The Terror of Option Chapter 1098 1098: 45 COI

"Not by the Loen army…" Anthony Reid muttered under his breath, his eyes distant.

Franca's deanor, the subtle shifts in her expressions and body language—it all told him that Franca wasn't lying; she wasn't bluffing him!

This revelation rendered his years of suffering, of misattributed bla, into a cruel jest.

As a Psychiatrist, Anthony Reid was acutely attuned to the waves of disillusionnt that crashed through his psyche. His emotional stability quivered, struck by a potent aftershock.

Instinctively, he used Placate on himself.

As Anthony Reid struggled to "save" himself, Franca elaborated, "Either the battle's secrecy is of the highest order, barring my Loenese friend from obtaining the truth for now, or a different faction entirely orchestrated the assault on your unit."

Her inclination leaned toward the latter possibility. In the grand sche of the Loen Kingdom, this skirmish was a minor one. Anthony's company held no strategic value, no pivotal figures, so there was no reason for a high-level concealnt.

"Who could it be?" Jenna had already raised this question after reading the telegram, but both of them couldn't co up with a reasonable answer.

She even speculated that an Instigator might have sowed seeds of internal discord amidst the Intis army to digest a potion. This made one of the companies impersonate as Loenese soldiers, launching a deadly nocturnal assault on Anthony Reid and his comrades.

However, this was far too difficult. No matter how formidable an Instigator was, there was no hope of success unless Anthony Reid's company had discovered evidence of soone's serious cris or ford a deep feud with other companies due to conflicts on the battlefield.

"Indeed, who could it be…" Anthony Reid, now more composed thanks to his Placate, intoned with a voice etched in determination.

He understood why the Loen army would attack him and his comrades—their animosity, though intense, was comprehensible within the context of war. But an attack from an unknown faction? That puzzled him.

Franca pondered for a mont and said, "Did your unit forsake allies on the battlefield? Or perhaps lay claim to spoils of war that weren't rightfully yours?"

Anthony Reid ruminated briefly before shaking his head resolutely. "No."

Lumian chid in with conviction, "Absolutely not. This ties back to Hugues Artois. It can't be a squabble between comrades or external rivals."

Jenna, absorbed in contemplation, posed another question, "Did you defy Hugues Artois's orders? Or did your actions inadvertently cost him sothing?"

Anthony Reid shook his head again.

"If I had, I wouldn't have grappled with years of puzzlent."

Silence enveloped Apartnt 601, a contemplative hush broken only by Lumian's recollection. A shard of Madam Magician's prior words tugged at his thoughts, and he ventured,

"Could it be a sacrificial rite? A blood offering to an evil god?"

"Blood sacrifice…" Franca and Jenna recalled the support various evil god factions had given Hugues Artois.

Anthony Reid fell silent for a mont before saying, "The heretics, disguised as the Loen army, orchestrated our annihilation with Hugues Artois's complicity?"

Franca said insightfully, "It's the most logical explanation, though the question remains—who gains? Certainly not Hugues Artois. He reaped no boons, not even in death."

For a mont, no one could answer Franca's question.

After a few seconds, Lumian said, "That's one of the avenues we must delve into as we proceed. It might intertwine with Hugues Artois's ascent to power and his parliantary role."

Upon hearing this, Jenna recounted the information she had obtained from the Purifiers and concluded, "The pressing issue lies in the fact that General Philip, who seems the most suspicious, is already deceased. It's as if all the threads converge at a sudden dead-end."

"He died just in ti." Franca chuckled. "A pre-emptive elimination, perhaps?"

Lumian stroked his chin and spoke slowly, "In the world of mysticism, certain deaths don't necessarily an true demise."

Madam Justice had ntioned that an evil god's boon had a Deceased Sequence. They could use death to escape their original fate.

Similarly, if General Philip had used the Substitution Spell, the one who died might not be the real him.

Franca, who had previously helped with finishing Guillau Bénet, imdiately understood.

"Substitution Spell?"

"We cannot dismiss the possibility." Lumian smiled. "Our imdiate objective remains the investigation of General Philip, ascertaining the truth of his demise. Even if he is truly dead, there may be traces he left behind, undiscovered by the Purifiers due to the constraints imposed on them."

Anthony Reid, though still grappling with the shattering revelations, felt the warmth of unity and purpose in his companions' discourse. It bolstered his resolve, a spark of renewed determination igniting within him.

He nodded slightly and said, "There's no need to rush. This matter must be very complicated. I'll first gather preliminary information about General Philip, his family, and friends."

After Anthony Reid took his leave, Lumian observed Franca preparing to head to Rue des Fontaines in search of Gardner Martin, so he left Apartnt 601 with her.

As they walked down the stairs, Lumian broached the subject of his conversation with Hela, sharing the details with Franca.

Her excitent burgeoned as she absorbed his words, a fervor building within her.

"Great! Great! Quickly transform into Muggle. Let's make contact with April Fool's together!"

"Why are you so excited?" Lumian glanced at him.

Franca made a tongue-clicking sound and chuckled.

"Back ho, there's a saying that goes— if you get drenched in the rain, rip up soone else's umbrella. Haha, it's all in jest, but isn't it interesting? Even though your appearance leans towards masculinity, a few simple adjustnts can render you strikingly beautiful. Once the Pyromaniac potion has been digested, have you not considered having a potion of Pleasure? Sigh, forget it. There's still so risk before reaching Sequence 4."

Laughter and jesting flowed between them, Franca's deanor then taking a more serious turn as they reached the street

"Unfortunately…" Lumian echoed the sentint, a tinge of regret shading his words.

His curiosity then led him to inquire about Emperor Roselle and the perplexing attitudes of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society mbers.

Franca's expression turned strange, as if she struggled to suppress a bout of laughter.

After a mont, she exhaled and said, "This matter is quite complicated. It's difficult to explain in a few words. I'll explain in detail tomorrow or the day after tomorrow when I'm free. In short, be ntally prepared."

"How complicated can it be?" Lumian muttered. He bade Franca farewell and comnced his journey toward Rue Anarchie.

Upon reaching Room 207 at Auberge du Coq Doré, despite having already deciphered the issue with Aurore's grimoires and no longer needing to delve into them, Lumian's habits dictated that he retrieve the copies and skim through their contents, his thoughts wandering amidst the scattered pages.

Approaching midnight, a stirring within Lumian's heart drew his gaze toward the carbide lamp.

The light it emitted bore a dark green hue.

The "doll" ssenger, clad in a light-gold dress, suddenly materialized. It glared coldly at Lumian, as if striving to contain its emotions.

With twin thuds, a pair of iron-black boxing gloves, adorned with multiple short thorns, landed soundlessly on the table. The impact carried a resonance more akin to wood eting wood than tal striking wood.

Simultaneously, a folded sheet of paper drifted toward Lumian.

"Thank you." Although the "doll" ssenger quickly vanished, Lumian still expressed his gratitude politely.

He refrained from touching the boxing gloves for now, opting to unfold the piece of paper and peruse the contents of Madam Magician's ssage.

"The Shadow Branch and the Lucky One Beyonder characteristic have been made into a mystical item.

"How does it fare? Has its form been modified, rendering it more convenient for transport? This is a masterpiece forged by a master.

"It remains naless for now. With common words, you could dub it the 'Lucky Shadow Boxing Glove.' For a touch of panache, 'Flog' could be a stylish choice. The na is yours to determine.

"Any target struck by this glove, regardless of creating injuries, whether they defend with a weapon or not, will undergo a surge of desire or emotion. The specific emotion hinges on your luck. Yet, with the presence of Lucky One, you can envision or simulate the corresponding desires and emotions ahead of ti, guiding the target's reaction. The success rate stands impressively high—around 70 to 80%.

"Following the trigger of a target's desires or emotions, a second strike won't engender new feelings. Instead, there's a likelihood of causing the pre-existing desires or emotions to erupt. This unleashes an overwhelming tidal wave on most targets, inflicting significant harm, even rendering them temporarily incapacitated.

"While the likelihood of invoking desire or emotion with each hit isn't substantial, repetitive blows will eventually yield the desired outco—unless you are cursed with bad luck that counteracts the influence of Lucky One.

"However, the glove's most exceptional facet isn't its offensive potential, but its defensive capabilities. It possesses unparalleled sturdiness, capable of withstanding an assault from a Reaper without incurring any damage. (Note: Reaper refers to Sequence 5 of the Hunter pathway.) Naturally, this hinges on the attack squarely targeting the glove. In such a scenario, there's even a possibility of taking a strike infused with godhood, at the expense of shattering or fracturing the glove. This probably places the glove at Sequence 4.

"On the downside, carrying the glove will erode your self-control, intensifying the oscillations of various desires and emotions. Withstanding this requires exceptional endurance. Moreover, while donning the glove, you will attract the attention of a hidden entity since it originated from the Tree of Shadow. While They cannot directly harm you for various reasons, They can summon dangerous entities to your vicinity, influencing or attacking you.

"Hence, each use of the boxing gloves should be accompanied by a change of location, and their usage should not be for extended periods. Failure to adhere to these guidelines may attract hidden dangers. However, should you maintain your composure and endure one or two attacks, the world will expel those dangerous entities who can't truly descend here.

