The Terror of Option Chapter 1086 1086: 33 COI

Observing Bono Goodville's reaction, Angoulê's confidence grew a little.

With a swift motion, he withdrew a pen and paper, preparing to draft a Notary Certificate. The concept behind it was for Bono Goodville to swear an oath to a deity, ensuring his honesty during the subsequent questioning.

As Angoulê affixed his signature, the paper emitted a radiant golden glow.

Bono Goodville swallowed nervously, feeling the weight of the situation.

In recent years, as a well-known factory owner in Trier, he had encountered mystic knowledge and extraordinary powers that surpassed the imagination of ordinary folk. Such matters were not unfamiliar to him. It was akin to one of the three abductors blasting him with a flaming raven, another conjuring black flas, and a third leaping from the third floor.

"Sign your na," Angoulê instructed, handing Bono Goodville the Notary Certificate, now devoid of its golden glow.

"Very well." Bono Goodville's right hand trembled as he inscribed his na upon the pledge.

With each stroke, a flash of golden light emanated from his penmanship.

Once he finished, Angoulê spoke in a deep, commanding voice.

"Which deity do you believe in?"

"The God of Steam and Machinery." For Bono Goodville, this question held no challenge.

Angoulê proceeded to the next inquiry.

"Why did you visit the mber of parliant's office on the morning of the chemical plant explosion?"

Bono Goodville hesitated for two seconds. Fearful of supernatural powers and divine witnesses, he repeated what he had divulged to Lumian and the others under the influence of the remaining truth serum.

Angoulê, Valentine, and Imre took turns posing questions, allowing Bono Goodville to reconstruct his conversation with the mber of Parliant's secretary, Rh?ne, and his assistant secretary, Tybalt, as accurately as possible.

When the inquiry concluded, Angoulê delivered the verdict to Bono Goodville.

"You shall be arrested for arson, deliberate detonation of an explosion, and murder. Your assets will be temporarily frozen pending compensation for the deceased and injured."

Bono Goodville's face drained of color as he slumped into the recliner, utterly depleted.

Valentine took a couple of steps towards the door, casting a glance at the corridor beyond. Lowering his voice, he proposed, "Deacon, after we bring this blasphemous scoundrel to the police headquarters, shall we formally apprehend Hugues Artois's secretary, Rh?ne?"

Angoulê sighed, shaking his head slowly.

"Not yet.

"Did you not notice? Rh?ne and the late Tybalt were exceedingly cautious. They never explicitly suggested that Bono Goodville instigated the explosion at his chemical plant. They rely insinuated their support for the mber of parliant's policies and preached a philosophy of decay. They might exploit Bono Goodville's blinded mind, misconstruing their words to justify his actions.

"It has been nearly two days, and finding any traces of Bono Goodville being influenced by superpowers is proving challenging.

"Put simply, we lack sufficient evidence to apprehend Secretary Rh?ne and employ Beyonder powers in the interrogation. We can only summon and question him through conventional ans."

Valentine seethed with anger, but he realized there was nothing he could do.

He harbored an unwavering certainty that sothing was awry with the mber of parliant's secretary, yet due to regulations, he couldn't employ mystical thods to confront him.

After a brief pause, he glanced at Bono Goodville, sprawled on the recliner like a heap of decaying at, and spoke with a deep voice, "I suggest we deliver him to the stake!"

Angoulê nodded, addressing Valentine and Imre, "Let us proceed. Take this man back to the market district, where he deserves to et his end in ten different manners."

Valentine was taken aback.

"Deacon, aren't we going to track down the three Beyonders who infiltrated this place?"

Angoulê chuckled. "Why should we?"

Valentine gazed at him, perplexed by his deacon's approach.

Imre, accustod to his ways, whispered, "The three Beyonders infiltrated this place without pillaging or harming anyone. They rely sought information about the chemical plant explosion and the visit to the mber of parliant's office. It's evident they possess a genuine interest in Secretary Rh?ne and mber of Parliant Hugues Artois."

"I even wonder if they're from the Aurora Order, and one of them is the one who killed Assistant Secretary Tybalt."

Angoulê chuckled and added, "Since we are barred from thoroughly investigating the mber of parliant's office due to contracts and regulations, why not allow untad Beyonders, equally keen on prying and employing violence, to squeeze out the pus and expose it to the sunlight?"

"Wouldn't that pose a problem?" Valentine blurted out.

Amused, Angoulê responded, "Of course not. When dealing with cunning individuals adept at exploiting regulations, we must be even more cunning and find loopholes. If need be, we can even collaborate with secret organizations and unite with wild Beyonders.

"The contracts we hold with mbers of parliant and high-ranking officials only limit certain actions; they don't prohibit us from harboring ill intentions or cultivating informants among untad Beyonders. Such contracts don't constrain the actions of untad Beyonders.

"Likewise, these contracts mainly serve as restrictions. They don't compel us to take certain actions. Sotis, we can observe events unfold without transgressing the contract while handling things in the usual manner.

"Valentine, even beneath the sun, shadows abound. Consider everyone's shadows, for instance. You must learn to coexist with them. At tis, you must eliminate them, and at others, utilize them to extol the Sun!"

Valentine recalled his collaboration with Lumian in Cordu and reluctantly embraced the deacon's words. He extended his arms and replied, "Praise the Sun!"

Angoulê added, "I did not craft these words. Ever since Emperor Roselle's demise, the two Churches, parliant, the governnt, the military, and Bureau 8 have been embroiled in conflicts. Each has amassed considerable combat experience that would not be deed aboveboard in any other context.

"Hence, why do you think I silently permit the presence of wild Beyonders amidst the mobs of the market district? Based solely on the reassurances and rhetoric of the superintendents? No, I rely believe they may prove useful at so point.

"Of course, it is everyone's responsibility to tolerate the convergence of heretics into a large mob. I am no exception. There are advantages and disadvantages to everything."

Valentine contemplated in silence, refraining from further inquiries.

Similar tensions were apparent in Riston Province, although they paled in comparison to those in Trier. After all, this was the heartland of the nation.

…

During their journey from Underground Trier to the market district, Lumian, having removed his bandages, cast a glance at the silent Jenna and casually remarked, "I thought you'd dispatch Bono Goodville on the spot, subjecting him to unforgettable tornt even if he beca a ghost. Who would've guessed you'd rely stab him in the shoulder?"

Jenna pursed her lips and took a few steps ahead before responding in a hushed voice, "If he dies now, the legal process for accident compensation will drag on for years. It might even be symbolic…"

Though she no longer cared, many people still awaited justice.

Franca subtly nodded and added, "Fear not. Bono Goodville will undoubtedly face the death penalty. The only question is the ans. Besides, we have left clues for the official Beyonders. Just as we shield Hugues Artois, we shall always assist in eliminating hidden dangers."

Jenna offered a sad smile.

"That's the mber of parliant we elected. His secretary and assistant secretary greeted us with an enormous explosion intentionally."

"Are you afraid?" Lumian mockingly inquired.

Jenna fell silent, montarily at a loss for words.

Lumian pressed on, "I have never relished the benefits of Intis, nor have I cast a vote. Should I encounter a similar situation, I would not spare the mber of parliant's secretary or even the president who governs this country!

"My sister once said that blood alone can repay blood. I care not for the identity of the bleeding individual."

Jenna's expression contorted once more, and she spoke with a tinge of anguish, "My mother always taught to be kind and embrace forgiveness. I cannot allow suffering and hatred to dictate my life. That way, I shall never see the light…"

Without waiting for Lumian and Franca to respond, she lowered her head and gritted her teeth.

"But I despise it so much!"

Lumian pursed his lips and stated, "If you eliminate all your enemies, your life shall not be governed by hatred."

Jenna fell silent for a few seconds before giving a terse nod.

"At the very least, at the very least, I shall not let Secretary Rh?ne off the hook!

Franca promptly comnded her, "Very good. Maintain this resolve."

She then emphasized, "Of course, revenge cannot be blind or impulsive. You must wait until you are strong enough and seize the opportune mont to act. Otherwise, you shall only bring more harm to your family and friends. Furthermore, you will have to witness your enemy living a good life."

"Alright," Jenna softly replied, nodding.

…

Late at night, Jenna, clad in her usual attire, returned to her ho at 17 Rue Pasteur in Quartier du Jardin Botanique, her emotions in disarray.

This place was situated near Rue Saint-Hilaire in the market district and the multitude of factories south of Quartier du Jardin Botanique. Previously, Jenna's family had opted to rent this place for the convenience of Elodie and Julien's work.

Upon opening the door, Jenna was greeted by the sight of her brother, Julien, crouched by the window, his head buried in his hands.

Her heart sank, and her voice quivered as she inquired, "Julien, what's the matter?"

Illuminated by the crimson moonlight, Julien leaned against the old wooden table, wearing an expression of terror.

"Don't fire ! Don't fire !

"My mother passed away. She really passed away. That's why I didn't co to the factory this afternoon…

"Don't fire ! Don't fire !

"Mom, Mom, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have left you alone in the ward!

"It's all on , entirely!

"Sob!"

Julien broke into tears, resembling a frightened child.

It seed as though he had lost his sanity.

Jenna stood in the darkness at the doorway, gazing blankly at her brother. It felt as though she was slowly descending into an unfathomable abyss.

-x-X-x-

Julien's sobs reverberated through the room, bathed in the glow of the moon. Jenna stood hesitantly by the door, unwilling to take a single step forward.

