The Terror of Option Chapter 1083 1083: 30 COI

Upon Franca's ntion of advancent, Lumian felt a sudden urge to make preparations.

It wasn't that he didn't aspire to beco a Sequence 7 Pyromaniac and master mysticism techniques, but the Hunter and Provoker potion formulas were bestowed upon him by Madam Magician, making them easily obtainable and reducing the sense of urgency. His plan was to wait until the Provoker potion had fully digested before writing a letter to Madam Magician, inquiring about the price for obtaining everything necessary for his advancent.

More importantly, Lumian knew that Madam Magician possessed a Pyromaniac Beyonder characteristic.

But now that he thought about it, he felt that he had to make additional preparations.

It occurred to him that Madam Magician might not be associated with the Hunter pathway, which ant she might not possess the Pyromaniac potion formula. Furthermore, she could have already given the Beyonder characteristic to soone else. Lumian couldn't be the only one with the Minor Arcana card, and it was unlikely that they all belonged to different pathways.

While Madam Magician's level and abilities made it relatively easy for her to acquire the Pyromaniac potion formula and its main ingredient, she might be unwilling or face unforeseen delays.

Lost in thought, Lumian glanced at the wooden box resting on Franca's lap and hesitated before suggesting, "Let's sell it."

The evil scythe possessed an uncanny sharpness and the ability to drain an enemy's life through blood, perfectly suited to Lumian's close-quarters combat style. However, it proved highly inconvenient to carry and conceal due to its usage restrictions. Most of the ti, Lumian could only store it at Salle de Bal Brise or Auberge du Coq Doré, relying on it when attacked. Alternatively, he could draw it in advance and hide it in the cover of night shadows for offensive purposes.

If Lumian wished to have it with him at all tis, his only solution was to acquire a cello case and carry it on his back.

Yet, for a mobster leader, this would raise suspicions.

In fact, if Franca hadn't brought up the topic of preparing for his advancent, Lumian would have deed his current stash of 4,000 verl d'or far from sufficient. He needed to acquire more funds. Keeping the evil scythe, known as Harvest Sacrifice, wasn't a problem as it could still prove useful in certain situations. If necessary, Lumian could use the Mystery Prying Glasses to disguise himself as a musician, carrying the cello on his back to assassinate his intended target.

Franca sighed in response.

"I suppose selling it is our only option. It's actually quite good, but it doesn't suit my combat style."

She then gestured towards Lumian's waist.

"How about we each get a canister?"

To be honest, Franca wasn't particularly interested in the Berserk Agent and the Bark Agent. She only desired the Scorpion Poison and the Healing Agent. However, considering that Lumian also required poison for his weapons and healing capabilities, she opted for a fair solution.

"Alright," Lumian agreed.

…

In the dead of the night, outside 126 Avenue du Marché:

A group of police officers, dressed in black uniforms, ford a barricade to keep pedestrians away from the building behind them.

Within the house, Angoulê de Fran?ois with his blond hair, eyebrows, and beard, stood before a delicate female sculpture. His gaze fixed upon the blood-red words adorning the wall.

Donning a row of golden buttons on his chest, he remained silent, emanating an overwhelming sense of oppression that affected both the surrounding Purifiers and police officers.

After a mont, the Purifier of Southern Continent descent erged from the basent and approached Angoulê. In hushed tones, he spoke, "Deacon, we have found clear signs of sacrificial rituals to an evil god beneath us. There are deceased individuals who were used as living sacrifices."

"The prison cells have been unlocked, and so of the abductees managed to escape. Those who remain inford that 'Black Scorpion' Roger did indeed employ sorcery."

Angoulê listened impassively, scanning his surroundings. He then addressed the nearby police officers, saying, "Did none of you notice the significant number of people who had gone missing?

"Who was it that claid the market district housed only a handful of controllable Beyonders? Who suggested that arresting them would only pave the way for new criminal organizations, causing even greater chaos?"

His voice, filled with anger, reverberated through the living room of 126 Avenue du Marché, causing each police officer to lower their gaze.

At that mont, Angoulê abruptly turned his attention to the delicate female sculpture. He sensed a fleeting surge of anger emanating from it, quickly dissipating.

He had sensed a faint fluctuation of anger there, but it disappeared in a flash.

A golden light enveloped Angoulê's body as he extended his right palm, opening the abdon of the statue.

There, a cavity large enough to cradle a curled-up human revealed itself. Within it rested a brownish-green seed, silently crumbling into dust when stirred by the wind.

…

On the second floor of Salle de Bal Brise.

Lumian furrowed his brow abruptly.

"What's wrong?" Franca asked.

Lumian found himself torn between elation and confusion.

"My Provoker potion has fully digested.

"Could it be that so important figure was provoked by our actions?"

Franca speculated, "Perhaps Lady Moon, or maybe an official Beyonder?"

"All possibilities," Lumian conceded. If he couldn't unravel the mystery, there was no use dwelling on it. After all, it was a positive developnt.

This ant that he could now advance to beco a Sequence 7 Pyromaniac!

This realization struck him with a newfound understanding.

He didn't need to ticulously summarize all the principles of acting to fully digest the corresponding potion.

By summarizing a portion of his acting principles and consistently receiving feedback while performing appropriately, he could rely on quantity or the accumulation of ti to digest the potion.

Hence, most Beyonders can rely on ti and fortunate encounters to digest the potion without being familiar with the acting thod… Lumian pondered silently, feeling enlightened.

After distributing the agents and deciding to sell the remaining spoils for money, Lumian bid Franca farewell. Deliberately, he circled Salle de Bal Brise before departing Avenue du Marché and returning to Auberge du Coq Doré.

As he reached the second floor, he noticed that the door to Room 206 stood ajar, allowing the light from a carbide lamp to spill into the dim corridor.

Curiosity piqued, Lumian glanced inside as he passed by, spotting Gabriel seated by the bed in his preferred black dungarees, observing the hallway outside.

"You're finally back!" the playwright exclaid with delight upon seeing Lumian.

Raising an eyebrow, Lumian queried, "You haven't been arrested by the police yet?"

"…" Gabriel found himself montarily speechless.

After a few seconds, his joy overca him, and he replied, "Monsieur Nathan Lopp didn't report to the police. In fact, he signed a contract with and purchased my script.

"He intended to make a down paynt of 1,500 verl d'or, but considering how we frightened him, he deducted 500. Once the play comnces, I'll receive 2.5% of the ticket revenue for each show."

A soft chuckle escaped Lumian's lips.

"I thought the revolver had coerced him into agreent, fully expecting him to go back on his word. I never imagined that your script would genuinely move him."

If you thought so, why did you still do it? Gabriel grumbled instinctively.

He elaborated, "Monsieur Lopp understands the idiosyncrasies of artists and doesn't mind such matters. He ntioned that his previous mistress was a female painter. She not only kept a sheep on his balcony but also attempted to flirt with n. She even prepared fake props to try and convince him, which ultimately led to their breakup."

"You Trieriens…" Lumian sighed, even as the Prankster King of Cordu.

Gabriel, hailing from a different province and not being a Trierien himself, took Ciel's teasing in stride, unfazed by the remark.

He expressed his gratitude sincerely. "Thank you very much. Although I don't agree with your approach, Monsieur Lopp would have never laid eyes on my script without your help."

Gabriel, perplexed, questioned, "Monsieur Lopp ntioned that we authors weren't cautious enough. We only covered our faces once we reached his doorstep. After conversing with the guard at the lobby, he knew what we looked like. Once he calls the police, there's no escape for any of us.

"Why didn't you mask up earlier when we tied up the guard?"

Gabriel believed that Ciel, being a mob leader, should have been more cautious.

Lumian responded calmly, "Why should I have masked myself?"

"…" Confusion filled Gabriel's face as he asked, "Then why did you eventually mask yourself?"

Lumian replied calmly, "Because Jenna masked up."

What kind of logic is this… Even as a playwright himself, he found it difficult to comprehend Ciel's thoughts.

He could sense that Ciel's state last night was abnormal, but he didn't know the exact reason. It was difficult to determine his ntal state and the motives behind his actions.

Gabriel let out a sigh and remarked, "Fortunately, things turned out well. Otherwise, we would have been apprehended by the police…"

He paused for a mont, realizing that Ciel was a leader of the Savoie Mob. The cris he had committed in the past were more serious than what happened last night. There was no need to fear. Even if the police ca looking for him, he could hide for a day or two, and the matter would pass. No one would pursue him for such a trivial case.

Lumian chuckled and gave Gabriel's shoulder a friendly pat.

"Even if you get caught, you're just an accomplice. You didn't carry a weapon. You can secure your release by posting bail."

With that, Lumian walked towards his room and opened the door to Room 207.

Gabriel watched Ciel's retreating figure, feeling a mixture of confusion and relief.

…

In Room 207, Lumian carefully examined Fallen rcury.

He felt that if the dirk wasn't repaired, it could last a maximum of three months.