"Ah, one last detail—your two Psychiatrists request a final follow-up consultation at the usual ti tomorrow afternoon."

-x-X-x-

I need exceptional endurance to withstand the weakening of self-control brought about by carrying the Flog. The waves of various desires and emotions surge stronger… Alms Monk excels in handling such situations… While reading Madam Magician's letter, Lumian swiftly considered if he could fulfill the conditions for using the mystical item.

With this in mind, Lumian recollected the adverse effects of Contractee contracts.

A substantial portion of them seed to be mitigated by Alms Monk's resilience and self-restraint.

First acquiring the Alms Monk boon prior to becoming a Contractee. Could it be that one must bolster their endurance to endure a contract? Otherwise, the padre with over ten negative effects would have self-destructed long ago…

Yes, Guillau Bénet's utilization of Alms Monk and Ascetic powers wasn't overly adept. Could this stem from his ingrained indulgence, making change difficult? Or did he leap directly into being a Contractee before evolving into a Fate Appropriator? His grasp of the Alms Monk and Ascetic boons seed inadequate, relying largely on instinct. Lumian murmured to himself.

Recalling how the padre in the dream transford from an ordinary individual to a Fate Appropriator within a day, Lumian was more inclined to believe the latter possibility. He surmised that the events in the dream marked Guillau Bénet's advancent to a Fate Appropriator with only two to three boons.

Lumian redirected his attention to the letter in his hand and read through the remainder in one go.

Concerning the utilization of the Flog boxing gloves to attract perilous creatures, he intended to seize an opportunity and approach Franca for assistance to verify the precise circumstances.

If indeed hazardous, he would need to contemplate reserving one usage of spirit world traversal to escape any future influence or attack.

Crimson flas silently surged, setting the letter ablaze, its words turning to ash.

Amidst the dispersed ashes, Lumian reached out his hand toward the iron-black boxing gloves.

Although they lacked the tallic texture and chilliness, they were exceptionally rigid.

Almost in unison, two voices resonated in Lumian's mind:

One was the voice of the eloping couple, casting curses; the other was the voice of inebriated individuals shattering bottles and clamoring in the street.

The forr set Lumian's imagination ablaze, while the latter spurred him to draw his revolver and open fire.

The sensations weren't overpowering and could be endured and repressed.

After confirming the fit of the boxing gloves, Lumian set them beside the pillow.

…

In the depths of night, in a hazy state, Lumian felt as though he had stepped into an ancient beige castle. Its exterior bore nurous dark and crimson stains, as if drenched in a copious amount of blood.

Hysterical laughter and shouts reverberated from within the castle. Lumian instinctively raised his gaze and spotted a deep-red visage peering at him through a narrow window on the third floor.

Fine blood vessels detached from their sockets, leaving behind a pair of inky-black, blood-soaked cavities.

Lumian's thoughts blurred as he involuntarily stepped into the ancient castle.

What unfurled before his eyes were grueso scenes: The maid rent her abdon with a dining knife, drawing forth pallid intestines marred by blood. The valets ascended the staircase to the second floor, only to throw themselves back into the hall, repeating their falls in a macabre cycle. The butler clutched a coly female head, his lower body severed. He dragged himself with his elbows, leaving behind a broad and extended trail of blood. The headless mistress sat in an armchair, lifted her cup of coffee, and poured it into the gash on her neck…

The pungent stench of blood and the frenzied ambiance pierced Lumian's mind, snapping his eyes open.

He beheld the familiar, squalid ceiling and caught the ceaseless nocturnal clamor of Rue Anarchie.

Had it all been a dream? The scene from his dream lingered in Lumian's mory, a residual unease remaining.

As a Beyonder seasoned with the world of mysticism, he didn't underestimate such a dream.

It likely bore the marks of a revelation through Astral Projection or an external influence.

Swiftly reviewing the day's occurrences, Lumian zeroed in on two potential "culprits."

Could it be the lingering effects of the King's Pie ga from earlier, or perhaps linked to the impact of the Flog boxing gloves?

He cast a glance at the iron-black spiked boxing gloves, left untouched beside his pillow, sensing that the ga was the likely trigger.

An attempt to commune with Termiboros yielded no response.

After securing the Flog boxing gloves within a drawer in his wooden table, Lumian drifted back into slumber.

Throughout that night, nightmares plagued him repeatedly. Each instance, he encountered the bizarre ancient castle.

Fortunately, the dream's lucidity waned progressively, eventually lding into a commonplace nightmare.

…

The following morning, Lumian adhered to his routine of jogging and practicing boxing, then set out in search of a distinctive breakfast in the bustling market district.

After spending nearly the entirety of the morning at Salle de Bal Brise, he eventually found himself standing before Apartnt 601 at 3 Rue des Blouses Blanches.

With a flush on her face and a lively deanor, Franca answered the door. "You're quite the eager one."

Lumian was forthright about his intentions.

"Rember you ntioned wanting to discuss Emperor Roselle with ?"

"Well, well…" Franca's expression shifted oddly once more.

She grumbled, "I'm feeling unwell!"

As Franca led him to the living room, she muttered, "It's empathetic embarrassnt!"

Lumian shut the door and took a seat on the sofa. After a mont's thought, he inquired, "Is this embarrassnt on behalf of Emperor Roselle?"

"Exactly." Franca, seated cross-legged in a recliner, scratched her flaxen hair. "I'm seriously concerned that he might be so mortified that he'll rise from the grave to strangle anyone who's privy to the information!"

After a rather odd comnt, Franca sighed and explained, "In simpler terms, Emperor Roselle, like us, hails from another world."

"Emperor Roselle is also one of the transmigrators you ntioned?" Lumian blurted out in astonishnt.

Franca confird succinctly, "Many of his inventions, beliefs, and ideas originated in our world. What's more significant, his diary was penned in the language of the nation your sister and I co from. That's why it remained undeciphered for so long until our transmigration."

Lumian's mind was a whirlwind of confusion. It all seed too fantastical, like sothing out of fiction. However, Aurore's attitude toward Emperor Roselle and his diary lent credence to Franca's words.

Seeing his silence, Franca added with understanding, "Nonetheless, he's an extraordinary individual. Progressing from a re Sequence 9 individual, he ascended the paths of the divine step by step, overthrowing the Sauron Dynasty and enacting monuntal changes upon Intis and the world. His impact on the history of the past two to three centuries and generations of humanity is profound."

That's true. Emperor Roselle once said that a hero is a hero, irrespective of their origins… Where Emperor Roselle ca from was immaterial… Lumian quickly collected his thoughts and asked with curiosity, "Did Emperor Roselle's famous quotations originate from philosophers in your world?"

"Many of them did." Franca, in a way, supported her fellow countryman's public image. "But so are genuinely his own. Consider this: a person who's undergone so much, tasted both triumph and failure, must possess unique insights across various domains. He's not lacking in morable sayings."

Now I understand why Aurore chuckles whenever I ntion sothing Emperor Roselle said… A realization dawned on Lumian. He grasped his sister's sentints at that mont and the jesting tone the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society adopted toward the Emperor.

He then inquired, "Did one of you write Emperor Roselle's Secret Chronicles?"

"Yes, but I'm unsure who the author is," Franca honestly admitted. "The writer possesses quite the literary talent."

"Is everything in there accurate?" Lumian contemplated seeking out an underground bookseller to procure a copy.

Franca chuckled. "About half of it. Even among the portions based on actual events, half of that is a sensationalized expansion of a couple sentences from the Emperor's diary into a narrative rife with explicit details. For instance, the Emperor once shared more than just friendship with a Demoness…"

Franca suddenly paused.

Realization dawned upon her that she herself was now a Demoness.

A worthwhile addition to my collection… Emperor Roselle does seem to live up to the legendary reputation of being a flirt… Lumian's anticipation for the underground book grew.

He opted not to delve further into the topic of the Emperor and the Demoness. Instead, he brought up the King's Pie ga from the prior day and the subsequent nightmarish dreams. He then sought Franca's insights as an adept practitioner of divination.

"What revelations are hidden in that dream?"

"I can't decipher it," Franca said after a prolonged pause. "It conveys a sense of danger and advises to stay away. Also, those nightmares appear to be lingering effects from so form of insanity."

Lumian contemplated for a mont, deciding not to probe deeper for the ti being. He planned to consult the two Psychiatrists later in the day.

…

At 3:20 p.m., Lumian reached Mason Café in Quartier du Jardin Botanique and took a seat in Booth D. He requested a cup of aromatic Intis coffee and two cream-filled cupcakes.

Once the coffee and confections were served, he patiently waited for a minute or so before catching the sound of Susie's gentle, feminine voice.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lumian Lee."

Lumian responded with an easy smile.

"Good afternoon, Madam Susie. Good afternoon, Madam Justice."

-x-X-x-

"How did you know I was here?" Madam Justice's voice held a smile.

Lumian gazed at the chair across from him and responded, a grin tugging at his lips, "Can't hurt to extend a greeting."

