31 COI

Observing Lumian's silence, Michel spoke with anxiety creeping into her voice.

"If you're not willing, I can find someone else."

"Who should I look for… They don't really like us. They can't stand our foul odor…"

That was precisely why she sought out Lumian, a leader of the mob. Lumian and Charlie were the only ones at Auberge du Coq Doré who could calmly communicate with the couple, but Charlie had already left.

Glancing at the short and hunched figure of Madame Michel, Lumian let out a sigh and responded.

"I'll go and check it out."

Still perplexed, he walked past Madame Michel, hastened up to the second floor, and entered Room 302.

The place was filled with various kinds of rubbish, emitting an indescribable stench. Lumian raised his hand, pinching his nose, and maneuvered his way through the cramped space, barely fitting a single person, until he reached the yellowish and greasy bedsheet.

Ruhr, with his wrinkled eyes tightly shut, lay on the bed, his face flushed and his breath ragged. He had fainted.

He's seriously ill… Lumian furrowed his brow, holding his breath. He turned around and carried Ruhr out of the room.

Meanwhile, Michel swiftly rummaged through the piles of trash, uncovering hidden spots with single banknotes and coins, which she promptly concealed on her person.

Soon, they left Room 302. As Michel locked the door, she spoke to Lumian.

"Monsieur Ciel, pay me no mind. Send Ruhr to the clinic without me. I'll catch up."

Lumian nodded, quickened his pace, and sprinted out of Auberge du Coq Doré.

He was familiar with Rue des Blouses Blanches' clinics, often frequenting the area. After a short sprint, he spotted the Roblin Clinic, a small hospital in all but name.

Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman and Quartier de No?l had been neighboring districts for some time now. The Holy Palace Hospital, funded by the Eternal Blazing Sun Church, was located across the bridge. As a result, only a few clinics were situated on this side of the bridge.

Roblin Clinic had two doctors on duty during the night. Temporary beds were set up in the spacious hall, with a few patients lying on them, receiving infusion treatments.

Lumian carried Ruhr to one of the doctors and gently placed him on a treatment bed.

The doctor, donning gold-rimmed glasses and in his early thirties, glanced at Lumian. Without directly mentioning any consultation fees, he disdainfully examined Ruhr's condition.

After a few minutes, he adjusted his glasses and spoke.

"He's running a high fever, but there don't appear to be any other symptoms. I suggest we try to bring down the fever first. If it persists, we should immediately transfer him to the Holy Palace Hospital."

"Alright." Lumian possessed limited medical knowledge, so he could only heed the doctor's advice.

The doctor swiftly wrote a prescription for Lumian and instructed him to make the necessary payment. Lumian complied, receiving the fever medicine and infusion drip from the pharmacy.

The Fool Pharmaceutical Company's Type 1357 Fever Medicine… Lumian glanced at the prescription's contents and then proceeded to the payment window.

Madame Michel finally arrived, panting and exhausted.

She accepted the prescription from Lumian and glanced at the price. In a burst of frustration, she exclaimed, "It's 5 verl d'or…"

Without waiting for Lumian's response, she clenched her teeth and retrieved copper and silver coins. She gathered 5 verl d'or and paid the consultation fee.

Before long, Ruhr was carried to a temporary bed for the infusion.

This treatment had gained popularity only in recent years.

Madame Michel finally regained her composure and spoke to Lumian.

"Thank you, Monsieur Ciel. You can go back and rest. I'll stay with Ruhr."

Lumian didn't insist. After all, he wasn't a doctor.

He nodded slightly and directed his gaze towards Ruhr. Concentrating, he intended to check on his luck.

Lumian couldn't help but furrow his brow.

Monsieur Ruhr was on the brink of death!

However, it wasn't severe or evident. Unlike the previous vagrant, there seemed to be a chance of salvation.

Just as Lumian was about to suggest transferring him to the Holy Palace Hospital, Ruhr's condition took a turn.

Translucent blisters resembling burns emerged on his skin. They swiftly filled with light yellow pus, exhibiting signs of festering.

Such symptoms, such progression, and such rapid evolution caused Lumian's pupils to contract. His intuition informed him that this was no ordinary illness.

Perhaps it was connected to mysticism and supernatural forces!

Monsieur Ruhr is merely a scavenger. Why is he affected by supernatural powers? Lumian raised his head and pointed at the unconscious Ruhr. He addressed Madame Michel, "You're believers of the Eternal Blazing Sun, correct? Take him to the église Saint-Robert and give it a try."

He sensed that the Holy Palace Hospital might not be equipped to treat an illness involving supernatural powers. It would be better to visit the Eternal Blazing Sun cathedral and determine if purification could eliminate the effects.

Madame Michel noticed her husband's peculiar transformation and pleaded with a sobbing tone, "No, transfer him to the Holy Palace Hospital! Transfer him to the Holy Palace Hospital!"

To Madame Michel's understanding, seeking blessings at the cathedral was akin to giving up on treatment and preparing for the solace of a deathbed.

Lumian refrained from persuading her, realizing that it was the dead of night and église Saint-Robert had long closed its doors. Moreover, Ruhr and Michel were nothing more than a couple of scavengers, so the chances of the cathedral opening for them were slim.

Additionally, église Saint-Robert was quite far away. Ruhr's condition was rapidly deteriorating, and he might not survive the journey, let alone live long enough to rouse the cathedral's caretakers to unlock the door.

Lumian observed Ruhr, whose blisters had burst and were now oozing pus. After a brief moment of silence, he spoke to Madame Michel, "Find a doctor and transfer him to the Holy Palace Hospital immediately."

"Alright, alright!" Michel snapped out of her daze and hurriedly approached the doctor who had attended to Ruhr.

Once she vacated the temporary bed, Lumian positioned himself to block the view of the other patients. From his pocket, he retrieved an iron-colored metal canister adorned with a spring fountain pattern.

This was the Healing Agent he had obtained from "Baldy" Harman!

Lumian believed that ailments as a result of mysticism could only be countered by mysticism remedies. Although uncertain whether this agent, primarily meant for external injuries, would work on Ruhr, he was determined to give it a shot.

Unscrewing the cap, he pinched Ruhr's mouth open and forced down half of the agent.

Ruhr, seemingly parched, instinctively swallowed the clear liquid resembling a refreshing spring.

After two gulps, he began to calm down.

In less than a minute, Madame Michel returned with the doctor. The blisters on Ruhr's face shriveled, scabbed over, and silently fell away.

It actually worked… Lumian breathed a sigh of relief and focused on observing the shifts in Ruhr's fate.

This time, there were no signs of impending death. Ruhr's destiny for the next few days appeared somewhat chaotic, making it difficult for Lumian to decipher or speculate upon.

Perplexed, the doctor glanced at Ruhr and asked Madame Michel, "Isn't he in pretty good shape?"

Madame Michel also noticed that the dreadful blisters that had marred her husband's face were now gone, leaving behind only scars and wrinkles. His breathing had steadied and was no longer labored.

"I apologize for my anxiety," she quickly apologized.

The doctor, irritated by the stench emanating from her and Ruhr, waved his hand dismissively.

"The Fool Pharmaceutical Company's medications are far more effective than others. Since the situation has improved, keep a close eye on him. Don't rush to transfer him to the Holy Palace Hospital."

With that, he hastily departed from the temporary bed.

Madame Michel slumped down next to Ruhr, occasionally checking his forehead to gauge his body temperature.

Lumian remained by their side. He pulled up a stool and sat, attentively observing Ruhr's condition.

Ten minutes later, Ruhr opened his eyes and gazed blankly at the unfamiliar white ceiling.

"Where am I?"

Michel let out a sigh of relief and swiftly recounted his sudden illness.

"Why did I fall ill out of the blue?" Ruhr was bewildered. "I felt perfectly fine before going to bed."

Interrupting their conversation, Lumian casually inquired, "What did you do before bed that was different from your usual routine?"

"Nothing," Ruhr pondered for a moment before replying, "Just the usual routine. I sorted through the trash I collected, went to the washroom, had a chat, and then went to sleep… Maybe I came back late last night. It was nearly one o'clock by the time I finished sorting. I guess I ended up sleeping too late…"

Could there be something amiss with the garbage? Or did something occur during the day that only manifested in the dead of night? Lumian delved deeper, hoping for valuable clues from Ruhr and Michel, but alas, his efforts proved fruitless.

Ruhr recuperated swiftly. Once the IV had been administered, he insisted on leaving the Roblin Clinic immediately, unwilling to spend any more money and determined to return to the motel before dawn.

Observing that Ruhr's luck remained unchanged, Lumian didn't try to dissuade him.