Fear gripped her—fear that stepping inside would confirm this as reality and not so dreadful nightmare.

After a while, Jenna shut her eyes tightly and clenched her teeth as she entered the room that served as Julien's bedroom, living space, kitchen, and dining area.

Hunching down beside her brother, she let him cry, not daring to touch him in his state of shock. Softly, she spoke, "We don't have much debt left to settle. Even if we lose our current jobs, we can find new ones. There's no rush…

"You have a solid foundation. There must be other masters out there who would gladly take you in…

"Mom wanted us to have a better life, not to wallow in self-bla…"

Jenna repeated these words again and again until Julien, his spirit shattered, exhausted himself. His body gradually weakened, and he slumped against the wall by the window, drifting off to sleep.

Finally, silence fell.

Watching her brother's face slowly relax, his fear and anguish ebbing away, Jenna let out a silent sigh. Tears welled up in her eyes and stread down her cheeks.

After shedding silent tears for so ti, she rose to her feet and made her way to Julien's bed. Tenderly, she gathered the blanket and draped it over her sleeping brother, leaning against the wall.

Having done all this, she trudged wearily back to the other room. It was her and her mother Elodie's bedroom.

Jenna lay down, her vacant eyes fixed on the dimly lit ceiling, cast in moonlight.

Her mother's words echoed incessantly in her mind, but she couldn't convince herself.

Perhaps, aside from a fortunate few, darkness was the dominant the in life. Light was but an occasional adornnt.

Abruptly, Jenna seized her mother's pillow and pressed it against her face, her body trembling with suppressed sobs.

Why, why is darkness always so overpowering, devoid of light?

When will the sun rise again?

At so point, Jenna succumbed to a deep slumber.

She was startled awake by the commotion outside.

Sitting up, she rubbed her swollen eyes and hastened out of the room.

The sight that greeted her eyes was Julien, toasting slices of bread.

He no longer bore the devastation of the previous night; instead, he was focused on his task.

Jenna's lips quivered for a mont before she finally spoke her customary greeting.

"Why are you up so early?"

Julien responded with a touch of stiffness, "I didn't have dinner yesterday, and my hunger woke up.

"Just wait a little longer. The toast will be ready soon."

Observing her brother's state, Jenna couldn't ease her worry.

If Julien were still in the midst of a ntal breakdown, weeping as he did the night before, she might feel uncomfortable, gloomy, and desperate, but she wouldn't be afraid.

She would compel her brother to et Franca and have her find a genuine psychiatrist for his treatnt.

Yet now, she couldn't be certain if Julien had genuinely recovered or if he was rely presenting a facade of normalcy.

If there were unresolved issues lurking beneath, they could prove catastrophic when they resurfaced!

Jenna feared her brother might leap from a building and end his own life just after they finished breakfast.

Carefully observing Julien for a while, she sensed that his hysterical breakdown had indeed dissipated, but his mind hadn't fully returned to its usual state.

When Julien prepared breakfast, he moved with agility and skill. No issues there. However, during their conversations, he appeared wooden, rigid, and slow to react.

This convinced Jenna that her brother had repressed not only his breakdown and abnormalities but also his thoughts and soul.

Sigh… I still have to find a real Psychiatrist… Jenna's vision blurred once more.

Before long, Julien finished toasting the bread and went to a nearby vendor to purchase a relatively fresh can of milk.

As Jenna nibbled on her breakfast, she pretended indifference and glanced at her brother.

"I couldn't sleep last night, and I felt despondent. I want to see a psychiatrist. You don't seem any better. Would you like to co with ?"

After a brief pause, Julien replied, "I need to job hunt."

A wave of sorrow washed over Jenna once more.

Her brother didn't question her pursuit of a psychiatrist.

People in this neighborhood were reluctant to visit even a regular doctor, let alone a psychiatrist, for ntal concerns.

Most of them were unaware of the profession of "psychiatrist" and didn't believe they had any psychological issues.

Considering that seeing a genuine Psychiatrist might require an appointnt, Jenna didn't press the matter. After so contemplation, she spoke encouragingly, "I think you should choose your employer and master carefully this ti. It's normal not to find a job within a few days. It might take a week, or two, or even a month.

"When the ti cos, both of us will have an inco. Maybe we can settle the remaining debt within a year. I certainly can't do it alone. The inco of an underground singer isn't stable. I never know when my popularity might wane."

On the one hand, Jenna aid to alleviate the pressure on her brother in advance, so he wouldn't break down again due to the inability to find a job quickly. On the other hand, she emphasized his importance, assuring him that she couldn't do it alone. By relying on his responsibility, she sought to fortify his will to survive and prevent any sudden thoughts of suicide.

Jenna, who had never considered such details the previous day, couldn't help but ponder similar matters today.

Having repeatedly steadied Julien's condition, she watched her brother depart for the gathering spot at Quartier du Jardin Botanique, where factories sought employees and gave opportunities.

After taking a brief rest, Jenna left 17 Rue Pasteur, still feeling sowhat weary, and made her way towards Rue Saint-Hilaire, which was within close proximity.

Her plan was to stroll leisurely towards Rue des Blouses Blanches. It would coincide with Franca waking up, enabling her to persuade Franca to arrange an appointnt with a genuine Psychiatrist.

Lost in her thoughts as she passed the intersection, Jenna's gaze swept across the vacant space, catching sight of a newspaper article displayed on a nearby newsstand: "mber of Parliant Hugues Artois Stresses Impartial Handling of Goodville Chemical Factory Explosion."

Intrigued, Jenna was drawn to the words, instinctively stepping closer and picking up the newspaper to swiftly peruse the news.

"…Newly elected mber of parliant, Hugues Artois, believes it is unjust to vilify factory owners solely based on accidents. Nor should factory owners, who generate nurous jobs and contribute taxes to the country, face bankruptcy after enduring a mishap. Such circumstances would result in a surge of bankruptcies, heightened unemploynt rates, and a fresh wave of protests and turmoil.

"Hugues Artois has expressed his commitnt to not forget the injured and deceased in the explosion. He intends to establish a new public welfare fund to assist factory owners in covering a portion of accident compensation, enabling the factories to continue operating. Those responsible for the accident will bear the weight of their sins through increased job creation and tax contributions.

"He further stated his intent to propose a bill at the National Convention, fostering a more favorable environnt for entrepreneurs. This would involve streamlined dismissal of unqualified workers and employees, as well as fairer compensation for accidents…"

At that mont, Jenna's shoulders quivered unexpectedly.

She laughed, her body trembling for an extended period.

After a while, she set the newspaper down and resud her onward journey.

Unbeknownst to her, Jenna arrived at Rue Saint-Hilaire and the partially destroyed Goodville Chemical Factory.

As she gazed at the battered tal tank, thoughts of her mother, Elodie, flooded her mind once again.

She would always gravitate towards that iconic structure upon entering the factory.

A few minutes later, through her blurred vision, Jenna spotted an unfamiliar yet vaguely familiar face.

It was a woman donned in a worn-out dress who said to Jenna, "Hurry, let's make our way to Avenue du Marché. The mber of parliant is hosting a condolence banquet and extending invitations. We might be able to obtain sothing!"

"A condolence banquet?" Jenna asked, bewildered.

The woman nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, indeed! Your mother was injured in the explosion too, don't you rember? We t in the ward.

"That mber of parliant arrived at the hospital just half an hour ago. There will be a condolence banquet later!"

"Hugues Artois?" Jenna blurted out instinctively.

"Exactly, exactly. That's the na," the woman affird, grasping the dazed Jenna's arm and hastening towards the mber of parliant's office on Avenue du Marché.

Half an hour later, they reached the khaki-colored four-story building.

Many individuals dressed like paupers were queued up for inspection, awaiting entry into the hall.

Jenna, wearing a simple grayish-blue dress, let her hair fall naturally over her shoulders without any makeup.

She joined the back of the line and gradually made her way forward.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, it was finally her turn.

A woman in a dark-blue uniform began the inspection, starting with Jenna's head and proceeding to her boots.

After confirming the absence of any dangerous items, the woman directed her to register and verify her identity before entering the banquet hall.

…

Auberge du Coq Doré, Room 207.

Lumian cast a surprised glance at Franca, who had appeared at the door, and exclaid, "You're early again today."

Franca, still donning a blouse, light-colored breeches, and red boots, was now clad in a different ensemble.

She scoffed and retorted, "I'm rely concerned that you and Jenna might outwardly agree, only to carry out an assassination on the mber of Parliant's secretary, Rh?ne."

"Am I seen as such a reckless individual in your eyes?" Lumian inquired.

"Yes," Franca responded without hesitation.

She even contemplated adding the word "most," but when she recollected a Folk of Rage she had encountered in a seaside town, she felt that Lumian couldn't be categorized as one.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she continued, "Since you haven't acted impulsively, Jenna should be safe. I'll go and visit her, assessing if she requires any assistance at ho."

Just as Franca concluded her statent, hurried footsteps resounded from downstairs, drawing nearer.

Lumian and Franca, positioned by the doorway, turned their heads to behold Jenna, garbed in a simple grayish-blue dress, her hair tousled, rushing over in distress. She sobbed and uttered, "My brother, my brother has gone insane! He's beco a lunatic…"

-x-X-x-

Jenna's brother gone mad? Lumian's rage surged.

