40 COI

Lumian took his time with the thick stack of information on spirit world creatures. He stowed them and Aurore's grimoires in an iron cabinet he had acquired earlier.

But now, there were other pressing matters at hand.

Unscrewing the lid of a wide-mouthed bottle, he reached into the green liquor to retrieve the Scotch Broom brooch known as Decency.

His plan was to test the Sealed Artifact's abilities and its negative effects.

Waiting for a real battle wouldn't do; he needed to familiarize himself with it now. Figuring it out on the fly during a fight would be disastrous, leaving him unable to coordinate his Beyonder powers and attacks effectively.

He also wanted to test the extent of the brooch's adverse effects while he was still in good shape. After a battle that had taken a toll on his body and mind, it would be too risky to face those effects hastily.

Understanding the brooch's negative effects in advance would allow Lumian to make better choices when forced to use Decency, minimizing its influence on him.

A Hunter who wasn't familiar with their weapon was bound to fail!

Lumian placed the Scotch Broom brooch on the table before him, focusing his mind to sense its power.

As he did so, a gust of wind blew in from the open window, making his heart race. He quickly stood up, extended his right hand, and shut the window tight.

The moment the window closed, the room fell eerily silent, as if it had been sealed off from the outside world.

Lumian then walked over to the door, gently opening and closing it.

It seemed like the safe house had turned into a secluded sanctuary.

Seating himself again, Lumian exuded an aura that could provoke disgust and hatred in small animals—this was an application of Provocation.

Almost instantly, a rat appeared from nowhere, snarling and attacking him with its claws.

Without much effort, Lumian flicked his index finger and thumb, and a crimson spark shot out, incinerating the rat as it squealed in pain.

The rat desperately tried to escape while suffering the scorching pain, but the invisible force sealed all exits, leaving it trapped.

It lacked the ability to open a door.

Lumian nodded with satisfaction, using the rat to test the other abilities of the Decency brooch.

The test lasted for about 12 to 13 minutes, but Lumian couldn't be sure without a pocket watch. He decided to proceed with caution and removed the Decency brooch, throwing it into a container of green liquor.

Then, with another small crimson fireball, he ended the rat's life, filling the room with the smell of roasted fat.

After stowing away the container, Lumian left the safe house, ready to test the brooch's repellent effect on others.

The gas street lamps were already lit as he stepped out, and he immediately noticed the glares of pedestrians and vendors around him.

It felt as if they despised him deeply, wanting to attack him with knives, bottles of alcohol, or even an iron pot filled with food.

However, "Lion" Ciel's trademark golden-and-black hair seemed to deter them from acting on their impulses.

Th-this effect is equivalent to a large-scale Provocation… However, it's not within my control… Lumian assessed roughly, realizing that he couldn't fully control it. Under the unfriendly gazes, he walked along the roadside and made his way towards Avenue du Marché.

At that moment, two police officers dressed in black uniforms, their shoulders adorned with silver epaulets, and armed with revolvers strolled by the area.

Catching sight of Lumian, they immediately pointed at him and bellowed, "Halt right there! Routine inspection!"

The effects are truly potent… Lumian didn't waste a breath and swiftly turned on his heels, dashing away.

"Stop!"

The two officers shouted, drawing their revolvers and taking aim at Lumian.

He skillfully evaded a pedestrian's sneaky attempt to trip him, making a sharp turn into an alleyway blocked by a barricade. Without glancing back, he hurried into Underground Trier.

He hadn't brought his carbide lamp, nor did he possess night vision. However, as a Pyromaniac, he could conjure light in any environment.

Crimson fireballs materialized above Lumian's head and on his shoulders, illuminating his path. Easily outpacing the police officers, he made his way toward another Underground Trier entrance near Rue des Blouses Blanches.

As he walked, Lumian abruptly twisted his body, narrowly avoiding a black shadow that lunged from a corner.

It was a snake-like creature with bluish-black scales.

The creature reared up, flicking its bright-red forked tongue in an aggressive stance, challenging Lumian.

It doesn't only arouse disgust and disdain from humans… They need to see or make contact with me to be influenced… Lumian sighed and shook his head, allowing one of the fireballs to shoot out and reduce the venomous snake into three charred pieces, emitting a burnt fragrance.

Having already gauged the strength and reach of the negative effects, he decided not to take any more risks. He found a nearby empty cave, extinguished the fireballs, and sat in the darkness, quietly waiting for the effects to wear off.