Perhaps I should consult Franca. She might know a few individuals skilled in the nding of mystical artifacts and Beyonder weapons… Lumian half-closed his eyes and established a connection with Fallen rcury, seeking communication.

After a while, he discerned the swapped fate that had taken place.

The destiny of "Black Scorpion" Roger gulping down alcohol.

Lumian carefully stored Fallen rcury, stood up, and exited the room, making his way to the third floor.

Approaching the door of Room 310, he overheard the lunatic's frantic cries, still filled with fear.

"I'm dying, I'm dying!"

Lumian pulled out the short wire, unlocking the door. He then beheld the lunatic crouched on the moonlit floor, clutching his head and trembling uncontrollably.

Leaning against the door fra, Lumian couldn't help but let out a chuckle.

"You're rather fortunate. The Montsouris ghost hasn't co to claim your life just yet. I wonder if it's preoccupied or slacking off."

-x-X-x-

The lunatic still wore a grimy linen shirt and yellow trousers, as if changing clothes was not part of his plan.

Upon hearing Lumian's words, he looked up, revealing a face obscured by a black beard.

It seed as though he had forgotten Lumian entirely. His blue eyes were empty, clouded over.

"I'm dying, I'm dying!" He clutched his shoulder, which was hidden beneath his unruly black hair, and let out another terrified scream.

Lumian approached, his left hand gloved in black, and drew out Fallen rcury. With a swift motion, he plunged it into the lunatic's shoulder.

The filthy linen shirt tore open, revealing a shallow wound that still oozed blood.

The lunatic stood frozen, as if the long-awaited judgnt had finally arrived.

After a few seconds, he collapsed to the ground, placing his hands on the floor as he scrambled away from Lumian.

In his terror, he cried out, "Don't kill ! Don't kill !"

The tenants in the neighboring rooms heard the commotion, but none of them bothered to investigate. The lunatic often ranted about his impending demise and pleaded not to be killed.

The sinister pewter-black dagger had already left the lunatic's shoulder, and Lumian continued to gaze at the shimring river of rcury, lost in thought.

He witnessed the blissful first half of the lunatic's life and the tragic deaths of his family, one by one. It was as though Lumian could relate to the sensation of a complete ntal breakdown caused by an overwhelming blow.

At tis, Lumian yearned to break down like the lunatic, to abandon all reason and act on primal instincts until his own demise. However, there was still a glimr of hope—a minuscule, almost unrealistic hope—and he was not ready to relinquish it. He desired to pursue it.

Thus, he often acted impulsively and displayed self-destructive tendencies, yet he was always restrained by the rationality that stemd from that flicker of hope. He never truly disregarded the consequences, existing in a state of profound contradiction.

Knowing precisely which fate he wished to exchange and its approximate date, Lumian swiftly located the lunatic's destiny of encountering the Montsouris ghost in the underground market district. With the tip of the blade, he pried it loose, transforming it into a droplet of liquid rcury. The drinking fate originally belonging to "Black Scorpion" Roger flowed into the lunatic's body.

Ignoring the lunatic's terrified pleas, Lumian squatted before him. He wiped the blade of Fallen rcury clean with his clothes and assisted in staunching the bleeding.

Then, Lumian pulled up the only chair and took a seat, patiently awaiting the completion of the fate exchange.

"I'm dying, I'm dying!

"Don't kill ! Don't kill !"

As the lunatic shrieked, ti ticked by. Finally, Fallen rcury quivered gently.

The lunatic's voice abruptly ceased. He rose to his feet, his gaze clearing as he muttered to himself, "I need a drink. I need a drink…"

Lumian smiled and stood up. "The drinks are on you. Consider it a reward for helping you escape the Montsouris ghost."

Naturally, the true reward was the fate of encountering the Montsouris ghost. With careful planning and an unguarded target, it served as an excellent tool for assassination.

The lunatic appeared startled for a mont before replying, "You got rid of it?"

"You can choose not to believe ." Lumian turned and walked into the dimly lit corridor, devoid of wall lamps.

The lunatic, driven by an insatiable thirst for drink, unwittingly trailed after Lumian.

As they made their way to the basent bar, the lunatic glanced around and noticed a distinct change in his surroundings.

The eerie sensation of being watched from the shadows had vanished!

Perplexed, the lunatic settled himself at the bar counter and ordered two glasses of oatal beer—one for Lumian and the other for himself. He downed his own glass, leaving traces of foam clinging to the corners of his mouth.

Since he occasionally visited the bar in monts of sobriety, no one suspected anything amiss.

After quenching his alcohol craving, the lunatic turned to Lumian and asked once more,

"Have I truly escaped the Montsouris ghost? How did you manage it?"

"I've slain the Montsouris ghost, but I can't be certain if it will resurrect," Lumian replied solemnly. "However, if those who previously encountered it are still among the living, they shall be free from its tornt. Rember, I ntioned encountering the Montsouris ghost myself. Look at —I'm alive and well."

"Really?" The lunatic found it hard to believe that this handso young man had defeated the Montsouris ghost.

Not even the Church had succeeded!

Lumian smiled.

"I lied. I rely discovered an incantation that prevents the Montsouris ghost from plaguing , but I require the blood of soone haunted as a conduit."

A glimr of understanding flickered in the lunatic's eyes.

"No wonder you stabbed ."

Blushing with embarrassnt, he admitted, "I may not be able to compensate you at present. My savings are ager, and I must find new employnt…"

Lumian interrupted, "What shall I call you?"

"Just Flang will do," the lunatic replied before inquiring, "And you?"

"Ciel." Lumian downed his oatal beer.

By the ti his glass contained only a thin film of liquid, Flang had beco quite tipsy. He grasped Lumian's arm and babbled on.

"Did you know? I used to be a university lecturer. Simultaneously, I was entrusted with the safety of so students.

"Many of those students were audacious and reckless, daring to engage in any endeavor and shout slogans of 'freedom' when challenged.

"They even held proms in the catacombs, burning the bones of naless corpses to warm their asses. They believed in nothing and feared nothing. Of course, I was much the sa in those days."

Flang recounted tales from the first half of his life, his tone shifting between pride, happiness, admonishnt of the present ills, and wistful reminiscence.

"Might you have entered the Underground Trier to dissuade certain students from taking risks?" Lumian asked casually, taking a sip of his beer.

Flang shook his head.

"No, my expertise lies in minerals. The subterranean rock formations of Trier are uniquely fascinating for study. Together with the dical school, we even established a Museum of Mineralogy and Pathology in the catacombs.

"I had been leaving the museum, making my way toward the underground market district with the intention of heading ho when I encountered the Montsouris ghost.

"My Sandrine… My Bastian…"

Flang clutched his head, his voice filled with an agonizing pain.

Lumian quickly changed the subject.

"So, the subterranean rock formations in Trier are quite unique?"

"Indeed," Flang instinctively replied, before collecting himself and continuing, "We even assigned poetic nas to those formations. From top to bottom, they're referred to as 'flowers,' 'sheep,' and 'sedges'…"

Engrossed in conversation, Lumian and Flang chatted well into the midnight hours. The latter appeared lively, and even his bearded face seed to regain so color.

He didn't lose his sanity again. Having confird that there was no longer a feeling of being watched in the darkness, he returned to normal.

After bidding a cheerful farewell to the intoxicated Flang, Lumian smiled and withdrew his gaze. He entered Room 207 to compose a letter to Madam Magician.

In the letter, he first ntioned how Termiboros had nearly influenced him into transferring Charlie's luck and how he had slain "Black Scorpion" Roger and other Lady Moon subordinates. Lumian then revealed that the Provoker potion had been completely digested due to the latter. He inquired whether Madam Magician possessed the Pyromaniac potion formula and the associated Beyonder characteristic, as well as the price he needed to pay for them.

Not long after Lumian had tidied up the room and summoned a puppet ssenger to deliver the letter, he received a reply from Madam Magician:

"Good job. You've already recognized the potential influence and threat that long-nad fellow poses to you. Stay vigilant.

"Based on your description, this Lady Moon should be a Sequence 3. Being able to truly provoke such a demigod will undoubtedly hasten your digestion of the potion.

"If I recall correctly, you are attending Mr. K's gathering tomorrow night and will inform him that you can worship that being. This ans you will truly beco one of them, completing the initial phase of the mission I assigned you. As a reward, I will provide you with the Pyromaniac potion formula free of charge.

"I still possess the Pyromaniac Beyonder characteristic, but rember, the principle of equivalent exchange must be upheld.

"In Intis, the two main ingredients of the Pyromaniac potion cost more than 18,000 verl d'or, often exceeding 20,000. Correspondingly, the Beyonder characteristic usually amounts to around 35,000 verl d'or.

"What does this an? It implies that many people in Intis have beco Pyromaniacs, yet many Pyromaniacs have also perished.

"As a holder of a Minor Arcana card, I will offer you a substantial discount. The Beyonder characteristic will only cost you 30,000 verl d'or.