Not because he was angry with the other party and thought his ntal strength too weak to crumble so easily into madness, but because he heard fate's mocking laughter once again.

He noticed yesterday that Julien blad himself for Elodie's death and showed signs of withdrawing into himself, but that was far from madness. Even if he faced psychological issues in the future, they would be prolonged, not an instant breakdown.

Unless… unless sothing happened last night that dealt Julien another heavy blow!

Damn fate!

Franca shared the surprise.

Yesterday, she had warned Jenna to keep an eye on her brother's ntal state, but she hadn't expected Julien to lose his mind so swiftly.

As far as she knew, he was a resilient young man. He was in good health, and his emotions wouldn't easily be affected or trigger dangerous tendencies. It would be normal for him to isolate himself or indulge for a while, but a complete breakdown in one night seed unlikely.

Jenna had ntioned Julien's inclination towards extremism, but that was for the sake of their family. With his sister still alive, burdened with debts, and the need to beco an underground singer, it was evident that Julien would persist and work hard to share the load until the debts were repaid. If his psychological issues persisted until then, he might collapse or quietly take his own life.

This led Franca to suspect that Julien had been agitated once again the previous night.

She had similar concerns about Jenna's mother's decision to commit suicide, but she refrained from ntioning it to avoid upsetting Jenna.

Franca understood Elodie's feelings and choices, but suicide felt too hasty and impulsive, as if sothing had influenced her emotions.

Before transmigrating into this world, Franca had read many reports of such nature. She knew that the tornt of poverty, self-bla for burdening the family with debts, fear of being incapable of labor, and pure selfless love could drive an optimistic person into a desperate situation, leading them to sacrifice themselves.

However, such matters typically involved a period of internal struggle before they were carried out. After all, everyone had a will to survive and would consider their loved ones' feelings. While it wasn't impossible to commit suicide upon understanding the circumstances, the chances were quite low.

Franca speculated two possibilities. First, Jenna's mother might have been psychologically affected by her physical condition. Second, the explosion at the chemical plant might have been part of the motives of the mber of Parliant secretary, Rh?ne, and others. The subsequent abnormal and widespread emotional fluctuations could be connected to those events.

Is Julien in a similar situation? Franca shifted her gaze to Jenna, who approached Room 207, sobbing.

"What happened?"

"Julien got fired," Jenna said, her expression filled with resentnt. "Just because he didn't go to the factory yesterday afternoon. But who thinks of work when their mother has just passed away? After leaving the hospital, he imdiately went to his master to request ti off, but they handed him a dismissal notice instead. He had been an apprentice there for a whole year!"

"Dammit!" Franca cursed. "Can't they just deduct so money? Are they heartless? Do none of their own family mbers die?"

"They said it needed to be requested in advance. It can't be done afterward." Jenna wiped her tears. "Julien broke down this morning. He cried like a child, blaming himself and expressing his fear of losing his job. I waited until he was exhausted from crying and fell asleep before rushing over to find you. I went to Rue des Blouses Blanches first but found no one there, so I ca here."

As she spoke, her words andered, as though a flood of emotions had surged within her and needed release.

Franca let out a relieved sigh.

"It doesn't seem too grave. Sounds more like an overwhelming breakdown. Trust , a genuine Psychiatrist can heal your brother completely. I'll arrange an appointnt for you right away!"

As Franca spoke, she turned and headed towards the staircase.

The anger in Lumian's heart intensified.

Forgetting to request ti off, getting fired on the very day he made the request, succumbing to new disturbances, and spiraling into madness—it all seed too coincidental.

Motherf*cker Termiboros!

Motherf*cker Inevitability!

Lumian spun towards Jenna and said sharply, "Let's pay a visit to the factory owner and your brother's master!"

Jenna pursed her lips and replied simply, "Okay."

Lumian walked past her and followed Franca up the stairs, his fiery blue eyes burning with determination.

At that mont, the words of Psychiatrist Madam Susie echoed in his mind: Always remind yourself not to overreact. Whenever you feel a similar surge of emotions, take deep breaths and find your calm…

Lumian took a deep breath, feeling a sense of alarm.

In the face of Jenna's brother's madness and fate's cruel taunts, he should be angered and protest, but he shouldn't have allowed his rage to consu him completely!

Almost simultaneously, behind Lumian, Jenna's resentful expression transford into a calm one. From sowhere, she drew a brownish-green dagger,

resembling a blade fashioned from tree branches instead of tal. Its surface was adorned with bark, arranged in intricate patterns.

With a swift motion, Jenna thrust the dagger towards Lumian's back.

Reacting swiftly, Lumian twisted his body, narrowly avoiding a fatal blow. The dagger found purchase between his shoulder and back, drawing blood.

Jenna leaped back with agility, while the crimson blood from Lumian's wound flowed profusely, like crimson fire.

The bark on Jenna's brownish-green dagger seed to co alive, greedily absorbing Lumian's blood.

In that mont, the muscles on Jenna's face contorted, rendering her unrecognizable to Lumian and Franca.

In an instant, she transford into an enchanting and ethereal girl, her features captivating.

Lumian's pupils dilated as he recognized the imposter.

Charlotte Calvino!

Charlotte Calvino, the leading actress of Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons!

Charlotte blended seamlessly with her surroundings, evading Lumian's fiery crimson fireball with ease.

Amidst the thunderous explosion, the door to Room 207 crumbled. The actress chuckled and uttered,

"You regained your senses swiftly. I couldn't eliminate you directly.

"But it matters not. We only require a small portion of your blood."

…

On Avenue du Marché, outside the khaki-colored four-story building that housed the mber of parliant's office,

Jenna stepped into the banquet hall with bewildernt. Before her eyes lay an array of exquisite desserts, savory dishes, and glasses of vibrant-colored drinks, spread across long tables.

In one corner of the hall, a small symphony band played a soothing lody, accompanied by the sparkling brilliance of a crystal chandelier and the gentle rays of sunlight pouring in through the windows.

Amongst the crowd were individuals clad in brown jackets, linen shirts, and nondescript attire from the market district, appearing rather out of place amidst the opulence of the banquet.

So stood in a corner, their expressions vacant, while others regarded the luxurious items with resentnt. So consud food in a state of confusion, while others savored champagne with excitent, relishing the taste of an affair reserved for the upper class.

Instinctively, Jenna retreated to a dimly lit corner, her expression impassive as she silently observed everything around her.

anwhile, on the fourth floor of the mber of parliant's office.

Hugues Artois, dressed in a black tailcoat and a dark-blue bow tie, his sideburns mottled and his nose prominent, stood behind a window, surveying the market district.

This chaotic and antiquated place belonged to his kingdom.

"Monsieur mber of Parliant, why host a condolence banquet and invite these plebeians?" Rh?ne, wearing gold-rimd glasses and sporting neatly combed hair, asked in confusion.

Hugues Artois smiled.

"It is the duty of a mber of parliant. Before assuming another identity, I must fulfill my obligations.

"Furthermore, by offering condolences and assistance to the grieving people at this ti, I will leave a lasting impression in their minds. They may beco my loyal followers in the future. When the ti cos, their conversion will be easier."

The red-haired Cassandra chuckled.

"And they shall remain oblivious to the fact that it is you, a mber of parliant, who has brought calamity, pain, and despair upon them.

"They will only perceive the care and concern from a high-ranking figure, satisfied by your promises."

Secretary Rh?ne nodded, a smile playing on his lips.

"In their eyes, Monsieur mber of Parliant is an esteed figure they can only admire from afar. They dare not approach or question him, let alone harbor suspicions, vent their anger, or harbor hatred.

"As long as there is no organization among them, they will never dare to resist."

Hugues Artois laughed and declared, "That is precisely why we must sow division among them, fueling their animosity towards each other."

With those words spoken, Hugues Artois turned his gaze towards the sunlit window and muttered to himself, "Those under the Mother Tree of Desire must have already comnced their actions, I presu…"

…

On Rue Anarchie, just outside Auberge du Coq Doré.

Without warning, the ground split open and the center caved in, catching several vendors off guard. They tumbled into the abyss, their screams abruptly silenced.

A colossal brownish-green tree sprang forth from the depths, its branches spreading in every direction.

Stretching across multiple blocks, it ensnared Auberge du Coq Doré within its leafy embrace.

The eloping couple, amidst their verbal sparring, found themselves once again engaged in their favored pasti. Anthony Reid, the information broker, sought refuge beneath a rickety wooden table, trembling uncontrollably. anwhile, Pavard Neeson, the proprietor of the underground bar, reached for his sketchpad, downing a gulp of liquor as he sketched with an expression of deep concern…

The imnse brownish-green tree continued to grow, unabated.

-x-X-x-

Lumian's fireball missed its target, Charlotte, and in response, countless branches and vines slithered into Auberge du Coq Doré from every direction, entwining the walls, floor, windows, and ceiling. They twisted together in a tangle of brown and green, creating an impenetrable barrier.

In an instant, the entire scene transford into a surreal illusion before solidifying once more.

Before him stood an imnse tree, its shades of brown and green blending together harmoniously. Its roots delved deep into the earth, while its majestic crown reached ever higher towards the heavens.

Lumian's eyes widened as he realized he had been unknowingly transported. It was reminiscent of his previous journeys into Paramita, where he would find himself in a new place without any awareness of the transition.