After what seemed like an hour, he stood up and conjured three crimson fireballs above his head, left shoulder, and right shoulder to illuminate the tunnel ahead.

In no time, Lumian found himself at an exit near Rue des Blouses Blanches. There, he spotted a figure with a carbide lamp emerging from a nearby tunnel.

With a grin, Lumian raised his right hand in a wave.

"Well, well, look who's wandering in Underground Trier like a rat."

It was Jenna.

As she caught sight of Lumian, her brow furrowed.

"Did you use Provocation on me? Why are you so irritating?"

Lumian replied vaguely, "Something like that."

Jenna couldn't hide her annoyance and blurted, "Dammit! Why did you use Provocation on me?"

Not bad. You didn't come over to beat me up. That means you still treat me as a friend… That's probably how strong the negative effects are when they're about to disappear… He smiled and explained,

"I encountered something that left me tainted with a dreadful aura, but it will soon fade away."

Shifting gears, Lumian examined Jenna, who wore a light-white shirt and a faded yellow dress. Her hair cascaded down her back, and she wore a small Sun Sacred Emblem around her neck.

"What brings you to Underground Trier?"

Jenna, now looking more like a college student in Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative, pursed her lips and replied, "Meeting the two Purifiers. I wanted to show my devotion to god as you suggested. So I dressed in a way that the Church advocates, even wearing a Sun Talisman. But they guided me to Underground Trier, claiming it was to avoid crowds. Dammit, it's just absurd to go around here dressed like this!"

As the negative effects of Decency waned, Jenna understood why she reacted strongly and calmly shared her experiences with Lumian.

"Did it work?" Lumian glanced at the brown wooden box in Jenna's right hand but didn't rush to ask what it contained.

Puzzled, Jenna inquired, "Yes, it did. Valentine, the Purifier, became much more receptive to me. Imre also changed, but they seem to be cautious and suspicious of me for some reason."

"Maybe they think you're trying to ingratiate yourself and have ulterior motives," Lumian speculated, attempting to analyze the Purifiers' mindset. He pointed at the wooden box Jenna was carrying with his chin. "Is that their reward for you?"

Jenna couldn't help but smile.

"Exactly. They verified the information about Deep Valley Quarry and acknowledged its importance. As compensation, they gave me two main ingredients and one supplementary ingredient for the Instigator potion. I'll collect the rest myself."

"Franca probably has the rest of the supplementary ingredients." Lumian mused. "The main ingredient for a Sequence 8 potion isn't cheap, it's precious, you know. Is the information about Deep Valley Quarry really that important?"

What did this entail?

Jenna tersely acknowledged his words.

"They didn't elaborate much. The only thing they said was that the Purifiers can't directly enter the quarry due to issues between the Churches. But they'll keep an eye on it to prevent things from escalating."

"They also want me to keep contacting the client to get more information from him. Apparently, part of the main ingredients for the potion is an advance payment," Jenna explained.

Lumian nodded approvingly. "Makes sense."

Jenna sighed. "I'm such a degenerate."

"Why do you say that?" Lumian raised his eyebrows.

Jenna grabbed her hair. "I should have asked for enough money to pay off my debts before even thinking about the ingredients for the Instigator potion."

"When you become an Instigator, that money won't be a problem," Lumian scoffed. "You're not planning to stick around as a local singer forever to repay your debts, are you?"

Jenna fell silent for a moment before admitting, "But I don't want to harm anyone."

"Why not just target villains?" Lumian tried to ignite Jenna's determination.

"Damn it, you're the Instigator, not me, right?" Jenna muttered, adding, "How much should I pay Franca? We got the information together; it's not fair if she doesn't get anything."

Lumian chuckled. "Considering the potion formula she gave you, even with a friend's discount, you should pay her a minimum of 20,000 verl d'or."

"20,000 verl d'or minimum…" Jenna's face showed a hint of pain. "For now, I can only owe her. Do you think I'll accumulate more debt the higher my Sequence? The potion formula and ingredients are so expensive…"

"But your earning potential will increase," Lumian half-instigated, half-comforted.

He extinguished the three fireballs on his body and headed toward the exit of Underground Trier, Jenna's carbide lamp lighting their way.

After a few steps, Jenna asked with curiosity, "Why did you create fireballs above your head and both shoulders? What's the point?"