Auberge du Coq Doré, Room 302.

Lumian furrowed his brow, surveying the piles of garbage emitting various odors, hoping to pinpoint the problematic one. Ruhr and Michel stood beside him, expressing their gratitude incessantly.

Given the peculiar environment, his sense of smell proved useless. Lumian activated his Spirit Vision and observed for a while, yet found no clues.

He could only say to Ruhr and Michel, "We can't rule out the possibility that there might be something contaminated in this trash that caused your illness. Sleep in a different room tonight and wait until morning."

Lumian intended to seek the assistance of Franca, a skilled Witch in divination, once she awoke, in order to identify the source of the problem.

Before Ruhr could respond, Michel, terrified by her husband's sudden illness and brush with death, spoke up.

"Alright! Thank you, Monsieur Ciel."

Two vacant rooms were available on the third floor. Lumian arranged for Ruhr and Michel to rest in Room 307.

It was already past four in the morning. Lumian returned to Room 207 and lay on the bed, contemplating the reason behind the strange occurrence. Gradually, he drifted off into a dazed slumber.

Suddenly, he jolted awake, barely catching a glimpse of a woman's anguished cry.

Lumian's heart tightened as he grabbed Fallen Mercury and left the room. Following the sound of the wailing, he ascended to the third floor.

In the darkness, his heart sank as he slowed his pace, filled with trepidation.

Finally, he halted outside Room 307. In the crimson moonlight that filtered through the curtains, he spotted Madame Michel kneeling before the bed, weeping uncontrollably.

Sensing his approach, Michel, clad in a yellow gown, turned her tear-streaked face in the dimness and directed her gaze towards the door.

Her voice hollow, she uttered, "Ciel—Monsieur Ciel, Ruhr is dead…"

-x-X-x-

He's dead… Lumian thought, his heart heavy with the news he had anticipated but couldn't fully accept.

Leaving the clinic, Ruhr had appeared to have recovered, escaping the clutches of death. How could he have died so suddenly?

With a heavy heart, Lumian stepped into Room 307, fixing his gaze upon the bed.

There lay Ruhr, his body plagued by festering wounds that oozed a faint yellow pus. His complexion was pale and sickly, and he lay completely still.

Ruhr's eyes were wide open, and there was evidence of vomit around his mouth.

After a few moments of silently studying Ruhr's dazed, pained eyes, Lumian spoke in a deep voice, "When did he pass away?"

Michel, her white hair now devoid of its usual luster, slowly shook her head and replied, "I was exhausted and fell asleep. When I awoke, he was already gone…"

"Did he return to Room 302 before bedtime?" Lumian inquired, pressing for details.

"No, he only went to the washroom near Room 302. I followed him…" Michel's voice carried a deep timbre, but it gave Lumian an otherworldly sensation, as though a part of her soul had left her body.

They had all visited the washroom. One fell victim to the strange ailment, while the other remained unscathed… Lumian furrowed his brow, determined to investigate the washroom.

If nothing seems amiss there, the likelihood of Madame Michel being abnormal becomes increasingly probable!

As Lumian departed from Room 307, heading toward the designated washroom, Michel remained kneeling by the bed, quietly weeping, unaware of the other's movements.

The third-floor restroom was no longer as filthy as before, thanks to the regular cleaning ladies. Although some stains and trash were unavoidable after a day's use, it was still passable for civilized individuals.

Lumian glanced around, taking in the sight of the toilet bowl and sink illuminated by the moon's crimson glow streaming through the window. He noticed the rusty tap and mirror, reflecting his own image.

After careful observation, he noticed a white silk handkerchief draped over a pipe in a hidden corner.

Even with a casual glance, Lumian could tell that it didn't belong to any of the current residents of Auberge du Coq Doré. The fabric was of superior quality, adorned with elegant embroidery—a clear sign of its expense.

An outsider, perhaps? Lumian's initial instinct was to pick up the silk handkerchief and examine it more closely. However, he quickly reminded himself of the sight of Monsieur Ruhr's festering body when he had fallen ill and forced himself to restrain his impulses.

Lumian's mind raced as he left the washroom and returned to Room 307. He approached Madame Michel, who was still sobbing, and inquired, "Do you know who the handkerchief in the washroom belongs to?"

Confused and filled with sorrow, Michel instinctively replied, "It's Ruhr's."

Monsieur Ruhr's? Lumian was both surprised and convinced.

He pressed further, "Where did it come from?"

Madame Michel gazed at Ruhr's grotesque, lifeless form and spoke dreamily, "It was among the trash we collected tonight. I wonder which gentleman or lady discarded it…

"It had phlegm on it but was undamaged. Ruhr cleaned it and intended to sell it second-hand instead of throwing it away…

"After you mentioned the possibility of something unclean in the trash, Ruhr took it out and hid it in the washroom. He didn't dare to return to Room 302…"

Phlegm… Lumian felt he had discovered the root of the problem.

He let out a slow exhale and said, "Did Monsieur Ruhr touch the handkerchief again? Did you?"

"I don't know…" Madame Michel shook her head slowly. "He went to the washroom by himself. I didn't touch it…"

As expected… Lumian retrieved his gloves and put them on. He returned to the washroom and used Fallen Mercury to lift the white silk handkerchief. He carefully placed it in the white paper he had with him, folding it neatly.

Throughout the process, he made sure not to touch the handkerchief directly.

Afterward, Lumian wiped Fallen Mercury's blade with another piece of white paper and tossed the crumpled ball into the toilet bowl. He waited for it to soften and then flushed it away.

Stepping out of the washroom, he noticed Madame Michel standing silently by the door of Room 307, like a ghost wandering in the darkness.

As Lumian approached her, the old lady with white hair wore a pleading expression.

"It's almost dawn, Monsieur Ciel. Could you help me move Ruhr back to Room 302?"

Her voice still held a dreamy quality.

Lumian was taken aback. After a brief pause of five or six seconds, he replied, "Okay."

He entered Room 307 and carefully wrapped Monsieur Ruhr's body in the bedsheets, hoisting him onto his back.

With just a few steps, Lumian carried the lifeless form and placed it on the bed in Room 302.

Madame Michel, having squeezed through the trash, expressed her profuse gratitude before striding towards the wooden table and drawing back the curtains.

It was almost 6 a.m. As the first rays of dawn broke through the sky, dimming the crimson moonlight, Michel listened to the vendors outside the motel and fixated her gaze on Ruhr.

Lumian retreated from Room 302 and returned to the corridor, stepping out of the reach of the light. He leaned silently against the wall, not disturbing the serene scene.

After a few minutes, Madame Michel suddenly sprang into action.

She rummaged through the room, finding more banknotes and coins. Then, she hastened out of the room and descended downstairs.

Lumian didn't follow. He raised his right foot to the wall and leaned against the sleeping darkness of the wall.

As time passed, Madame Michel returned with an abundance of items.

There was a bottle of red wine, grilled cod, cured meat, meatloaf, soybean paste, hot sauce, and apples.

Without sparing a glance for Lumian, Madame Michel entered Room 302. She collapsed onto the bed and placed the food beside the decaying corpse.

After a moment's contemplation, she rose again and ignited the carbide lamp on the wooden table, filling the room with its glow.

Madame Michel once again lowered herself to the floor, picked up the meatloaf, and brought it to Ruhr's mouth. Smiling, she uttered, "Haven't you been craving meatloaf lately? I bought it for you today."

After allowing some of the oil to moisten the corpse's lips, Madame Michel took a bite of the meatloaf and savored it with closed eyes.

"It's delicious. How long has it been since we last ate? Two weeks, right?"

Having taken a few more bites of the meatloaf, Madame Michel seized the bottle of red wine and took a swig.

Mumbling, she continued, "Old Man, our vines have produced red wine. We needn't worry about what the future holds!"

Engaging in one-sided conversation with Ruhr's lifeless body, she continued to indulge in wine and various delicacies.

Outside the door, Lumian remained in the darkness, leaning against the wall as he silently observed the unfolding scene. He neither entered nor departed.

Soon enough, Madame Michel began to feel the effects of her intoxication. As a former barmaid, she began to sing loudly:

"Trier, a city dressed in gold,

"A ball that endures 'til dawn unfolds;

"Chicken roasted, dripping with oil's grace,

"A castle cake to fill each eager embrace.

"A bow-tied attendant glides 'mongst the guests,

"Merrily dancing with joy and delight.

"My beloved, hidden 'midst the crowd,

"Among them, a beacon shining bright.

"Among them, my love resides,

"In the Capital of Joy, forever Trier!"

Madame Michel rose unsteadily and stumbled towards the wooden table, gathering the banknotes in front of the carbide lamp.

