, she was well-acquainted with the intricacies of mirrors, attuned to their peculiarities. And one thing she knew for certain was this: when a person gazed into a mirror, their reflection would be inverted from left to right.

The situation at hand was baffling. After Erkin, who habitually favored his right hand, had ventured into the enigmatic mirror world and returned, he had inexplicably switched to using his left hand. Franca and Lumian, however, had not experienced such a change.

What could this an? Franca trembled with unease.

Just then, Christo reappeared at the warehouse's bottom floor, bellowing instructions to Erkin on the upper level. He demanded that Erkin retrieve his prized White Elixir wine. Seizing the opportunity, Lumian leaned in close to Franca and whispered into her ear,

"Have you noticed any connections?"

"You've thought of it too?" Franca replied, taken aback.

It was a challenge to detect Erkin's abnormality and grasp the underlying possibilities without extensive knowledge of mysticism and encounters with the Beyonder world.

Lumian continued in a hushed tone, "Judging by the amount of blood present in that space, I find it hard to believe that a regular person could have survived. From the start, I suspected sothing was amiss with Erkin and the other mbers of the caravan.

"Furthermore, you ntioned that the peculiar mirror world contains your past self—the reflection of who you once were.

"A mirrored image is left-right reversed in reality.

"Do you think the Erkin in the mirror has replaced the original Erkin?"

Franca fell into silence, pondering the implications.

"I dread to consider such a horrifying possibility, but the circumstances align more and more with your theory.

"I need to be certain."

As they conversed, Erkin descended from the warehouse's upper level, clutching a sack filled with various spices and two bottles of White Elixir wine. He made his way towards a nearby grayish-white, two-story building.

The structure served as a dining room and kitchen for "Rat" Christo's subordinates.

On the surface, Christo presented himself as a rchant. He owned multiple companies specializing in trade and providing storage facilities.

Franca approached Christo with a solemn expression and asked, "Are you absolutely sure that is truly Erkin?"

Christo blurted out in surprise, "Why are you asking such a peculiar question? Of course, it's Erkin. By Steam, how could I not recognize my own brother?

"My kids are also quite fond of him. They find nothing unfamiliar about him."

Franca pondered for a mont before smiling faintly.

"I can't help but feel that sothing might go awry after venturing into that bizarre realm."

Franca chuckled.

"You're not a Beyonder yet. Before you took over this smuggling business, didn't you anticipate that those above you would follow certain customs and pay extra for particular matters?"

Christo fell silent, uncertain of how to respond.

Franca then said, "I'll help you confirm whether anything is amiss with those individuals."

Franca retrieved her makeup box and Erkin's handkerchief, preparing to perform a divination in front of "Rat" Christo.

"Erkin's whereabouts. Erkin's whereabouts…"

As Franca chanted in Hers, her eyes darkened, and she gently caressed the surface of the makeup mirror.

Lumian observed as the mirror shimred with watery ripples of light.

Soon, a scene materialized within its depths: Erkin, dressed in a blue shirt, stood near the kitchen, engaged in conversation with the chef.

"I knew everything would go smoothly." "Rat" Christo chuckled.

He then gestured towards the warehouse.

"I have so matters to attend to. You can explore the area on your own or wait for in the dining room."

Once the short-statured leader of the smugglers had entered the warehouse, Lumian turned to Franca.

"It appears that the real Erkin might be dead."

Thus, the divination results indicated the person who originally belonged to the mirror world.

"Do you still think sothing is amiss with Erkin and the others?" Franca furrowed her brow.

"And if not?" Lumian laughed. "Should we cover our eyes and ears and pretend we didn't see, hear, or discover anything?"

Franca pondered for a mont before responding, "Perhaps, because I'm using mirror divination, it will be easier to pinpoint the individual within the mirror. I shall attempt another thod."

Surveying the warehouse area, she picked up a short wooden stick and held it before her, pressing down from the top.

After uttering a similar divination statent, the wooden stick snapped, pointing directly at the grayish-white, two-story building that housed the kitchen and dining room.

Erkin was there.

Franca fell silent montarily before declaring, "Let see if that mirror can be of any assistance."

She referred to the classic-styled silver mirror that served as a gateway to the peculiar realm, hoping to employ it in banishing all the monsters that had erged from within.

Lumian eagerly trailed behind Franca as they entered the dining room.

Their eyes were imdiately drawn to a woman wearing a grayish-green dress. She appeared to be in her late twenties, holding the hands of a boy and a girl. Tears of joy stread down her face as she embraced Erkin, who had just erged from the kitchen.

"You're finally back!"

"Pépé!"

"Pépé, play with !"

Amidst the clamor of excited voices, Erkin's face radiated sheer happiness. His brows and eyes reflected pure joy.

"…" Franca paused in her steps, silently observing the heartwarming family reunion for a long while.

Eventually, she let out a sigh and remarked, "Let's give it a little more ti."

Lumian maintained his smile.

"Are you finding it hard to bear?"

Franca sighed.

"The real Erkin might already be dead. After all, this is his reflection.

"If I were to expose his true nature now, kill him, or force him back into the mirror, not only would his wife and children fail to show gratitude, but they would also despise ."

"You're right." Lumian chuckled. "In any case, if anything untoward happens in the future, whether soone lives or dies is not our concern. We simply need to exercise caution. Why should we appear as the 'villains'? No one will thank you for it. Yes, let's avoid 'Rat' Christo and the others for the ti being. If we don't encounter them, it's as if nothing has occurred."

Franca's inner conflict grew.

She didn't know what the mirror's reflection would do after replacing the person in reality.

What if his kindness morphed into cruelty, and his affection transford into hatred?

Franca, unable to reach a decision, could only gaze at Lumian and sigh. "Your words are rather cold-hearted…"

She began to think that Jenna's assessnt of Ciel held so truth.

"Mada, am I not rely following your inclinations to help you convince yourself?" Lumian responded, a mix of annoyance and amusent evident in his tone.

Franca offered a sheepish smile.

"How do you propose we handle this situation?"

Lumian glanced at Erkin, who was recounting his strange encounter to his wife and children as if it were soone else's story.

"We should have soone write a letter and report this matter to the police headquarters or a cathedral.

"The letter should rely state that 'Rat' Christo's brother, Erkin, ventured into an underground realm with a group of individuals and remained absent for the majority of the day. Upon resurfacing, their dominant hand had changed.

"Official Beyonders have encountered nurous anomalies, so they should be familiar with the underground. They will likely deduce what has befallen Erkin and his companions.

"As for how they handle it, that's their responsibility. We need not worry. If they refrain from harming Erkin and the others, the mirror person poses no threat. They can serve as replacents for the deceased originals. And if those monsters are eliminated, we won't have to confront pain and animosity, let alone compensate anyone.

"In short, we must trust the officials and the Church.

"Emperor Roselle once ntioned that a gentleman wouldn't feel inclined to dine on an animal they were familiar with after it had been slaughtered. However, if they remained unaware, it wouldn't be an issue. They could enjoy their al blissfully. The sa principle applies in this case."

Lumian couldn't recall the exact words, so he did his best to convey the sentint in his own words.

Franca pondered deeply for a few monts before being convinced.

"You're right…"

She glanced at Lumian.

"You don't sound like a mob leader at all."

"A true mob leader knows how to manipulate the authorities." Lumian grinned.

Franca chuckled and remarked, "Do I have to address you as 'Godfather' from now on?"

Without giving Lumian a chance to inquire further, she swiftly added, "A mob's godfather. Yes, for now, you don't have the ans. I'll take responsibility for leaking the information to the officials."

Mob's godfather… Lumian had heard his sister ntion this as the subject of her next book. He grasped the general idea, but couldn't help feeling a tad disheartened.

In the ensuing hours, he and Franca joyously attended a banquet hosted by "Rat" Christo, engaging in lively conversations with Erkin and the other smugglers.

Lumian couldn't stop raving about the delectable Savoie roasted chicken. It was seasoned with an array of spices, its surface glistening with a similar concoction. The golden skin boasted juiciness, tenderness, and an aromatic essence.

He sliced a piece of the crispy skin-covered at and let it soak in the succulent juices for a mont before savoring it. The experience was pure bliss, rendering it impossible for him to cease indulging.

As the banquet drew to a close, Franca noticed only a handful of people remained at the dining table. She turned to "Rat" Christo, a smile playing on her lips.

"Co closer. I have sothing to ask you."

Christo, montarily taken aback, shifted his chair nearer to Franca and responded with a smile, "And what's the matter?"