Susie steered the conversation forward, "Congratulations on completing the initial phase of your vendetta. Care for a brief discussion?"

"No problem." Lumian's composure remained unshaken, not even flinching at the ntion of "vendetta."

Of course, part of his calm deanor stemd from the fact that he hadn't brought along the Flog boxing gloves. This was a psychological evaluation, after all. He couldn't allow external influences to taint his thoughts and skew the doctor's judgnt.

From the point of seeking assistance and crafting a strategy, he recounted his experiences of the past two days. He glossed over the secret of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society but provided a concise account of everything else.

Following a montary silence, Susie's soothing voice resud its course.

"Your ntal state has held up admirably. A certain degree of overreaction in specific scenarios is par for the course. Psychiatric therapy doesn't strip a person of their emotions or feelings. Instead, it aids in unburdening oneself, fostering reconciliation, and discovering inner resilience. Nightmares won't deal a devastating blow to you any longer. Otherwise, according to the more dubious therapists who advocate severing the frontal lobe for eternal tranquility, you'll forever be at peace."

"Removing the frontal lobe?" Lumian's ears caught wind of this concept for the first ti.

Susie's tone tinged with revulsion.

"It's a notion that has cropped up in the last couple of years. It doesn't yield the intended outcos; rather, it inflicts grave harm upon the patient. There's an evident malevolence behind this treatnt proposal. It's as if so callous individual propagated it with the sole intention of making a mockery out of dical professionals and those seeking solace."

A prank that toys with the lives of others? Lumian shifted gears, steering the conversation onto a different course.

"Madam Susie, you haven't even delved into my emotions or analyzed my thoughts, yet you've already deduced that I've made so strides towards recovery, and a follow-up might not be necessary?"

Susie's deanor lifted rapidly, and she replied with a grin, "At tis, a person's actions can be more telling of their psychological state than their thoughts. Understand that humans excel at deceiving themselves. They concoct a slew of rationales for their actions, which often stand less grounded in reality than their deeds. To decipher an accurate psychological portrait from this labyrinth of complex and contradictory thoughts requires ticulous analysis. But such scrutiny can easily unearth problems. Hence, I chose to comnce with an examination of your actions.

"Evidently, whether you're willing to admit it or not, you've successfully reestablished social connections and fostered a level of trust in others. You've also exhibited a willingness to extend your trust to others.

"Prior to your ambush of Guillau Bénet, you demonstrated the capacity for calm contemplation and thorough preparation. While there were impulsive undertones and hints of macabre inclinations in your operation, they were inevitable. Their absence would only have hinted at more severe psychological turmoil. And once the affair concluded, you swiftly reverted to your norm and dived right back into life, embarking on another investigation.

"Grounded in the sequence of actions you've undertaken, I extend my congratulations. The pronounced self-destructive tendencies have lost their grip, and you've truly extricated yourself from the abyss of agony.

"Naturally, the pain won't dissipate entirely. It will wane and recede. Perhaps it might resurge abruptly in the future, once again occupying your mind. Yet, there's no need to succumb to panic. Ard with this period of experience, I trust you're equipped to navigate it adeptly. Psychologically speaking, this signals a path to recovery.

"In similar fashion, the past invariably leaves its imprints upon us. Your self-destructive propensities, your extremities, your pathological behaviors—no doubt they're more potent than in most individuals, but they all abide by the bounds of reason and normalcy."

In response, Lumian let out a slow exhale and murmured, "I sense it myself, honestly. The present is an entirely different person from the one who initially set foot in Trier.

"Thank you, Madam Susie. Thank you, Madam Justice."

He realized that his transformation from an initial state of apathy was thanks to the efforts of these two psychiatrists and his escapades in the market district. The prospect of death itself had lost its sting. He had shifted from a vindictive malevolent specter to an individual fueled by an ardent thirst for retribution, driven by a potent desire for action.

"In essence, this is your own redemption." Susie's tone brimd with a delight not present before. "The primary contributors to this turnaround are none other than yourself and your sister, Aurore. Were it not for the tiniest ember of hope that you harbored, coupled with your will to persist, and were it not for Miss Aurore gifting you nearly six years of cherished monts to savor and to mold your thoughts, we might not have been able to reel you back in."

As Lumian processed these words, a montage of scenes flickered across his mind: Aurore inhaling deeply, using the breaths to temper the vexation derived from instructing him. The tempestuous storms of combat training, coupled with her impromptu "attacks." The two of them ensconced in the study, each absorbed in their respective books, relishing the tranquility of the night. And, as the number one experintal subject, he was obligated to consu the culinary reproductions of food back ho that his sister conjured, be they successes or failures…

Lumian's expression softened as he recollected a line from his sister's novel: The joy and pain of days past are equal to the of the present.

After a pause lasting more than ten seconds, he straightened in his seat and queried, "Were last night's nightmares all rooted in the King's Pie ga?"

This ti, it was Madam Justice who responded, her voice soft with understanding, "Indeed. Considering the current situation, it's likely that you were ntally corrupted during that ti."

"ntal corruption? Does it actually involve Beyonder powers?" Lumian asked with genuine curiosity.

Madam Justice replied, "Ordinarily, the simple act of sacrificing a King's Pie wouldn't have yielded any results. Otherwise, the ga wouldn't have remained a popular tradition in Intis for centuries, fading into obscurity only after the establishnt of the Republic. Only a handful of families still recall it."

"Yes, that's what I assud back then. Poufer didn't employ any mystical language or invoke a complete honorific na. It's implausible for the sacrifice to succeed," Lumian concurred.

Madam Justice continued, "Nevertheless, exceptions exist—sacrificers who share blood ties with the subject of the sacrifice and exhibit nurous similarities.

"If you participate frequently in Poufer's King's Pie ga and repeatedly endure the ntal corruption it entails, the ramifications won't dissolve with a re spate of nightmares. Rather, before they fully dissipate, they'll progressively warp your psyche and lead you into madness."

"Could the content of these nightmares be symbolic?" Lumian inquired succinctly.

Madam Justice's response flowed asuredly.

"It's highly probable that they're a fusion of specific deranged occurrences from your past, projected into your dreamscape through the taint of corruption."

"So, that ancient castle and those deranged individuals could really exist…" Lumian mused, nodding in contemplation.

As Lumian engaged in a conversation with Justice and Susie for a while, he intuited that the day's follow-up session was drawing to a close.

In that instance, Madam Justice took the lead, saying, "Didn't I ntion previously that I might require your assistance with sothing?"

"Of course, no problem," Lumian swiftly agreed.

Consider it the cost of the psychiatric treatnt!

Moreover, he held the belief that Madam Justice wouldn't have entrusted him with the task without assessing his capabilities. The endeavor couldn't be excessively dangerous.

Madam Justice chuckled and said, "Should you succeed, I shall bestow an additional reward upon you, one that will cater to your requirents in a specific manner."

"Sothing capable of altering my appearance?" Lumian's heart skipped a beat with excitent.

"Sothing along those lines." Madam Justice's initially gentle tone turned solemn. "I'm hoping you can venture to an ancient tomb situated on the fourth floor of Trier's catacombs, specifically to retrieve a vial of the Samaritan Won's Spring for ."

Samaritan Won's Spring? Lumian was taken aback.

Mada Hela had previously ntioned that she had journeyed to Trier in pursuit of an artifact hidden deep within the catacombs. Concurrently, she had inquired about the legend surrounding the Samaritan Won's Spring!

Wasn't this too much of a coincidence?

Almost as if she sensed his thoughts, Madam Justice chid in with a smile, "Don't you find it too coincidental?

"Yes, what I'm hoping for is that you can leverage Mada Hela's exploration to assist in securing so Samaritan Won's Spring water. Doing so yourself might yield slim chances of success.

"In truth, I could 'arrange' for you to undertake this task in a more clandestine manner, but that approach contradicts my philosophy and principles. I still require face-to-face communication with you and your explicit consent for such matters. I'm disinclined to ensnare you passively through covert cues to fulfill my objectives.

"For , indulging in the manipulation of others' minds is a treacherous endeavor.

"Of course, honesty is also an effective way at influencing others' thoughts."

Lumian's skepticism and doubts gradually ebbed away. He inquired, perplexed, "Madam Justice, given that you possess a general awareness of the Samaritan Won's Spring's approximate location, why wouldn't you retrieve it yourself? Why involve a Sequence 7 Beyonder like ?"

The Tarot Club's Major Arcana card was definitely a demigod, countless tis stronger than him!

Madam Justice laughed.

"To put it succinctly, certain locales beco progressively hazardous with an increase in Sequence."

A location where higher Sequences et with increased danger? Lumian found this notion confounding.

Madam Justice added, "As Sequences rise, proximity to the Oldest One increases, accumulating more madness along the way. Consequently, individuals in higher Sequences are more susceptible to particular forms of corruption.

"Hela is also beneficial in this matter. At the very least, this approach will save her ti and permit her to narrow down her search to a designated area."

After a brief contemplation, Lumian agreed to Madam Justice's request. From her, he gleaned the approximate location of the Samaritan Won's Spring—situated within the westernmost ancient tomb on the fourth floor of the catacombs.