Gone was Auberge du Coq Doré. Now, his feet trod upon the tangled knots of tree roots that carpeted the ground. His gaze ascended to the colossal tree, reminiscent of ancient legends, as the vast expanse of the sky with its painted-like blue hue and fluffy white clouds lood above.

The tree's surface was marred by repulsive, damp growths, and each branch appeared to bear the weight of a structure—a building, a road, and other peculiarities.

Auberge du Coq Doré was among them, perched upon a brownish-green tree trunk, intertwined with countless branches and vines, revealing a re dozen windows to the world.

Through one of the glass windows, Lumian caught sight of the eloping couple engaged in passionate love-making, while the information broker, Anthony Reid, cowered under a wooden table, trembling in fear…

The other tree trunks held objects enshrouded by branches, leaves, and vines, appearing ethereal and hazy, as if they were scenes recorded by a magnetic field through foggy air.

Within this realm, ancient buildings with pedints, herringbone roofs, and lead-frad windows erged. Won clutching gas street lamps were embraced from behind, priests stood before nude n, and individuals leaped out of glass windows while covering their behinds. Exquisite bodies were carried on trays to dining tables, orgies unfolded with clothing strewn about, and an evil beauty turned her head to reveal two black goat horns. A bishop naked from the bottom half heard confessions from believers in front of a Sacred Emblem.

The scenes varied in architectural styles, clothing, and hairstyles, so evoking ancient tis while others seed to have occurred just yesterday.

Behind Lumian, crimson Fire Ravens materialized, half-illusory. He swiftly scanned the area, yet Franca was nowhere to be found.

Franca hadn't been transported to this place caught between reality and illusion!

On Rue Anarchie, amidst the tree roots, branches, and vines, street vendors and pedestrians devoured the food they sold. Even after vomiting, they continued to eat with unwavering determination. So forcefully pinned down mbers of the opposite sex on the street, others drawing daggers to attack peers who had provoked them or dared steal their spots. In scenes of utter chaos, certain individuals approached glass windows, attempting to entice their reflections into a dance with a gentlemanly bow.

Pedestrians and carriages traversed the streets, seemingly oblivious to the extraordinary circumstances. Vendors continued their lively hawking, and shops remained open. Passersby appeared captivated by the bustling atmosphere, unwilling to depart.

What they failed to notice was the absence of anyone who had entered this area—they had simply vanished, never to return.

…

On the fourth floor of the khaki-colored building that housed the mber of parliant's office at Avenue du Marché.

Hugues Artois, lost in thought, gazed out at the nearby streets.

Cassandra, with her fiery red hair, turned back to him and asked with curiosity, "What is Susanna from the Bliss Society planning?"

A smile ford on Hugues Artois' lips as he replied, "They spoke a great deal, but my understanding was limited. I recall them ntioning a plan to subrge the underground divine tree into the depths of Fourth Epoch Trier and extend it into a place called the astral world."

Cassandra, Rh?ne, Margaret, and Boduva exchanged puzzled and concerned glances, unable to hide their confusion.

"But won't that cause a trendous uproar? Our current strength is far from that of official Beyonders. It's best to avoid a direct clash with them. You might not be aware, but I co from the Sauron family, and I understand the authorities quite well. I know how powerful and formidable they can be.

"Everything we've done so far has been in secret, evading investigations as best we could. If we were to be exposed, it's highly likely that we would face a Saint or a Grade 1 Sealed Artifact. And beyond them, there are angels and Grade 0 Sealed Artifacts."

Hugues Artois pressed his right hand down and reassured them with a smile.

"Fear not, they won't implicate us.

"I didn't incite them to undertake this endeavor. I didn't even offer a hint or assistance. I can only be considered aware of their plan in advance, silently consenting to their actions.

"The only thing that could potentially link us to this affair is the explosion at the chemical plant that received an excessive amount of decay blessings. However, that occurred because Bono Goodville misunderstood Rh?ne's intentions and committed an unforgivable cri. The various emotions and desires stemming from the accident were exploited, amplified, and used as nourishnt. What does that have to do with us?"

As the team mbers' expressions eased, Hugues Artois stepped away from the window, emitting a deep chuckle.

"If they succeed, it will mark another solid step forward in our pursuits. We will be even closer to welcoming the descent of great existences. If they, unfortunately, fail, we will exercise restraint for the ti being and strive to ensure that our activities remain hidden from the Beyonders of the two Churches. We will continue to be the rulers of the market district.

"Success or failure, it's our opportunity.

"During the National Convention's discussions, I will expose the corruption and diocre abilities of the Beyonders from the two Churches. They have allowed heretics to repeatedly ravage the market district, each ti worse than the last!

"I will request Bureau 8 to establish a branch in the market district to assist the inept Church Beyonders and share their burden.

"Bureau 8, always eager to expand its authority, will surely support my proposal.

"With three different official forces simultaneously present in the market district, conflicts among them will work to our advantage.

"Compared to the orthodox Beyonders of the two Churches, Bureau 8 can be influenced, corrupted, and gradually swayed to our side.

"This is my plan. In the long run, victory will be ours!"

Rh?ne, the secretary with gold-rimd glasses and neatly combed hair, chuckled.

"That's my specialty."

Influencing, corrupting, and gradually decaying an organization, leading to its decline and moral degradation.

Hugues Artois adjusted his tailcoat and bow tie, preparing to leave for the banquet hall.

Before departing, he surveyed his surroundings, his gaze shifting between Cassandra, Rh?ne, Boduva, and Margaret. An unusual sense of confidence and certainty washed over him.

These four subordinates possessed impressive Beyonder powers, with the red-haired Cassandra being particularly formidable, instilling him with a sense of security.

Outside the office door, near the stairs, stood an official Beyonder team tasked with protecting him.

Not every mber of parliant received the privilege of a three-man protective team. So were already powerful Beyonders, while others hailed from noble backgrounds and had their own Beyonder bodyguards. For so, a certain level of personal strength warranted the presence of a Beyonder companion to ensure their safety. It was only soone like Hugues Artois, lacking Beyonder abilities and familial support, who required such protection.

According to the rules, the responsibility of safeguarding Hugues Artois rotated among the Eternal Blazing Sun Church, the God of Steam and Machinery Church, and Bureau 8. Today, it was the turn of the Eternal Blazing Sun Church.

In addition to the Beyonders, the entire building housed ten well-trained professional security guards ard with firearms. They were mbers of Bureau 7, a branch of the Intis Intelligence and Holand Security Committee—the Special Services Bureau—responsible for providing basic protection to mbers of parliant and high-ranking governnt officials.

Standing by the door, Hugues Artois awaited Rh?ne, his secretary, to open it. With a smile on his face, he lifted his head slightly, puffed out his chest, and confidently walked out, descending the stairs.

…

On the ground covered with tangled tree roots,

Lumian surrounded himself with semi-illusory Fire Ravens, once again spotting Charlotte Calvino, the leading lady of Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons.

With a remarkable talent for acting, Charlotte gracefully wandered through the illusory scenes ford by the various tree trunks. Sotis, she adorned a corset dress and styled her hair in an elegant bun. Other tis, she embraced contemporary fashion, donning a fitted dress, a small coat, and long boots. On certain occasions, she even transported herself to the era of the Sauron royal family, embodying their love for masculine attire and blending seamlessly with the corresponding backdrop.

In this ethereal process, whenever she left one misty illusory scene, she promptly erged in another, as if leisurely strolling through different eras of Trier.

Beneath the dim glow of the gas street lamps, Charlotte wore a smile as she addressed Lumian, "You should consider yourself honored. You are the first dissident to enter the divine tree and rge with it."

The crimson Fire Ravens encircling Lumian condensed but refrained from attacking. This was because Charlotte constantly flickered between illusory scenes, altering her appearance with each transition.

Her voice echoed from all directions, forming sentences.

Lumian had already donned black gloves. His right hand was in his pocket, gripping Mr. K's finger tightly.

Charlotte continued her discourse, introducing the situation as if through an aria, as if it were insufficient to satisfy her inner desires.

This ancient Tree of Shadow predates the construction of present-day Trier. Its roots were buried deep underground.

"It brings delight and sustenance to the people of Trier. With the aid of the devil lineage and devoted followers, the ambiance here gradually transford according to the deity's desired path. The people of Trier have never failed it. Both debauchery and pleasure are inherent to human nature. Year after year, they showered it with various excessive desires, providing it with nourishnt.

"Over a millennium has elapsed. Although Trier hasn't reached the expected pinnacle of unbridled joy and indulgence until death, it has taken form. The divine tree's growth has now reached a crucial crossroads.

"In such a situation, pure desires and emotions can no longer play their primary role. They can only serve as firewood for the fire. We require a sacrifice of considerable magnitude. And you, who possess corruption at the angelic level but lack comnsurate strength, are the perfect choice!"

Lumian's heart skipped a beat upon hearing this. His pupils dilated, as if he wished to see Charlotte's face clearly.

Does she know that I carry the sealed power of Inevitability within ?

Charlotte grinned.

"The first ti you summoned High Priestess Susanna, she sensed the terrifying angelic power sealed within you. She didn't dare possess you. Her subsequent attempts to kill you were not solely motivated by Charlie!"

-x-X-x-

Upon hearing Charlotte's words, Lumian grasped the problem in an instant.

As soon as he reached the market district and attempted his first Summoning Dance, he unintentionally summoned Susanna Mattise, who had been drawn to Charlie, into his room.