Franca smiled and whispered, "In truth, Ciel and I also ventured into that peculiar world. Fortunately, we managed to escape…"

With that, she swiftly produced the roast chicken's knife and drove it into the table in front of "Rat" Christo. Her voice turned icy as she interrogated him, "What's concealed within that shipnt? You nearly got us killed!"

"I-I don't know!" Christo glanced around, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead.

Realizing that only he, Franca, and Cield remained at the table, he hastily explained, "I genuinely don't know. The boss instructed to bring it to Trier!"

-x-X-x-

Boss? Lumian was alard. He hadn't anticipated the connection to Gardner Martin, but now things were starting to make sense.

Why did the smuggling caravan vanish on a known route that had been used before?

And why was "Rat" Christo so eager to seek their help? If he had only lost a shipnt, he would have made more confirmations. It would have taken ti for him to reveal his vulnerabilities and mistakes to his peers, who might be eyeing his position.

Lumian's mind raced with thoughts.

Gardner Martin might be a Sequence 6 or 5 on the Hunter pathway.

Both Franca and I entered the special mirror world, and we're a Hunter and a Demoness, respectively, on similar and neighboring paths.

Mr. K instructed to approach Gardner Martin and gain his trust.

Franca, as a mber of the secret organization Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society, has quite a high Sequence. It's surprising that she's willing to be the mistress of a mob boss like Gardner Martin.

The boss of the Savoie Mob must be hiding a major secret or involved in sothing significant…

Why does he want Christo to smuggle an item related to the Hunter or Demoness pathway into Trier? And why go through the risks of underground smuggling? Is he afraid of the tax collectors? Instead, why doesn't the boss retrieve the item himself outside the city and have Christo get a smuggler lead the way? It would be safer and more discreet. Could it be that he knows the item might cause trouble and wants to avoid the risk? Lumian shifted his gaze from "Rat" Christo to Franca's face.

To Lumian's surprise, the Witch seed unprepared for such an answer. Her initial shock was swiftly followed by a hint of excitent and joy.

She stared intently at "Rat" Christo and sneered, "Are you trying to f*cking deceive ? How co I haven't heard about Gardner asking you to bring sothing into Trier? Where is that thing?"

Excitent… Joy… Lumian grew increasingly certain that Franca had ulterior motives for joining the Savoie Mob and approaching Gardner Martin.

Christo forced a smile and responded, "It's in an iron box. I've already sent it to Rue des Fontaines. Perhaps the boss hasn't inford you yet."

As a seasoned mber of the Savoie Mob, he knew the power Franca possessed. She could easily dispatch him, especially since he wasn't prepared and hadn't brought any assistance. Moreover, she excelled in divination and could detect falsehoods.

"You better not be lying to !" Franca recoiled, produced her makeup mirror, and began performing a divination in front of "Rat" Christo.

Lumian cooperatively stood up and walked to Christo's side. He reached out and firmly grasped Christo's shoulder.

Once Franca confird the truth through her divination, Lumian patted the "Rat" on the back with a smile.

"If anything similar happens in the future, make sure to remind of any potential issues with the rchandise. I must be prepared for any unexpected incidents.

"Otherwise, I might just chop you into pieces and feed you to your beloved kids."

He had heard from Louis that "Rat" Christo had nurous pets and had a special fondness for dogs.

Fueled by the threat, Christo grew angry.

Franca may be the boss's mistress, and she's stronger than . I can tolerate her treatnt, but what right does a newbie like you have?

"The boss asked to keep it a secret this ti."

Franca stowed away her makeup box and cursed, "You son of a bitch! You could have at least given us a clue!"

Christo sheepishly smiled and replied, "Alright, alright."

Surprisingly, he wasn't at all offended by the insults. To him, dogs were cherished family mbers, so how could their ntion be taken as an offense?

He often warned his lecherous subordinates that laying a hand on his wife was akin to touching his dog!

Observing Franca and Ciel's softened attitudes, Christo curiously asked, "Is that strange world really as Erkin described?"

Before Franca could respond, Lumian patted Christo's shoulder with a smile.

"Haven't you figured it out yet? Has a dog eaten your brain? We were just bluffing you!

"We didn't enter any strange world at all. We simply suspected sothing was amiss with your goods, considering the previous smooth smuggling operations and the sudden involvent of a Beyonder incident. So, we decided to deceive you!"

"…" "Rat" Christo couldn't help but feel vexed.

Indeed, if Franca and Ciel had truly entered a strange world, they wouldn't have returned so swiftly!

Erkin and the others had been missing for hours!

How could he have been so foolish?

Why did he fall for their ruse?

Suppressing his emotions, Christo looked at Franca with a fawning smile.

"Please don't tell the boss that I revealed the existence of that item. He will not be pleased with ."

Franca cast a strange glance at Lumian and said to "Rat" Christo, "Fine. From now on, you owe a favor."

"Alright!" Christo hastily agreed.

After bidding farewell to the leader of the smuggling operation, Lumian and Franca exited the warehouse and turned onto the narrow street of Avenue du Marché.

"I realized today that Christo is a complete fool. He's incredibly gullible," Franca remarked, breaking the silence as she glanced at Lumian beside her. There was a hint of a smile on her face, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're quite skilled at deceiving others."

Lumian assud a composed deanor.

"In Cordu, you must have heard about Cordu, right? They call the Prankster King."

Franca, familiar with Cordu due to the wanted poster, smiled at Lumian and responded,

"Did you lie to earlier then? Heh heh, Jenna's assessnt of you wasn't entirely off. You possess cunning and trickery."

"You're my sister's companion. I've been telling you the truth," Lumian said sincerely, maintaining an honest expression.

However, he didn't divulge the complete truth. Even if Franca were to confirm it through divination, she wouldn't detect any signs of deception.

Franca observed his expression and nodded in satisfaction.

"I am willing to trust Muggle's brother. Hmm… Let's pretend you don't know about Gardner's item. There are certain things that can be harmful if you were to uncover the truth. I won't inquire about it either."

"Alright," Lumian acquiesced, obediently playing the role he had assud in front of Aurore.

The two then went their separate ways on Avenue du Marché. One headed towards Salle de Bal Brise, while the other turned onto Rue des Blouses Blanches.

It was already past 8 p.m., and the sky had darkened. Gas wall lamps embedded in the walls illuminated the dance hall, casting a yellowish glow on the entire first floor. As they approached the dance floor, the ambiance grew dimr.

Amidst greetings, Lumian took a seat at the bar counter and ordered a glass of fennel and mint absinthe, known as Parrot.

The drink was rather invigorating, and with just one sip, it cleared his mind as if he had been slapped awake.

Lumian sat for a while, enjoying Jenna's risqué songs. Eventually, he noticed Charlie approaching the bar counter with a tray in hand.

"Ciel… Boss!" Charlie swiftly altered the way he addressed Lumian upon realizing it was the bartender looking at him.

Lumian took a sip of the psychedelic green liquid and asked with a smile,

"Do you prefer the dance hall or the underground bar in the motel?"

Charlie glanced at the bartender and the other waiters before lowering his voice.

"I still prefer the motel bar. Over there, I'm the center of attention!"

I can tell… Lumian chuckled and nodded towards the young female singer who had taken over from Jenna.

"Is she your friend's daughter?"

Charlie had previously ntioned a friend who had fallen victim to a loan shark. Pressured by Baron Brignais, the friend tragically committed suicide by jumping off a building, and now his daughter was forced to sing at Salle de Bal Brise.

"Yes," Charlie replied with a sorrowful expression.

The female singer, dressed glamorously in a revealing blouse and skirt, was around Jenna's age but lacked the sa allure.

Upon closer observation, Lumian noticed the key distinction between the two:

Jenna's eyes radiated a certain spark, whereas despite her fake smile, the light in the other singer's eyes was absent.

Charlie opened his mouth, seemingly hesitant to ask for sothing, but in the end, he decided against it and remained silent.

Lumian took another sip of the Parrot and imrsed himself in deep thought, the song playing in the background.

Approaching 10:30 p.m., he stood up and made his way back upstairs. He changed into a worn linen shirt, an old jacket, brown pants, and topped it off with a dark blue cap.

With this appearance, he resembled a vagabond.

Without hesitation, Lumian pushed open the window and leaped into the alley behind the dance hall.

His intention was to pay a visit to Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons.

His Prophecy Spell had revealed that Monsieur Ive, the landlord of Auberge du Coq Doré, would be present at Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons between 11 p.m. and 12 p.m. this Friday, i.e., tonight.