In an instant, the cash caught fire and flames erupted on the table, emitting a bright yellow glow.

With her arms outstretched, Madame Michel shouted, "In the Capital of Joy, forever Trier!"

She retrieved the rope that had once bound the sack and climbed onto the wooden table, tying the rope firmly to the window frame with a tight knot.

In the flickering light of the fire, Madame Michel turned to face Ruhr, lying motionless on the bed. She positioned the knot around her neck and bent her legs.

The knot tightened, and Madame Michel's eyes bulged in her struggle for breath.

Outside the window, the sky grew brighter, casting a faint light that bathed a portion of the corridor. Lumian leaned against the wall, concealed in the shadows. With his hands in his pockets and his right foot propped up, he gazed impassively at Madame Michel, suspended from the window frame. He witnessed her mouth gradually open, her expression contort in pain, and her bent legs letting up upon her demise.

In the morning light, the corpse swayed gently.

…

At 6:35 a.m., 3 Rue des Blouses Blanches, Apartment 601.

Startled by the knocks on the door, Franca, her flaxen hair disheveled, wore a bitter expression as she rose from her slumber.

"I've only had three hours of sleep. Three hours!"

"Help me inspect the contents for any anomalies." Lumian ignored Franca's complaints and presented the handkerchief wrapped in white paper. "Be cautious. It might be infectious."

"Infectious?" Franca snapped out of her daze and retreated to her room, donning translucent, pale-yellow rubber gloves.

She carefully unwrapped the outer layer of paper, extracted the silk handkerchief within, and placed it on the glass coffee table.

Tapping her teeth while observing intently, Franca spoke with a solemn expression,

"There is indeed an issue. There are numerous small but active spirits lingering on it. They belong to the same category.

"I suspect it's a pathogen. It spreads through direct contact with the skin or even blood exchange. Based on your description, it's not highly contagious."

Although Lumian didn't comprehend the concept of a pathogen fully, he grasped the essence of Franca's explanation.

He fell into silence momentarily before saying, "Can you determine the owner of this handkerchief?"

"No problem. With a powerful medium present, as long as they don't possess strong anti-divination abilities, I can locate them." As Franca spoke, black flames flickered on her rubber gloves.

After "cleansing" the area, she removed her gloves and retrieved a makeup mirror. Hovering her left palm over the handkerchief, she stroked the mirror with her right hand.

Reciting a series of incantations in a hushed tone, her eyes darkened.

She repeated the divination statement.

"The owner of this handkerchief.

"The owner of this handkerchief…"

After several repetitions, the mirror emitted an aqueous glow, reflecting a figure in the darkness.

It was a slender young man with a pale complexion and an unhealthy appearance.

His curly dark-yellow hair framed his face, and his brown eyes conveyed an unmasked indifference. Clad in a black tailcoat, he clutched a white silk handkerchief. He coughed twice and expectorated into the fabric.

Lumian strained to capture the person's features, feeling a sense of familiarity wash over him. It was as if he had encountered this individual somewhere before.

After a brief recollection, it dawned on him.

This was a member of Hugues Artois's campaign team, the one who stood behind the red-haired woman!

-x-X-x-

"So? Do you know him?" Franca glanced at Lumian, seeking his insight.

Lumian shifted his gaze away from the mirror, its reflection gradually fading, and spoke with a deep voice, "He's one of Hugues Artois's men. I spotted him during the campaign."

Franca furrowed her brow, closing her makeup mirror and inquiring, "What happened?"

Lumian recounted the encounter between Ruhr and Michel, concluding, "There's something suspicious about this man."

Franca sighed, remarking, "They're already in such dire straits as scavengers, and yet they still have to face such a situation…"

She scoffed, adding, "Considering Lady Moon's endorsement of Hugues Artois as an open-minded individual, it wouldn't surprise me if he surrounds himself with peculiar characters."

Pausing to look at Lumian, Franca continued, "Hugues Artois is now a member of parliament. He'll have both visible and covert protection. If we make a move against him or his associates, we'll easily be tracked down. The consequences would be severe."

"Let's entrust this matter to the official Beyonders for further investigation. I can't guarantee much else. At the very least, the Inquisition's Purifiers and members of the Machinery Hivemind won't turn a blind eye to such affairs. They will find a way to uncover the truth and assess the situation," Franca suggested.

Lumian nodded slowly and inquired, "Then which Sequence or pathway could it be? Can phlegm transmit such a deadly disease?"

As he made his way from Auberge du Coq Doré to Rue des Blouses Blanches, Lumian diligently recalled the twenty-two paths of the divine detailed in Aurore's grimoires but found no match for the current circumstances.

Franca pondered deeply and said, "My understanding of the twenty-two paths of the divine is similar to your sister's, but I have a more comprehensive knowledge of certain aspects. I can only think of one pathway that fits the criteria, but it's of a higher level and exclusive to women. It doesn't align with the target's situation."

"Hmm… Considering we've encountered the Great Mother and the Blessed of the Mother Tree of Desire, could our target be someone blessed by another evil deity?"

"Heh heh, if it truly involves the faith of an evil god, the Beyonders from both Churches will undoubtedly intensify their efforts."

"Yes, Ruhr's death is peculiar indeed. As long as the investigating police aren't blind, they'll swiftly report it to their superiors, who will assign someone capable to handle the case."

Lumian acknowledged her words briefly, his expression softening.

After bidding farewell to Franca, he made his way back to Auberge du Coq Doré.

As he walked past the reception desk, Madame Fels rose to her feet, a mix of fear and flattery evident in her voice as she greeted, "Good morning, Monsieur Ciel."

A few days ago, the police had informed her that Monsieur Ive was believed to be involved in a cult and had become a wanted criminal. They had requested her to use the rental income to cover expenses and ensure the motel's smooth operation during this period. Additionally, they wanted her to keep a record of the accounts. Once the elections were over, they would settle the matter of Auberge du Coq Doré's ownership promptly.

Madame Fels felt uneasy, fearing that the new boss would dismiss her. Subconsciously, she tried to win Ciel's favor, hoping that a leader of the Savoie Mob would stand up for her when the time came. Whoever took control of Auberge du Coq Doré would not want to offend the corresponding mob, unless they had influential connections.

"Good morning," Lumian replied simply. He walked along the wall, covered in newspapers and pink paper to conceal stains, cracks, and bedbugs, making his way up to the third floor.

He had locked the door to Room 302 before the other tenants on the third floor had awakened, so as of yet, no one had discovered the lifeless bodies of Ruhr and Michel.

Madame Michel's singing before she took her own life had failed to disturb the neighbors. To those residing on Rue Anarchie, various noises during the night were commonplace. Singing, gunshots, brawls, shouting, and sporting activities were nothing worth paying attention to.

Lumian returned the silk handkerchief to its hidden spot in the washroom before pausing in front of Room 302. Extending his left hand clad in a black glove, he turned the handle and opened the creaking wooden door.

Madame Michel's lifeless form hung silently in the room. The aroma of food mingled with the surrounding stench of garbage, filling the space as the light grew brighter.

Lumian gazed at the scene for over ten seconds before slowly turning away, preparing to leave.

…

It was nearly eight o'clock when the two police officers arrived at Auberge du Coq Doré. They spotted Lumian, who had disguised himself using the Mystery Prying Glasses.

"Why is there another death?" grumbled the officer who had previously interrogated Lumian.

His face was rugged, lacking in handsome features, and bore the marks of age.

Lumian responded calmly, "One died of illness. I'm no doctor, unable to save him."

"And the other one?" the officer pressed for more information.

Lumian replied honestly, "She took her own life after the blow."

The older-looking policeman furrowed his brow and entered Room 302, accompanied by his partner.

The first sight that greeted them was Madame Michel's lifeless body hanging from the window frame. The officer instinctively covered his nose.

The place was far too filthy and foul-smelling!

Next, his gaze fell upon Ruhr's decaying corpse, observing the putrefying flesh and spilled blood.

"Son of a bitch, you call this an illness?" he couldn't help but turn to Lumian, his eyes filled with shock and fear.

Lumian briefly recounted the events of the previous night, omitting the fact that Ruhr's condition had worsened while he was at Roblin Clinic and had been revived by half a bottle of Healing Agent. Lumian attributed the credit to The Fool Pharmaceuticals' fever-reducing medicine.

He also mentioned his suspicion that the Ruhrs had encountered an infectious source within the pile of garbage they had collected the previous night, causing them to sleep in Room 307. Lumian brought up Madame Michel's mention of a silk handkerchief in the washroom as well.

The more the two officers listened, the quieter they became, their expressions slightly off.