"Good luck."

Phew, 30,000 verl d'or… Lumian exhaled, feeling that the sum was not unattainable.

He already had over 4,000 verl d'or in savings, and the evil scythe known as Harvest Sacrifice could fetch a decent price. Additionally, he could borrow so funds from Franca and embezzle a portion of Salle de Bal Brise's money. These combined efforts would bring him close to 30,000 verl d'or.

And just as Lumian had suspected, Lady Moon had transford from a re Mada to a Lady capable of birthing deities. She was undoubtedly more than a Sequence 4.

Fortunately, we had feigned impending defeat in our previous battle, preventing "Black Scorpion" Roger from seeking assistance… Lumian burned Madam Magician's letter, freshened up, climbed into bed, and drifted off to sleep.

…

Just after six in the morning, Lumian had finished washing up and changed into a crisp white shirt, black vest, brown pants, and sleek leather boots, when he heard footsteps descending from the third floor.

It was Ruhr and Michel, clad in tattered clothes and emanating a pungent odor.

As Lumian stood by the door of Room 207, Ruhr, his voice filled with panic, cried out, "Ciel, Monsieur Ciel! That lunatic is dead!"

Dead? Flang is dead? Lumian was montarily stunned before darting past Ruhr and Michel, making his way to the third floor.

The door to Room 310 was wide open. Lumian cast a quick glance inside and spotted Flang hanging from the window.

He faced the door, having cleanly shaven his face, revealing a gentle and gaunt visage.

Now, he no longer breathed. His face had turned blue, his eyes slightly bulging. His mouth hung open wide, and the morning light stread through the window, bathing his lifeless body. He hung silently, suspended by a belt tied to the window fra.

Beneath him, on the wooden table, lay a nearly extinguished kerosene lamp, several large books, and a white sheet of paper weighted down by a fountain pen. It appeared that sothing had been written on it.

Lumian fell into an eerie silence for a few seconds before cautiously approaching the white sheet of paper.

In precise Intisian handwriting, it read:

"When I was deranged, I still harbored the will to live.

"Upon awakening, I found no purpose in life.

"Please lay to rest in the Underground Tomb of Lights within the catacombs."

Lumian raised his gaze, eting the vacant blue eyes that seed to peer back from beyond the grave.

He stood in solemn silence, transfixed, as if ti had co to a halt.

-x-X-x-

At the stroke of 8 a.m., a pair of law enforcent officers ambled up to the third floor of Auberge du Coq Doré. One ticulously examined the lifeless body, the suicide note, and the surroundings, while the other comnced interrogating the neighboring tenants.

Lumian, already disguised using the Mystery Prying Glasses, had taken his position at the entrance of Room 310.

The officer, donning a uniform and clutching a pen and paper, cast a fleeting glance in his direction.

"You must be Ciel Dubois. Enlighten on the matter."

Lumian proceeded to recount how Flang's sanity was gone prior to his arrival. The man incessantly raved about encountering the Montsouris ghost and the demise of his own kin. Soon, it seed, his turn was imminent. Lumian continued, revealing how Flang had abruptly regained consciousness the previous night and indulged in a bout of heavy drinking.

"What about the wound on his shoulder?" interjected the officer attending to the deceased in the room.

"Before he regained consciousness last night, he inflicted the injury upon himself. I was the one who bound it up," Lumian responded with composure.

After interrogating the other tenants and the proprietor of the basent bar, the two officers cautiously deduced that the deceased had long been plagued by ntal instability. He possessed a motive for suicide and displayed corresponding behavioral tendencies.

As they maneuvered Flang's body into the mortuary bag, they addressed Lumian, saying, "We shall transport him to the catacombs, but it's a rather intricate procedure. It entails ascertaining the precise cause of death, summoning a clergyman for purification rites, finding a suitable heir for his estate, and liaising with the catacomb administrators. This will take roughly a week or two."

Lumian fell silent montarily before resuming, "I've shared a few drinks with him. Rember to inform when you lay him to rest."

Affirming their agreent, the two officers departed Auberge du Coq Doré, taking Flang's body and the belongings from the room along with them.

Lumian removed his disguise and returned to Room 207.

Seated in a chair, his back to the window casting sunlight, he faced the dimly lit corridor, grappling with a swirl of emotions.

Flang's suicide had presented Lumian with an alternative fate.

Lumian had aided Flang in evading the Montsouris ghost, not driven by a desire for personal gain or reward. It was simply because he saw a reflection of his own predicant in the man who had lost his family. One had succumbed completely, descending into lunacy, while the other persevered, clinging to a glimr of hope and desperately struggling to maintain his grasp on reason.

But in the end, Flang, no longer tornted by the Montsouris ghost and driven to madness by fear, had opted to terminate his own existence.

In the corridor, Elodie, her tresses concealed beneath a blonde wig and her eyes accentuated with eyeshadow, alongside the other cleaning lady, had already comnced their bustling day. They worked ceaselessly, mopping the floors and battling bedbugs without respite.

Lumian observed silently, his gaze appearing distant and unfocused.

After the passage of nearly fifteen minutes, light yet hurried footfalls reverberated along the staircase, eventually reaching Room 207.

Jenna's silhouette ca into Lumian's view. Today, she donned a more understated attire compared to her usual flamboyance. Her blouse clung slightly, complenting the gentle brown shade of her top and a fluffy, beige, short skirt. She sported knee-high black boots, and her makeup exuded both decadence and allure.

She glanced at Lumian, entered Room 207, and gently shut the wooden door behind her.

Lumian snapped out of his reverie and observed her silently, refraining from questioning her intentions.

Jenna repressed her curiosity and excitent before speaking up.

"Have you heard? The boss and two leaders of the Poison Spur Gang have been murdered!"

"I'm aware," Lumian acknowledged with a nod.

Jenna scrutinized his expression and deliberately probed further.

"You weren't involved, were you?"

"Do you think I possess the capability to eliminate 'Black Scorpion' Roger, 'Baldy' Harman, and 'Short-legged Candlestick' Castina all at once?" Lumian retorted.

Jenna, having already gleaned an estimation of Ciel's strength from Franca, understood that "Black Scorpion" Roger was no less formidable than Franca herself. She shook her head and uttered, "No."

She then drawled in a leisurely tone, "But you can still seek assistance."

For instance, Franca.

"The authorities don't even suspect ," Lumian stated, shrugging his shoulders.

In truth, he found this matter rather perplexing.

Ordinarily, as one of the few individuals who had recently engaged in a direct confrontation with the Poison Spur Gang, he would undoubtedly be subjected to questioning following such an incident. Yet, Lumian had remained on standby since last night, prepared to don a disguise at a mont's notice, yet no investigators had arrived.

Just then, hurried footsteps echoed from the staircase.

Knock, knock, knock. Knocks resounded against the door of Room 207.

Charlie? Lumian's gaze fixated on the door as he beckoned, "Co in. It's not locked."

The visitor who stood before them was none other than Charlie. Clad in a crisp white shirt, a light-colored vest, and a formal black suit, he exuded an air of dignity. Atop his head rested a half top hat, while a dark bow tie completed his ensemble.

His attire seed even more refined than when he served as an attendant at H?tel du Cygne Blanc.

After sizing up Charlie, Lumian couldn't help but smile.

"Well, well, where did this civilized individual co from?"

Charlie couldn't conceal his own grin. His tone brimd with warmth and enthusiasm as he replied, "Right? I am now a true gentleman. I'm still in the process of mastering classical grammar. Mada, Monsieur, please allow to extend my civilized greetings."

With those words, he removed his half top hat, pressed it against his chest, and offered a slight bow.

Jenna chuckled but didn't discourage Charlie. Lumian clicked his tongue and remarked, "To be frank, you're more like a monkey playing dress-up in civilized clothing."

Charlie remained unaffected, his joy unwavering.

"I've only just begun my studies. In a month's ti, you'll witness an entirely different version of . Oh, by the way, this is Monsieur Charlie Collent. He is currently enjoying a sumptuous dinner worth 8 verl d'or!"

At this point, Charlie glanced at Jenna, who stood beside the bed. He opened his mouth as if he had sothing to say, yet hesitated to do so in her presence.

Nonchalantly, Lumian inquired, "What's the matter? Just speak your mind."

Charlie lowered his voice.

"Did you hear? Last night, 'Black Scorpion' Roger, 'Baldy' Harman, and 'Short-legged Candlestick' Castina were all killed."

"I'm aware. And?" Lumian believed Charlie wouldn't seek him out for sothing that would soon beco public knowledge.

Charlie glanced at Jenna and continued, "What has been confird is that the murderer belongs to a terrorist organization known as the Aurora Order. They have a penchant for grueso displays of carnage and primarily target individuals who worship evil gods. In this case, 'Black Scorpion' Roger and his cohorts followed an evil god nad the Great Mother."

Aurora Order? Lumian was taken aback.