Lumian wasn't expecting to confront the matter involving the evil god, the Mother Tree of Desire, single-handedly. He had no intention of facing them head-on. Instead, he aid to gather valuable information and uncover more problems through observation.

To him, the most crucial objective was to utilize Monsieur Ive and the others to locate the place where Susanna Mattise had resided during her lifeti and obtain an item she had carried for a significant period. This would lay the groundwork for the Exorcism Spell when she eventually launched an attack.

Although completing the ritualistic magic in ti might prove challenging, being prepared was preferable to being caught off guard.

After taking a few detours, Lumian arrived outside Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons.

Since it was not yet 11 p.m., he saw no need to rush inside. Instead, he found a corner and settled down, observing Monsieur Ive's beige six-story apartnt with the deanor of a genuine tramp.

Before long, Lumian spotted the landlord.

Monsieur Ive returned from Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman, holding a black cane. He wore a faded dark suit, chestnut pants, and an aged half top hat.

A few minutes later, a dim light emanated from one of the windows of his apartnt.

Lumian patiently waited.

As he waited, his brow gradually furrowed.

Why hasn't Monsieur Ive made his way to Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons? It's already past 11 p.m.

The window continued to emit a yellowish glow, and occasional figures passed by.

Fifteen minutes elapsed, yet Monsieur Ive had not left his apartnt, crossed Avenue du Marché, and entered Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons.

Lumian couldn't help but mutter to himself, Could there be an error in my Prophecy Spell?

-x-X-x-

Lumian waited patiently until midnight drew near. As the clock struck 11:30 p.m., the light in Ive's room went out, yet no one erged from the apartnt. It seed the miser had decided to save on gas bills and retired for the night. The final act of the play at Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons concluded as midnight approached. The audience trickled out one by one, but no one entered the theater.

Lumian muttered to himself, his thoughts racing: Could it be that the Prophecy Spell's answer isn't precise enough? After all, the ritualistic magic was cast by . It's understandable that its effect isn't perfect. Yes, that's a possibility. But what if the Prophecy Spell is accurate?

Alard amidst his thoughts, Lumian's head snapped in the direction of the door adorned with theater posters.

If the Prophecy Spell was correct, it ant that Monsieur Ive had indeed been at Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons between 11 p.m. and midnight.

And if Monsieur Ive truly had been there, who was the identical figure who had entered the apartnt and never left?

There was a strong chance it was a decoy!

A decoy!

No way… Lumian couldn't fathom his own suspicion.

How could he be deceived by such a trick, especially after eting and conversing with Monsieur Ive before?

He was more inclined to believe that the Prophecy Spell was flawed.

Perhaps there's a tunnel beneath the apartnt leading to Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons? Lumian pondered, searching for a plausible explanation.

Trier was a city where establishing a tunnel was easier than in other places. It only required a short excavation to connect to underground passageways and sewers. However, such tunnels were also prone to discovery. The Underground Trier teed with people—quarry police patrolled the area, smugglers traveled through, and planters passed by. Unless the tunnel went deeper or had a cleverly hidden entrance, it wouldn't take long for it to be found.

If Monsieur Ive's apartnt did have a similar tunnel, he wouldn't have needed to venture out to the nearby Underground Trier entrance at night.

In the midst of these thoughts, Lumian recalled two important details.

Firstly, he had "witnessed" a change in Monsieur Ive's luck when they first t. The next day, he realized that luck had inexplicably altered.

Secondly, Monsieur Ive possessed Beyonder powers and had a high likelihood of being a believer in the evil god, the Mother Tree of Desire. Despite having a low Sequence, when the official Beyonders brought him in for questioning, they found nothing amiss.

Combining these perplexing facts with the disparity between the Prophecy Spell and reality, Lumian's pupils contracted as he muttered to himself:

A decoy, could it be real?

Was the person residing in the opposite apartnt all this ti after the robbery a re decoy?

Is that why his luck changed and the official Beyonders failed to detect anything wrong?

How is it possible for him to resemble Monsieur Ive so perfectly? Did he employ a mystical item akin to the Mystery Prying Glasses or so other thod? And where is the real Monsieur Ive hiding in Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons? The more Lumian pondered, the more unnerved he beca.

No one had discovered the substitution that took place.

At the very least, Christo's n showed signs of mirror-like reversal.

From the assortnt of the pervert's abilities, Lumian had already deduced that Monsieur Ive had sensed sothing awry after being "robbed." After all, even a single verl d'or held value as money. No robber would willingly discard it. And if it had truly been discarded, it ant that the robbery was not the true objective. It was understandable, then, that Monsieur Ive had prepared himself to conceal his secrets from the official Beyonders. Lumian simply hadn't anticipated such a bizarre thod.

He had actually fashioned a doppelg?nger identical to Monsieur Ive!

For a mont, Lumian couldn't ascertain whether the decoy in the apartnt was an ordinary person adorned with Beyonder costics or a devotee of the evil god with extraordinary powers.

If it was the forr, Lumian desired to seize the opportunity in the dead of night, apprehend the decoy, administer a thorough thrashing, and extract the truth. Then, he would deliver the decoy to the police headquarters or a cathedral, leaving the official Beyonders to conclude matters.

If it was the latter, he dared not act impulsively. No one knew the decoy's Sequence level or the breadth of its abilities.

Lumian turned his head once more, casting a glance at the brick-red, three-story building housing Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons. He noted that no more patrons erged from its entrance, dispelling his idea of venturing inside for another look.

The final performance of the day had concluded!

After contemplating for a while, Lumian resolved to make so preparations.

He rose slowly to his feet and proceeded toward Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman, skulking in the shadows untouched by the glow of the gas street lamps.

Along the way, he scrutinized the vagabonds slumbering in the corners of the roadside, his gaze deep and earnest.

Finally, he found a suitable target.

Huddled beneath a makeshift barricade in the alley, the vagabond's clothing was tattered and stained with mud. His legs bore the marks of dog bites, festering wounds oozing yellow pus.

In Lumian's eyes, this individual was plagued by misfortune. He would face a series of calamities in the next two or three days, with his very life potentially at stake.

This made him the ideal "material" for the Luck Enhancent Spell!

Yes, Lumian intended to employ the ritualistic magic of the Alms Monk—the Luck Enhancent Spell—to fashion an item capable of transmitting ill fortune.

If the fake Monsieur Ive were to be plagued by misfortune, continually beset by various predicants, there was a high likelihood that he would reveal his predicant to the official Beyonders!

With this in mind, Lumian had been on the lookout for the most hapless vagabonds. This particular group belonged to the realm of ill-fated individuals.

With his cap pulled low, Lumian approached the vagabond, positioning himself so the gas lamps on the street cast his face in shadows.

He crouched down, black-gloved hands ready, and gently prodded the tramp.

"You…" The tramp stirred, his voice filled with pain and confusion.

"I need your assistance with sothing. Willing to lend a hand?" Lumian produced a silver coin, worth one verl d'or, adorned with cherubs and intricate lines.

The tramp's eyes were imdiately drawn to the gleaming coin. Without hesitation, he nodded and replied, "No problem!"

As he spoke, he extended his hand, already imagining the aroma of Apple Whiskey Sour and hearty atloaf.

Once the silver coin was in his palm, the tramp's eyes widened suddenly, fixated on sothing behind Lumian. He blurted out in shock, "That's…"

Seizing the mont Lumian turned his head, the tramp swiftly pushed himself up, attempting to vault over the barricade and sprint down the alley.

It was evident that giving money to a vagabond and enlisting his cooperation in sothing posed a clear danger!

For an ordinary tramp, the logical choice was to accept the money and make a run for it!

Whack!

Lumian swiftly withdrew his right hand, calmly observing as the tramp slumped against the barricade, unconscious.

From the start, Lumian had no intention of allowing the tramp to witness everything while awake. Even if he were blindfolded and his ears blocked, there was still a risk of danger. Moreover, there was the potential for revealing Lumian's identity and the sinister ritualistic magic known as the Luck Enhancent Spell.

Hence, his plan had been to seek the tramp's consent and then render him unconscious.

Lumian assisted the tramp to his feet, as if supporting a drunken companion, and guided him to the nearest entrance to Underground Trier. Finding a concealed spot nearby, he secured the tramp, binding his hands and feet, blindfolding him, and muffling his ears.

Once everything was in place, he stealthily returned to Salle de Bal Brise, retrieving a carbide lamp and the necessary tools.

Without delay, he went back to the entrance, carefully lifting the unconscious tramp and making his way to the quarry cave where he had previously perford the Prophecy Spell.