After Lumian finished speaking, they hurried to the washroom to confirm the presence of the silk handkerchief.

The older-looking officer glanced at Ciel outside and whispered to his partner, "Another mysticism incident. Stay here and guard the scene. I'll report the situation."

The other officer nodded.

"No problem."

Lumian observed as they divided the tasks, patiently awaiting the arrival of the official Beyonders.

In less than half an hour, the older-looking policeman returned to Auberge du Coq Doré, alone.

Where are the official Beyonders? Lumian's eyes widened in surprise.

The older-looking policeman avoided Lumian's gaze and pulled his partner to the end of the corridor, engaging in a hushed conversation.

Lumian stood at a distance, straining his ears to catch their words, but they remained unintelligible.

After a while, the older-looking officer approached Lumian, his expression grave.

"We've preliminarily determined it as death due to illness and suicide."

No further investigation? Lumian's eyebrows twitched in disbelief.

The officer repeated what he had said when they had taken Flameng's body away. He donned gloves, carefully placed the silk handkerchief into a cloth bag, and secured it tightly.

Lumian silently observed as they removed the corpses, wrapped Ruhr's body, and placed him in a body bag. Numerous thoughts raced through his mind.

Even though he died in such a manner, the official Beyonders don't find it suspicious? No need for further investigation?

Or perhaps the police officer didn't report the matter, and the official Beyonders remain unaware?

Could someone have intervened and persuaded them to treat this as an ordinary death case, not involving any criminal offense?

"…"

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Lumian quietly followed the officer carrying the two bodies to the carriage.

From a distance, he trailed them, detecting the lingering odor emanating from Ruhr's and Michel's bodies. He tracked them all the way to the entrance of the police headquarters in the market district.

Lumian furrowed his brow as he observed uniformed police officers entering and exiting the building.

His initial suspicion was that an officer from the police headquarters had halted the investigation, but he couldn't confirm the identity.

Even if he were to enter the police headquarters, given the circumstances and his own status, it would be impossible for him to trace their steps all the way to the relevant office. If he observed from outside, he wouldn't be able to discern who might be involved from the people coming out.

Lumian pondered the direction of his investigation once more.

Get Franca to use divination?

But there's no medium available…

Alternatively… Why did the officer stop the investigation? Was he aware that someone would be implicated, or had someone already alerted him to such matters beforehand?

If it's the latter, there's a high chance that he holds considerable influence within the parliamentarian's office…

Lumian's heart stirred as he left the entrance of the police headquarters and swiftly arrived outside the four-story khaki-colored building that housed the parliamentarian's office in the market district.

Taking cover in an alley across the street, he found himself in the company of a group of vagrants.

Before long, his eyes landed on an officer.

The officer was plump, in his early forties, with brown hair and blue eyes. Three-petaled silver-white sweet irises adorned his black epaulets.

This indicated that he was a chief inspector, one rank lower than a superintendent.

As Lumian watched the chief inspector enter the parliamentarian's office, a smile curled upon his lips.

…

In the khaki-colored four-story building, on the second floor…

Tybalt, his face pale and his hair curly and yellow, entered the office of the member of parliament's secretary.

The secretary, a man in his thirties with neatly combed back black hair and blue eyes hidden behind gold-rimmed glasses, possessed refined features and an air of sophistication.

He glanced at Tybalt, who was coughing, and tossed a cloth bag on the table. With a cold expression, he spoke, "We've recovered your handkerchief."

Tybalt, his dark-yellow hair curly, was attired in a black suit. He smiled and replied, "That was quick."

"You bastard!" the member of parliament's secretary cursed. "Do you not realize that your phlegm can spread diseases to others? Aren't you afraid of attracting the attention of the two Churches?"

Tybalt's brown eyes remained indifferent as he nonchalantly remarked, "At most, two or three commoners might die. No one would care about them. I've been sick for far too long without receiving a new boon. It frustrates me, and it makes me want to kill someone."

The member of parliament's secretary stared at him for a few seconds before admonishing in a deep voice, "If I hadn't taken precautions in advance, the Purifiers would have come looking for you. Your life is inconsequential. Don't jeopardize us! Tybalt, there will be no next time."

Tybalt shrugged, accepting the reprimand.

-x-X-x-

Lumian sat in the alleyway across from the member of parliament's office, blending in with a group of tramps.

Having followed and observed carefully, he had pieced together the entire situation.

Within the office, someone had managed to find a reliable officer beforehand and instructed him to monitor cases of mysterious illnesses in their jurisdiction. This officer would keep things quiet, refraining from reporting to the corresponding official Beyonders. Furthermore, any evidence he discovered would be sent to the member of parliament's office.

This revelation implied that the sickly lad who had spat into the handkerchief and discarded it knew the consequences of his actions. As long as he kept his mouth shut, the member of parliament would never seek assistance from the police headquarters!

Lumian's gaze fixated on the khaki-colored four-story building. His hands unconsciously balled into fists, yet he restrained himself from taking any drastic measures.

After a while, he let out a slow exhale.

Just then, a familiar figure emerged from the door of the building that housed the member of parliament's office.

This man donned a silk top hat and wielded a dark cane. Clad in a sharp black suit, a thick brown beard adorned his mouth and chin. Deep wrinkles framed his dark-blue, almost black eyes.

It was Bono Goodville, the owner of Goodville Chemical Factory. He had left the celebratory banquet earlier than Gardner Martin—the boss of the Savoie Mob—the previous night. Occasionally, his photos would appear in certain newspaper reports.

Lumian averted his gaze and waited. Only when the chief inspector left the member of parliament's office unaccompanied and returned to the police headquarters did he rise from the alleyway teeming with tramps. He casually found a café and enjoyed a simple late breakfast.

Shortly before 11 a.m., he knocked on Franca's door once again.

"How did it go? Have the official Beyonders taken over?" Franca had already risen from bed and changed into her favorite white blouse and light-colored breeches.

Lumian shook his head. "No."

As he stepped into the apartment, he elaborated, "It was brushed under the carpet by a chief inspector from the police headquarters."

Franca comprehended the situation and couldn't help but scoff. "Even the folks at the member of parliament's office recognize the problems of spitting anywhere!"

Lumian found a spot on the sofa and sat down. He recounted everything, from the moment the police arrived to investigate the scene until the chief inspector entered the member of parliament's office.

Franca peered into his eyes, contemplating for a few seconds before speaking up,

"I understand that you find it hard to accept and that a fire might be raging in your heart. I truly empathize with you. Though that couple had no relation to you, you tried your utmost to save them, only to meet with failure. Many people can sympathize with such tragic encounters.

"But I must insist, be patient, endure, restrain yourself from rash actions or seeking revenge. These individuals are connected to the member of parliament. If anything were to happen, the situation would explode. It's beyond our capacity to bear."

Observing Lumian's silence and absence of emotional outburst, Franca let out a sigh of relief and continued, "I'll say it once more. It's best to leave this matter to the official Beyonders for investigation. Later, through my contacts, I'll inform them of this case and provide the suspect's identity and description.

"Although crucial physical evidence might have been lost by now and the body likely cremated hastily, as long as the official Beyonders discover the existence of abnormal pathway Beyonder powers in their jurisdiction, targeting the person I identified through divination, they will discover his problem sooner or later."

Upon hearing Franca's advice, Lumian nodded, his thoughts aligning with her suggestion.

"Let's go with that plan."

Franca relaxed, taking a moment to contemplate before speaking again.

"I won't divulge the precise details. I'll merely mention a peculiar ailment causing festering in the market district. There's suspicion that someone from the member of parliament's office might have wrapped a handkerchief around thick phlegm, and similar incidents may have been concealed by the police headquarters.

"If I don't do this, the official Beyonders might suspect you as the source of the information and thoroughly investigate you."

Lumian acknowledged her concerns with a curt response, signifying his agreement.

After bidding farewell to Franca and departing Rue des Blouses Blanches, he encountered Jenna on his way to Salle de Bal Brise.

"Well, if it isn't Celia?" Lumian greeted.

Showy Diva, dressed in a simple grayish-blue gown, had her brownish-yellow hair tied up in a natural bun. Her face lacked makeup, giving her an elegant appearance without her usual air of decadence.

Upon hearing Lumian call her by her real name, Jenna clenched her teeth and retorted,

"Just call me Jenna!"

Lumian sized her up.

"Did your mother hit you with a broomstick? Are you considering leaving the underground singer circle?"

"Dammit! You can't seem to wish anything good upon me, can you?" Jenna exclaimed. "My mother is a gentle and reasonable person. Why would she hit me with a broomstick?"

She smirked confidently.