At the ti, Susanna seed eager to possess him, but she instinctively sensed the danger lurking within the seal and refrained from acting. This mirrored the behavior of the peculiar creatures Lumian had summoned before. It appeared that only by compelling them would they dare to take hold of him.

Hence, Lumian didn't see anything amiss then. Even when he later encountered Susanna Mattise again and gained deeper insight into the Bliss Society, he failed to connect the dots.

But now, he realized his oversight.

Susanna Mattise was fundantally different from the strange creatures he had previously summoned!

The dissimilarity didn't lie in her status as a Sequence 5 evil spirit who had failed to attain godhood, but rather in her possession of reason and the ability to think. Besides being extrely fanatical and persistent, she could also lead and develop a secret organization!

When such an evil spirit sensed the trendously dangerous power sealed within Lumian's body, even if she didn't imdiately recognize it as angelic-level corruption, she would have left in confusion and sought revelation from the evil god she believed in!

By the ti she grasped the situation, Lumian, possessing the strength of a Low-Sequence Beyonder equivalent to an angel, would be irresistibly appealing to heretics skilled in sacrificial rituals. He would be no less enticing than a hundred million verl d'or abandoned on the street before a Scrooge.

Had it not been for Lumian's quick thinking, temporarily stunning her with Fallen rcury and deceiving Susanna Mattise during their second encounter, the situation might have reached its conclusion before the official Beyonders arrived.

For Charlie, an ordinary person, to successfully descend from the fifth floor to Lumian's door and seek help despite Susanna Mattise's threats and lingering presence, it seed more than just re luck.

One couldn't trust the words and emotions of an Actor, especially those who were particularly good-looking!

In Charlotte Calvino's performance, Lumian had been scanning the surroundings, hoping to utilize a Hunter's instincts to find an exit from this peculiar space.

Yet, aside from the entangled tree roots blanketing the ground, the colossal slowly-growing brownish-green tree, and the oil painting-like blue sky with white clouds, there was nothing else.

In such an environnt, Lumian's Pyromaniac instincts made him stop hesitating. He released his grip on Mr. K's finger and flung it into the air.

Almost simultaneously, the semi-illusory crimson Fire Ravens condensed around him took flight, each tracing an elegant arc as they soared toward the illusionary scene where Charlotte Calvino stood and the fog of the past lingering on the surrounding branches.

Charlotte stepped out of the grand palace, suspected to be a scene depicting Emperor Roselle's affair, and entered the White Maple Palace during the Sauron royal era. There, a Beyonder who had transford into a man due to a potion but hadn't changed his sexual orientation was scrutinizing the noble ladies' spouses.

The rumbling sounds persisted, yet Charlotte effortlessly evaded the onslaught of Fire Ravens. The fog-shrouded scenes of the past remained unyielding, as if they were truly nonexistent. However, the brownish-green branches that bore them showed signs of scorching and charring.

The Tree of Shadow was, after all, a tree, and thus susceptible to combustion!

The only issue was that Lumian's Fire Ravens inflicted minimal harm upon it.

In an explosive mont, Mr. K's finger detonated like a bomb, transforming into a grueso rain of flesh and blood that draped Lumian in a hooded robe of crimson.

To Lumian's dismay, Mr. K didn't appear imdiately. It was uncertain whether it would take ti to sense his presence or if the Tree of Shadow had isolated this space from the real world.

Charlotte ventured into the illusory scene of a torrential downpour, where a few naked figures sprinted about. Her white silk dress seed drenched, adhering to her body and accentuating her unusually exquisite form.

She bestowed Lumian with a smile, her eyes akin to serene lakes tinged with timidity, innocence, and purity.

A searing fla coursed through Lumian's being, igniting from his head down to his very core.

Lumian's heart surged with longing. He darted between the entangled roots, heading toward the brownish-green tree and the captivating figure of Charlotte Calvino.

Charlotte didn't traverse the various illusory scenes. Instead, she stepped onto a tree branch below and leaned against the brownish-green trunk. Her body trembled slightly, as if yearning to hide but finding no escape.

Lumian's eyes blazed with a reddened fury as his gaze fixated upon Charlotte's sparkling eyes, moist lips, graceful neck, and alluring curves. His thoughts beca a chaotic haze.

Thus, he failed to notice Charlotte's abdon and legs sinking into the brownish-green trunk. He failed to observe the crack forming, unveiling a colossal moist flower.

The vivid red flower blood gradually, akin to an enormous mouth anticipating its prey.

Lumian lunged toward Charlotte, propelled by his fervor.

Charlotte couldn't help but smile.

At that very mont, a muffled explosion erupted from Lumian's right pocket.

Boom!

Underneath his blood-colored robe, a ball of flas burst forth, ripping through his pocket and igniting his shirt, causing an agonizing pain to course through Lumian's waist.

Lumian's eyes regained so semblance of clarity. Swiftly, he reached out and grasped Charlotte's wrist, keeping a minimal distance between himself and the moist flower.

Having long been aware of the Mother Tree of Desire's ability to awaken various desires, how could Lumian not have been on guard against Charlotte's seduction?

However, in order to prevent the other party from detecting his defenses prematurely and setting a trap, he chose not to directly soak the Mysticism Slling Salts in cloth and place it near his nose. Nor did he turn the dagger around, preparing for the collision that would bring him back to his senses. In their current predicant, such thods held little reliability, for Charlotte might not allow him to truly pounce on her.

Hence, Lumian opted to create a small fireball with a delayed explosion in his pocket, all the while gripping Mr. K's finger!

If he remained unaffected and the fireball neared detonation, he could choose to dispel it and create another.

The small fireball inflicted negligible harm upon him. Its primary purpose was to awaken him through pain.

As for the resultant burn injuries, Lumian paid them no heed.

Pyromaniacs held no fear of such trivialities!

In an instant, Lumian seized Charlotte's wrist, and he caught a flicker of fear on her face.

Without delay, two serpent-like crimson flas burst forth from Lumian's palm, searing their way along Charlotte's arm toward her body and head.

Instinctively, Charlotte tilted her neck back, emitting a pained groan as her skin swiftly turned black from the scorching flas.

Just as Lumian was on the verge of engulfing her entirely, a wave of intense danger washed over him.

He attempted to pull Charlotte to the side, but she appeared to ld with the brownish-green tree. No matter how hard Lumian tugged, he couldn't extricate her.

Reluctantly, Lumian abandoned his futile efforts and lunged to his right.

With a muffled thud, a tree trunk as thick as a wine glass descended from the sky, impaling the ground teeming with tangled roots like a javelin, its tip quivering violently.

Lumian glanced upward and beheld Susanna Mattise, her turquoise hair cascading around her, her erald eyes and scarlet lips.

She possessed a translucent quality, standing amidst the dense and ethereal canopy of the tree, blending seamlessly with it.

Both the brownish-green trunk and the outstretched branches bore colossal wet flowers in pale hues, flourishing and blooming.

…

On Avenue du Marché, inside the khaki-colored four-story building that housed the parliant mber's office.

In a corner, Jenna observed Hugues Artois, garbed in elegance, leading his secretary Rh?ne and others through the gathering. With a glass of champagne in hand, he offered consolation, made promises, and delivered impromptu speeches with re words. In response, he received sincere gratitude, unveiled dependence, and instinctive flattery.

Jenna couldn't help but recall a question Lumian had once posed to her: "Do you wish to sit here and watch as the murderers responsible for your mother's death and the destruction of your happiness revel in champagne, indulge in dance parties, and inflict more heartbreak on innocent families?"

Unconsciously, Jenna's fists clenched, her knowledge of the truth fueling an uncontrollable anguish.

However, she understood the need to restrain herself. Acting impulsively wouldn't yield results. She had to endure.

This was because following the proper procedures, she couldn't take action against a parliant mber without substantial evidence. And if she desired to seek justice independently, her adversaries boasted several Beyonders who had been bestowed with an evil god's boon and were protected by official Beyonders and ard personnel.

All she could do was endure and await the future!

…

Within the confines of Auberge du Coq Doré, ensnared by branches and vines, Franca stood near the staircase, her face flushed and her eyes glistening as she battled to suppress the overwhelming desire coursing through her veins.

Her right hand trembled as she retrieved the canister of Mysticism Slling Salts obtained from Rentas. With a twist of the lid, she raised it to her nose.

Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!

A series of sneezes erupted, marking Franca's triumph over her desires and the gradual return of her rationality.

Swiftly scanning her surroundings, she realized that Lumian, who had been re steps away, had vanished.

Taking note of the unnatural transformations plaguing the motel and the adjacent streets engulfed by colossal trees, Franca clenched her teeth and arrived at a resolution. The tree crowns above seed to grow increasingly ethereal as they reached skyward, extending into an otherworldly realm.

She retrieved two objects from her possession.

They were a pair of tarot cards.

One depicted a man and a woman raising their cups in a greeting—the Two of Cups. In the center, a wooden staff coiled by twin serpents stood prominently.

The other card portrayed an angel sounding a trumpet, calling forth the resurrection of the departed—the Judgnt card!

-x-X-x-

Franca clutched the Judgnt card tightly and chanted in Hers, "Rain judgnt!"

The ordinary-looking tarot card remained unchanged, but within a few seconds, Auberge du Coq Doré trembled visibly.

The brownish-green branches and turquoise vines that covered the building's facade receded, as if filled with fear.