This ti, however, the ritual had undergone a change. While it remained a dualistic ceremony, the orange candle representing a deity and other supplicants had been replaced with one of a grayish-white hue.

It still contained Lumian's blood.

To enhance his chances of success, Lumian intended to utilize the ritualistic magic to "pray" to the corruption sealed within his chest, mobilizing a fragnt of its power.

After constructing the altar and erecting a wall of spirituality, he plunged Hedsey's tainted dagger into the tramp, allowing his blood to flow into a tal vial.

The tramp stirred, only to be swiftly rendered unconscious once again.

Lumian disinfected and bandaged the wound, blending the blood with ash from his own hair to create an ink-like substance. Using the thinnest paintbrush at his disposal, he ticulously outlined a series of intricate and enigmatic symbols on faux goatskin parchnt.

The design consisted of interwoven black thorns forming a ring, snakes with entwined heads and tails, a river composed of these serpentine figures, distorted lines, a peculiar eye, and more.

By the ti he completed a fraction of the intricate work, Lumian's forehead was drenched in a sheen of cold sweat.

He positioned the tramp and the faux goatskin adorned with symbols upon the boulder that served as the altar. Dripping perfu into the flas and sprinkling powder, Lumian took two steps back, fixing his gaze upon the gently flickering yellow candle fla, and uttered ancient Hers words:

"Power of Inevitability!

"You are the past, the present, and the future;

"You are the cause, the effect, and the process."

As before, the fla of the deity's candle compressed to its utmost limits before expanding, swelling to the size of a clenched fist. Its hue transford to a silvery-black shade, distorting everything in its vicinity. Gray mist filled the air, and a tempest of darkness whirled about.

Lumian, his ears assailed by frenzied murmurs, endured the vertigo and switched to the Hers tongue.

"I implore you,

"I implore you to alter this destitute man's fate.

"I pray that you will take away his misfortune."

At this juncture, Lumian took a step forward and ignited the faux goatskin adorned with mysterious symbols using the silver-black candle fla. Placing it within a natural crevice on the altar's surface, he observed as the parchnt began to smolder.

In the next instant, he produced a gold coin worth five verl d'or, engraved with the Sunbird, and positioned it near the tramp's outstretched hand.

To those gripped by greed, money was an irresistible lure. It served as the optimal conduit!

Lumian, burdened by a sensation akin to carrying a weight of over five hundred kilograms, retreated a step, awaiting the consumption of the smoldering faux goatskin before comncing the final incantation.

"Gray amber, a herb that belongs to inevitability, please pass your powers to my incantation…"

The entire altar abruptly ignited, assuming an ethereal semblance. Before Lumian, an illusory, intricate, and chilling river of rcury silently coursed its way.

It enshrouded the tramp and the gold coin, amplifying the murmurs in Lumian's ears and causing the cyan veins upon his face to bulge.

Instinctively, Lumian recoiled from the agony of supplicating for a boon. Suddenly, the illusory image shrank, descending upon the surface of the gold coin resting upon the altar.

Everything returned to its forr state, except for the gold coin, which now appeared dimr under the silver-black illumination.

-x-X-x-

At the sight of this, Lumian hastily concluded the ritual and extinguished the candles in the proper sequence.

The frenzied ravings that had filled his ears vanished, and the searing pain abruptly ceased before it could overwhelm him.

Once he tidied up the altar in a rough manner, Lumian shifted his gaze to the 5 verl d'or coin.

It no longer appeared peculiar. Bathed in the glow of the carbide lamp, it shimred with a captivating golden sheen, indistinguishable from any other coin.

Lumian's eyes darkened suddenly, as if he were observing a living being, examining its fortune.

Normally, he couldn't "see" an object's fate, but this ti was different. After focusing, he realized that the gold coin was enveloped in black vapor tinged with a hint of blood-red glow.

The forr symbolized ill fortune, while the latter indicated a degree of impending catastrophe.

Phew… Lumian let out a sigh of relief.

This ant that the Luck Enhancent Spell had succeeded. The tramp's streak of misfortune for the next few days had been transferred to the gold coin!

However, if Lumian didn't find another person to bear this fate within three days, it would revert to the tramp, permanently untransferable.

Lumian continued to gaze at the tramp for a few more seconds, confirming that his luck had temporarily returned to normal, neither good nor bad.

Satisfied, Lumian, already positioned at the edge of the altar, reached out and picked up the 5 verl d'or, which served as the dium for luck transference.

He wasn't concerned that this act would transfer the misfortune attached to the item onto himself. That's because activating the Luck Enhancent Spell required specific conditions:

Firstly, the recipient had to willingly accept the gold coin and subjectively desire to possess it.

Secondly, throughout the entire process, the recipient had to exploit a situation they shouldn't have.

In other words, if Lumian used the gold coin to make a purchase, the shopkeeper wouldn't suffer any ill luck rely because they accepted the item—unless they sold Lumian sothing counterfeit or dishonestly manipulated the transaction for illicit gain.

Likewise, if Lumian discreetly slipped the gold coin into Charlie's pocket without his imdiate awareness, Charlie wouldn't encounter misfortune when he eventually used it.

As the original owner of the coin, Lumian naturally remained unaffected by the Luck Enhancent Spell when he retrieved it.

The two straightforward thods to trigger the Luck Enhancent Spell were to keep the coin in his pocket and allow the target to steal it. He could also feign leaving it behind so the target could pick it up.

Lumian believed that unless individuals like Monsieur Ive, who had acquired a miserly habit, underwent a significant transformation, they would still harbor an enduring fondness for money. Falling into such a trap would be easy for them.

After erasing various traces on the altar, he hoisted the tramp onto his back and ascended to the surface. He dumped him back into the alley where he had been found, removing the ropes binding his hands and feet, along with the cloth covering his eyes and ears.

The tramp stirred slowly, uttering pleas of desperate fear, "Please, let go!"

He blinked his eyes open, instinctively scanning his surroundings. To his realization, there was no one in sight, and he found himself still slumbering in his usual spot.

"…" The tramp fell silent.

As his senses gradually returned, his initial reaction was to delve into his pocket.

A chill seeped into his mind, and with a gleeful expression, he retrieved a silver coin worth 1 verl d'or.

It's still here!

It's really still there!

It wasn't a dream!

Under the faint crimson moonlight casting its glow from above and the street lamps illuminating the vicinity, the tramp fiddled with the silver coin repeatedly, assuring himself that it wasn't a counterfeit.

Only then did he recall to examine his body.

Soon, he noticed that his arm was bandaged, and a sharp ache assaulted his mind.

Apart from that, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

The tramp stumbled to his feet, rubbing his backside as he muttered to himself, "It's not that kind of pervert…"

Having witnessed the world prior to his bankruptcy, he was aware that Trier housed its fair share of peculiar individuals. Consequently, various private organizations had sprung up. So advocated that n and won existed solely for reproduction, while others believed that true love only blossod between n. Gatherings even catered to those who believed that won alone held the secret to loving their own kind.

The tramp had initially suspected he had fallen victim to n with a peculiar fixation on foul, unwashed n. However, it seed that wasn't the case.

After pondering for a mont, he conjectured that soone had taken an interest in his blood and extracted so. The 1 verl d'or was his reward.

He had heard tales before of influential figures relying on continual blood transfusions to sustain their lives.

"At least there's 1 verl d'or." The tramp instantly rejoiced, no longer dwelling on the loss of blood.

He even entertained the hope that the other party would seek him out once more. When the ti ca, he would willingly inquire about their desired price.

…

Lumian relied on a copper coin toss to decide that he would spend the night at Auberge du Coq Doré. Consequently, he returned to Room 207 and slept until 6 a.m.

After having breakfast and engaging in so outdoor exercises, then returning to the motel, changing his attire, and disguising himself, Lumian prepared to set off for Avenue du Marché to find the two cleaning ladies already hard at work.

Lumian caught sight of a cleaning lady in her fifties, sporting a vibrant golden wig and makeup, as she diligently cleared the trash in the lobby. Lumian halted his steps and asked contemplatively, "You're Elodie, aren't you?"

He recalled Charlie ntioning her na.

"Yes, Monsieur Ciel." Elodie straightened her posture.

She wore an old yet clean grayish-white dress and stood at an average height of 1.65 ters. From her facial features, it was evident that she had been quite attractive in her youth.

"You know ?" Lumian inquired nonchalantly.

Elodie answered truthfully, "Monsieur Charlie Collent spoke of you before. He ntioned that you're the hotel's guardian."