"Initially, she opposed my singing in the dance halls, thinking it was dangerous and prone to debauchery. But after I explained how much I could earn each week without having to sleep with any man, she relented. She even said she'd come to Salle de Bal Brise after work today to watch me perform. Dammit, what am I going to do?"

Lumian deliberately asked, "If your mother saw you wearing a revealing dress and deliberately raising your leg while singing 'his touch is skilled indeed,' how would she react?"

Jenna tousled her brownish-yellow hair. "She'd storm the stage and beat me to a pulp!"

She mumbled to herself before suggesting, "I don't have to wear overly revealing dresses. Remember when I tried singing in a cocktail dress last time? The response was pretty good. It's been a while, but I can give it another shot. The key is the song selection. I'll discuss it with Franca. She has excellent taste. She even knows how to compose her own songs and write lyrics, though they're all rather peculiar…"

Lumian smiled and spoke up, "If that doesn't work out, I can have René organize a themed night event at Salle de Bal Brise. Tonight's theme will be love."

This would pair well with less suggestive love songs.

Jenna's eyes lit up. "That's a brilliant idea!"

She looked at Lumian awkwardly, offering her thanks.

"You're quite quick-witted. Uh, dammit, thank you!"

Without waiting for Lumian's response, Jenna instinctively glanced around and lowered her voice.

"I also told my mother that I'm good friends with Red Boots from the Savoie Mob and that she's protecting me. That's how I can sing at Salle de Bal Brise and stay safe. Remember, I came to you that day to negotiate a higher singing fee. And thanks to Franca, you agreed.

"If my mother asks you, just give this answer."

Lumian nodded and teased, "It's called collusion."

"It's called a harmless fib," Jenna replied gleefully. "Just hold onto that story until I've been singing for another year. I'll save up enough money for my tuition and pay off my debts."

Lumian glanced at the apprentice actress and pondered, "Haven't you thought about seeking proper compensation for that accident?"

"How?" Jenna's eyes widened in confusion. "The court hasn't reached a final verdict yet."

Lumian chuckled.

"Why wait for the court? Settling debts is protected by the Guardian of Businesses. We can handle it ourselves."

"That factory owner never said he wouldn't pay us. His constant appeals are just about the division of responsibilities and the amount of compensation…" Jenna eyed Lumian suspiciously. "Are you suggesting we force him to compensate us? That's illegal!"

"Illegal?" Lumian looked amused. "As a mob leader, I break the law every day. Didn't you want to assassinate Margot and avenge your friend? Did legality matter to you back then?"

Jenna's words faltered as she muttered,

"Margot is a mob leader who has committed countless crimes. Each one of them is deserving of the gallows."

"So you want to be his judge and jury?" Lumian smiled. "That factory owner may have done many wrongs. Let's mask our faces, infiltrate his house, tie him up, and make him compensate everyone. Alternatively, we can convince him to hand over the money quietly and split it among ourselves to avoid arousing suspicion during subsequent investigations."

Jenna wore a troubled expression.

"I'll think about it. I'll consider it."

Ciel lived up to his reputation as a mob leader. Discussing breaking the law came as naturally to him as eating and drinking.

Lumian didn't press the matter further. Since Jenna wasn't in a hurry, he saw no need to worry about her.

…

As evening approached, Lumian sat in the café on the second floor of Salle de Bal Brise, awaiting another night.

For now, he had nothing to occupy his time. All he could do was wait for Franca or the Boss to procure the additional ingredients for the Pyromaniac potion, the final step before his breakthrough to Sequence 7.

"Boss, what would you like to have for dinner tonight?" Louis asked Lumian as the sky grew darker.

Just as Lumian was about to respond, Jenna approached.

Showy Diva had transformed herself, donning a dress the color of roses. The hem of her gown appeared to defy gravity, resembling an inverted flower.

Her long, brownish-yellow hair was fashioned into a simple bun, with most of it cascading smoothly over her shoulders. Her makeup was subtle, accentuating her complexion and striking features. A mole adorned the right side of her face, and she held a beautifully patterned fan in her hand.

This left Louis and Sarkota dumbfounded. They could hardly believe that this was the same "Little Minx" Jenna.

Jenna nervously asked Lumian, "Is this suitable?"

"Quite impressive." Lumian didn't discourage Jenna.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion echoed in the distance. The ground trembled visibly, and the café's glass windows rattled.

"Dammit, what's happening?" Jenna exclaimed, peering out of the window in shock.

Lumian stood up and made his way to the window. As he looked outside, he noticed the perplexed and flustered pedestrians.

In the distance, a plume of black smoke billowed from the south.

"Find out what's going on," Lumian instructed Louis.

Once Louis departed, Jenna approached Lumian, her gaze fixed on the dark smoke rising from the southern part of the market district. Anxiousness and concern filled her.

After some time, Louis returned to the café and reported to Lumian, "Boss, there was an explosion at the Goodville Chemical Factory."

A thud interrupted the conversation as Lumian turned to see Jenna's fan fall to the ground.

Jenna appeared to lose her spirit as she murmured, sounding disoriented, "My mother, my mother is there…

-x-X-x-

Before she could finish, Jenna snapped out of her daze. Adorned in a rose-colored dress that hugged her slender frame, she hurried towards the staircase and descended.

Witnessing this, Lumian motioned for Louis and Sarkota to maintain order in Salle de Bal Brise before giving chase.

Anxiety and fear filled Jenna's face, her expression teetering on the edge of collapse.

She made no attempt to conceal her Beyonder identity. She exerted every ounce of her strength, as if she intended to soar through Avenue du Marché and into the streets leading south of the market district.

Only the darkness of the sky and the unlit gas street lamps, combined with the chaos caused by the panicked pedestrians after the explosion, prevented anyone from noticing the extraordinary speed at which the woman ran.

Lumian swiftly caught up to her, his pace surpassing hers. He urgently tapped her shoulder and said, "Take to the shadows!"

Determined to reach Goodville Chemical Factory as swiftly as possible, Jenna ran a distance before comprehending Lumian's meaning. She altered her course slightly and darted towards the dimly lit area cast by the unilluminated street lamps, blending in seamlessly.

Assassins possessed the ability to conceal themselves within shadows.

Jenna's emotions surged, making it difficult for her to maintain control. Additionally, sprinting at full speed weakened the effectiveness of this ability. At times, she would become visible, and at others, she would vanish. Nevertheless, compared to before, she managed to avoid drawing much attention from passersby.

Lumian ran alongside the shadows, paying no heed to the perplexed gazes directed his way, his nostrils filled with the lingering scent of Jenna's perfume.

Pushing his Hunter's speed to its limits, he left observers dumbfounded.

Certainly, such behavior would arouse suspicion, but he paid it no mind.

As the two Beyonders endowed with enhanced physiques raced at full tilt, they arrived at Rue Saint-Gerre near Trier's city walls within a mere ten minutes.

The area was teeming with factories, and the sky was shrouded in dusky smoke tinged with a yellowish hue, obscuring the fading glow of the sunset.

Emerging from the shadows, Jenna caught sight of the blazing metal container—Goodville Chemical Factory was engulfed in flames, with firefighters battling desperately to extinguish the inferno and rescue those trapped inside.

Some of the rescuers wore peculiar masks adorned with elongated, pointed beaks, while others sported mechanical octopuses on their faces. Several donned black helmets that appeared to consist of multiple layers. The commonality among them was the presence of apparatuses resembling steam backpacks, albeit with significant differences. Thick rubber hoses extended from the contraptions, connecting to the "masks."

Without a moment's hesitation, Jenna rushed for Goodville Chemical Factory, where sporadic explosions continued to erupt.

The pungent odor in the air threatened to overwhelm Lumian's sense of smell. He seized Jenna's shoulder and spoke in a deep voice, "Do you know which factory your mother is in?"

Jenna was taken aback. "I don't know."

"Have you come equipped to shield yourself from chemical contamination?" Lumian switched questions.

"No," Jenna replied, her confusion evident.

"Then are you attempting to commit suicide?" Lumian scolded. "Perhaps your mother has already been rescued. Let us first search the area where the injured are being attended to. Are you venturing inside to create further chaos for the rescue team?"

Jenna's heart churned with conflicting emotions. She yearned to rush to the chemical plant to find her mother, yet she couldn't deny the logic in Lumian's words.

After Lumian pulled her back, she followed him with a vacant mind for a few paces. Then, her senses returned, and she sprinted toward église du Sifflet, not far from Rue Saint-Hilaire.

It stood as the grand cathedral of the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery in Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman.

Jenna had witnessed the rescued victims being carried there.

In a matter of seconds, she and Lumian arrived at the square outside the cathedral.