Franca's view through the window expanded. She witnessed the sky rging with the ethereal canopy of a colossal tree. The clouds appeared to be caught in a hurricane, swirling in unison.

As the wind shifted, nurous white clouds gathered, forming a massive vortex that descended to the ground, elongating into a sword-like gust that bridged heaven and earth.

The sword descended, and a figure stood unwavering in the middle of Rue Anarchie.

It was a woman with shoulder-length blond hair, donned in a traditional grayish-white knight's training attire.

Standing over 1.5 ters tall, her features were exquisite, and her eyes exuded a commanding aura of dignity, demanding submission and obedience.

Rue Anarchie, where she stood, was no longer recognizable. The surrounding buildings, the narrow roads, and the vendors and pedestrians, consud by their own desires, were divided and scattered across the strange wilderness, blending with the other streets.

Interwoven roots sprouted from the ground, connecting the scattered sections. Radiating from the brownish-green tree at the center, they spread out layer by layer, growing denser as they neared the core.

The streets occupied by the colossal tree remained hidden from the outside world, thanks to this strange wilderness!

Franca let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the short yet dignified lady with blond hair.

Grasping the Judgnt and Two of Cups cards, she blurted out, "Praise The Fool! Praise Madam Judgent!"

As soon as the woman known as Madam Judgnt landed, her gaze fell upon the side of the brownish-green tree. Unbeknownst to Franca, a cradle-like dark-red open carriage had appeared there at so point. Two towering creatures with goat horns, pitch-black bodies, and burning dark flas pulled the carriage. They seed to be Demons.

Seated within the carriage was a woman wearing a light-colored veil. She adorned a loose white robe, her slightly swollen belly emanating a tangible maternal glow.

Lady Moon!

The strange wilderness was her Paramita world!

Lady Moon… You have erged from the rat's hole… The eyes of Judgnt, the blond-haired lady, instantly took on an ethereal quality, as if touched by a golden hue.

Through her eyes, she perceived the intertwining Beyonder powers that existed within the woman on the carriage, manifesting in different colors and states.

"Deprivation!" Madam Judgnt's solemn voice resounded.

It was an ancient Hers word.

With a simple gesture of her right hand, Madam Judgnt temporarily stripped the ability to copulate between creatures of different genders.

Imdiately after, Madam Judgnt leaned forward, pushed out her palm, and declared in ancient Hers, "Exile!"

With a whirring sound, an invisible and majestic force coalesced into a terrifying hurricane, howling before Lady Moon.

Unfazed by distance, it materialized directly where the carriage was.

Beneath Lady Moon's veil, her faintly discernible red lips parted as she took deep breaths.

The exaggerated hurricane, capable of toppling an entire building, seed to find an outlet in a confined vessel. It surged into Lady Moon's mouth and perated her body.

In just a second, the hurricane dissipated into nothingness, completely absorbed by Lady Moon.

With a radiant maternal glow, she extended her right hand, caressing her swollen stomach with tenderness.

…

The cerulean sky and billowing clouds resembled exquisite paintings, while the earth beneath was a realm entwined with tree roots.

Lumian's gaze t Susanna Mattise perched atop the crown of the tree, and they exchanged a knowing look. In an instant, semi-ethereal crimson Fire Ravens materialized around him.

The Fire Ravens circled and soared towards the heavens, but they couldn't breach the ethereal canopy of the tree. They could only approach, their presence without touch.

They alighted upon the brownish-green trunk, scorching it with blackened marks.

Observing this, Lumian swiftly shifted his focus.

He had discovered earlier that flas possessed the ability to inflict certain damage upon the enigmatic entity known as the Tree of Shadow!

Crimson fireballs condensed one after another, hurtling towards the branches of the tree. Yet, they rely singed them without evident impact.

Lumian paused montarily. Susanna Mattise was preoccupied with sothing, and Charlotte Calvino had yet to recover from her burns. It was suspected that she had taken refuge within an illusory scene, allowing the crimson flas in his palm to accumulate layer by layer until they transford into a fist-sized sphere of searing incandescence.

Boom!

The explosion caused by the incandescent fireball was several tis more powerful than before, but not a single fragnt of the Tree of Shadow's bark fell. Only a larger area of charred flesh and the faint whiff of a colossal light-colored blossom attested to the reality of the incandescent white fla stream.

Lumian's expression turned grave. After a mont of contemplation, a spear ford from blazing white flas materialized in his hand.

He hurled the spear towards the brownish-green tree, witnessing it puncture needle-sized holes in the charred bark before disintegrating into a cascade of flas that spread across various sections of the tree.

Witnessing this, Lumian's heart clenched as he recalled his sister Aurore's favored phrase for describing those who overestimate their abilities to the point of impracticality: "It's akin to an ant attempting to shake a towering oak."

Lumian's anxiety, impatience, and fear compelled him to unleash his fists.

His clenched fists were engulfed in crimson flas.

As he struck the brownish-green tree, a wisp of fire infiltrated its surface.

Fire Infusion!

Lumian sought to bypass the Tree of Shadow's resilient outer bark and directly harm its core.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

His flaming fists pumled the trunk of the brownish-green tree, as if he aid to inject every accumulated fla within his being into it.

Bam! Bam! Bam! After a flurry of frenzied attacks, he retracted his fists and took a step back.

Rumble!

A muffled explosion reverberated from within the tree trunk, causing the charred bark to finally crumble away, consud by flas.

In an instant, an ethereal mist enveloped the scene, as if a long-forgotten beautiful dream had been set ablaze by a match.

Lumian found himself montarily lost in a haze, as if he had transford into the protagonist of that dream—a man engaged in a passionate encounter with an enchanting woman wearing an exquisite dress, her hem teasingly lifted.

The unfamiliar sensation felt so vivid that Lumian believed himself to be living it firsthand.

Abruptly, a sharp pain shot through his ankle, snapping him out of the reverie. He discovered nurous branches and vines erging from his surroundings, stealthily coiling around his feet, their thorns piercing through his blood-colored robe, sinking into his flesh, and greedily drinking his blood.

Lumian grunted, crimson wisps emanating from his body, manifesting into a vibrant cloak of fiery flas that swathed his robe of flesh and blood.

Amidst crackling sounds, the branches and vines ignited, quickly withering into brittle twigs and ashen remnants.

Seizing the opportunity, Lumian swiftly retreated, his gaze fixed upon the wound he had inflicted.

His eyes t the sa brownish-green bark, albeit slightly recessed compared to its surroundings.

Beneath the bark… more bark!

Lumian's pupils dilated as he gleaned the gravity of the situation.

The Tree of Shadow had been nurtured by the abnormal desires of Trier's denizens for one to two millennia. Each piece of bark likely represented specific human activities from a particular era, layered upon one another, carrying the weight of history and the subtleties of humanity.

In simple terms, Lumian realized that if he wished to destroy the Tree of Shadow, he would have to confront countless desires accumulated over the span of two thousand years. And he had exhausted his strength to vanquish rely one desire, perhaps one in a billion, or even billions upon billions.

How could he possibly prevail?

Only then did Lumian comprehend the abnormality of his actions.

He had been focused on assaulting the Tree of Shadow instead of seeking an escape route.

An exchange of glances with Susanna Mattise brought forth fear, anxiety, and a deluge of emotions.

No wonder Susanna Mattise allowed to act freely. No wonder the injured Charlotte Calvino didn't intervene… Lumian had been cautious of the Fallen Tree Spirits and Actors that could evoke desires and emotions, yet he had unknowingly fallen under their sway.

Once more, he raised his gaze and beheld Susanna Mattise, her hair a cascade of turquoise, nimbly shifting positions within the ethereal canopy, uttering an arcane incantation. Charlotte Calvino resud her enigmatic actions, traversing illusory scenes, her attire, hairstyle, and makeup transforming to mirror various eras. It was no re performance.

As Lumian's thoughts raced, dizziness assailed him, and his strength rapidly waned.

Such a sensation was foreign to him, but he had subjected others to its effects.

The sedative concocted by the Bliss Society!

Ever the keen observer of his surroundings, Lumian swiftly took out the Mysticism Slling Salts, his attention drawn to the multitude of pallid flowers adorning the brownish-green tree.

He suspected they were responsible for releasing the sedative gas!

Achoo!

In the midst of his sneeze, Lumian pivoted, intending to distance himself from the Tree of Shadow.

Yet, Mr. K remained absent.

In the blink of an eye, roots erged from the earth, intertwining to erect a formidable wooden barricade, surpassing ten ters in height, encircling the brownish-green tree and obstructing Lumian's path to freedom.

Lumian halted and pivoted on his heel. Countless fractures marred the trunk, branches, and roots of the Tree of Shadow. So crevices harbored moist, light-colored flowers, while others resembled cavernous mouths oozing with viscous sli, swiftly elongating toward him.

Trapped with no ans of escape, Lumian's lips curled into a smirk.

Without warning, he extended his right hand, pressing it firmly against his left chest. He spoke with a derisive tone, "Termiboros, they truly underestimate your worth. They actually intend to employ you as a sacrifice."

-x-X-x-

Upon learning of the Bliss Society's plan, Lumian's imdiate assumption was that Susanna had made a crucial mistake.

What lay sealed within him wasn't just corruption at an angelic level, but an actual angel!

The forr lacked self-awareness and reacted on instinct alone. Without undoing the seal and reconnecting it with its true form, it was like a cache of explosives temporarily without a detonator. While there was still a possibility of explosion, Susanna and the other heretics believed they could manage the situation.