Heh heh, just as expected of Charlie… That's the right attitude. No trace of inferiority or fear… Lumian started to feel that Elodie, the cleaning lady, wasn't a forr street girl as Charlie had speculated.

He casually asked, "I heard from Charlie that you used to be a theater actress?"

"Yes." A smile graced Elodie's face. "I perford in two theaters, taking on supporting roles. However, one of them went bankrupt, and the other stopped hiring for so reason. I was already quite old by then."

As she reminisced about the past, a hint of lancholy appeared in her deanor.

Lumian nodded and glanced towards the motel door.

"Have you heard of Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons?"

This was the question he was truly interested in.

This cleaning lady nad Elodie was originally a theater actress, but she had been hired by Monsieur Ive, the motel landlord who had a close relationship with Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons. It was a little suspicious.

Elodie's expression beca animated.

"I know that their plays are splendid. The actors possess remarkable acting skills. It's worth saving up for a month just to purchase tickets to their shows.

"When I attended a performance at Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons, I discovered that they were in need of a cleaning lady for half a day. That's why I ended up here."

I see… It seems unrelated to Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons or Monsieur Ive… Lumian refrained from further probing to avoid raising any suspicions. He smiled and remarked, "Seems like you have other jobs?"

Elodie believed that Monsieur Ciel sought to ascertain the cleaning lady's background to protect the motel's interests, so she responded honestly, "Every day from 2 p.m. to 10 p.m., I work at a factory south of the market district. It's called the Goodville Chemical Factory, situated on Rue Saint-Hilaire."

Rue Saint-Hilaire ran alongside Trier's city walls and neighbored the factories in Quartier du Jardin Botanique.

Trier's factories had preserved a practice from the era of Roselle. If production continued around the clock, the workers were divided into three shifts: one for the morning to noon, another for the afternoon to evening, and the final one for the night.

"That sounds demanding." Lumian sighed.

Elodie smiled and spoke gently, "I have two children who are nearly grown. Once they secure their own jobs, I won't have to toil so relentlessly."

"What about your husband?" Lumian casually inquired.

Elodie's expression darkened.

"He died in a factory accident a few years ago."

Lumian didn't pry further. Instead, he engaged in conversation with another cleaning lady, faithfully fulfilling his duties as the protector of Auberge du Coq Doré.

Exiting Rue Anarchie, Lumian stepped onto Avenue du Marché, making his way towards Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons.

He wasn't intentionally waiting for Monsieur Ive, who was suspected of being a decoy. His intention was simply to observe. His primary objective was to keep a close watch on the individuals heading to 126 Avenue du Marché.

The Prophecy Spell had revealed to him that he would cross paths with Louis Lund on Avenue du Marché. "Hamr" Ait had ntioned that Louis Lund would once again seek out the boss of the Poison Spur Mob, "Black Scorpion" Roger, this Saturday or Sunday, and "Black Scorpion" Roger resided at 126 Avenue du Marché.

With this combination of information, Lumian had decided to beco a "permanent resident" on Avenue du Marché on Monday and wander about in hopes of encountering his target.

As Lumian neared Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons and Monsieur Ive's apartnt, he slowed his pace. Sotis, he sat among the tramps, while other tis, he visited a nearby café for a drink.

Since he was already there, it was only natural for him to keep an eye out for Monsieur Ive. After all, this was Avenue du Marché as well.

After nearly 45 minutes, Lumian finally spotted the landlord of the motel.

Clad in a faded formal suit, a worn-out top hat, and a black cane that was on the verge of losing its paint, Monsieur Ive erged from the apartnt and made his way towards the Suhit steam locomotive station.

Lumian gradually stood up and glanced behind him. He feigned terror and jogged, as if he were being pursued by an enemy.

In his attempt to overtake Monsieur Ive from behind, he accidentally collided with him.

A clatter ensued as a golden coin fell to the ground, yet Lumian seed oblivious to it. He lowered his head and fled in a panic.

Monsieur Ive grumbled, his gaze suddenly drawn to the golden coin on the pavent.

Subconsciously, he wanted to call out to the impolite individual, but as he extended his hand, no words escaped his lips.

Swiftly scanning his surroundings, he swiftly squatted down and retrieved the 5-verl d'or coin. Nonchalantly, he slipped it into his pocket, as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.

-x-X-x-

Hidden behind the shadow of an ebony street lamp, a re twenty ters away from Monsieur Ive, Lumian leaned discreetly, tugging his cap lower amidst the bustling crowd. He watched intently as his mark retrieved the glistening gold coin, secretively stashing it away.

Only then did Lumian release a sigh of relief. With one hand nonchalantly tucked inside his pocket, he strolled towards 126 Avenue du Marché, paying no further heed to the dubious decoy, for the Luck Enhancent Spell had been officially set in motion, impervious to interruption.

However, the spell required ti to manifest its effects. Within half a day or, at most, a full day, misfortune would incessantly plague the false Monsieur Ive. Lumian need only orchestrate a small incident when the opportune mont arrived, and the chances were high that Monsieur Ive would inadvertently unveil his peculiar nature to the legitimate Beyonders.

As Lumian ventured forth, he soon realized that 126 Avenue du Marché was none other than the abode of "Black Scorpion" Roger, the very nerve center of the Poison Spur Mob. Consequently, he dared not approach too closely, wary of exposing himself. Settling himself near a café window, diagonally positioned at a distance of over ten ters, he ordered a Fermo coffee and a dariole.

While awaiting his refreshnts, Lumian attentively scanned the passersby on Avenue du Marché, his gaze lingering upon the promotional posters adorning the café's walls.

A prevalent the among them was the impending National Convention elections scheduled to comnce on Sunday.

There were three contenders vying for the position: Matthew Boulanger, representing the National Party; Hugues Artois, championing the Enlightennt Party; and Jacques Sanson, hailing from the Revolutionary Party.

As Lumian observed the fervor surrounding the approach to 126 Avenue du Marché, he found himself engrossed in the manifestos of the candidates.

Matthew Boulanger, the incumbent parliant mber for the Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman district, advocated for the restoration of Intis's forr glory. His rallying cry was "Make Intis Glorious Again." Boulanger attributed the nation's current predicants to its defeat in the recent war against the Loen Kingdom. His proposed solution entailed reorganizing the Intis army with a renewed focus on prioritizing Intis's interests. He sought to regain the advantages relinquished in the Southern Continent, bolster the economy, and transform the marketplace district.

Boulanger believed that the process of "Making Intis Glorious Again" would bestow upon the denizens of the marketplace district an abundance of employnt opportunities, enabling them to amass wealth, whether through venturing into the Southern Continent, enlisting in the army, or capitalizing on foreign trade.

Hugues Artois, a candidate gaining considerable popularity of late, advocated for "More Jobs, For A Fairer Society." His pledge was to invigorate the economy, constructing additional factories in the southern region of the marketplace district, while simultaneously dismantling the shackles that bound factory owners, bankers, financiers, and rchants. However, his intentions also encompassed challenging the privileges enjoyed by the Church and the affluent, imposing heavier taxes upon them.

Jacques Sanson, a mber of the Revolutionary Party, shared Hugues Artois's conviction that societal privileges had no place in the modern world. Regardless of one's affiliation with the Church or financial benefits, Sanson believed that everyone should pay equal taxes.

He boldly asserted that the current tariff policies hindered Intis's progress, particularly the city walls and the 54 checkpoints surrounding Trier. Sanson advocated for the free circulation of goods and the establishnt of a liberated market, which would lead to the proliferation of factories and a significant increase in tax revenue. By taxing the privileged class alongside these reforms, the national treasury would swiftly recover from any initial setbacks.

When the ti ca, Sanson planned to explore the implentation of Emperor Roselle's envisioned annuity guarantee system, providing essential protection to the workers in the marketplace district.

His slogan resounded, "Take Down Those Damned Walls!"

Having finished reading the candidates' platforms, Lumian couldn't help but feel inclined to vote for Jacques Sanson.

While it remained uncertain whether Sanson possessed the capability to realize his ideas, cheaper alcohol and goods would bring tangible benefits and security to the people in the marketplace district.

As for taxing the privileged, they weren't overly concerned, as long as the burden didn't exceed a coppet.

Yet, it was evident that Jacques Sanson faced discrimination. His campaign posters were relegated to the farthest corners, barely visible. This treatnt stemd from the Revolutionary Party's perennial status as a minority within the National Convention.

As the Poison Spur Mob rallied behind Hugues Artois of the Enlightennt Party, Lumian directed his utmost attention towards this candidate. He not only perused Artois's election platform but also scrutinized his color photographs.