Where did this scapegoat co from?

Why were the official Beyonders suddenly pointing fingers at the Aurora Order?

Shouldn't they first investigate those who had conflicts with "Black Scorpion" Roger and the Poison Spur Gang? That's how detective novels were written!

"Are you saying that the Aurora Order truly carried out these murders?" Jenna inquired curiously.

Charlie nodded emphatically.

"That's correct. The Aurora Order appears to have claid responsibility for these acts in so capacity. Tomorrow, there should be reports about the case in certain newspapers."

The latter half of Charlie's statent suggested that the information he had just shared was ant to be disclosed and held no confidentiality clauses.

The Aurora Order claiming responsibility? They weren't even involved. Why would they assu responsibility? Lumian found himself montarily perplexed yet slightly amused.

If he hadn't personally slain "Black Scorpion" Roger, he might have suspected the Aurora Order as the culprits.

Charlie glanced at Lumian and added in a hushed tone, "This afternoon, once the election concludes, a crackdown on the mobs in the entire market district shall comnce in response to the public's concerns about the district's security."

Are you reading from a docunt? Your words sound so official. Lumian realized why Charlie had rushed to inform him.

It was best for those with dirt on them to leave the market district this afternoon and hide for the ti being!

Lumian nodded subtly and replied, "I have a mysticism gathering to attend this afternoon."

Although Mr. K's gathering was scheduled for 9 p.m., Lumian intended to arrive early.

Charlie breathed a sigh of relief and gestured toward the door.

"I'll make a move first."

After a mont of contemplation, Lumian responded, "In the future, there's no need to inform about such trivial matters."

He added mockingly, "Do you doubt my abilities?"

Charlie sheepishly smiled.

"It's my first ti, so I couldn't help but feel a bit emotional. Don't worry, unless it truly concerns you, I won't drop any more hints."

As Lumian watched Charlie depart, Jenna clicked her tongue and sighed.

"He's turned into your spy among the official Beyonders."

"I'd prefer it if he wasn't," Lumian mumbled, pursing his lips. "He's just an imbecile, bound to ss things up."

Jenna scoffed and waved her hand.

"I'm going to find Franca. Are you planning to share the information Charlie gave us with the others?"

Lumian shook his head.

"If everyone flees, the official Beyonders will undoubtedly investigate any leaks. That imbecile won't be able to escape.

"Besides, so people deserve to end up in jail."

And you don't? Jenna criticized as she left Room 207 and stepped into the corridor.

At that mont, the two cleaning ladies had already reached the staircase.

Jenna hurried over, her gaze sweeping across the cleaning lady nad Elodie, who wore a blond wig.

Suddenly, Jenna's expression froze, and she swiftly turned around, heading back to Room 207. Lumian, who was about to leave, found it peculiar.

Elodie, a woman of almost 50 years with a blond wig and eye shadow, also noticed Jenna. She stared at the apprentice actress's retreating figure for a few seconds before calling out in confusion and concern, "Celia…"

Jenna's body went rigid.

She slowly turned back, forcing a smile, and greeted Elodie with a loud voice, "Mother."

Mother? Lumian almost couldn't believe his ears.

Then he recalled Elodie ntioning that she used to be a theater actress and now enjoyed watching performances at the Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons. Her husband had passed away a few years ago in a factory accident, leaving behind two nearly adult children who helped support the family.

Jenna, on the other hand, was an apprentice actress at the sa theater. Her father had also passed away a few years ago, leaving only her mother and brother. Her plan was to earn enough money for her tuition fees and other expenses for the coming year.

It all adds up… Lumian nodded thoughtfully.

Elodie approached Jenna with a broom, assessing her appearance.

"Why are you here? And what kind of makeup is that?"

-x-X-x-

Jenna's eyes darted around, her arm raised in the air.

"This is a requirent for my theater acting class!"

Her words seed to ease her tension, and her smile took on a more natural quality.

"Didn't I ntion that I work part-ti as a waitress at a bar to make ends et? This is my boss. I'm here to discuss a salary increase with him!"

Jenna pointed confidently at Lumian, stationed by the door of Room 207.

Elodie glanced at Lumian, then fixed her gaze on Jenna for a few monts before nodding. "Don't forget to co ho tonight."

Jenna's smile faltered montarily before she replied, "Okay."

Seeing Elodie return to her tasks, cleaning the other side of the second floor, Jenna tiptoed down the stairs and made her way out of Auberge du Coq Doré.

It didn't take long for her to spot Lumian catching up to her, prompting her to grumble, "Dammit! Why is my mother at Auberge du Coq Doré?"

Lumian contemplated for a mont before responding. "Bla it on Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons. Monsieur Ive, the owner of Auberge du Coq Doré, found a part-ti cleaning lady who works only half a day there. And your mother is a regular visitor at Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons for plays."

Jenna clenched her teeth and exclaid, "Those cursed heretics!"

She then threw up her arm.

"Tonight, I'll tell her the truth. I'll say I'm working part-ti as an underground singer to save up for next year's tuition, and I earn quite a bit!"

Lumian glanced at Jenna's side profile, curious. "You don't seem too nervous or afraid?"

Jenna spat.

"That's my mother, not so man-eating monster.

"She's kind-hearted and understanding. I didn't tell her what I was up to before because I didn't want her to worry."

"She'll worry now, though," Lumian reminded her.

Being an underground singer in dance halls and bars often involved dealing with shady characters. Being taken advantage of was an unfortunate reality from ti to ti.

Jenna's smile was mischievous as she playfully remarked, "I'm the mistress of Ciel Dubois, leader of the Savoie Mob and guardian of Salle de Bal Brise. Who dares to ss with ?"

Lumian chuckled. "That's even more dangerous."

Jenna averted her gaze and observed the street vendors on Rue Anarchie.

"If my mother can't accept it, I plan to demonstrate my current abilities and convince her that I can protect myself."

Oh, really? Lumian didn't raise the example of the perverted Hedsey.

Jenna composed herself and said in a heavy voice, "She's been through so much. She has worked tirelessly for years. I want to help her shoulder so of the burden so she won't break herself."

Lumian contemplated for a mont before responding. "Since your father's passing?"

Jenna's gaze shifted to the ground, and she tersely confird, "There was an accident at the factory. My father was severely injured and spent over ten days in the hospital. In the end, he couldn't be saved."

"We used up all our savings and still owe a significant amount of money. A few years ago, I could have pursued a career in theater and studied acting. But it wasn't until the beginning of this year that we managed to repay almost half of our debt and save up so money for my education. My mother insisted that we couldn't delay any longer. If we kept delaying, I would beco too old."

Lumian listened attentively, his brow furrowing in puzzlent. "No compensation for the factory accident?"

"Yes, but that scoundrel hasn't compensated us yet!" Jenna clenched her teeth. "He keeps appealing, and the courts always take their ti. F*cking dammit, is he trying to drag it out until we're all dead?"

Lumian fell silent briefly before changing the subject. "Was your mother truly a theater actress?"

"That's correct." Jenna's expression softened gradually. "She had great acting skills and was beautiful, but most theater managers, sponsors, and owners were n. They would prey on actresses in the theater like lions patrolling their territory. Those who refused to submit to them wouldn't get good roles. It's infuriating, everyone thinks it's normal, even the police and the courts!

"My mother has a gentle nature, but she's fiercely stubborn. She could only land supporting roles and was even fired once. When the theater she worked at went bankrupt, she lost the chance to return to the stage temporarily. She had to take on odd jobs as a motel maid and laundry worker.

"That's when she t my father. They got together and beca husband and wife in the presence of God. Praise the Sun. At that ti, my father was working hard to beco a skilled laborer. My mother took on various jobs and saved money while searching for an opportunity to return to the theater. Those were the days she cherished the most.

"Later, my brother and I were born. Mom and Dad beca busier, struggling to make ends et and give us a chance to pursue an education.

"When we beca self-sufficient, my mother was already old and couldn't return to the stage. She placed her hopes on . She wanted to see beco an exceptional actress, even if it ant playing supporting roles. My father wished for my brother to beco a skilled laborer."

These words had been bottled up inside Jenna's heart for a long ti, and only now did she find the opportunity to express them.

Lumian patiently waited for Jenna to finish before posing a question. "Do you aspire to be a theater actress yourself?"

Jenna bead with pride and contentnt. "It's hard not to love theater when your mother is such a dedicated fan and talented actress."

Her smile inexplicably evoked a twinge of jealousy in Lumian.

Sighing with a touch of emotion, he remarked, "I can tell that your mother has a genuine passion for theater. Even as a cleaning lady, she adorns herself with makeup and wears exquisite wigs."

Jenna lightly nodded and shared, "She says it makes her feel youthful, as if she's back on the stage. In her eyes, she remains a true theater actress, and her other jobs are rely part-ti endeavors.