It was teeming with workers from Goodville Chemical Factory, groaning in agony. However, a significant number of them lay unconscious, and some no longer drew breath.

Doctors and nurses, clad in white coats, maneuvered through the crowd, feverishly providing first aid. They guided those deemed salvageable to a two-story carriage stationed at the square's periphery, adorned with various coats of arms or Sacred Emblems. From there, they transported them to several major hospitals in Quartier de No?l.

Jenna's body involuntarily quivered as her gaze swept over the lifeless bodies and injured individuals, fearing what she might witness.

Lumian seized her arm and guided her across the square, in search of Elodie.

The gas lamps lining the square cast a rudimentary glow, granting them a modicum of illumination.

After a few minutes, Lumian's keen Hunter eyesight detected a wounded figure whom he suspected to be Elodie.

Upon receiving the news, Jenna dashed over, crouched down, and studied the unconscious person's face.

The injured individual's golden wig had mostly been singed away, exposing her flaxen hair, now blackened by the flames.

Her eyes, adorned with smudged eye shadow, remained tightly shut, her countenance marred by soot. Burns covered her body, and her lips bore an unnatural blue tinge. It was none other than Elodie, the cleaner at Auberge du Coq Doré—Jenna's mother.

"Mom! Mom!" Jenna's strength evaporated, and she crumpled beside Elodie.

Realizing her mother's unconscious state, occasionally punctuated by twitches, Jenna abruptly rose to her feet and muttered to herself, "We need a doctor. We must get her to a hospital without delay!"

Having confirmed the victim's identity, Lumian focused on assessing Elodie's luck and deduced that it was dire. Even if she were swiftly transported to the hospital, her chances of survival seemed slim.

Swiftly, he seized Jenna and spoke in a solemn tone, "Help me shield her from prying eyes."

Jenna regarded him with astonishment. Infused with his composed demeanor, she turned her body to block the area on Elodie's left side.

"I possess a healing agent from mysticism. Let us first test its efficacy," Lumian explained in a hushed tone as he circled around to Elodie's right side, his back serving as a barrier for her other flank.

A healing agent from mysticism… Jenna's eyes sparkled, a glimmer of hope illuminating her face.

Intently, Jenna watched as Lumian produced an iron-colored metal canister, unscrewed the cap, and poured its contents into her mother's mouth.

After more than ten seconds, Elodie appeared to regain some consciousness and swallowed the curative liquid.

Observing this, Jenna felt a slight wave of relief wash over her. She instinctively sensed that her mother's condition had improved marginally.

Time seemed to stretch unbearably, suffocating her. A minute felt like an eternity.

Finally, she witnessed the burns on Elodie's body start to heal at an astonishing pace, and the bluish tint on her lips gradually faded.

Jenna looked up at Lumian, her astonishment palpable.

Countless words clamored to escape her lips, but they remained lodged there, unable to form coherent utterances.

Lumian met her gaze and nodded. He whispered, "This agent works wonders in treating external injuries and alleviating ailments caused by chemical fumes. It can transform near-fatal wounds into severe injuries, severe injuries into minor ones, and minor injuries into complete recovery.

"Your mother suffered severe injuries earlier. For now, her life is no longer in immediate danger. However, she will require extensive treatment in the days to come. Otherwise, her condition may deteriorate."

Upon hearing the words "no longer in immediate danger," Jenna's vision blurred.

She had suppressed her tears, determined not to let them hinder her search and her mother's treatment.

But now, tears streamed down her face. She raised her hands, clumsily wiping them away, and muttered incoherently, "Thank you… Thank you…"

Amidst her words, distant cries reached their ears.

Relatives of the deceased had arrived.

Just as Lumian was about to offer a jest to lighten the mood, a muffled thunder resounded in the air.

Rumble!

Instinctively, Lumian looked up and beheld a thick dark cloud looming over Rue Saint-Hilaire, where flames still flickered and explosions echoed.

The cloud wasn't expansive, enshrouding only a few streets.

Silver-white lightning streaked across the sky, accompanied by muted thunderclaps that reverberated through everyone's hearts.

Torrential rain poured down, concentrated over Rue Saint-Hilaire and Goodville Chemical Factory.

The grayish-black smoke tinged with yellow swiftly dissipated, settling to the ground. The flames were swiftly extinguished, and no further explosions occurred.

As swiftly as it had arrived, the storm dissipated. The dark clouds dispersed, and the setting sun on the horizon cast a fiery glow.

Within the golden-red light, a behemoth soared above Rue Saint-Hilaire.

It was a dark gray airship, its elongated and circular balloon emitting a loud buzzing sound.

At the rear of the hull, paddlewheels spun frenziedly, while numerous cannon muzzles and bomb ports adorned its surface. At that moment, a translucent turquoise liquid rained down upon Goodville Chemical Factory below.

The acrid stench in the air began to subside.

Are the authorities resolving the catastrophe? The dark clouds, the lightning, and the rain didn't seem natural. Could they be the work of a Beyonder or Sealed Artifact? It almost resembled the handiwork of a deity… Lumian withdrew his gaze, a tinge of astonishment in his eyes.

Jenna had also witnessed what had just happened, but her focus remained fixed on her mother's injuries, not dwelling too deeply on what had transpired.

Elodie's burns had mostly healed, leaving behind only a few charred remnants. Her breathing had stabilized, and although her lips remained pale, it didn't seem to cause much concern to those around.

The curative agent had taken full effect, bringing stability to her condition.

Jenna closed her eyes and absentmindedly wiped her face.

At that moment, a voice nearby called out, "Celia!"

Jenna glanced to the side and waved her hand. "Julien, over here!"

A young man, standing nearly 1.75 meters tall, swiftly made his way to Elodie's side. Clad in a grayish-blue worker's uniform, he had flaxen-colored hair and eyes that mirrored Jenna's blue hues. His features were rather pleasing to the eye.

He looked at Elodie with concern and asked hurriedly, "How's Mom?"

Jenna pursed her lips and replied, "She sustained serious injuries, but she'll pull through."

Relief washed over Julien, who then cast a curious glance at Jenna.

"Why are you dressed like that… And who is he?"

Only then did Jenna realize she was wearing a rose-colored gown. Hastily, she explained, "I came straight from the theater. This is my friend, Ciel. He has been a great help."

"Thank you," Julien sincerely expressed his gratitude to Lumian.

Lumian nodded and advised, "Fetch a doctor and arrange for a carriage to take her to the hospital immediately. Otherwise, her condition may worsen."

"Alright." Julien dashed off to find the nearest doctor and nurse.

Lumian turned to Jenna and said, "If you can't secure a carriage promptly, hire one yourself."

Jenna nodded, her gaze filled with gentle concern as she looked at her unconscious mother. She whispered, "I owe you my gratitude this time…"

-x-X-x-

Lumian cast a contemplative gaze at Jenna, his lips forming a tight line.

"You lack the awareness of an Assassin and the understanding that you've stepped into the realm of mysticism. Had you possessed such insight, you might have joined mystical gatherings through Franca and procured valuable resources in the past month or two. Though they may not rival the potency of my healing agent, it would have been a proactive step instead of watching your mother's condition deteriorate."

Jenna, instead of erupting in a fit of humiliation and resorting to vulgar retorts, remained silent for a few moments before curtly acknowledging his words.

This response left Lumian at a loss. He clicked his tongue and spoke again.

"Of course, considering your financial constraints and the weight of debts and tuition fees, even if you were to participate in these mysticism gatherings, you wouldn't be able to afford much. It would be more of an opportunity to earn money or valuable items by accepting commissions."

Just then, Jenna's brother, Julien, arrived with a doctor and two nurses.

The doctor glanced at Elodie with a puzzled expression and inquired, "I recall that there was no need to resuscitate her…"

"You remembered incorrectly," Lumian calmly interjected.

The doctor, overwhelmed by the influx of injured patients, had his memories tangled and disorganized. Upon hearing Lumian's remark, he assumed he must have mistaken the person. Consequently, he swiftly tended to Elodie's remaining external injuries and arranged for her to be carried into the carriage, awaiting transportation to the hospital.

…

Connected to Quartier de No?l and the bustling market district, stood Passy Bridge, one of the five bridges that stretched over the mighty Srenzo River in the city of Trier.

Nestled beside Passy Bridge was the Holy Palace Hospital, generously funded by the Eternal Blazing Sun Church. Elodie, a devout follower of the Eternal Blazing Sun, had been admitted to this renowned establishment. Placed on the top floor of the white six-story building, she shared a ward with five other patients.

Jenna watched as doctors and nurses meticulously drew blood, conducted examinations, and administered intravenous drips. A soft sigh escaped her lips.