Artois, a man in his thirties, possessed a luxuriant head of black, fluffy hair with hints of gray at his temples. His nose stood tall and proud, complented by deep blue eyes. His height commanded attention, and he exuded an air of refinent when dressed formally.

I can't allow this man to be elected… Unless I dismantle the Poison Spur Mob before that happens. However, the Mob still enjoys the mysterious support of Mada Moon. Even if one Black Scorpion falls, another Red Scorpion will erge… Yes, the elections are set to comnce this Sunday. The police headquarters, military police, and official Beyonders will be mobilized to vigilantly monitor each constituency. Causing trouble won't be easy… Should I involve the laborers, porters, and waiters of the Savoie Mob? Lumian contemplated how to secure the National Convention seat for both Matthew Boulanger and Jacques Sanson.

Lost in thought, he maintained a watchful eye on the window, hoping to catch sight of Louis Lund.

After a considerable ti had passed, the golden sun ascended into the sky. Lumian realized that waiting was not a viable option.

Firstly, his identity posed a problem. He remained under the intense scrutiny of the Poison Spur Mob, preventing him from waiting in a building opposite "Black Scorpion" Roger's residence. Such a vantage point would limit his view and increase the risk of overlooking crucial details.

Secondly, as the leader of the Savoie Mob, he had nurous responsibilities to fulfill and required monts of respite. Waiting 24 hours a day for two straight days was simply unfeasible.

As these thoughts raced through his mind, Lumian was struck by an idea.

Why should I do it myself when I have so many subordinates and even hired Anthony Reid with my own money?

With that thought, Lumian rose from his seat and left the café, making his way towards Salle de Bal Brise.

As he reached the middle of Avenue du Marché, Lumian's attention was drawn to a gathering by the roadside. At the outskirts of the crowd stood a circle of black-uniford police officers, while two rows of mounted officers observed the passersby.

Amidst the 200 to 300 people, there stood a makeshift wooden platform. A man in a black suit, sans bow tie, commanded the stage.

A massive poster displaying his photo adorned the outer wall of the house behind him. His resounding voice resonated through the streets.

"We need jobs. We need better inco…

"I will construct more factories on Rue Saint-Hilaire…

"I pledge tax concessions for these factories…"

Ah, isn't that Monsieur Hugues Artois? Lumian, utilizing his above-average Intis height, could clearly see the speaker on the wooden stage.

It was the elegant, black-haired, blue-eyed Hugues Artois, a candidate supported by the Poison Spur Mob!

Lumian listened for several seconds, his gaze instinctively scanning the upper levels of the building opposite Hugues Artois, examining the windows and roof.

As expected, he detected signs of police officers or individuals who clearly did not belong to the household.

He's well-protected indeed… I cannot shoot Hugues Artois in the head or chest from those positions using a rifle… Lumian averted his gaze, a tinge of regret washing over him.

There was another way to ensure Hugues Artois's defeat in the election, and that was to prevent him from participating altogether.

Those who perished would automatically forfeit their right to run!

Lumian had seriously contemplated the feasibility of this plan while at the café, but he concluded that it would stir up too much chaos. The market district mobs would likely be mobilized and used as scapegoats. He himself would fall into that category. If that happened, his true identity would likely be exposed, compelling him to flee the market district, if not Trier altogether. He would lose the opportunity to track down Mada Pualis and the padre.

Assassinating the candidate appeared to be quite a challenge. Even if he were fortunate enough to succeed, escape might not be guaranteed.

Lumian shifted his gaze to the people standing behind the wooden platform. They were most likely mbers of Hugues Artois's campaign—a trio of n and two won.

Among them, there was a woman with fiery red hair, rumored to possess noble lineage. Her features were striking, with chiseled lines on her face, yet there was an overall air of neutrality to her beauty.

Tall and attired in a white and brown hunting suit, she was accompanied by four other individuals.

Fearful of missing Louis Lund, Lumian paid no heed to Hugues Artois's oration. He withdrew from the throng and made his way back to Salle de Bal Brise.

Noonti brought few patrons to the establishnt. So waiters and bartenders took a break, while others busied themselves with tidying up.

Addressing Louis and Sarkota, Lumian spoke up. "Dispatch four n to keep watch at 126 Avenue du Marché."

"126…" Louis repeated, his voice filled with astonishnt. "Isn't that 'Black Scorpion' Roger's residence?"

Is the boss planning to stir up trouble for the Poison Spur Mob once again?

Lumian nodded, his expression candid.

"You've got it. Don't get too close and ensure you remain undetected. Stand guard from different vantage points and observe whether he appears among the passersby."

Lumian gestured toward the wanted posters adorning the wall, as well as Louis Lund, who stood nearby.

Since joining the Savoie Mob, Louis's own wanted poster had been discreetly moved to an even more inconspicuous spot.

Louis and Sarkota turned their attention to the wanted poster, carefully examining its contents. Words like "Cordu Village" caught their eye.

They grasped the general idea and readily agreed.

"Yes, Boss."

Once the four mobsters departed Salle de Bal Brise with the wanted poster in tow, Lumian turned to Louis and Sarkota.

"For the next few days, your task will be to maintain order on the first-floor dance hall."

Having issued his instructions, Lumian added nonchalantly, "I just caught snippets of Hugues Artois's speech. Not bad. Hmm… Whom does our Savoie Mob support as the market district's mber of parliant?"

Louis cast a quick glance around and lowered his voice.

"The baron ntioned that he intends to vote for Monsieur Artois."

-x-X-x-

Hugues Artois? Lumian never anticipated such a response.

Did the competing Savoie Mob and the Poison Spur Mob really endorse the sa candidate?

If Hugues Artois succeeded, would he assist the Poison Spur Mob in dealing with the Savoie Mob? Or would he aid the Savoie Mob in completely overthrowing the Poison Spur Mob? Or would he demand peace between the two factions?

The more Lumian pondered it, the more he sensed that sothing was amiss.

If the influential figure behind both the Savoie Mob and the Poison Spur Mob was none other than Hugues Artois, then the two sides wouldn't have beco bitter enemies to this extent!

Though Lumian played his part, wasn't he acting under the blessings of the Boss and Baron Brignais?

Furthermore, Hugues Artois wasn't an elected mber of parliant. What authority did he have to protect both the Savoie Mob and the Poison Spur Mob?

The only plausible explanation was the machinations of the Enlightennt Party, but it made no sense for them to incite two rival mobs to fight each other to the death.

Lumian, lacking experience in this area, failed to find an answer even after considerable thought. All he could do was sigh with regret.

I can't employ the Savoie Mob's n to secretly intimidate voters into not supporting Hugues Artois!

He glanced at Louis, his confusion evident as he asked, "Why was I unaware that our Savoie Mob is backing Hugues Artois?"

Louis imdiately grew tense.

"I assud the baron had apprised you, Boss."

Wasn't that the purpose of the handover?

Baron Brignais was in a foul mood after losing the Salle de Bal Brise, so he couldn't be bothered to inform about many things. In any case, I'll find out when I need to know? Lumian mumbled inwardly as he departed from Salle de Bal Brise and returned to Auberge du Coq Doré.

He proceeded directly to the third floor and made his way to Room 5, the dwelling of Anthony Reid, the information broker. Extending his hand, Lumian knocked on the wooden door.

Knocks reverberated, yet no response ca.

He must not be present… That makes sense. How can an information broker stay holed up at ho all the ti… Lumian retrieved a note and fountain pen he carried with him and wrote on the note, using Anthony Reid's door as a surface:

"I've received intel that Louis Lund will be seen on Avenue du Marché from Saturday to Sunday. Keep a close watch on him. As soon as you spot him, notify without delay. You can find either in Room 207 at the motel or at Salle de Bal Brise. The agreed paynt will be made promptly when the ti cos.

"Ciel."

After sliding the note through the crevice of Room 305's door, Lumian returned to Salle de Bal Brise and settled in the café, patiently awaiting feedback.

Has Louis Lund been discovered? Lumian rose from his seat, eyeing his subordinate.

The mobster appeared inexplicably anxious, as if a famished lion had set its sights on him.

Without waiting for Lumian to inquire, he stamred in haste, "Boss, th-this is bad! I saw, I saw a group of police officers heading toward the depot!"

The depot? Isn't that under the boss's ownership? Ah, near the depot lies the warehouse belonging to "Rat" Christo… Could Franca's "report" have taken effect? Lumian swiftly contemplated a possibility.

This left him disheartened.