"She's always been like this. She takes to witness the sunrise, reminding that darkness will always give way to light. And she tells that even in the darkest tis, I must find a way to kindle my own inner light. Only then can I patiently await the sunrise."

Jenna's yearning for the future grew palpable.

"If I continue as an underground singer for another year, I'll save enough for next year's tuition and make significant progress in repaying our debts. With the combined earnings of my mother and brother, we won't be burdened anymore. Soon, she won't have to juggle multiple jobs, and my brother will have the opportunity to learn skills from others!"

As Jenna spoke, her excitent grew, and she couldn't help but raise her arm, as if reaching out to grasp the beauty of the future

Lumian observed Jenna silently, and a wave of pent-up emotions within him seed to dissipate.

Hope. Such a profound and moving word.

After a few monts of relief, Jenna suddenly felt an inexplicable sense of embarrassnt. She turned her head and gave Lumian an accusing glare.

"Why are you staring at ? Haven't you seen soone getting excited before?"

Lumian scoffed but chose not to respond.

Jenna studied him intently and muttered to herself, "Why do I feel like you're in better spirits?"

"No," Lumian replied succinctly.

At that mont, the two of them had already entered Avenue du Marché. Posters celebrating Hugues Artois's successful election as a mber of parliant adorned the surroundings.

Hugues Artois, the joint support of the Savoie Mob and the Poison Spur Mob, has indeed beco a mber of parliant… I wonder what changes he will bring to the market district… Lumian averted his gaze from the poster, his mind echoing Franca's words: Lady Moon, a follower of the Great Mother, believed that Hugues Artois was an open-minded individual.

…

In the afternoon, prior to embarking on his journey to Avenue du Boulevard in search of Mr. K, Lumian arranged an altar in the second-floor bedroom of Salle de Bal Brise.

With the wall of spirituality in place, Lumian proceeded to light three candles in the order from deity to mankind, left to right. After carefully dripping essential oils and extracts, he took a couple of steps back, enveloped in a misty atmosphere, and intoned in a deep voice,"The Fool that doesn't belong to this era, the mysterious ruler above the gray fog; the King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck."

A faint gray fog arose, accompanied by an unsettling aura.

Suppressing the sluggishness of his thoughts and the tingling sensation beneath his skin, Lumian fixed his gaze upon the bluish-black fla of the candle. Following the instructions of Madam Magician, he recited the subsequent incantation in the ancient language of Hers.

"I implore you, I implore your protection…"

After a series of gestures, Lumian caught sight of the divine angel, seemingly materialized from pure light.

Simultaneously, he faintly heard a dreamy sigh.

A sigh originating from an infinite height.

Descending from above in resplendent and ethereal form, the angel extended its arms to embrace Lumian.

Wings of radiant light enveloped him.

When Lumian regained consciousness, everything had returned to its usual state.

…

As evening descended upon 19 Rue Scheer, Avenue du Boulevard, Lumian once again found himself in the basent, face-to-face with Mr. K.

Clad in his customary voluminous hood and black robe, Mr. K sat silently upon a chair with a crimson backrest.

eting Lumian's gaze, Mr. K nodded gently and spoke in a low, raspy voice, "I am highly pleased with your adeptness in action. What's more, unknowingly, your actions align with the teachings of my lord, countering those Blessed of evil beings!"

Pausing montarily, Mr. K inquired, "Have you given it sufficient thought?"

"Yes, I have," Lumian replied, lowering his head. "You have revealed to the magnificence of the Lord."

"Haha!" Mr. K burst into a maniacal laughter, as if his sanity had slipped away.

After a few seconds, he regained composure and disregarded the attendants, ensuring they stayed put. He continued, "My lord's honorific na is the Lord that created everything, the omnipotent and omniscient God, the Lord who reigns behind the curtain of shadows, the ruler of the mind world, and the degenerated nature of all living things. Choose any three and entreat Him in Hers."

The re description by Mr. K caused Lumian's garnts, skin, flesh, and bones to dissolve completely, leaving behind an unnerving sensation of pure consciousness and self-awareness.

Involuntarily trembling, Lumian instinctively recited, "The Lord that created everything, the omnipotent and omniscient God, the Lord who reigns behind the curtain of shadows…"

Lumian's mind was too overwheld to deliberate, and he unconsciously selected the first three phrases.

Almost instantly, his surroundings darkened, as if enshrouded by a heavy curtain.

Beyond the illusory and profound shadowed veil, a pair of eyes fixated upon Lumian, penetrating his consciousness and nearly rendering him unconscious.

After an indeterminate period, Lumian regained his faculties, his body drenched in cold sweat.

Rising from his seat, Mr. K's deep voice seed laced with a smile.

"Henceforth, you are our brother, truly one of us.

"We're a secret organization that believes in the True Creator. We go by the na of the Aurora Order."

"Aurora Order?" Lumian was taken aback.

Isn't this the terrorist organization that took the bla for ?

It seems that the official Beyonders did not misidentify their target…

I have truly beco a mber of the Aurora Order…

Dismissing the attendants from the basent, Mr. K addressed Lumian, "Gardner Martin is a mber of the Iron and Blood Cross Order. This secret organization once revered our lord, but in recent years, they have distanced themselves from us and ceased their frequent prayers. They appear to be plotting sothing of great significance.

"I have assigned you to infiltrate their ranks, for I hope you can discover the cause behind their actions and unravel their intentions."

-x-X-x-

The Iron and Blood Cross Order… appears to have so significant plans in the works… Lumian finally grasped Mr. K's true intentions for persuading him to join a mob.

The Iron and Blood Cross Order—an equally secretive organization—seed to be related to a competition of faith and Trier's situation.

Curiosity stirring within him, Lumian inquired, "What exactly is the Iron and Blood Cross Order?"

The more Lumian understood, the more he inclined towards actions that would gain Gardner Martin's approval.

Mr. K let out a chuckle. "Allow Gardner Martin to personally enlighten you. If you possess knowledge about their circumstances before they disclose it to you, they are likely to notice so problem."

So, you found a wanted, simple country boy like to be a spy? You wanted soone with a clean slate and humble background? Lumian pondered, nodding thoughtfully.

His thoughts wandered to the mysterious item Gardner Martin had smuggled into Trier through Rat Christo, as well as the support the Savoie Mob extended to Hugues Artois. After two seconds of contemplation, Lumian voiced his suspicion, "Could the Iron and Blood Cross Order's plan be connected to Hugues Artois?"

In a raspy voice, Mr. K responded, "According to the information we've gathered, that is rely one component, not the primary one."

I see… Lumian then broached the topic of "mirror people" before continuing, "Gardner Martin seed aware that the item he had the smuggling caravan transport could trigger a corresponding incident."

Mr. K fell silent montarily before speaking, "I suspect that item holds imnse importance. It's a matter you'll need to unravel. Don't worry. Our Aurora Order is generous with rewards. When the ti cos, you can make any request."

Just as Lumian was about to internally utter the words, "Help revive my sister," Mr. K added, "As long as it lies within my power."

Very straightforward… If I genuinely beco an official mber of the Iron and Blood Cross Order and gain access to pertinent information, they will undoubtedly grant certain privileges. And in turn, I can seek rewards from the Aurora Order. Yes… This is akin to further fulfilling Madam Magician's mission. She won't reject , the bearer of a Minor Arcana card… Such "treatnt" is rare—to receive three rewards for a single task… As Lumian silently sighed, he assud it wouldn't matter if he faced rejection.

"I now require so financing for my future endeavors."

The purpose of these funds was to enhance Lumian's personal strength and establish a "solid foundation" for completing the mission.

Mr. K nodded. "No problem. I will provide you with 10,000 verl d'or later. This is one of the perks of officially joining our Aurora Order and participating in a high-risk mission."

In Intis, "perk" was a commonly used term coined by Emperor Roselle.

Very generous… At that mont, he found himself wondering if he should seek out more secret organizations like this one, just to enjoy additional mbership perks.

Rising from his seat, Mr. K extended his hands and began to circle Lumian slowly.

As he walked, he spoke in a solemn tone, "My Lord is the great being who created this world, the father of all living creatures."

"We all originate from Him, carrying the divine essence He bestowed upon us."

"Divinity exists within every living being, and no one is inherently more noble than another. We distinguish our status based on our proximity to our Lord and our ability to embrace His teachings."

"It is through our shared divinity that we can consu potions, face trials, and accumulate more divine power. Ultimately, we can beco angels in service to my Lord…"

Is he preaching? Lumian couldn't help but feel that there were similarities between Mr. K's words and Madam Magician's story of the original Creator—the Oldest One—fragnting and manifesting different Beyonder characteristics. They seed to share a common essence.

This led him to suspect that the True Creator of the Aurora Order corresponded to the Oldest One.

After nearly fifteen minutes, Mr. K concluded his preaching and traced a cross on his chest, starting from the top and moving to the bottom, left, and right.

"Praise be to you, the creator of all things. Praise be to you, who carries the burdens of the world's sins."