"The hospital has undergone quite a transformation in the past few years…"

"Oh?" Lumian was puzzled.

Jenna's expression darkened as she replied, "A few years ago, when my father and the others were brought to the hospital, the more severe cases were immediately taken to the operating room. Those with lesser injuries were simply bandaged and given medication to gauge its effectiveness. There was no blood being drawn, and the examinations were rudimentary. It's completely different now. The entire process seems to have changed."

"That's a good thing." Lumian nodded.

It looked more professional.

As the two spoke in hushed tones, Jenna's brother, Julien, diligently assisted the doctors and nurses. He answered inquiries about the patients' normal physical conditions, aided in moving IV stands, and was dispatched to the pharmacy as needed.

However, even after the medical professionals in their white coats had concluded their tasks, he had yet to return.

The doctor overseeing Elodie's care approached Jenna, holding a writing board, and observed her rose-colored gown. His expression softened.

"Is Elodie your mother?" he inquired.

"Yes," Jenna confirmed with a nod.

The male doctor pondered for a moment before speaking, "Your mother's condition is better than I anticipated. It seems surgery may not be necessary at this time. Of course, this assessment is preliminary and contingent upon the results of the tests we conducted.

"That's some good news. On the other hand, your mother has suffered severe burns. She may need to remain hospitalized for months, half a year, or even longer. Even if she recovers, she will likely be in a weakened state.

"The Church's philanthropic foundation will cover the initial two days of treatment. The remaining expenses will be deducted once the accident insurance from the factory is settled. However, you must be prepared to bear the subsequent costs yourself. It won't be a small sum. I must caution you not to have excessive expectations of the accident insurance. From my experience, it typically takes an average of three to five years to obtain compensation. You must understand that our Intis laws tend to favor factory owners and bankers in order to protect their interests."

Jenna didn't hesitate for a moment.

"I will ensure my mother's full recovery."

Jenna had already contemplated the possibility of borrowing money from both Franca and Lumian if she found herself in need of a substantial sum. She was willing to repay them in installments at a later date. Whether it meant making monthly or weekly payments for the treatment, she was prepared to cut back and save, reducing her previous debt payments, while also relying on her income as a part-time underground singer.

However, this meant that her plan to remain an underground singer for just one year, as she had initially intended, would need to be extended. It seemed she might have to continue as an underground singer for two, or even three, years.

The doctor briefly assessed Jenna's appearance and attire before giving her the necessary instructions.

"Take this form and make a payment of 200 verl d'or at the payment counter on the first floor."

200… Jenna breathed a sigh of relief. She signed the form under her real name, Celia Bello, and took it with her as she descended the stairs.

On her way down, she glanced at Lumian, who was by her side, and hesitated before speaking.

"I-if I ever find myself in need of a large sum for medical fees in the future, I think I would like to borrow from you."

Jenna had always been a stubborn individual with her own principles. In the past, when she worked tirelessly to earn money in various dance halls within the market district, the thought of borrowing from Franca or asking for her help in securing an easy and lucrative part-time job had never crossed her mind. But now, for the sake of her mother, Elodie, she was willing to let go of her stubbornness in this regard.

Although Lumian had already "squandered" more than 700 verl d'or on himself and received an advance from the proceeds he could obtain from Salle de Bal Brise, he showed no signs of concern. He replied nonchalantly, "Okay."

Jenna regarded him suspiciously.

"I thought you might hesitate for a moment. Franca mentioned that you needed a significant sum of money for something important."

Lumian chuckled.

"That's for advancing and purchasing the main ingredient for Pyromaniac. However, it doesn't prevent me from lending you money. As a Beyonder and the leader of the Savoie Mob, even if I don't have a coppet at the moment, I can assist you in acquiring the necessary funds.

"The simplest solution would be to have René sign a long-term contract with you, advancing you 10,000 verl d'or. Then, 50% of your income from the dance hall will be deducted each day to repay the loan in installments. Once it's fully repaid, the contract will naturally be terminated."

Jenna fell silent for a moment, realizing that something that had deeply troubled her was easily resolved in Ciel's presence.

Lumian glanced at her and smirked.

"As an Assassin, you shouldn't fret about medical expenses like these. If you aim to advance in the future, you'll need tens of thousands in funds.

"You need to change your mindset now. Don't hold the law in such high regard. As you heard earlier, Intis's laws don't protect the poor. We can only protect ourselves.

"Once you've come to terms with this, we'll kidnap the former factory owner and extract enough cash from him. After the verdict is announced and he pays the compensation for your father's accident, you can donate the money to someone in need.

"As long as we execute it cleanly, combined with Franca's anti-divination measures, the likelihood of success is exceedingly high. It won't leave a trace behind. It's improbable for a factory owner like him to have Beyonder bodyguards."

Jenna's heart raced at his words. She hesitated for a moment before speaking.

"It just doesn't sit right with me…

"Dammit, are you the Instigator, or will I become the Instigator? How are you so adept at bewitching people?

"Eventually, you'll have to face the consequences of breaking the law, won't you?"

Lumian smirked once again.

"I didn't finish. We only do what's necessary. We can't act recklessly. Not only would it bring danger, but it could also increase the risk of losing control. Kidnapping the factory owner is to reclaim the compensation your family deserves."

Jenna fell silent once more.

Realizing they were about to reach the first floor, she hurriedly said, "I need to use the washroom."

By the time she emerged from the washroom, she had a stack of 200 verl d'or notes in her hand.

Seeing Jenna pay the initial treatment fee, Lumian glanced at her rose-colored gown and commented,

"You can't tend to a patient dressed like this. I'll return to the dance hall and fetch your clothes. I'll also help you secure some time off.

"If your mother's condition worsens, come to me or Franca immediately."

Having just examined Elodie's luck and confirmed that her condition was no longer critical, though still uncertain of improvement, Lumian found it somewhat chaotic. It might have been dependent on the hospital's treatment effectiveness.

"Okay." Jenna pursed her lips and nodded.

…

On the second floor of Salle de Bal Brise.

Just as Lumian was about to inform Manager René about Jenna and ask him to reschedule tonight's performance, Louis approached him.

Louis cast a quick glance around and lowered his voice.

"Boss, about half an hour ago, Boss sent someone to deliver a bag of items to the financial safe. He said it was for you."

Something from Boss… Supplementary ingredients for the Pyromaniac potion? As expected of a Mid-Sequence Beyonder of the Hunter pathway… Lumian nodded slightly, pleased, and passed through the café, entering the second-floor corridor.

Upon opening the safe, he felt a burning sensation.

Inside the grayish-white cloth bag were three glass bottles. One contained bubbling crimson blood, from which flames burst with each bubble. Another held blood-colored powder at the bottom, while the third contained a finger-sized stone emitting a red fluorescent light.

Fire Salamander blood, Redcrown Balsam powder, Magma Pyroxene… Indeed, supplementary Pyromaniac ingredients… Lumian picked up the items, satisfied.

…

3 Rue des Blouses Blanches, outside Apartment 601.

Lumian, having left Salle de Bal Brise, headed straight to Franca's place. He intended to borrow 4,000 verl d'or, using his share of the Harvest Sacrifice as collateral.

Upon opening the door and seeing Lumian, Franca clicked her tongue and remarked, "Did you hear? There was an explosion at a factory in the southern part of the market district. Numerous incidents have been occurring in the market district lately, giving me the sense that a storm is brewing."

Upon hearing this, Lumian instantly recalled something.

He spoke in a deep voice, "There was an accident at the Goodville Chemical Factory. This morning, the owner of the factory paid a visit to the member of parliament's office."

-x-X-x-

After hearing Lumian's words, Franca exclaimed, "Dammit! Are we dealing with those lot again? What's Hugues Artois up to?"

"I can't quite fathom the purpose behind causing a chemical plant explosion either… Maybe it's just a coincidence. Bono Goodville and Hugues Artois have quite a good relationship. It's not unusual for him to pay a visit, but it just so happens that there was an explosion at the chemical plant today," Lumian pondered before speaking.

He couldn't dismiss every coincidence in life, but he also couldn't treat each one as a problem.

Franca nodded thoughtfully and remarked, "True enough.

"However, I must remind you that the chemical plant explosion isn't meaningless. It may have already resulted in numerous deaths, and that holds great significance for certain dark rituals. The living are always the third-best sacrifice."

"Could this also be part of a ritual?" Lumian was somewhat taken aback.

Franca corrected him, "There's no real distinction between using a knife to sacrifice someone and using a chemical plant explosion to kill the intended victim as part of a ritual for the deity the host desires to invoke. Your understanding of ritualistic magic is still too narrow. Some rituals may indeed require such explosions to be effective."