…

Following the session, Lumian made his way back to Rue des Blouses Blanches in the market district, his objective being the retrieval of the Flog boxing gloves from the iron cabinet.

Upon his arrival at the safe house, an odd inkling settled upon him.

Intrusion!

Soone had infiltrated his safe house!

Lumian's heart tightened as he advanced with purpose, unlatching the iron cabinet.

While observing that Aurore's grimoires and the Flog boxing gloves remained, a sigh of relief escaped him involuntarily.

However, he proceeded to conduct a thorough inspection, and his scrutiny bore fruit. One article was conspicuously absent—the Earth Blood ore was gone!

-x-X-x-

Looking at the open iron cabinet, Lumian found it absurd and surreal.

The thief had entered the house without taking the most valuable Flog boxing glove, nor did they flip through Aurore's grimoires to see if there were any banknotes inside. They had only taken a mineral specin that didn't look like a gem at all.

Disregarding the traps, if the thief were truly a Marauder with Beyonder powers, he wouldn't have given up on the boxing gloves made of unique materials and capable of powerful abilities. If he were just an ordinary thief, he wouldn't have just taken the Earth Blood ore. He might have even casually thrown the seemingly worthless item to the ground.

All of this led Lumian to suspect that the thieving intruder had only one motive: take away the Earth Blood ore!

The other party clearly knew what was special about the mineral specin and was attempting to exploit it!

"Termiboros, who stole the Earth Blood ore?" Lumian couldn't identify any suspect no matter how hard he thought.

Apart from dealing with Guillau Bénet a few days ago when he retrieved the Earth Blood ore and handed it to Franca, he kept the mineral specin in the safe house. He never carried it with him to avoid being targeted.

Of course, the thief might have divined or prophesied to narrow down the area. He searched every room and finally found the target item.

Termiboros's magnificent voice suddenly resounded.

"I don't know."

Don't know… Lumian was alard.

This answer was aningless, but coming from Termiboros ant many things.

While Termiboros, sealed within Lumian's body, couldn't exert any direct power, his angelic nature granted Him unique insights. As an angel of the Inevitability domain, He possessed an uncanny ability to detect problems and traces that eluded many Low-Sequence Beyonders through Low-Sequence Beyonders's eyes and fate.

But now, He claid ignorance!

This revelation carried significant weight, suggesting that whoever had stolen the Earth Blood ore was no ordinary individual. It hinted at the involvent of a high-level power, possibly tied to a secret organization or cult.

Hiss, I have to write a letter and inform Madam Magician about this. After all, she once predicted that the Earth Blood ore would bring so misfortune. However, the item is lost before the misfortune arrived… Lumian had initially hesitated to burden his Major Arcana card holder with this matter, as he didn't attach much value to the mineral specin. Its applications were limited, and its loss seed inconsequential. However, with the situation taking a bizarre turn, he couldn't simply dismiss it.

In the world of mysticism, negligence often led to painful lessons.

Truth be told, Lumian didn't harbor anger over the loss of his possession, nor did he feel compelled to retrieve it. Though the Earth Blood ore might lead to fortuitous encounters, it remained an abstract concept, difficult to quantify or cherish.

Moreover, Madam Magician's warning of potential misfortune made him view its loss as a ans to mitigate risk.

Lumian ticulously inspected the safe house once more, confirming that none of the traps had been triggered. Only the Earth Blood ore had vanished. He settled down to compose a letter.

This ti, the summoned puppet ssenger displayed a less frigid deanor, no longer suppressing intense emotions.

In re minutes, Madam Magician's response arrived, concise and to the point: "There's indeed sothing amiss in this matter. I can't identify the thief of the Earth Blood ore either. If you're not fearful, you can venture to the entrance of Salle de Bal Unique and seek anyone with a monocle in their right eye. Even if they aren't the culprits, they should possess knowledge of the suspect. If you find it too risky, exercise patience. Soone will inquire on your behalf."

Salle de Bal Unique… That makes sense. The Sequence preceding a swindler is Marauder. Could those monocle-wearing individuals hold sway over all the thieves wielding Beyonder powers in Trier? Lumian pondered this in silence.

Aurore's grimoires had ntioned that Marauder occupied Sequence 9 on one of the paths of the divine. Above Marauder was Swindler, and further up was Cryptologist.

After careful consideration, Lumian opted to wait for soone to inquire on his behalf. He had no imdiate need for the Earth Blood ore.

The thought of Salle de Bal Unique, Monette, the monocle-wearing Islander swindler, and the swindlers who emulated his style sent shivers down his spine. He preferred to avoid any unnecessary contact for the ti being.

After burning the letter, Lumian shifted his attention to the iron cabinet, the repository of Aurore's grimoires, Flog boxing gloves, and various other items.

The once-secure safe house had beco compromised, and he needed to find a new location for these possessions.

I'll take Flog with . I'll carry the rest if I can, and sell what's sellable. If not, I'll secure another safe house… For Aurore's grimoires and the gold, I'll rent an anonymous safe deposit box at a large bank for their safekeeping… When this property's current lease expires, I wouldn't renew it… Lumian had a clear strategy in mind.

His plan encompassed the items he couldn't easily transport or wished to part with, which primarily included the five ritualistic hides, in addition to Aurore's grimoires and his accumulated gold. Finding a new ho for these items was a priority, along with securing another safe house for himself.

With these considerations in mind, Lumian began drafting a letter addressed to Hela.

In the letter, he revealed that he had acquired information about the approximate location of the Samaritan Won's Spring through a secretive channel. The information source had tasked him with venturing underground to retrieve a genuine bottle of water from the spring.

However, as Lumian was writing, he felt a sense of puzzlent.

It seed unnecessary for him to be directly involved when he could have entrusted Hela with the task of obtaining the spring water on his behalf.

Madam Justice should have considered this. Why am I required to descend into the fourth level of the catacombs personally? Is it because of the perceived difficulty Hela might encounter in procuring the water by herself? She needs my assistance?

What's so special about ? Apart from the angel sealed within , my Sequence isn't high…

Mada Hela's Sequence is relatively high. It's relatively dangerous for her to approach the Samaritan Won's Spring and she will be prone to madness. Am I responsible for monitoring her condition and awaken her if needed?

I previously believed that Mada Hela was at least a Sequence 4. She claid she could resolve the Cordu problem before the descent ritual, but now it appears she hasn't ascended to a demigod. Otherwise, she wouldn't be able to enter the fourth level of the catacombs, let alone approach the Samaritan Won's Spring… Does she possess a Grade 1 Sealed Artifact or a mystical item equivalent to a saint? Lumian combed through the entire situation and made so guesses and judgnts.

Continuing to write, Lumian used the information provider's request as a pretext to express his personal desire to enter the ancient tomb.

After the summoning ritual, the skull, crafted from pure silver and radiating a gentle glow, retrieved the letter and departed.

Before long, a ssenger returned with Hela's response: "No problem. I'll et you at the gates of the Death Empire at 4 p.m. tomorrow."

Phew… Lumian exhaled a sigh of relief, his body trembling with a mix of excitent and trepidation.

His adventurous spirit and penchant for experintation had always defined him. The bizarre vanishing of the couple in the catacombs had etched a profound mark on his psyche.

…

The next morning, at 11 Rue des Fontaines.

Lumian dutifully arrived at Gardner Martin's villa and reported the details of his eting with Count Poufer and the other Black Cat mbers.

Inside, Gardner Martin, unusually excited, sat behind his desk and spoke with a hint of joy,

"Despite your claim of lacking artistic inclination, your background allows you to converse with them effectively. That's precisely why I chose you instead of Albus.

"I was concerned you might not exhibit enough generosity, but you handled it admirably. You even sponsored them with 4,000 verl d'or on your first visit."

Gardner Martin, the Commanding Officer of the Iron and Blood Cross Order, implied that Lumian's status as the younger brother of best-selling author Aurore Lee, even without artistic inclination, provided him with a wealth of insider knowledge about the scandals, grudges, and grievances within the literary and artistic circles.

Lumian, however, didn't waste any ti and cut straight to the point. "What I don't understand is why the King's Pie ga gave a sense of danger. I even had a few nightmares last night."

Gardner Martin nodded thoughtfully.

"That's because Poufer is quite unique. He bears a striking resemblance to his ancestor, Vermonda. They share a strong blood connection, which allows them to bypass many crucial steps during a ritual."

"Has his ancestor turned into an evil spirit? How can he still accept sacrifices after centuries?" Lumian asked, basing his question on logical reasoning, without ntioning Mr. K's account.

Gardner Martin responded with solemnity, "That's sothing you should investigate when you approach Poufer. Don't worry; as long as you don't participate in the King's Pie ga every two or three days, the only aftereffect you'll experience is those nightmares. Keep that sense of danger intact and resist becoming a king. It's easier for you to beco a king than anyone else, except for Poufer himself. If you're uncertain about making the right choice, let Poufer choose first."

The Iron and Blood Cross Order wants to uncover the whereabouts of the mysterious Vermonda Sauron, who has been missing for centuries? Heh heh, why didn't they warn about the dangers of the King's Pie ga beforehand and advise to be the last to make a choice? Lumian suspected that Gardner Martin hadn't ntioned it to confirm a crucial matter.