By employing the right thod, utilizing the isolated environnt within the Tree of Shadow, arranging the necessary rituals, and harnessing the evil god's gaze during the sacrificial ceremony, they could break the seal and offer it as a sacrifice to the Mother Tree of Desire, ensuring the angelic corruption wouldn't pose a threat.

However, the true angel possessed intelligence and a strong will. He wouldn't idly stand by while being sacrificed.

Once the seal was completely lifted, could Susanna, Charlotte, and the others truly handle a genuine angel?

One of them was a Sequence 5 evil spirit that required the Tree of Shadow to possess so godhood, while the other was undoubtedly an Actor with an irrepressible desire to perform. As for a true angel, He had to be at least a Sequence 2 for Lumian to address Him as such. In ancient tis, They were nearly on par with deities and were considered subsidiary gods. The difference between them was as vast as that between a saint and an ordinary individual.

Initially, Lumian hesitated to use Termiboros as an escape plan, fearing that the sinister and detestable angel would exploit the opportunity to make him do sothing seemingly innocent on the surface but secretly aid Him in infiltrating more of His powers beyond the seal.

In that scenario, Lumian, Susanna, and Charlotte would et their doom. The Tree of Shadow would be destroyed or vanish underground, allowing Termiboros to truly descend upon the world.

Left with no other choice, Lumian cautiously stepped onto the steel rope suspended above a taphorical abyss, hoping to maintain his balance.

One misstep, and he would fall into irreparable oblivion.

As soon as Lumian finished speaking, Termiboros's deep and commanding voice resounded in his ears.

It had been a while since Lumian had heard and resisted the angel's temptation. He could only sense His connection to his own fate through the abnormal occurrences around him or the predetermined events. Yet, the angel hadn't given up and continued to make attempts.

Now, after many days, Lumian once again heard Termiboros's voice, experiencing the full presence of the angel sealed within him.

Termiboros's voice carried a tinge of relaxation and satisfaction as it echoed in Lumian's ears.

"If they underestimate , it will only aid my escape from this seal.

"This environnt is perfect, precisely what I've been waiting for. Even if you perish later and the seal loses its support, the outside world won't detect the corresponding changes and won't be able to prevent from breaking free of my restraints.

"They may not outright kill you, but once they attempt to shatter the seal and perform their sacrificial act, I will unleash their predetermined fate. I will abandon your body and disrupt their ritual."

Termiboros's words insinuated:

This is the opportunity I've long awaited!

Why should I assist you? Just wait patiently for the inevitable outco!

Lumian fell into silence and leaped away from his original position.

The tree roots split apart, and a massive, damp, pale flower blossod, one after another, as if the abyss itself had yawned open.

Achoo!

Lumian inhaled the Mysticism Slling Salts once more, dispelling his drowsiness.

He gazed up at Susanna Mattise in the sky and erupted into wild laughter.

"Haha, you're the most dim-witted bunch I've ever encountered!

"You've set up this ritual without a clue. Did your brains empty out because of your faith in the Mother Tree of Desire, or have they been filled with various liquids?

"Let enlighten you. What's sealed inside isn't corruption at the angelic level, but a bona fide angel. His na is Termiboros!

"As soon as that seal is undone, He shall descend upon us and slaughter you all. He'll shatter this foul, wretched fallen tree and cast it into a cesspool!

"If I were you, I'd cease this ritual now and let go!"

Susanna Mattise, continually shifting positions within the illusory tree canopy, looked down at Lumian and smiled.

"Are you bluffing again? Bluffing seems to be your favorite pasti. I fell for it once; I won't be fooled again."

Not far from her on a branch, one of the few windows on the surface of Auberge du Coq Doré, entwined with vines and branches, reflected the figure of the playwright Gabriel.

He frantically penned his na on a piece of paper with a fountain pen, as though a renowned author signing autographs for avid readers.

He had succumbed to the allure of his script, Lightseeker, gaining fa and becoming a household na.

Susanna Mattise continued, "Furthermore, we've contemplated the possibility that it's not corruption but an actual angel.

"Therefore, with the divine revelation, we've altered a crucial segnt of the ritual. We will employ you as the primary sacrifice, together with the seal and the angel, to offer them to the mighty Mother Tree of Desire. It won't hinder the final outco.

"Sacrificial rituals are not like cooking, where ingredients are transford into dishes. Our task is to present the offerings to the deity. As for what befalls you, along with the seal and the angel within, it is for the great Mother Tree of Desire to decide.

"Why do you think I refrained from truly attacking you? Such an action might have prematurely shattered the seal!

"Don't even entertain the notion of threatening with suicide. I shall imbue you with an ardent desire to live."

It seed as though Termiboros was akin to a valuable gift that would break free of its own accord. The seal was like a locked box, and Lumian himself was the exquisite wrapping. Susanna and Charlotte had no intention of unwrapping the box and presenting the gift to the Mother Tree of Desire. Instead, their plan was to offer the box and its packaging to the deity, avoiding any significant risks.

Upon hearing Susanna Mattise's words, Lumian remained unfazed—neither surprised, nor fearful, nor disappointed.

He tilted his head slightly and directed his gaze towards his left chest, a smirk forming at the corners of his mouth.

"Termiboros, did you hear that? You're going to be packaged up and offered to the deity known as the Mother Tree of Desire. You won't get a chance to escape that seal.

"I'm not sure how the Mother Tree of Desire will deal with you, but I can assure you it won't be anything pleasant. Are you really content to wait for the final outco as a re bystander?"

This ti, Termiboros didn't imdiately respond to Lumian. After a few seconds, His resonant voice reverberated, "Draw your Fallen rcury and plunge it into the trunk of the Tree of Shadow. Pierce through its second layer of bark."

Lumian was taken aback.

"The fate of the Tree of Shadow can also be exchanged?"

Termiboros's voice regained its grandeur.

"It wasn't possible before, but now it is. That tree possesses a certain living characteristic. It's akin to a mythical treant that hasn't fully developed its intelligence."

Without hesitation, Lumian extended his left hand, passing through the crimson-flaming cloak and robe made of flesh and blood. He grasped the pewter-black dirk adorned with sinister patterns.

Bending his body slightly, engulfed in flowing crimson flas, he sprinted toward the trunk of the Tree of Shadow, swift as a cheetah. Along the way, he leaped agilely, evading the cracks and blooming gigantic flowers.

Observing Lumian's new course of action, Susanna Mattise didn't pay too much heed. She didn't believe he could truly harm the Tree of Shadow or her. Nevertheless, she remained cautious. She intended to kindle his desires and fabricate corresponding illusions, luring him to "unite" with a certain flower or crevice in the tree.

Susanna Mattise's erald eyes reflected Lumian's figure, draped in a robe of flesh and blood and adorned with a flaming cloak. Moisture welled up in her eyes instantly.

She had hoped to witness Lumian abruptly changing his direction and pouncing upon the colossal light-colored flower. Yet, Lumian appeared unaffected as he charged toward the brownish-green trunk.

Beneath the flaming cloak, Lumian clutched the Mysticism Slling Salts in his right hand, holding it close to his nose.

Tears welled in his eyes, obstructing his sneeze. However, with the aid of the Alms Monk's endurance, he managed to endure it.

Susanna Mattise was puzzled. With her level and Sequence, even if the other party repeatedly sniffed the Mysticism Slling Salts, he shouldn't remain completely unaffected.

Under normal circumstances, given the disparity in their strength, she could easily induce Lumian to sneeze while he searched for light-colored giant flowers or brownish-green crevices and continued inhaling the Mysticism Slling Salts.

Of course, there was a possibility of failure in such situations, but it was unquestionably lower than the probability of success.

But now, Susanna Mattise's initial attempt had proven futile. It was as if a skilled dice thrower had surprisingly rolled the lowest number.

Achoo!

Lumian let out a loud sneeze.

Seizing the mont while his mind remained clear and Susanna hadn't exerted her influence a second ti, he shielded the tal canister with his right finger and thrust the Fallen rcury at the brownish-green trunk of the Tree of Shadow, aiming for the needle-sized hole he had created with the burning-white spear.

A resounding clang echoed as Fallen rcury failed to penetrate any deeper, as if it had struck an impenetrable iron plate.

Achoo!

Lumian, having inhaled a substantial amount of the Mysticism Slling Salts, sneezed once more, shaking off yet another desire incited by Susanna. Her attempts faltered once again.

Lumian's right hand, gripping the tal canister, surged with crimson flas.

It absorbed the engulfing cloak of fire that adorned his body, swiftly condensing into a blazing white boxing glove.

In the next instant, Lumian raised his right fist and hamred it against the hilt of Fallen rcury, resembling a blacksmith forging a weapon.

A thunderous boom erupted as the incandescent white boxing glove detached from Lumian's hand and detonated at the rear end of Fallen rcury.

Boom!

Lumian's left palm, holding the dirk, was charred and mangled in several places. As for Fallen rcury, propelled by the force of the explosive impact, it managed to break through the first layer of bark and penetrate into the core trunk of the Tree of Shadow.

-x-X-x-

The searing pain in Lumian's left palm from the explosion nearly caused him to instinctively draw his pewter-black dirk, which had already been plunged into the core trunk of the Tree of Shadow.

Drawing upon his resilience and experience with similar injuries, he fought to control his body's reflexive reactions.