It's akin to the Substitution Spell, requiring a substitute to assume the identity to be replaced for an extended period before the ritual. Lumian grasped the idea.

Franca let out a sigh.

"This is merely my conjecture. It doesn't necessarily mean it's true. However, we must alert the official Beyonders to be vigilant for signs of a ritual and to investigate the role of the member of parliament's office in this catastrophe.

"F*ck, if that bloke wasn't a member of parliament, I'd have captured him tonight, strung him up from the ceiling, and given him a thrashing. I'd interrogate him about his intentions and his connection to those heretics.

"Sigh, in that explosion just now, countless individuals lost their parents, spouses, siblings, or children. I wonder how many people are praying, worrying, and suffering for their injured loved ones."

"Like Jenna," Lumian interjected.

Franca was momentarily stunned. "What did you say?"

"Jenna's mother works at the Goodville Chemical Factory. Didn't you know?" Lumian inquired.

Franca was taken aback before asking with concern, "How is her mother?"

Lumian briefly recounted how he had accompanied Jenna to Rue Saint-Hilaire in search of Elodie and had used the last bit of healing agent to save her from near death.

Franca let out a sigh of relief and expressed in anguish, "Why wasn't I there! Why wasn't I there!"

Lumian's lips twitched as he calmly said, "You still have a chance. Jenna is fretting over the subsequent medical expenses."

"I'll go to the Holy Palace Hospital right away!" Franca's eyes lit up, and she was about to dash out of the apartment.

Lumian hastily called out to her, "Don't forget to bring the Poison Spur Mob's healing agent with you. I'm concerned that her condition might worsen."

Just like Monsieur Ruhr.

Without waiting for Franca's response, he added, "Also, help Jenna bring the dress she wore this morning."

"Right… I need to borrow 4,000 verl d'or from you and offer half of the Harvest Sacrifice as collateral. I've already gathered the supplementary ingredients for the Pyromaniac potion."

"So soon?" Franca exclaimed, taken aback. "I haven't even begun searching for you!"

Lumian smirked once again.

"Last night, I ran into Boss at the entrance of the member of parliament's office and confessed my plans to advance and about the advance on my pay. I requested he keep an eye on the supplementary ingredients for the Pyromaniac potion."

The more Franca listened, the more complicated her expression became.

"You're more cunning than I realized, kid… Confiding in Gardner about this matter is indeed the best approach.

"However, can't you consider me? Don't you know that I also wanted to help you gather the supplementary ingredients for the Pyromaniac potion through Gardner? He's a Sequence 6 Conspirer or a Sequence 5 Hunter, and he has a group of Hunters working with him. He won't be lacking in such things. Luckily, I haven't approached him in the past two days. Otherwise, he would have surely suspected that we were having an affair."

Lumian had always assumed Franca would seek materials through the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society. He hadn't expected her to approach Gardner Martin out of convenience and proximity, almost exposing their secret relationship.

Franca returned to her room and retrieved a banknote worth 4,000 verl d'or from somewhere. She handed it to Lumian and solemnly reminded him, "Once you obtain the main ingredient, don't rush to concoct the potion. You must ensure that your condition can withstand the impact of your advancement. Otherwise, it's best to delay it for a while. The main ingredient is much easier to preserve than the potion itself."

"I'm well aware," Lumian replied calmly.

After a moment of thought, he asked, "Before you go to Jenna, it would be wise to inform the authorities. The explosion just happened, so there might be some clues left behind."

"Yes," Franca agreed.

Before bidding farewell, Lumian asked curiously, "If the living are the third-best sacrifice, what are the second-best and the best?"

"The second-best are beings with Beyonder characteristics. And the best…" Franca smiled. "They are demigods."

…

Quartier de No?l, sixth floor of Holy Palace Hospital.

As Jenna returned to the ward from the washroom, she spotted her brother Julien assisting their mother, Elodie, in tucking the corners of the blanket.

Elodie remained unconscious, but her complexion showed signs of improvement.

Julien stood up and beckoned his sister to the side. He whispered, "Celia, don't fret about the upcoming medical expenses. I'll find a solution. Keep attending your acting lessons at Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons."

Jenna's heart swelled with gratitude as she inquired, "Did the doctor talk to you?"

"Yes, he just did." Julien nodded with solemnity.

Jenna pressed her lips together and assured him, "Don't worry. My friends have agreed to lend me money. I can repay them over three years with minimal interest. With my earnings as an underground singer and your wages, if we are frugal, it should be enough without affecting our respective apprenticeships."

There was a moment of silence as Julien pondered, before he finally spoke, "That Ciel?"

"Yes, he's one of them, but I have other friends too. And Franca, the 'Red Boots' I mentioned last night." Jenna felt the need to clarify the situation, fearing her brother might resort to extreme measures.

She recalled how two years ago, Julien had contemplated secretly selling himself to Balam-Paz Import and Export Corporation, unbeknownst to their mother, in order to become a disposable mercenary and repay all their debts, allowing Jenna to pursue her dreams as an apprentice actress. Fortunately, that plan had been thwarted in the end.

Just as Julien was about to respond, his gaze fell upon a tall, slender woman standing at the ward's entrance.

She donned a blouse, light-colored breeches, a thin black-on-white checkered tweed top, and vibrant red boots. Her long flaxen-colored hair was tied back in a simple ponytail. With eyebrows that extended toward her temples and eyes that sparkled with energy, she exuded an irresistible charm.

Jenna eagerly approached her.

"Franca."

…

Rue des Blouses Blanches, inside the safe house.

Lumian, having acquired Sun Star and currently distilling its extract, took a seat and awaited Madam Magician's response.

On the desk in front of him, Fire Salamander blood, Magma Pyroxene powder, and Redcrown Balsam powder were neatly arranged.

Just as the Sun Star extract was about to be completed, the arm-height "doll" dressed in a light-gold gown, with exquisite yet slightly peculiar facial features, appeared on the windowsill.

It placed a metal biscuit tin on the windowsill and sniffed the air.

"Use this extract the next time you summon me."

"Alright." The request from the other party was so unusual that Lumian was momentarily taken aback. His instinctive response was the only thing he could offer.

In an instant, the puppet messenger vanished before his eyes. Lumian opened the bright silver biscuit tin and beheld the small crimson "heart" burning silently within.

Without hesitation, he grabbed a prepared beer mug and dropped in the Pyromaniac Beyonder characteristic.

Immediately afterward, Lumian poured over 50 milliliters of Fire Salamander blood into the cup.

With a sizzling sound, the crimson liquid evaporated, transforming into a mist of blood that swirled around the "heart."

The Pyromaniac Beyonder characteristic softened considerably, its surface rippling like the water of a lake.

Following the potion formula's instructions, Lumian added Magma Pyroxene powder, Redcrown Balsam powder, and Sun Star extract into the beer mug. As he did so, the blood mist surrounding the "heart" abruptly shrank, giving rise to a yellowish liquid with red bubbles.

In Lumian's eyes, this was the Pyromaniac potion.

Rather than consuming it immediately, Lumian closed his eyes.

In his mind, he conjured images of Flameng's lifeless body dangling from a window frame, the lunatic's will inscribed on a sheet of white paper. He envisioned Monsieur Ruhr, his body ravaged by decay. He pictured Madame Michel, drowning her sorrows in drink and singing boisterously, only to ultimately meet her demise by hanging herself in the morning light. He also saw the cries that echoed through Sifflet Square.

Then, he glimpsed his own stubborn and determined self as a wanderer. He witnessed his unwavering spirit, refusing to surrender despite the repeated blows. He envisioned an alternative outcome for himself. He witnessed the sorrow, anger, powerlessness, and oppression that came with pursuing hope, only to be engulfed by darkness.

The mocking laughter of fate resounded in his ears, igniting a raging fire within his heart.

If this is the unavoidable conclusion;

If this is the fate of insignificance,

If efforts yield no fruit, and hope remains forever out of reach;

Then I shall fight with every ounce of my being to change it all!

Even if there is no light ahead, and hope dwindles to a mere flicker, I will fight until my last breath!

Motherf*cker member of parliament!

Motherf*cker Guillaume Bénet!

Motherf*cker heretics!

Motherf*cker Termiboros!

Motherf*cker Inevitability!

Lumian's eyes snapped open as he solidified his final acting principle as a Provoker.

Provocation symbolized indomitable spirit!

He didn't need this for digestion assistance. With a fire raging within his chest, he seized the beer mug and guzzled down the liquid.

It burned from his mouth, down his esophagus, into his stomach, and seared into his heart.