In his eyes, the mirror people and any potential harm they might bring couldn't hold a candle to a single strand of Louis Lund's hair!

Suppressing his emotions and residual excitent, Lumian spoke to his subordinate, "Understood. I'll handle it. Return to your original post and remain vigilant for the person depicted in the wanted poster. In half an hour, I'll send four others to relieve you."

"Yes, Boss." The gangster heaved a sigh of relief and made his way downstairs.

As Lumian watched him disappear, he gazed down at his trembling hands.

They still quivered slightly.

It was a result of the sudden surge of exhilaration he experienced when he thought his subordinate had brought news of Louis Lund.

At tis, my emotional stability wavers… Fortunately, I have another psychiatric session scheduled for this Sunday… Lumian sighed inwardly, taking a seat and savoring his coffee.

In order to welco Louis Lund in his finest state, he had refrained from ordering alcohol.

…

Outside the warehouses belonging to "Rat" Christo.

He, along with his subordinates and the porters, had gathered together, encircled by 20 to 30 ard police officers donning black uniforms.

Christo forced a fawning smile and addressed Superintendent Travis Everett, saying, "Monsieur Superintendent, why have you suddenly surrounded the warehouses? I'm a legitimate businessman!"

Everett, a man in his thirties with black-frad glasses and a broad chin, regarded Christo and spoke in a deep voice, "Do not assu that we are unaware of your usual dealings. We are not dealing with you because you abide by the rules and know what is permissible. Your only choice now is to cooperate with us and aid us in unraveling this as swiftly as possible."

Christo detected a glimr of hope in Superintendent Everett's words and nodded.

"Alright, alright, no problem!"

He had already distributed the batch of goods from yesterday. As long as the genuine account books were not discovered, there was no concrete evidence to accuse him.

With his short black hair, Everett turned to the man standing beside him and said, "Monsieur Deputy Assistant Commissioner, you may proceed."

The man had a rugged appearance, sporting fluffy blond hair, golden eyebrows, and a beard. He wore a slightly smaller black police uniform, but his buttons were crafted from gold.

Adorning his epaulet was a silver-white seven-petal scented iris, accompanied by an off-white diamond square.

This emblem indicated the rank of Deputy Assistant Commissioner.

The police departnt in Trier had four ranks, in ascending order: Chief Superintendent, Deputy Assistant Commissioner, Assistant Commissioner, and Deputy Commissioner.

Of these, there was only one Deputy Commissioner—the head of Trier's police departnt. Across the entire Intis Republic, the minister of the National Police Departnt, a Commissioner, held a higher rank.

The Assistant Commissioner and Deputy Assistant Commissioner served as Trier's Police Departnt's Deputy Minister and Police Committee mbers. Their epaulets displayed off-white diamond squares beside the seven-petaled irises. There were four Commissioners, three Deputy Commissioners, two Assistant Commissioners, and one Deputy Assistant Commissioner, with no Chief Superintendents.

In other words, this uncouth man with blond hair and a golden beard held an equal rank to Ayrck, the Police Committee mber in charge of the entire Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman. However, Christo was entirely unfamiliar with him.

"Just call Angoulê," the rugged Deputy Assistant Commissioner replied succinctly.

His gaze swept across Christo, Erkin, and the others, inexplicably making them feel as if they were staring at the blinding sun, forcing them to lower their heads.

Angoulê averted his gaze and instructed the plain-clothes team behind him, "You may bring that object forward now."

Two team mbers approached the nearby four-wheeled carriage and unveiled a wide, flat, and sizable object covered in a black velvet curtain.

They positioned the object beside Angoulê.

Angoulê locked eyes with "Rat" Christo and the others, subtly raising his chin, and uttered,

"Line up in front of , one by one."

Christo sensed the kid in his pocket trembling visibly. He surmised that Angoulê was an official Beyonder, soone of considerable power.

After a few monts of contemplation, he approached Angoulê fearfully, not daring to resist.

Suddenly, Angoulê pulled open the black velvet curtain, revealing the complete appearance of the object beside him.

It was a full-body mirror, simple and unadorned, mounted on a stand of rusted iron-black.

Christo's reflection appeared instantly in the mirror, capturing every detail.

Christo remained unaware of anything amiss, but Erkin's expression underwent a drastic change behind him.

Erkin abruptly turned to the left, attempting to escape.

Almost 20 others followed suit, including laborers and porters.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Angoulê's team had already prepared, raising their arms and squeezing the triggers.

Bullets struck those fleeing, but it was as if they struck an illusion, passing through them and landing in the distance.

Angoulê calmly extended his left hand and adjusted the position of the full-body mirror beside him.

The mirror reflected Erkin's figure against a dark background.

Erkin froze in place, maintaining his running posture.

In an instant, he was drawn towards the full-body mirror, a look of horror etched on his face.

As soon as the two collided, Erkin's body vanished.

In the blink of an eye, he reappeared in the mirror, his face stained with blood. His expression turned sinister, consud by hatred and resentnt.

He opened his mouth as if to scream, but an invisible force pulled him into the unnaturally dark backdrop of the mirror, and he vanished.

Witnessing this, Christo stood dumbfounded, forgetting to aid his brother.

One thought echoed in his mind: There's sothing terribly wrong with them…

anwhile, Angoulê's subordinates worked to control the fleeing individuals. The ordinary people caught in the midst of the chaos cowered on the ground, heads lowered, trembling with fear.

…

In Salle de Bal Brise, Lumian sat at the bar counter, listening to Jenna's captivating singing. Two hours ago, he had received news that "Rat" Christo was unhard, but a group of his subordinates had perished.

Quite efficient… Lumian inwardly comnded the official Beyonders in the market district.

As the risqué song ca to an end, a woman who had been waiting on the sidelines took the stage and hurriedly approached a young band mber. She sobbed and cried out twice.

It seed she was delivering news of soone's death.

The band mber stood frozen, shocked by the news, unable to react for a mont.

After a few seconds, he flung aside the six-string zither strapped to him and dashed off the stage.

However, he only managed a few steps before he stumbled and fell heavily to the ground. He struggled to rise but failed.

In the next mont, tears stread down his face.

Jenna, adorned in a shimring red dress, observed him for a few seconds before pressing her lips together. Eventually, she didn't offer consolation, allowing the band mber and the grieving woman to weep.

She quietly stepped down from the stage and crossed paths with Lumian, who had left the bar counter.

"What happened?" Lumian inquired.

Jenna let out a soft sigh and replied, "His father passed away in an accident a few hours ago. I know him. Learning to play a musical instrunt hasn't been easy for him. His father works as a porter, and his mother is a dishwasher. Without their unwavering support, he would be limited to manual labor…"

An accident a few hours ago… A porter… Lumian roughly pieced together the cause.

He gazed silently at the stage.

-x-X-x-

After the band mber and his mother got ti off from René, Salle de Bal Brise's manager, the drumbeats reverberated through the air, signaling the start of a new round of dancing.

Lumian turned his gaze to Jenna, who stood by his side, and spoke in a casual tone.

"I thought you would offer him so comfort. After all, you know him well and often collaborate with their band."

Jenna, dressed in a stunning red sequined dress that revealed a generous amount of her chest, pressed her lips together and responded calmly.

"In that mont just now, what he needed wasn't comforting words but a release. Offering condolences would only worsen his pain."

Lumian scrutinized Jenna for a few monts.

"You seem to understand it quite well. Why do I have a feeling that you've experienced sothing similar yourself?"

Jenna lowered her gaze to her toes and smiled softly.

"A few years ago, I went through the sa thing when my father passed away.

"One day, before dawn, my mother took to the rooftop of our apartnt and stayed with until the sunrise. I witnessed the gradual brightening of the sky, from pitch black to a deep blue. It grew lighter and lighter, and I saw the clouds adorned with shades of bright gold and other colors.

"In that mont, she told that darkness would eventually pass, and the sun would rise. Light would always find its way to illuminate the land.

"When he returns to the band, I'll find an opportunity to share sothing similar with him."

Lumian listened in silence, letting out a sigh. "You have a wonderful mother."

"Yes." Jenna accepted the complint with pride.

Lumian chuckled and remarked, "You managed to say so much without resorting to curses. That's unlike you."

Moreover, she appeared rather refined.

"Damnit! Do you think I'm the type of person who curses incessantly?" Jenna cursed indignantly and made her way to the break room to prepare for the next song.

Lumian settled back at the bar counter, his mind preoccupied with another matter.

He had therapy scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, and there was a possibility of Louis Lund showing up on Sunday.