Lumian followed suit, offering his own words of praise.

Mr. K then proceeded to introduce the Aurora Order.

"We currently have a total of seven Saints and twenty-two Oracles, each designated by alphabetical code nas, scattered across various locations…"

There are still 21 individuals as powerful as Mr. K? The Saints are Sequence 4 and Sequence 3 demigods with godhood. And there are a total of seven in the Aurora Order? Lumian was taken aback by this revelation.

The Aurora Order was far more formidable than he had anticipated!

As for whether there were any figures on the level of angels, Mr. K did not ntion it, leaving Lumian to wonder.

Concluding the introduction, Mr. K took hold of his right index finger with his left hand and tore it off. He then tossed it to Lumian, the finger dripping with blood.

"Use it in tis of dire need."

Lumian caught the finger, its blood already congealing, and imagined the phantom pain he had experienced before.

Although he was unafraid of pain or injuries in battle and could stab himself without hesitation when necessary, he couldn't simply pluck out a finger without reason, as Mr. K had done.

In a matter of monts, a new finger sprouted from Mr. K's hand, its skin fair and unblemished.

With the gathering scheduled for 9 p.m., Lumian secured the 10,000 verl d'or and made his way to Psychic's old journal library, a lavish off-white six-story building located at 19 Rue Scheer. He stayed there until 6 p.m.

Then, he leisurely found a nearby restaurant and spent 2 verl d'or on an inexpensive set al.

The al included an ordinary bottle of red wine, a bowl of soup, three dishes, a dessert, and an unlimited supply of bread.

Lumian made his selections from the provided nu, opting for a beef chowder, braised rabbit at, and a serving of roasted cauliflower.

As the gathering comnced, Lumian, already in possession of the Scorpion Poison, sold the aquatic monster's blood, poisonous scales, and other items he had no use for, fetching him 100 verl d'or.

Thus far, he had amassed a total of 14,710 verl d'or and 24 coppet in cash, mostly courtesy of Mr. K.

This filled him with confidence that he could gather the remaining 30,000 verl d'or within a short span of ti.

If he borrowed a bit here and pocketed a bit there, combined with the spoils of war, wouldn't he have enough?

Shortly before 11 p.m., Lumian returned to Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman.

Ruhr and Michel, residents of the third floor who made a living selling photos of street ma?tresse d'atelier near the Suhit steam locomotive station, were hauling a bulging flaxen-colored cloth bag up the stairs.

Lumian cast a curious glance at the white-haired duo and asked, slightly puzzled, "So late?"

He knew that Ruhr and Michel also worked as part-ti scavengers, having encountered them on a few occasions before. However, he recalled that their work typically ended by nine.

Ruhr, clad in tattered clothing with a slight hunch to his back, mustered a smile and replied with a touch of joy, "Tonight, the mber of parliant's office hosted a celebratory feast and discarded a lot of valuable rubbish. We waited until the bags could no longer hold before returning."

The market district's mber of parliant's office was celebrating Hugues Artois's election? Lumian nodded subtly and walked past the elderly couple, making his way to Room 207.

Before igniting the carbide lamp, he noticed a square-folded white paper on the table, illuminated by the faint crimson moonlight streaming through the window.

Observing the neatly folded paper, Lumian suspected it to be a letter from Madam Magician.

The Pyromaniac potion formula? Did she have the ssenger leave the Pyromaniac potion formula here before my arrival? Is she so confident in my ability to beco an official mber of the Aurora Order? Or does she have sothing else to inform about? These thoughts raced through Lumian's mind as he ignited the carbide lamp, picked up the white paper, and carefully unfolded it.

"Your next mission is to complete the task assigned by Mr. K. Do you understand what I an?

"Pyromaniac potion formula:

"Main ingredient: Fire Salamander gland, Magma Elf core;

"Supplentary ingredients: 50 milliliters of Fire Salamander blood, 10 grams of Magma Pyroxene powder, 10 grams of Redcrown Balsam powder, 10 drops of Sun Star extract.

"Usage: What do you think?"

She actually wrote down the main ingredient… Does this an I'll need the accompanying parts for the potion? Is Madam Magician also interested in uncovering the Iron and Blood Cross Order's current situation? How did she know that today would be the day Mr. K would assign this task? Or does she simply disregard Mr. K's intentions? Does she only hope that I can gain more of Mr. K's trust and gradually beco a core mber of the Aurora Order? Lumian leaned towards the first possibility, but he couldn't dismiss the latter.

For now, he had no choice but to follow her instructions.

Having attended two mysticism gatherings, Lumian had developed a certain understanding of the potion formula's value. He knew that the Pyromaniac potion formula in his possession was worth at least 30,000 verl d'or.

If he were to sell it, he could exchange it for the Pyromaniac Beyonder characteristic.

Of course, this idea was fleeting. Without Madam Magician's explicit agreent, he didn't dare entertain it.

Wouldn't it be equivalent to trading Madam Magician's potion formula for her Pyromaniac Beyonder characteristic?

Instead, Lumian found a more feasible plan, inspired by a popular trade sche in Intis which was also known as Comrcial Paradise or Financial Empire.

The plan required a down paynt of 10,000 verl d'or, with the remaining 20,000 to be paid in installnts over a year, along with a 10 to 15% interest.

After careful consideration, Lumian, sensing a high likelihood of Madam Magician possessing godhood, dismissed the idea.

He had already gathered almost half of the required funds. There was no need to risk offending a demigod by negotiating installnts.

Even if Harvest Sacrifice didn't yield a satisfactory price or Franca had little savings due to her extravagant lifestyle, Salle de Bal Brise still had a substantial amount of cash in its safe. As the protector of the dance hall, what harm would there be in embezzling a small sum?

-x-X-x-

Realizing the lateness of the hour, Lumian planned on delving into Aurore's grimoire until midnight. He resolved to seek out Franca the next morning and inquire about the sale of Harvest Sacrifice. Additionally, he intended to ask her to keep a watchful eye on the supplentary ingredients like Fire Salamander blood and Magma Pyroxene powder.

Hmm, Franca is known for her late sleeping habits. If I go searching for her now, she'll surely still be awake. Most likely, she'll be asleep before 11 a.m. tomorrow… Taking this into consideration, Lumian had a change of heart. He tidied the wooden table, rose from his seat, and departed from Auberge du Coq Doré.

3 Rue des Blouses Blanches, in front of Apartnt 601.

After knocking a few tis, Lumian caught sight of Franca. Her flaxen locks were disheveled, and she wore a lake-blue silk nightgown as she opened the door.

"What's the matter this ti?" the Witch inquired, a smile gracing her lips as she stepped aside to make way.

Lumian didn't respond imdiately. He glanced around and inquired, "Is Jenna not here?"

Unconsciously, Franca's smile faded away.

"Are you here for her? She doesn't have to perform tonight. She left early today."

Lumian nodded.

"That's good. I won't have to climb the outer wall and leave later then."

"…" Franca's lips twitched, and she clicked her tongue with a chuckle. "So, you've co to mock ?"

After playing a simple prank, Lumian settled himself on the gray divan.

Just as he was about to speak, Franca, who had curled up in the recliner, causing her nightgown's hem to slip, let out a soft chuckle.

"You missed quite a show in the market district this afternoon.

"The police took care of all the places tied to the mob. Brignais, Simon, Christo, and Black were all apprehended and brought to the police headquarters. They nearly fell into the clutches of the official Beyonders and received their customary treatnt. Luckily, Gardner managed to contact the newly elected Hugues Artois and convinced him to exert pressure on the two Churches and the police headquarters. By throwing a few scapegoats under the bus, the matter was resolved."

Hugues Artois is indeed in cahoots with the Boss… Lumian chuckled.

"You didn't get caught?"

"I didn't go to any of those locations today. I spent the whole afternoon playing Fighting Evil with Jenna and my star dancer. Why would I get caught? You see, there's nothing wrong with being lazy. My favorite saying is that lazy people are blessed by being lazy," Franca replied, amused.

"I've never heard that before," Lumian asked casually. "Where does this proverb co from?"

"I made it up," Franca replied nonchalantly.

Pondering Franca's explanation, Lumian's suspicions were confird.

"Did Jenna suggest staying indoors in the afternoon and playing cards?"

"How did you know?" Franca exclaid in surprise.

She scrutinized Lumian, her gaze turning suspicious.

Could it be that Jenna told him herself? Had they shared so much in private?

Lumian had nothing to hide and spoke frankly, "Charlie paid a visit today, and Jenna happened to be there. From him, I learned that the official Beyonders and the police headquarters planned a joint operation to clean up the mobsters in the market district this afternoon.

"I advised Jenna to keep it a secret so as not to trouble Charlie. And it seems she's proven to be trustworthy. She simply kept you occupied in the apartnt," Lumian explained.

Franca's face brightened with understanding. "No wonder you weren't around in the afternoon."

A smug expression crossed her features. "Jenna is still on my side!"