…

In the afternoon, near the Trier Opera House, within a concealed quarry cave, Franca and Jenna, wearing half-masks, once again t the Warlock in the black robe.

He was the sa client who had previously commissioned the investigation of the disappearance of the Deep Valley Cloister's gatekeeper.

Franca scanned their surroundings, her voice intentionally hoarse as she spoke,

"We've made so progress in our investigation regarding the disappearance of the Deep Valley Cloister's gatekeeper. We wish to discuss it with you privately."

The man fell silent for over ten seconds before finally nodding. "Very well."

Their iron-masked skeletal escort led them, along with the client, into a secluded "conversation room" within the quarry cave.

…

With an hour left until their agreed eting ti, Lumian equipped himself with a carbide lamp and entered the market district's corresponding entrance to Underground Trier.

-x-X-x-

The carbide lamp emitted a bluish-yellow light, casting an eerie glow over the tunnel, which was divided by stone pillars.

Lumian strolled casually, carrying a black canvas bag that had beco popular among university students in recent years. Inside, he had stashed the Flog boxing gloves and a stack of white candles.

After conducting nurous experints, Lumian had discovered that carrying them in his bag was less risky than tucking them into his shirt or pants pockets. While it didn't make a significant difference, it was still better than the alternative.

As he followed the route marked on Gardner Martin's map, leading him toward the underground of Quartier de l'Observatoire, Lumian suddenly perked up his ears, listening for signs of approaching footsteps.

A cacophony of faint footsteps echoed in the air, barely audible.

Lumian scanned the path ahead and to his right, unsure which route the unidentified group would take. To remain inconspicuous, he clambered up to a stone pillar supporting the tunnel's ceiling, extinguishing his carbide lamp, and disappeared into the shadows.

Before long, a group of n erged.

Most of them wore tattered jackets or were shirtless, hunched over while carrying heavy crates. Over a dozen burly n, dressed in well-worn attire with sinister expressions, held various firearms and carbide lamps, interspersed throughout the group.

Smugglers… Lumian peered out, examining the crates illuminated by the smugglers' lights. They appeared to emit a tallic gleam.

Firearms or sothing else? He mumbled silently, observing the smuggling caravan as it entered the right tunnel.

As they advanced, possibly due to a shadow that moved too much like a human, one of the smugglers raised his gun, took aim, and fired.

With a resounding bang, the alarm ceased, and the group pressed onward.

Lumian clicked his tongue and shook his head, finding their reaction overly tense and excessive.

In Underground Trier, such actions could easily lead to trouble!

It was well known that aside from university students exploring and citizens cultivating mushrooms to eke out a living, most individuals venturing underground were not to be underestimated. The chances of encountering Beyonders were significantly higher below ground than on the surface. Firing upon any passerby could potentially provoke mbers of secret organizations, bestowed of evil gods, anti-governnt militants, or formidable cave adventurers.

With this in mind, Lumian drew his revolver and squeezed the trigger in the direction of the smuggling caravan, which was about to disappear at the end of the tunnel to his right.

He wasn't aiming at anyone, just firing into the air.

Bang! The ard smugglers either spun around or scrambled for cover, unleashing a barrage of bullets at the crossroads.

However, Lumian was no longer concerned. He was already scaling the rock wall, almost reaching the top.

After exchanging gunfire with the empty air for a brief mont, the smugglers shifted their positions nervously, puzzled and flustered.

Lumian observed their backs and couldn't help but smile.

No need for thanks. Consider it a free lesson!

He leaped to the ground and relit his carbide lamp.

Slling the lingering scent of gunpowder, Lumian grinned and holstered his revolver before continuing along his planned route.

A few minutes later, he ca across a group of quarry police officers dressed in dark uniforms, ard with semi-automatic revolvers.

The officer leading the group, upon seeing Lumian's youthful appearance, backpack slung diagonally, and well-dressed attire, muttered under his breath, "Son of a bitch, why is it another college student!?"

He then exhaled loudly and asked, "Did you hear anything just now?"

"There was a gunfight over there. Bang, bang, bang. I wanted to go over and take a look, but I didn't dare," Lumian replied, concealing nothing about the smuggling caravan.

The quarry police officers exchanged glances and swiftly passed Lumian, sprinting toward the intersection.

…

In the "conversation" room.

Observing the iron-masked skeletal host's departure, the man dressed in Warlock attire turned his attention to Franca and Jenna and said,

"What did you discover? As I ntioned, you need to find the gatekeeper or his remains to claim your reward."

Jenna replied calmly, "We haven't really thought about paynt yet. We believe the situation is more complex than you described.

"One night, we infiltrated the Deep Valley Quarry…"

Upon hearing the term "Deep Valley Quarry," the man, hidden under a hooded shadow, subtly lifted his gaze.

Franca keenly observed his body language.

She had consulted with Anthony Reid and knew the kind of subconscious reactions ordinary humans would exhibit in such situations.

The man's actions suggested he was highly sensitive to the ntion of Deep Valley Quarry.

Only soone aware of the issue would react in such a way.

Jenna continued to recount their discoveries, including the cybernetic-eyed monk and the secret cave adorned with limbs.

The Warlock-dressed man remained composed, making no unnecessary movents. However, to Franca, this indicated that he understood the abnormality within Deep Valley Quarry.

After hearing Jenna's account, the man deliberately raised his voice and said, "I can't confirm if it's related to the gatekeeper's disappearance, but if you can enter the secret cave, capture a few photographs, or retrieve valuable items, I'm willing to offer half the paynt upfront. Perhaps you'll find clues about the gatekeeper's whereabouts inside."

Do you take us for fools? Are you expecting us to take such a risk for a re 10,000 verl d'or? Franca muttered silently.

Had this mysticism gathering not been organized by her friend, she would have found a way to tail the client and uncover his true identity. She could then extract more detailed information from him and have Jenna sell it to the Purifiers.

…

"Halt!

"The Death Empire lies ahead!"

Lumian once again found himself standing in front of the natural arch, adorned with a peculiar mix of white bones, sunflowers, and steam symbols carved into the stone.

Before he could reach for the pocket watch he had borrowed from Salle de Bal Brise to check the ti, Hela, dressed in a mysterious widow's black robe with withered blonde hair, approached from the other side.

The woman nodded slightly and said, "Since you're already here, let's proceed ahead of schedule."

"Very well." Lumian opened his bag and produced two white candles.

After lighting them and handing one to Hela, he grinned and remarked, "Aren't you worried that the information I obtained about the Samaritan Won's Spring might be incorrect?"

"Success cos after nurous failures," Hela replied with icy detachnt.

A chuckle escaped Lumian's lips.

"I thought you might say that failure is the mother of success."

"This isn't the Research Society," Hela replied tersely.

Lumian didn't waste any more ti. He extinguished his carbide lamp and advanced toward the rocky arch, clutching the white candle, its fla now an intense orange.

As expected, a figure erged from the shadows beyond the door.

The figure sported a blue vest and yellow pants, with gray hair and few wrinkles. His light-yellow eyes held a faint cloudiness, marking him as an elderly man.

The old man cast a disapproving look at the white candle in Lumian's hand and asked with a furrowed brow, "Didn't you find a guide?"

You… Not you guys? Lumian glanced at Hela out of the corner of his eye and realized that the candlelight around her had dimd, as if it had been corroded by the underground darkness or shrouded in dense fog.

In this state, she appeared to have vanished from the tomb administrator's view.

Lumian flashed a smile at the old man.

"I don't require a guide. I've been to the tomb many tis, though I'm more accustod to entering through the Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative entrance. Don't worry, I rember all the taboos, and I won't deliberately break them."

The old man snapped, "You college students! Rember, exit before your candles burn out!"

With that, he stepped aside and disappeared into the darkness behind the door.

As Lumian passed through the rocky passage and entered the Death Empire, he turned to the aged tomb administrator and asked curiously, "Why can you hold a lit white candle?"

The tomb administrator's faintly turbid light-yellow eyes suddenly darkened, and an icy aura emanated from him.

In a deep voice, he replied, "I'm just stationed by the entrance, not venturing too deep."

Is that so? Lumian, who had already entered the catacombs, rationally abandoned any further inquiry. He focused on the chill in his heart and the unseen gazes from the surrounding darkness.

He couldn't help but sense a resemblance between the tomb administrator's current aura and Hela's presence.

Under the ever-watchful gaze of the corpses in the stone pit and the heaps of bones lining the sides of the passage, Lumian pressed on through the musty air. He walked alongside Hela, passing landmarks like the chapel tomb and the morial pillar tomb.

Hela broke the silence, her tone frosty. "Which level are we heading to?"

"The fourth level," Lumian replied, holding the white candle aloft and pointing to a nearby tomb sign, not withholding any information.

Hela nodded once more and picked up her pace, striding ahead of Lumian.

She seed intimately familiar with the first level of the catacombs. After a few twists and turns, she led Lumian to a staircase that descended to the second level.