What if he missed it?

Lumian's initial impulse was to write a letter to Madam Magician and request her to check with his psychiatrist, Madam Susie, about the possibility of rescheduling the treatnt by a day. However, he couldn't shake off the feeling of his condition being unstable for the past two days. If he didn't act promptly, he might face severe consequences when tracking down Louis Lund.

Even though Mada Pualis wasn't exactly Mada Night, Lumian couldn't confront her directly. His primary objective was to locate the survivor from Cordu and engage in a friendly conversation with her.

Lumian didn't hold much animosity towards Mada Pualis. While she believed in an evil god and had involvent in Cordu, it appeared that she wasn't responsible for the disaster. She had departed before the ritual took place under so compulsion.

Hence, if he allowed himself to beco unstable and reacted impulsively, escalating the conflict with Mada Pualis and making her his enemy, matters would beco exceedingly troubleso, and he might even lose his life.

As for the dispute with the Poison Spur Mob, a problem with Mada Moon didn't equate to matters involving Mada Night.

After careful consideration, Lumian devised a plan to find soone who could track Louis Lund on his behalf and follow him to his residence in Trier.

There's no need to consider individuals without Beyonder powers. They simply wouldn't be able to keep up with him.

There are two viable options. The first is Anthony Reid, an information broker suspected of being a Beyonder from the Psychiatrist pathway. He possesses excellent tracking abilities and has already accepted my commission, receiving a deposit. Since the task involves locating Louis Lund, it naturally falls within the scope of the mission. If Anthony proves difficult, I'm prepared to offer more money.

The second option is Franca. She, along with Aurore, belongs to the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society. Franca knows my true identity and displays a certain level of concern for . She is trustworthy to so extent, not to ntion that she still owes a favor. Franca possesses enough power to tail Louis Lund and even intercept him if necessary. As these thoughts raced through Lumian's mind, he rose from his seat, making his way to the bedroom on the second floor and leaving Salle de Bal Brise through the window.

…

Auberge du Coq Doré, Room 305.

Lumian knocked on the wooden door.

"Please co in," Anthony Reid responded in a West Midseashire Coast accent.

The door slowly swung open.

The information broker stood before Lumian once more.

His plump face, once slick with oiliness, appeared freshly scrubbed, enhancing his air of honesty.

Wearing a grayish-blue worker's uniform, he seed to have spent the entire day in the southern part of the market district and Quartier du Jardin Botanique.

"I've read your note," Anthony Reid said, running a hand through his receding light-yellow hairline. "I've been keeping an eye on Avenue du Marché."

Lumian felt a slight unease, but he surveyed the room and spoke directly.

"I have other matters to attend to between 2:30 p.m. and 5:00 p.m. tomorrow. If you happen to spot the target during that ti, don't inform . Simply follow him and ascertain his place of residence."

Anthony Reid locked his dark brown eyes onto Lumian's for a few seconds.

"Very well."

He made no ntion of an additional fee, and Lumian was content not to broach the subject either.

…

3 Rue des Blouses Blanches housed a relatively new apartnt building. Its beige facade boasted a charming curvature, featuring nurous irregular walls adorned with a variety of statues. Angels, animals, celebrities, and legendary objects found their place amidst the architecture. The building boasted an abundance of large windows, wall pillars, and scroll art, creating an atmosphere of grandeur.

Lumian stood before Room 601 and pressed the doorbell.

With a jingling sound, Franca swung open the dark-red door.

Her flaxen hair cascaded naturally and voluminously, while she wore a loose white silk nightgown that gracefully reached her knees. The wide-open collar revealed a fair expanse of skin.

Observing that the other party showed no signs of wariness and wasn't even wearing a bra, Lumian made a conscious effort to keep his gaze focused.

Before opening the door, Franca seed to already know the identity of the visitor. She greeted him with a smile.

"Coming to seek knowledge in mysticism?

"After all our discussions, you've finally arrived."

"No, it's sothing else," Lumian responded, gesturing towards the room, indicating that they should speak inside.

Franca turned and walked towards the sofa, Lumian following closely behind. As he entered, he instinctively scanned his surroundings.

This apartnt consisted of two bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room, and a kitchen. The furnishings in the living room, such as the sofa, coffee table, dining table, chairs, and cupboards, were predominantly beige, iron-black, silver-white, or light gray. The colors were muted and lacked vibrancy. The overall aesthetic was one of simplicity and cleanliness, but it also exuded a touch of coldness. It stood in stark contrast to the living room styles found in most households.

Lumian took a seat on the edge of the divan while Franca curled her legs and reclined on the adjacent armchair, revealing her alluring curves.

"What brings you here?" Franca inquired.

Lumian pointed towards her.

"Aren't you considering changing your clothes?"

Franca glanced down at her nightgown and ca to a realization.

"Perhaps it's because you know my original gender. When I'm around you, I always have this illusion that I'm still a man and forget to pay attention to such details."

A smile played on her lips. Rather than changing her attire, she shifted her sitting posture, accentuating her allure even further.

After a few monts, she even left her recliner and settled beside Lumian.

Sensing Lumian's perplexed gaze, she chuckled and remarked, "Since you won't peek, why should I bother changing?"

She made a playful gesture, unreservedly teasing him.

"Mada, you have a wicked sense of humor." Lumian sighed.

Franca grinned and replied, "Life is already tough. I need to seek so amusent for myself.

"But I'm considered fine. There's a group of individuals in the Research Society who harbor little hope for the future and have made it their life goal to pursue enjoynt. They've ford a group called April Fools' Day. Your sister must have ntioned it, right?"

"She did," Lumian confird, recalling reading about it in Aurore's grimoires.

Franca refrained from elaborating and fixed her gaze upon Lumian, her eyes resembling calm lakes, awaiting an explanation for his visit.

Lumian spoke directly, his words carrying a certain bluntness.

"I require a favor."

"Oh?" Franca responded cooperatively, her tone laced with curiosity.

Lumian took a mont to contemplate before continuing.

"Considering you've seen my wanted poster, you must possess so knowledge regarding it.

"I've received information that one of the individuals depicted, a man by the na of Louis Lund, will make an appearance on Avenue du Marché tomorrow. He maintains close ties with the masterminds behind the Poison Spur Mob.

"My intention is to apprehend him and unveil the truth behind the catastrophe in Cordu. However, I'll be preoccupied with crucial matters tomorrow afternoon, so I can't personally await his arrival. I hope you could lend your assistance. Should he show, tail him and ascertain his whereabouts. If you feel confident, aid in capturing him. He once possessed Beyonder powers equivalent to a Sequence 8 and is likely a Gardener, though I cannot say for certain at present.

"After acquiring the mirror, you did promise to compensate . This would be it."

Franca retorted angrily, "This concerns Muggle's death. I will most certainly help. Compensation is not an appropriate term in this context."

"Tailing him doesn't count. But attacking him counts?" Lumian proposed.

Discerning the underlying polite and detached nature of his request, Franca did not insist and simply nodded.

"That works too."

Curiosity danced across her countenance as she posed another query.

"What could be more pressing than apprehending this individual nad Louis Lund?

"I expected you to be more concerned about uncovering the truth behind Cordu."

Lumian pondered briefly before speaking candidly, "The Cordu disaster has left grappling with certain psychological issues. I am presently undergoing regular treatnt. I fear that without tily follow-up, I will lose control of my emotions, thus jeopardizing my quest for the truth."

Franca nodded sympathetically, displaying her understanding.

Taking the initiative, she offered a suggestion.

"Would you like to find a genuine psychiatrist—one with Beyonder powers—for you?"

"My psychiatrist already possesses them," Lumian revealed, withholding nothing.

Franca refrained from prying further, recalling that Muggle's brother participated in other mystical gatherings.

Lumian ntioned the attributes of a Villain and a Gardener, as well as the existence of Anthony Reid. He provided a detailed description of Reid's appearance to ensure Franca wouldn't mistake him for a companion of Louis Lund, potentially leading to unnecessary conflict.

With that, Lumian rose from his seat, signaling his intention to depart.

Franca stood up, amused. "You've co all this way. Aren't you interested in delving into the mysteries of mysticism?"

"Louise Lund may make an appearance tonight as well," Lumian remarked, eager to return to Salle de Bal Brise as swiftly as possible.

At that precise mont, both he and Franca directed their attention toward the door.

Light footfalls resonated from the stairs before halting nearby.

Franca glanced at the peephole from a distance, her expression suddenly morphing into one of peculiarity.

In hushed tones, she addressed Lumian, "Jenna!"