She let out a satisfied sigh before curiosity tinged her voice as Franca asked warily, "Why did Jenna co to you?"

Lumian smiled knowingly. "After the demise of 'Black Scorpion' Roger, she finds suspicious due to my ongoing conflict with the Poison Spur Mob."

Franca's response was a mix of relief and amusent.

"The Aurora Order ended up being the scapegoat in this case."

"Since I arrived in Trier, I've noticed in the newspapers that whenever sothing happened, the terrorist group known as the Aurora Order would claim responsibility. But I never imagined that we would finally get a taste of that treatnt. The subsequent investigations were misled, and no one suspected us."

The Aurora Order is indeed responsible for this… After Lumian mocked Franca, he steered the conversation back on track.

"Taking advantage of the situation, I attended a mysticism gathering in the afternoon and managed to obtain the formula for the Pyromaniac potion, as well as so clues about its main ingredient."

"You're quite fortunate," Franca exclaid, her eyes widening slightly. "If we weren't in Intis, I'd doubt your story. It's only in Intis that the Pyromaniac potion formula is so readily available."

Lumian then made a request.

"Please help keep an eye on the supplentary ingredients: Fire Salamander's blood, Magma Pyroxene powder, and Redcrown Balsam."

He omitted ntioning Sun Star, as it was relatively common and could be found in larger flower shops.

"No problem," Franca assured him. She inquired about the quantities of each ingredient in detail before raising another concern. "Do you have enough money? I an, enough to purchase the main ingredient for the potion."

From her perspective, Lumian had likely spent all his savings on the Pyromaniac potion formula.

Lumian seized the opportunity to respond, "Actually, I was just about to ask if Harvest Sacrifice had been sold."

"How can it be sold so soon? It's only been a day! I haven't even had the chance to attend any mysticism gatherings," Franca replied, pausing before offering a solution. "If you urgently need money, I can lend you so. After all, I don't have any imdiate need for the next potion."

"There's no rush," Lumian replied after considering the matter.

He still needed to gather all the supplentary ingredients.

Franca estimated, "Based on my experience, Harvest Sacrifice won't fetch a high price due to its inevitable side effects. You can expect it to sell for around 10,000 to 12,000 verl d'or."

"When you need the money, I can directly provide you with 6,000 verl d'or, considering it a buyout of Harvest Sacrifice. Additionally, I can lend you 20,000 to 30,000 verl d'or, but you must return it within three months."

"Alright," Lumian agreed without hesitation.

He then produced Fallen rcury and said to Franca, "I need to find soone who can repair Beyonder weapons."

Franca examined the dirk with its ominous patterns and asked in confusion, "What's the point of repairing a Beyonder weapon? Its energy will deplete eventually."

"It's trendously useful. I want to utilize it for as long as possible," Lumian admitted, though he naturally refrained from ntioning that he had a ans to replenish Fallen rcury's energy.

Of course, he had to wait until he reached Sequence 6 and could withstand the corruption. Otherwise, Termiboros would undoubtedly seize the opportunity to cause trouble.

"That's true," Franca recalled Fallen rcury's impressive performance in the battle against "Black Scorpion" Roger. "I'll help you inquire, but no Artisan would likely accept the task of repairing a suspected corrupted Beyonder weapon. They fear the potential adverse effects it could have on them."

Artisan… a Beyonder skilled in repairing mystical items and Beyonder weapons? After exchanging a few more words with Franca, Lumian left Room 601 and returned to Avenue du Marché, entering Salle de Bal Brise.

Despite it almost being midnight, the place was still bustling. Lumian made his way to the finance office on the second floor corridor. As he unlocked the safe, he asked about the accountant and the cashier on the night shift.

"How much cash do we have at the mont?"

The accountant, a refined bespectacled woman in her thirties, replied with a hint of apprehension, "Approximately 28,000 verl d'or and so change."

Lumian had already opened the safe's door by then, revealing stacks of banknotes and shimring golden coins.

After a quick calculation, he calmly requested, "Give 12,000 verl d'or."

"Huh?" Both the accountant and the cashier exclaid fearfully.

While Monsieur Ciel was the protector of Salle de Bal Brise, taking away such a substantial amount of cash in one go was unthinkable!

The accountant exchanged a glance with the young cashier, silently indicating her to find the dance hall manager, René, in the adjacent office.

Dressed in formal attire, Gardner Martin's designated representative glanced at the open safe and inquired, "Monsieur Ciel, why do you need to withdraw 12,000 verl d'or?"

"Personal expenses," Lumian replied calmly.

René pondered for a few seconds before responding, "No problem.

"In the first two years, Baron Brignais would take between 40,000 and 50,000 verl d'or from the dance hall annually. During the transition, he even withdrew 15,000 verl d'or, which would have counted as part of the first half of the year. And it's not even the second half yet. Monsieur Ciel, consider this 12,000 verl d'or an advance."

"Sure." Lumian didn't concern himself with the details; he simply wanted the 12,000 verl d'or!

After securing the cash in a cloth bag, Lumian let out a silent sigh of relief.

He had nearly gathered the required 30,000 verl d'or to purchase the Pyromaniac Beyonder characteristic. Now, all he had to do was await news of the supplentary ingredients!

Currently, he possessed a total of 26,710 verl d'or. With an additional 6,000 from the Harvest Sacrifice, he would have enough.

As Lumian, laden with a significant amount of cash, left Salle de Bal Brise, a sense of unease suddenly washed over him.

He wasn't afraid of being robbed; rather, he worried that a conflict might damage the money bag or tear the banknotes.

I must find a safe place for it. I can't keep carrying it like this… Lumian strolled along Avenue du Marché, contemplating transferring the funds to the safe house.

Before long, his eyes caught sight of the brightly illuminated office belonging to the market district's mber of parliant.

It stood as a classic four-story building, boasting a khaki-colored fa?ade with statues adorning the top two floors—a Sunbird and Giant Gears.

The celebration banquet is still underway… Lumian shook his head disapprovingly.

Pausing for a mont, he settled in the shadows across the street, observing the departing guests from the banquet hall.

Hugues Artois, who enjoyed the combined support of the Savoie Mob and the Poison Spur Mob, not to ntion Lady Moon's praise, was undoubtedly a man of influence. So of the guests he had invited could very well be problematic individuals connected to the sches of the Iron and Blood Cross Order.

As ti went by, an increasing number of guests erged from the mber of parliant's office. Lumian found no one who aroused suspicion. He could only confirm that most of them belonged to the upper echelons of society. They were elegantly attired, and their faces had graced the pages of various newspapers.

Suddenly, a familiar figure caught his eye.

It was Gardner Martin, an amiable man with chubby cheeks, a few silver strands of hair at his temples, and brownish-red eyes!

Gardner Martin, the boss of the Savoie Mob!

Dressed in a tailcoat and a dark bow tie, Gardner seed to sense sothing. He abruptly turned his head, fixing his gaze on the shadowy spot where Lumian sat.

Lumian's heart skipped a beat.

His thoughts raced, and he swiftly made up his mind. Rising to his feet, he approached Gardner Martin.

Gardner Martin regarded him with a penetrating stare, revealing no trace of emotion.

"Good evening, Boss," Lumian greeted as he drew nearer.

Gardner Martin asked nonchalantly, "What brings you here?"

Lumian replied candidly, "I left Salle de Bal Brise and noticed that the mber of parliant's office banquet was still ongoing. I thought I'd check which guests Monsieur Hugues Artois had invited, so as to avoid offending the wrong people in the future."

Gardner Martin nodded subtly and spoke calmly, "That's a comndable habit."

With a gesture signaling Lumian to depart, he proceeded towards a private carriage, accompanied by Butler Faustino.

Lumian's heart stirred as he followed suit, taking the initiative to speak, "Boss, I took an advance of 12,000 verl d'or from the dance hall today."

-x-X-x-

Gardner Martin's brows lifted in surprise as he cast a curious glance at Lumian, taking a mont to ponder the situation.

"Let's converse inside the carriage."

Upon hearing this, Butler Faustino took the initiative to settle himself in the front of the carriage, right beside the driver.

Silently, Lumian trailed behind Gardner Martin and entered the carriage, taking a seat opposite him.

As the carriage slowly set in motion, Gardner Martin fixed his gaze upon Lumian and spoke up.

"Why did you advance such a hefty sum of cash?"

Lumian responded with candor.

"Given the opportunity to enhance my strength, I aspire to beco a Sequence 7 Pyromaniac."

Gardner Martin hadn't anticipated Lumian's straightforwardness. After a brief pause, he smiled and inquired, "Is 12,000 verl d'or sufficient?"

Lumian didn't bat an eye as he replied, "In addition to the 18,000 verl d'or you provided last ti and my previous savings."

Gardner Martin nodded slowly.

"Did you co across anyone selling the main ingredient for the Pyromaniac potion elsewhere? And do you possess the formula for the potion?"