Compared to the previous level, there were far fewer tourists here. Occasionally, they encountered university students singing, dancing, or testing their courage under the "gaze" of the candlelit corpses.

Hela showed no signs of slowing down. Soon, Lumian spotted a weathered stone door.

With the candle's flickering yellow glow illuminating the way, he read the Intisian inscription on the stone door: "Entrance to the Old Ossuary."

"Down here, we enter the third level. Just beyond the door is the Sun and Steam altar. Keep walking until you reach the Krismona Night Pillar, and that's where we enter the fourth level," Hela explained, her voice still cold.

"Do you have a complete map of the catacombs?" Lumian couldn't help but inquire, aware that only the map of the first level was readily available on the market.

Hela shook her head.

"I know less the deeper we go. From the third level onward, you have to rely on the road signs and the guiding black line on the cave ceiling."

Lumian chose not to press the matter further. With Hela leading the way, they crossed the threshold of the Old Ossuary and descended a wide stone staircase, imbued with a palpable sense of history.

Upon reaching the third level of the tomb, they encountered a flickering candlelight and a makeshift altar composed of two weathered boulders.

The candle's fla belonged to a young man with black hair, brown eyes, and a pale complexion.

Upon spotting Lumian and Hela, he rushed toward them as if grasping at a lifeline.

As he ran, he shouted, "M-my friends vanished! Just like that!"

-x-X-x-

His friends had vanished? Lumian, clutching a white candle, watched as the young man dashed over, his eyebrows twitching slightly.

He wasn't a tomb administrator, nor did he have an angel sealed within him!

Any anomaly that occurred ant that sothing was wrong!

"Stop!" Lumian drew his revolver with his free right hand and pointed it at the black-haired, brown-eyed, and pale-faced young man.

In the flickering candlelight, the lad shook his head frantically and said, "Help! Save ! They've all vanished!"

He slowed down slightly but didn't stop.

Bang!

Lumian pulled the trigger of the revolver, sending the yellow bullet grazing the lad's body into the distance, disappearing into the darkness that couldn't be illuminated by candlelight.

Sensing Lumian's determination to stop him, the lad finally halted and revealed a pleading expression.

"Save ! Save !"

Observing Hela's silence with no intention of making conversation, Lumian had no choice but to inquire, "What happened?"

As he spoke, he used the yellow candle flas in the trio's hands to survey the environnt on the third level of the catacombs.

Unlike the first two levels of the tomb, which were surrounded by white bones and had corpses lining both sides of the path, this level had a small square devoid of corpses.

The square was paved with mottled cobblestones, with no moss or soil in the crevices. It was unbelievably clean.

Two grayish-white pillars made of boulders stood on either side of it. Their surfaces were severely weathered, leaving peeling marks.

Even so, Lumian, with his keen eyesight, discerned the Sun Sacred Emblem and Triangular Sacred Emblem engraved on the two pillars. Surrounding them were symbols like Sun Flowers, crankshafts, and connecting rods.

Around the square, where candlelight couldn't penetrate, the darkness was dense, as if countless figures stood there, casting gazes that made Lumian's skin prickle.

The young man with black hair, brown eyes, and a pale face replied fearfully,

"I don't know. We were just about to leave the square where the altars of the Eternal Blazing Sun and the God of Steam and Machinery stand to explore the ancient tomb on the third level. Suddenly, they stumbled over sothing and fell, one by one. Even the candles in their hands fell to the ground and went out.

"I-I was at the back and saw them vanish just like that!"

To him, the most pressing question wasn't how they vanished but why the witness still rembered their disappearance.

It's clear that if you aren't affected by the strangeness and manage to escape, your faith in the Eternal Blazing Sun would surge… Lumian couldn't discern anything amiss with the other party, so he casually posed another question.

"Are you college students?"

The lad nodded again.

"Yes, we're students from Trier Normal College. We ford a team to adventure here. My—my na is Gérard."

Lumian couldn't help but chuckle. He even considered inviting Gérard to join him and Hela in their search for the Samaritan Won's Spring. After all, the chances of a student like him surviving until graduation seed slim. He might be more useful as bait.

As he contemplated how to determine if there was anything wrong with Gérard, Hela suddenly spoke with a cold tone, "We'll escort you back."

Surprisingly kind? Lumian turned to Hela, taken aback.

His impression of this lady was that even her blood ran cold.

Gérard was so grateful that tears and snot stread down his face. He continued to thank them profusely as he approached.

Lumian observed his every move. He retrieved a white candle from his canvas bag and tossed it over.

Desperately, Gérard caught it and lit the new candle with the old one, which had only a small segnt left.

Seeing the flickering candlelight, the college student breathed a sigh of relief and followed Hela and Lumian down the stone staircase leading to the second level.

Just as he took ten steps up, Gérard was suddenly stunned.

Lumian looked over and noticed that the lingering fear on his face had disappeared.

"Will it be a problem for you to return to the surface by yourself?" Hela asked again, but her words were entirely different from before.

Gérard chuckled.

"No problem. Thank you for the candle. Sigh, losing the spare candle is troubleso."

Uh… Lumian's heart stirred as he probed, "Did you venture to the third level of the tomb alone?"

Gérard nodded proudly. "Of course, I possess enough courage and experience."

He has finally forgotten about his schoolmates… Did he not forget because he was at the sacrificial square? Did Mada Hela notice that, thereby suggesting escorting him? Lumian nodded in enlightennt.

After watching Gérard ascend the stairs and leave through the entrance of the Old Ossuary, Lumian and Hela returned to the sacrificial square.

This ti, when Lumian looked at the two sacrificial pillars representing the Eternal Blazing Sun and the God of Steam and Machinery, his feelings for them were entirely different.

However, even with the deity's gaze and protection, the two stone pillars inevitably showed signs of weathering and corrosion after countless years in the depths of the catacombs.

Lumian believed that more protection ant greater confidence. He wouldn't lose anything by giving it a try. Facing the sacrificial pillar engraved with the Sun Sacred Emblem, he raised his body slightly and spread his arms.

"Praise the Sun!"

Hela watched silently, not interrupting his prayer.

After Lumian finished his concise praise, the two of them made their way toward the Krismona Night Pillar to the north, following the black line above their heads and the road sign at the edge of the square.

Lumian, holding a white candle, had only taken a few steps away from the sacrificial square when his heart stirred. He cast his gaze forward.

At so point, a skeleton, covered in dark-green mold, had collapsed by the road. The bones of its hands lay across the road, as if it wanted to grab a passerby's ankle.

If Lumian had walked faster and failed to carefully observe the environnt, he might have tripped over the corpse!

This instantly reminded him of Gérard's description: The college student's companions stumbled over sothing and fell to the ground, extinguishing their candles. Only then were they "swallowed" by the catacombs, leaving no trace of their existence!

Did they trip over these fallen bones? Lumian thoughtfully kicked the hand bone away.

Amidst the clanking sounds, he and Hela continued forward. However, after a few steps, they encountered another white skeleton with half its body lying on the road.

Lumian frowned and instinctively looked back at the spot where he had almost tripped.

The dim candlelight barely reached there, but Lumian could barely make out the details with his Hunter's eyesight.

His pupils dilated as he realized that the pale-white hand bone he had kicked had returned to its original position, still serving as an obstacle for passersby!

"They're still alive? Undead creatures?" Lumian asked, his nerves on edge.

"No, but it's a possibility," Hela replied succinctly.

Seeing Lumian's puzzled expression, she explained, "They must have been affected by the environnt deep within the tomb and are exhibiting certain abnormalities. When the hidden dangers and horrors in the environnt erupt, it's likely that they will all turn into undead creatures."

All of them turning into undead creatures… Lumian instinctively shuddered as he imagined such a scenario.

Whether complete or incomplete, there were at least a million skeletons on this level. It might even be an order of magnitude more. If they all beca undead creatures with a hatred for the living, the situation would be terrifying to the extre!

Seeing that Hela had no intention of turning back, Lumian followed. They relied on the guidance of the road sign and the black lines above their heads to navigate through the bones that were trying to obstruct them and slowly made their way toward their destination.

After an unknown amount of ti, they finally reached the Krismona Night Pillar without encountering another living person.

It was a colossal pillar made of black marble, its upper end reaching the cave ceiling. There were no patterns or symbols engraved on its surface, nor were there any signs of weathering or corrosion.

Lumian was taken aback.

In the sacrificial square, the two stone pillars symbolizing the Eternal Blazing Sun and the God of Steam and Machinery had been weathered and corroded!

Is this pillar more special than the sacrificial ones?

As if sensing Lumian's thoughts, Hela spoke coldly, "Krismona is a mber of the Demoness Sect, which can also be called the Demoness family.

"She was a Sequence 2 Demoness of Catastrophe. She perished in the War of the Four Emperors in the previous epoch, dying inside Fourth Epoch Trier. However, her characteristics were retrieved by the Demoness family.

"Apart from the Krismona Night Pillar, there are also the Marianne Night Pillar and Lius Night Pillar on the third or fourth level."

"Who are these two?" Lumian believed they were angels as well. Otherwise, they wouldn't be on par with Krismona.