As his mind cleared from the stimulation, he managed to shake off the two desires imposed by Susanna Mattise.

Pain and rationality entwined, engulfing his mind, followed by a terrifying torrent of scenes.

These were the accumulated experiences of the Tree of Shadow over the past millennium, countless fragnts of desire that had nourished and ford its trunk. They represented the potential futures of this malevolent tree.

They converged in a rcury-colored illusory river, flooding Lumian's thoughts like a deluge.

Not only were there an overwhelming number of scenes that could overpower any Low-Sequence Beyonder, but so scenes compelled Lumian to instinctively ignore or overlook them, unable to muster the courage to look or discern.

Just when he thought his intellect would be crushed by the imnse torrent and reduced to a blank canvas, he realized that he had endured it. It was as if there existed an additional space capable of accommodating countless scenes beyond the limit.

Lumian wasted no ti in choosing the fate he wished to exchange. Guided by his intuition for danger and spiritual instincts, he selected a scene:

A brownish-green root extended towards the depths of an ancient structure, devoured by an unseen fla that silently burned in the darkness, casting an eerie glow over the area.

With a crack, the tree root snapped and descended into the shadows. Purple flas surfaced, swiftly transforming into a color indistinguishable to the naked eye. In an instant, it dissipated, leaving no trace behind.

Lumian withdrew Fallen rcury and exerted all his strength to pry open this fate, but it remained unresponsive.

Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!

Brownish-green tree trunks, not excessively thick, hurtled towards Lumian like javelins precisely thrown by a platoon of soldiers.

Each one possessed the potential to impale and skewer a target upon the gnarled tree roots.

In the ethereal canopy of the tree, Susanna Mattise's erald eyes widened as she attempted to employ various abilities related to desires—be it for sex, food, greed, or acting—but all in vain. Opting for the tree spirit's powers, she aid to deliver a physical blow.

Bound to the Tree of Shadow, the thods available to her were far more potent than those of her counterparts who relied on ordinary trees as companions.

Though she still doubted that the so-called Cursed Blade could harm the Tree of Shadow, Lumian's confidence and performance left her sowhat uneasy. Subconsciously, she believed it wiser to disrupt whatever he was doing.

She would rather err on the side of believing it to be seriously harmful and take excessive precautions in advance than be careless and witness unforeseen changes and the possibility of failure.

The forr would at most waste a certain amount of strength and energy, delaying the completion of the ritual a little. The latter might bring about changes she didn't want to see and an outco of failure.

Even if the probability was low, she had to take preventative asures. She couldn't wait until it happened before attempting to rectify it.

The flesh robe enveloping Lumian's body abruptly contracted, diminishing his size and evading the majority of the javelin-like tree trunks.

Two of them landed on Lumian's left and right shoulders, leaving him unable to dodge or evade.

The flesh and blood constituting the robe acted as disciplined soldiers receiving an order. They surged towards the impending strike, constructing layers of blood-colored cushions.

With a resounding impact, the layers of flesh were pierced by the two brownish-green tree spears. More flesh surged forth, hurriedly filling the void.

Although Mr. K's finger had transford into a robe of flesh and blood to mitigate the damage, Lumian's legs buckled under the force akin to that of a sledgehamr, causing him to tumble backward.

In that mont, he felt the fate of the brownish-green tree root, which had been burned by the invisible flas, loosen its grip.

The illusory power prying it loose didn't solely belong to Lumian, but also to his left chest, emanating from an unknown source.

Gritting his teeth, Lumian utilized the montum of his fall to laboriously stir up that fate. With great difficulty, he transford it into a droplet of rcury and exchanged it with the fate of encountering the Montsouris ghost, stored within the pewter-black dirk.

With a crisp crack, fractures spread across Fallen rcury, as if it struggled to bear the burden of fate. So fractures were unnaturally long, others were delicate, and so ran straight through the blade.

With a thud, Lumian collapsed onto the coiled tree roots entrenched in the ground, freeing himself from the lingering forces of the brownish-green tree javelins.

His shoulder throbbed with pain, but he remained physically unhard. The robe woven of flesh and blood began to disintegrate, trickling down, obstructing the pale-colored flower and the brownish-green crack as they unfurled their "mouths" in an attempt to devour Lumian. When he collapsed, he crushed them.

With a resounding boom, crimson flas erupted, consuming the malevolent entities. Seizing the opportunity, Lumian swiftly rolled over and maneuvered to a relatively safe position.

Only then did Lumian recall a crucial issue. Amidst dodging attacks from trees, branches, leaves, vines, roots, and flowers, and taking whiffs of the Mysticism Slling Salts, he whispered amidst sneezes,

"Encountering the Montsouris ghost… Achoo! …doesn't necessarily an that the Montsouris ghost will attack imdiately!"

If it took a while, what was the point of his previous efforts?

Disregarding the fact that the Montsouris ghost would assault the Tree of Shadow every month or two, even if it attacked every four to five minutes, Lumian found it despairing. When the ti ca, the preparations for the ritual would surely be complete. The sacrificial ceremony would have already comnced. Under the watchful eyes of the evil god, the Mother Tree of Desire, there was a high likelihood that the Montsouris ghost would choose to wait a while before returning, based on its previous patterns.

Termiboros's majestic voice resonated within Lumian's body and ears once again.

"It approaches. It is a destined fate."

In the ethereal canopy of the tree, Susanna ceased her attacks on Lumian. Utilizing the Tree of Shadow, she remotely guided Charlotte in controlling the sacrifice while delving her consciousness into the brownish-green tree, searching for any potential issues resulting from the pewter-black dirk's assault.

The sooner she discovered it, the sooner she could resolve it and propel the sacrificial ritual forward!

Upon hearing Termiboros's words, Lumian couldn't help but inquire, "Can the Montsouris ghost truly destroy the Tree of Shadow?"

Although both entities were malevolent, the giant tree that had been rooted in Trier's soil for over a thousand years, nourished by countless desires, and linked to a hidden evil god, appeared loftier, more nacing, and more wicked.

Termiboros's deep voice resounded, "No. However, it possesses the ability to influence the Tree of Shadow to so extent, creating an opportunity for you to escape."

Just as Termiboros finished speaking, Lumian caught sight of a sudden black shadow beside him.

The figure stood slightly hunched, resembling an elderly man burdened by the weight of life.

The Montsouris ghost!

It had bypassed nurous restrictions and obstacles to arrive in the alternate space occupied by the Tree of Shadow.

With a single stride, the stooped figure reached the edge of the brownish-green trunk. Susanna and Charlotte noticed its presence.

They instinctively sensed a threat, yet they didn't connect the black shadow to Trier's legend of the Montsouris ghost.

Frantically, they stirred up the various desires of the Montsouris ghost, but their efforts were like stones cast into an unfathomable abyss. There was no response whatsoever.

For the first ti, Lumian beheld the true appearance of the Montsouris ghost.

It was neither an elderly man nor even human. It more closely resembled a viscous black shadow taking on a human form, hunching its back.

The Montsouris ghost fixed its gaze upon the Tree of Shadow for two seconds before pressing itself against the brownish-green trunk.

In an instant, it transford into a malevolent, pitch-black liquid that corroded the layers of tree bark.

A sizable pool of moist darkness spread across the surface of the massive tree trunk, steadily contaminating its surroundings and expanding its reach.

Within monts, the entire lower portion of the Tree of Shadow was overtaken by the black shadow, rendering Susanna Mattise and Charlotte Calvino's attacks futile.

The next second, the oil-painting-like blue sky and white clouds, along with the ground intertwined with tree roots, trembled visibly as if experiencing a violent earthquake.

Faint illusory cracks appeared on the surface of the tree trunk, the ground, and even in the sky. So of them slowly widened, revealing glimpses of the street beyond—a distorted microcosm of chaos influenced by branches, vines, and desire.

"Be prepared," Termiboros's grand voice echoed in Lumian's ears.

Realizing that she couldn't halt the Montsouris ghost and that the situation was rapidly deteriorating, Susanna Mattise wore a resentful expression and recited an incantation in ancient Hers, "Son of the God who should never have been born, you are a cage for the imprisoning curse, an evil that erodes history. I implore your assistance."

The instant Susanna Mattise finished speaking, the branches beneath the ethereal tree crown began to "secrete" a viscous, pitch-black liquid.

It bore a striking resemblance to the black liquid assud by the Montsouris ghost, but there was a significant distinction. It possessed a greater degree of chaos, frenzy, and wickedness.

Almost simultaneously, pale-white, malford skulls, yellowish eyeballs entwined with thick veins, scarlet tongues dripping with repulsive pus, and indescribably grotesque objects that induced madness by re sight sprouted from the liquid secreted by the tree trunk.

…

In the untad wilderness, where Madam Judgnt and Lady Moon engaged in their fierce battle, Rue Anarchie and other locations lay scattered. The brownish-green tree swayed ominously, while tiny cracks that appeared to pierce the very fabric of reality spread across its surface and surroundings.

Suddenly, an illusory door materialized in the sky, layer upon layer.

From the midst of these doors erged a lady clad in an orange dress, her appearance exuding a languid aura. Worms emitting resplendent starlight wriggled in and out of her visage, obscuring her true features from discernnt.

With purposeful strides, the woman approached the brownish-green tree, extending her hands to grasp the sides of an invisible crack, as if intent on tearing it open!