"Yes," Lumian confessed without reservation.

Gardner Martin chuckled.

"You've divulged all of this to . Shouldn't these matters be kept secret?"

Lumian displayed an unusual sincerity as he responded, "I feel prepared to consu the Pyromaniac potion. It won't be long before I advance to Sequence 7.

"When that happens, if a conflict arises, concealing the change in my strength would be impossible. Boss, you'll soon discover it anyway. So why not tell you now?"

Furthermore, René, the manager of the dance hall, worked under Gardner Martin. He would undoubtedly report the 12,000 verl d'or advancent.

Lumian paused montarily before continuing, "That's one reason.

"Another reason is that I've lived on the streets, endured rural life, and faced persecution. Now, I adhere to a single principle: I treat those who treat well."

He wasn't attempting to flaunt his loyalty. According to Jenna, such exaggerated loyalty would seem untrustworthy, especially when he had only t Gardner Martin once. His main goal was to convey his allegiance.

Similarly, Gardner Martin would definitely comprehend the underlying purpose behind Lumian's frankness. It was a display of his astuteness.

Gardner Martin lifted his head and burst into laughter.

"Very good.

"Brignais, Christo, and the others have their own secrets. They assu I'm oblivious.

"The fact that you can accurately grasp your situation, your future progress, and my stance indicates that you're more astute than them. Most tis, sincerity proves to be the most effective approach."

Sincerity? Lumian seized the opportunity to express himself with an extraordinary sincerity.

"Boss, I have leads on the main ingredient, but I'm unsure where to acquire the supplentary ingredients.

"Could you keep an eye out for Fire Salamander's blood, Magma Pyroxene powder, and Redcrown Balsam?"

From Lumian's perspective, Gardner Martin, suspected to be a Sequence 6 or perhaps even a Sequence 5 Beyonder of the Hunter pathway, would have an easier ti finding the supplentary ingredients for the Pyromaniac potion compared to Franca.

Perhaps he still possessed leftover supplentary ingredients from advancing to Pyromaniac?

According to Aurore's grimoire, spiritual supplentary ingredients could be preserved for an extended period if the thod was correct.

Gardner Martin was taken aback. He hadn't anticipated Ciel making such a direct request.

Initially, he had intended to inquire about a few matters of concern and understand Lumian's needs before offering assistance to win him over.

After a brief pause, Gardner Martin nodded and responded, "No problem."

Observing that Gardner Martin didn't inquire about the quantities of the three supplentary ingredients, Lumian grew increasingly convinced that the Savoie Mob boss was a Mid-Sequence Beyonder of the Hunter pathway.

Gardner Martin peered out of the window and spoke inquisitively.

"While you were observing the parliant mber's office, did you notice anything suspicious?"

"No," Lumian shook his head. "They're just individuals whose pictures occasionally appear in the newspapers."

Gardner Martin smiled nonchalantly.

"Indeed, there's the president and vice-president of our Savoie Chamber of Comrce; Bono Goodville, the owner of Goodville Chemical Factory; Clent, the manager of Nova chanical Prosthetics; and Etienne from Saint-Ger Phlogiston Factory… I was invited as a shareholder of Rist Docks and the head of Rist Shipping Company and Savoie Construction Company, not as the boss of the Savoie Mob."

Gardner Martin let out a soft sigh.

"However, we can barely squeeze into Trier's high society. In the business world, the true heavyweights are the chairn and proprietors of Trier Bank, Suchit Bank, and Asset Credit Bank. They are the shareholders of behemoths like Suhit Textile Group, Tilisi Coal and Steel Consortium, Anubi Steel Company, Southern Liquor rchants Federation, Falgar Weapons Group, and Balam-Paz Import and Export Corporation."

Lumian had co across these nas in newspapers and magazines. The company that had left the deepest impression was Balam-Paz Import and Export Corporation.

To protect their interests in the West Balam and Paz Valley of the Southern Continent, they had even been allowed to finance a substantial private army and a fleet as rcenaries.

Noticing that the carriage was about to depart from Avenue du Marché, Gardner Martin signaled the driver to halt and nodded at Lumian.

"Before consuming the potion, ensure your condition is favorable. It's better to delay than to take unnecessary risks."

After acknowledging Gardner Martin's advice, Lumian left the carriage and headed towards Rue des Blouses Blanches.

He intended to conceal all his cash within the confines of the safe house.

After walking a certain distance, Lumian hesitated.

Safe houses didn't guarantee absolute safety, especially in lower-class areas like the market district and Quartier du Jardin Botanique, where the population was denser. Thieves ran rampant in such places.

If a burglar were to stumble upon Aurore's grimoires, they would be of little value to them. At most, they would search through them in the hopes of finding hidden banknotes, but the sum of over 26,000 cash would undoubtedly be taken.

Should I set up a few traps in the safe house to deter thieves? Lumian's thoughts raced, and suddenly, a better idea struck him.

That idea was to provide Madam Magician with an advance paynt of 26,000 verl d'or!

This way, there would be no risk of losing such a large sum of cash.

Furthermore, a lofty individual like Madam Magician would not deny accepting the advance paynt.

Phew… With his mind made up, Lumian arrived at the safe house on Rue des Blouses Blanches and retrieved pen and paper to write a letter.

"Esteed Madam Magician,

"I have already procured 26,000 verl d'or. I will offer this as an advance paynt. Once I gather the remaining 4,000, you may send the Pyromaniac Beyonder characteristic.

"Looking forward to your reply."

Lumian refrained from requesting Madam Magician to grant him the Pyromaniac Beyonder characteristic imdiately, as he had yet to acquire the corresponding supplentary ingredients. Preserving Beyonder characteristics proved to be quite troubleso, and there was a risk of losing them.

After summoning the puppet ssenger and entrusting it with the cloth bag containing cash and coins, along with the letter, Lumian felt a significant sense of relief. However, he couldn't help but worry that the ssenger might fall victim to robbery in the spirit world.

Before long, the puppet ssenger adorned in a golden dress returned with a reply from Madam Magician.

"26,000 verl d'or has been received.

"Magician."

It's akin to receiving a receipt… Lumian murmured to himself, expressing gratitude to the puppet ssenger.

He then departed Rue des Blouses Blanches and made his way back to Auberge du Coq Doré.

As was his routine, Lumian used a short wire to open the door, quietly traversed the dimly lit lobby with only the basent bar's glow, and ascended the stairs.

Reaching the second floor, he pursed his lips and continued upwards to the third floor, arriving at Room 310, where Flang had once resided.

The wooden door to the room stood ajar, and the curtains remained undrawn, allowing the crimson moonlight to filter through the glass.

It was an unwritten folklore often believed by the lower-class citizens of Trier:

In a room where soone had t their demise, the door had to be left open and the curtains undrawn for three days.

This was done out of concern that the ghost of the deceased might be reluctant to depart.

Lumian stood at the doorway, gazing into the empty room, as if he could see the madman clutching his head and whispering, "I'm dying."

After a while, he silently averted his gaze and proceeded towards the stairs.

As he approached the staircase, he overheard a conversation emanating from Room 302, despite their attempts to suppress their voices.

The room belonged to Ruhr and Michel, the sellers of counterfeit photographs who worked as part-ti scavengers.

There was no sign of a kerosene or carbide lamp being lit within the room. No light seeped through the crack in the door.

Lumian's acute hearing allowed him to instinctively tune in to the discussion between the elderly couple.

"Old Woman, look at these. They're worth a fortune! Those gentlen and ladies simply discarded them!"

"I reckon this bag alone could fetch 5 verl d'or…"

"5 verl d'or? It's worth at least 15!"

"Old Man, if only we could stumble upon such valuable rubbish every day."

"Then we'd have to vote for a mber of parliant every day."

"Praise the Sun. Let that mber of parliant host a banquet every day. In that case, we could return to Aurmir and purchase 10 acres of fields to cultivate grapes within a year."

"You're quite the drear, Old Woman.

"What's wrong with dreaming? Don't you dream? Even without the banquet, we've managed to save up a significant sum. Another four or five years should suffice."

"True. When the ti cos, we won't have to toil as hard as we do now, and we won't need to worry about being unable to work…"

Lumian ceased eavesdropping and silently chuckled. Descending the stairs, he returned to Room 207, briefly freshened up, and climbed into bed.

In the midst of the night, half-asleep, he was suddenly startled by hurried footsteps.

As he sat up and glanced towards the corridor, there ca a knock on his door.

Lumian, feeling a mix of wariness and confusion, approached the wooden door and opened it.

Standing outside was Mada Michel, the short, gray-haired woman adorned in a yellow cloth dress.

She spoke with fear and panic, "Ruhr has taken ill suddenly! Ciel—Monsieur Ciel, can you assist in carrying him to the clinic on Rue des Blouses Blanches?

"I-I have the money for his treatnt!"

Monsieur Ruhr is unwell? He was perfectly fine when I fell asleep… Lumian was taken aback.