"Marianne was the pope of the Church of Evernight back then, and Lius was a Blessed of ancient Death, a Death Consul. Their characteristics were also retrieved by their respective factions. As for whether other angels perished here, I'm not sure, but many of the angels who followed the Blood Emperor must have perished." After Hela briefly explained, she pointed at the stone staircase behind the Krismona Night Pillar. "Let's go to the fourth level."

Lumian tersely agreed, and they quickly replaced their rapidly burning white candles before ascending to the fourth level.

…

After attending the mysticism gathering, Franca and Jenna retraced their steps to the underground area corresponding to the arcade of the opera house.

As they turned a corner at a fork of the road, Franca leaned over and whispered into Jenna's ear,

"Soone's following us."

Soone is following us? Jenna's heart skipped a beat.

-x-X-x-

"How can that be?" Jenna exclaid, her surprise and confusion evident.

She recollected the mysticism gathering's conclusion, where participants dispersed through various routes at sporadic intervals. The two of them had been cautious, ensuring they left no clues. So, how had they been followed?

Observing Jenna's restraint from looking back, Franca calmly moved ahead and whispered,

"Who knows? Perhaps another participant chose this route and stumbled upon soone ahead. They might want to tail us, hoping for an opportunity to strike it big. Or maybe soone with unusual skills tracked us in an unexpected way.

"Let's keep moving forward as if nothing's amiss. We'll be safe once we reach the street under the arcade.

"If our pursuer strikes before then, drop the carbide lamp imdiately and hide in the nearby shadows. Depending on the situation, you can decide how to join the fight."

Jenna nodded subtly, indicating her willingness to follow Franca's instructions.

Unintentionally, she tightened her grip on the carbide lamp.

After traversing the dark, damp tunnel for a hundred to two hundred ters, Franca slowed down and glanced back with confusion.

"The stalker has vanished…

"It's also possible that he found a way to bypass the spider silk I left behind…"

As she finished speaking, a figure erged from the darkness ahead, illuminated by the carbide lamp's glow.

Jenna reacted swiftly, dropping the carbide lamp in her left hand and blending into the shadows.

Relying on her Mirror Substitution technique, Franca didn't rush to evade. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the stalker who had circled around to confront them.

It was the man masquerading as a Warlock, his face concealed beneath a hooded shadow.

The entrustee!

He gazed at Franca and deliberately spoke in a high-pitched voice, "I want to strike a deal with you guys."

…

Behind the Krismona Night Pillar, Lumian trailed behind Hela, clutching a new white candle that flickered in the dim light. They followed the worn stone steps, seemingly descending into the depths of hell.

The stone walls on either side slowly gave way, revealing intricate reliefs of human heads. Dark gray figures clustered together, reminiscent of the countless bones piled high in the upper tomb.

As Lumian completed the descent and stepped onto the hushed fourth level of the catacombs, an overwhelming restlessness overca him. It was as if he had been imprisoned for a long ti, yearning for freedom.

This sensation wasn't unfamiliar; it was a side effect of the Armored Shadow contract, but it had never been this intense before!

It was as if his spirit felt trapped within his body, finally becoming cognizant of the truth.

It sought to break free from this "cage," to shatter this world and gain true freedom.

Phew… Lumian exhaled slowly, calming himself down.

Even without the Alms Monk boon, he believed he could manage these turbulent emotions. With the Alms Monk's power, he could control them even better.

According to Madam Justice, the higher one's Sequence, the more susceptible they are to madness and the hidden corruption of the fourth level of the catacombs. Is that what I'm experiencing? Is it because my Sequence isn't high that I could endure and control it? Lumian quickly made a guess about the current situation. He instinctively looked up and cast his gaze diagonally at Hela.

Her neck is slender, mostly concealed in the widow-like attire's collar, a suitable target for snapping…

Just as this thought crossed Lumian's mind, he hurriedly shook his head, dismissing the negative effects of the Abscessed Hand's contract.

Simultaneously, he noticed that Hela's face had turned pale-whiter, resembling a corpse that had been dead for many days rather than a living human.

In an instant, Hela produced a military flask, unscrewed the cap, and downed its contents.

Lumian caught a whiff of the strong scent of alcohol.

Silently, he muttered, It should be liquor… Could Hela be like the alcoholics in Feysac, carrying multiple flasks with her?

After finishing a third of the bottle in a single gulp, Hela's complexion flushed slightly as she inquired, "Which way should we go?"

Lumian responded honestly, "It's in an ancient tomb on the westernmost side. We have a general idea of the area, but not the exact location."

Hela nodded and glanced at the top of the tomb, where a thick black line was drawn with arrows pointing in various directions.

Combining this with the signs near the entrance, Lumian could roughly discern the route leading west.

Nevertheless, he pulled out a compass he had prepared beforehand to confirm.

Under the feeble candlelight, the compass needle oscillated continuously, erratic and unceasing.

"It's acting crazy," Lumian comnted, attempting to alleviate his pent-up irritation with humor.

"We'll have to rely on the road signs and black lines," Hela responded, seemingly expecting this.

Lumian sighed, eyeing the erratically moving compass. He chuckled self-deprecatingly.

"If it never stops, could it power a perpetual motion machine?"

Hela glanced at him.

"Aren't you a believer in the Eternal Blazing Sun?"

Lumian replied sincerely, "At least for now, I am."

Hela didn't press the topic further. Following the road sign beside her and the black lines above, she stepped to the right.

"The Marianne Night Pillar and Lius Night Pillar are both on this floor. There's also Fran?ois's Tomb, the Blood Order Hall, and Crazy Shrooms Cave… Uh, the style of this na is completely different from the others," Lumian rambled, diverting his attention from the road sign.

The most noticeable difference between the fourth and third levels was the absence of corpses lining the path. It appeared wider and cleaner, yet it was eerie in its silence.

The ancient tombs had sealed entrances, concealing their contents from prying eyes.

Without turning around, Hela remarked, "Does your ntal unrest manifest in talking and rambling more?"

"Not exactly. Talking just helps cope with the irritation," Lumian admitted.

They continued to navigate, using the road signs and black lines to adjust their direction as they went along.

As Lumian passed by the partially natural tomb cave nad the Order Hall, the outer soil tinged with a hint of blood, he suddenly spotted soone.

It was a woman in a plain white robe, her black hair flowing down her back, and her features extraordinarily exquisite, perfectly harmonious. Her aura was so pure that she seed out of place in this silent and filthy tomb.

Despite having seen a Demoness of Pleasure frequently, Lumian couldn't help but be amazed. He even felt an unholy urge to ravage her.

This wasn't just a drawback of Flog's boxing gloves; it was a dark impulse from the depths of his heart.

Lumian snapped out of it. The woman had sparkling blue eyes, cold and lifeless, and her hands were empty, holding an unlit white candle!

In the catacombs, the living would vanish without the protection of the white candle's flas!

Lumian's body tensed as the woman slipped into the surrounding darkness, blocked by the outer wall of the Blood Order Hall, and disappeared without a trace.

"What are you looking at?" Hela's cold voice cut through the silence.

"Didn't you see?" Lumian recounted the scene he had witnessed in detail.

Hela fell silent for a few seconds before saying, "I didn't see it indeed. However, as soon as you stopped moving, I cast my gaze in that direction."

"Was I the only one who could see it? Or was I the only one allowed to see it?" Lumian couldn't be certain if it was due to Termiboros's influence, his Sequence, or his gender.

Hela pondered for a mont and replied, "Don't concern yourself with such matters. It's normal for special wraiths and evil spirits to linger in the depths of the catacombs, but this place is like a powerful seal. As long as you don't break the rules and trigger an anomaly, you should be safe."

Lumian nodded.

"I was just thinking," Lumian began, "Ordinary tourists and adventurous college students wouldn't be able to pass through the third level of the tomb to reach this place. Why did they produce the guiding black line and accurate road signs? Who are they for?"

Hela answered as she took another step forward, "Official Beyonders who co here regularly to clean up and tomb administrators who patrol the area every day."

She then offered a simple reminder. "Based on your description, the female figure you saw earlier resembles a high-ranking Demoness."

Lumian's heart skipped a beat.

"Could it be the lingering vengeful spirit of the Demoness of Catastrophe, Krismona?"

"I'm not sure," Hela replied, taking another sip from her military flask.

Lumian casually glanced around, his eyelids twitching.

He noticed a purplish-red patch on the back of Hela's right hand.

It hadn't been there before.

It resembled the livor mortis seen on the deceased!

Is this the effect of the corruption on the fourth level of the catacombs? Is Mada Hela using alcohol to resist it? Lumian continued his small talk.

Amidst his babbling, they andered through the unmarked ancient tombs and eventually reached the westernmost area of the floor.

At the edge of the rock wall, dozens or possibly hundreds of ancient tombs stretched out of sight.

Just as Lumian was about to ask Hela if she could expedite the search for their target, he heard knocking from an ancient tomb nearby.

Both Hela and Lumian tensed, their eyes fixed on the tomb as more of its damaged stone walls crumbled, revealing a dark cavern that humans could enter and exit.

A figure erged, hunched over.

Lumian, filled with tension, wanted to unleash a Giant Fireball, but he restrained himself, opting to observe first.

The man who crawled out of the ancient tomb held a lit white candle, dusted off his clothes, and slowly straightened up.

Dressed in a black seer's robe commonly seen in circuses, he had brownish-black skin, a slender build, curly black hair, and deep-set eyes. A crystal-like monocle adorned his right eye. He was none other than the Islander swindler, Monette.

Monette flashed a smile at Lumian and Hela.

"What a coincidence!"

-x-X-x-

Dammit! Lumian couldn't help but curse inwardly when he saw Monette.

A mix of anger and fear washed over him, a reaction to the stress of the situation.

Why is it him again?

Why did he appear underground in front of at such a critical mont?

What is he up to?

Why is he like the bedbugs at Auberge du Coq Doré, the cockroaches in the trash, and the rats in Underground Trier, ubiquitous and unavoidable?

"Who are you?" Hela asked coldly.

Her deadpan deanor swiftly soothed Lumian's emotions. His mind raced as he analyzed the intentions of the Islander swindler, Monette, and the Salle de Bal Unique dance hall backing him.

Monette, with a sly smile, pinched the monocle in his right eye socket and replied,

"Like you guys, a tomb adventurer."

Tomb adventurer… You make grave robbers sound so honorable… Madam Justice once said that the higher a Sequence, the more dangerous it is to enter the catacombs… Therefore, the angel Monette believes in can't provide him with any assistance here. The saints with godhood in Salle de Bal Unique don't dare enter either… In other words, if Mada Hela and I join forces, we have a high chance of keeping Monette here forever, preventing him from roaming around like a cockroach! Lumian narrowed his eyes as he gazed at Monette.

The fear in his heart dissipated significantly, and the dangerous thoughts of using this opportunity to eliminate the swindler in front of him rapidly multiplied.

Lumian smiled and looked at Monette.

"Tomb adventurer? Do you know this place well?"

Monette smiled and said, "Of course."

He raised his right hand and pointed at an ancient tomb at the edge of the candlelight's range.

"That belongs to a mber of the Fourth Epoch's Zoroast family."

Imdiately after, Monette pointed to a few nearby tombs.

"That's a mber of the Jacob family, a mber of the Abraham family, a mber of the Blood Legion…

"Unfortunately, there are no Beyonder characteristics left behind."

Lumian's surprise and puzzlent grew as he realized that the Islander swindler had genuinely answered his question. This raised even more questions about Monette's motives.

He cautiously pointed towards the ancient tomb from which Monette had erged.

"Whose tomb is that?"

Monette took a few steps forward, noticing the subtle shift in Lumian's deanor. He stopped and maintained his enigmatic smile.

"A mber of the Fourth Epoch's Amon family."

This swindler's knowledge of the Fourth Epoch families and the catacombs' fourth level is far more extensive than what should is written on the road signs…. Amid Lumian's bewildernt, Hela spoke again.

"Then do you know where the Samaritan Won's Spring is?"

Monette stroked the outer edge of his monocle and wore a smirk.

"Why should I tell you? What kind of reward can you offer?"

"Why should we believe you have the exact location of the Samaritan Won's Spring?" Lumian asked instinctively.

He suspected that Monette was about to embark on his habitual deception.

Monette chuckled lightly.

"I really don't know. The na Samaritan Won's Spring isn't that impressive. It seems to co from an ancient book I once read. However, after coming to this level many tis, I discovered so strange phenona. So occasionally animated bones will automatically gather in this area, enter a tomb, and never co out."

The undead animated by the environnt will be affected by this tomb's abnormality and drawn to it automatically? Or is that the Samaritan Won's Spring? Western side, so ancient tomb. The conditions match… Lumian's heart raced as he beca even more vigilant.

Monette, the Islander swindler, voluntarily disclosed such crucial information without receiving any paynt ?

This was completely out of character for him!

Any anomaly that occurred ant that sothing was wrong!

Lumian suspected two potential scenarios: either Monette was luring him and Hela into the ancient tomb where the undead gathered, hoping to lead them into a trap, or he was using them as scouts to navigate this dangerous territory.

Both possibilities were equally plausible. Although the forr didn't benefit Monette, so people did enjoy seeing others suffer.

"That's all I know." Monette pinched the monocle in his right eye socket and said with a smile, "I'll search the other tombs. If you can find the so-called Samaritan Won's Spring, rember to leave a note for in the tomb of the Amon family mber; tell what's so special about it."

As he spoke, he advanced toward Lumian.

In Lumian's tense state, poised to strike at a mont's notice, the Islander swindler sidestepped him and headed for the distant tomb, carrying a lit white candle.

Soon, his silhouette disappeared at the crossroads, plunging the area into darkness once more.

Has he truly left? Lumian remained vigilant, his attention focused on Termiboros's reaction.

The Inevitability angel remained silent, seemingly unperturbed by Monette's reappearance.

Hela took a few steps back and positioned herself beside an ancient tomb, pushing open its rickety stone door.

Confronted by the pale-white bones strewn at the tomb's entrance, Hela raised her right hand.

As if pulled by invisible threads, the bones swiftly converged, morphing into a swaying humanoid skeleton with a creaking sound.

Hela refrained from issuing any commands to the undead creature she had summoned. She observed coldly as it slowly departed from the tomb, drawn by an unseen force into the darkness.

Is Mada Hela from the Corpse Collector pathway, or does she possess a corresponding mystical item? Lumian roughly discerned Hela's intentions. She intended on utilizing the undead creatures' characteristic—the automatic attraction to the problematic ancient tomb—to chart their course.

The most probable anomaly in this region was the Samaritan Won's Spring!

Holding their burning white candles, the pair followed the humanoid skeleton through the westernmost tombs.

Suddenly, another figure erged from the darkness around the corner, a candle fla accompanying him.

A crystal monocle adorned his right eye socket, and an enigmatic smile graced his face.

It was that Islander swindler Monette once more!

As Lumian jumped in fright, Monette asked with a smile, "Is that Samaritan Won's Spring interesting? Can I accompany you?"

Why didn't you ask previously? Lumian's killing intent surged.

Without batting an eyelid, he said, "We haven't even located it yet. How would we know if it's interesting? Why didn't you conceal yourself in the shadows, awaiting the completion of our exploration and confirmation of any dangers or traps before venturing forth? That way, the risk would be considerably lower. And even if we succeed, we won't be able to remove the Samaritan Won's Spring in its entirety."

Monette pressed the back of his right index finger against the monocle and nodded in agreent.

"You make a valid point."

The swindler grinned and retreated into the darkness around the corner.

The candle's fla promptly dwindled until it vanished.

He left so easily? Lumian's thoughts raced, but he couldn't quite decipher Monette's intentions.

He glanced at Hela and noticed that she was sipping liquor again, but her complexion had a pallid, almost bluish hue.

She resembled a corpse even more now.

"Do you have any idea what's up with these monocle-wearing folks?" Lumian inquired.

Hela placed the empty military flask back into her hidden pocket. As she continued to follow the humanoid skeleton, she replied in a cold, ethereal voice, "It's tied to the Fourth Epoch's Amon family."

Fourth Epoch's Amon family… The ancient tomb Monette erged from belonged to a mber of the Amon family… They control the Marauder pathway, much like Franca ntioned the Demoness family's control over the Assassin pathway. Seeing that Hela wasn't inclined to share more, Lumian had no choice but to keep silent and follow.

Monette's reappearance pushed aside any thoughts of idle chatter to ease his restlessness.

As they proceeded, the candles held by Lumian and Hela took on a faint, eerie shade of dark green.

The "resurrected" skeleton turned into a massive, decaying tomb with a partially open stone door.

Lumian's spirits soared, sensing that the Samaritan Won's Spring lay ahead.

At that mont, another figure poked its head out from the side of the tomb.

Under the yellowish candlelight, the crystal monocle glead with an unsettling brilliance.

It was the Islander swindler, Monette, once more!

He grinned and inquired, "Do you have any ssages for your family and friends? I can help convey them."

Lumian was so startled that he almost couldn't contain the urge to strike down Monette right then and there!

There couldn't be a better place to deal with him!

"No," Hela replied icily, choosing not to engage.

Lumian exhaled slowly and said, "Neither do I."

"What a sha." Monette returned to the dark tunnel beside the tomb, looking disappointed.

The yellowish candlelight flickered slightly, indicating that he hadn't gone far and was waiting nearby.

Lumian couldn't help but glance at Hela and gesture with his right hand as if cutting a throat.

He was asking if they should eliminate the Islander swindler in advance.

Hela remained silent for a few monts before gently shaking her head.

"We'll leave as soon as we obtain the Samaritan Won's Spring."

She intended to stay focused on their objective and avoid stirring up further trouble.

Yes, once I've collected the spring water, I'll teleport away with Madam Hela… Lumian agreed and replaced their candles with fresh ones.

After so ti, the skeleton still hadn't erged. Cautiously, they entered the massive tomb through the partially open stone door.

At that mont, a raspy, elderly voice echoed from the depths of the tomb.

"Halt!"

Within the periter of the yellowish candlelight, a figure trembled into view.