"Haven't you heard of people carrying three lamps—one above their head, one on their left shoulder, and one on their right shoulder?" Lumian asked.

"No," Jenna shook her head, intrigued, "Is it some mystical knowledge?"

"Nah, just folklore," Lumian smiled. "I thought it looked cool, so I went with it."

Jenna couldn't help but curse, "Dammit! You're so childish!"

As they chatted, they left Underground Trier and entered Apartment 601, 3 Rue des Blouses Blanches, where Franca gave them a suspicious look.

-x-X-x-

Lumian calmly recounted his encounter with Jenna in the depths of Underground Trier while he was enduring the air of repulsion and disdain.

Franca gave a slightly awkward smile and deftly changed the topic.

"How can you be repulsive and detestable? You didn't lose control."

Franca had encountered Beyonders on the Hunter pathway succumbing to a loss of control numerous times, most of them exuding traits that attracted hostility from those around them. This was the principal reason they were swiftly dealt with.

Lumian briefly explained, "I obtained a Sealed Artifact. Its negative effects manifest an hour after I remove it, causing me to exude repulsion and disdain."

Jenna, curious, interjected, "What happens if you don't take it off?"

Lumian's lips curled as he replied, "Then it turns into an alarm, drawing the attention of nearby official Beyonders who'd like to apprehend me."

"It's quite the attention-seeker," Franca remarked with a playful grin.

"It does have a fondness for 'decency,'" Lumian said, his tone meaningful. Then, he added nonchalantly, "Its abilities lean heavily towards Bribe, with a touch of Distortion."

Given the likelihood of needing to collaborate with Franca in the future to deal with Padre Guillaume Bénet, Lumian took the initiative to divulge the situation regarding the Decency brooch. However, he refrained from delving into intricate details, especially regarding the strength and range of its powers. After all, mystical items were a Beyonder's ace in the hole. Exposing them risked a sense of vulnerability. Just as Franca had shared information about the Ring of Punishment while omitting the brass revolver and other items during their earlier operation.

It was a delicate balance—sharing yet withholding the full truth; building trust while maintaining essential precautions.

Franca didn't press further. She pondered for a moment before saying, "It corresponds to a Sequence 7 Briber and a Sequence 6 Baron of Corruption from the Black Emperor pathway. It seems a Baron of Corruption met his end, melding his Beyonder traits with the objects on him to create the Sealed Artifact. Its abilities aren't fully revealed."

"Black Emperor?" Lumian had never heard of this Sequence, nor had Jenna.

"The deity appellation for the Lawyer pathway," Franca whispered, excitement in her voice. "Rumor has it that Emperor Roselle achieved Black Emperor status before his demise—a true deity!"

For a brief moment, Lumian and Jenna were rendered speechless. Their expressions mirrored their astonishment.

Franca couldn't accurately fathom Emperor Roselle's standing in their eyes as genuine Intisians.

Had he—no, had He truly ascended to godhood?

"Rumors, mere rumors," Franca hastened to add, lest her dependable image be tarnished in Jenna's eyes.

After a few more exchanges, Jenna opened the wooden box in her right hand, revealing the smaller boxes within.

They contained a small, dark, hive-like heart, a sac exuding dark green liquid, and a slender, smoked tube-like substance.

Franca scrutinized them briefly before giving a nod of approval.

"The heart of the Demon Throat Honeyguide and the poison sac of the Dark Prowler—these are the main ingredients. Yes, the Dark Prowler is a peculiar two-headed snake.

"You've also acquired the Demon Throat Honeyguide's syrinx. You only need blue Jimsonweed juice, fern powder, walnuts, and pure water… I have the blue Jimsonweed juice. The other three supplementary ingredients are easy to come by."

Fern powder… Lumian recalled the supplemental ingredient for the Provoker potion shared a similarity. It implied being "susceptible to others' words."

In that light, Instigator and Provoker bore resemblance. Hunter and Demoness truly were neighboring, interchangeable pathways.

Noticing Jenna's keenness to buy ferns and walnuts from the right shops and prepare pure water overnight, Franca cautioned, "Hold on a moment. Set yourself straight first. You've digested the Assassin potion, and chances of losing control with the Instigator potion are slim these days, but why not aim for the best? Wouldn't it be wiser to minimize the chance of losing control entirely?"

Lumian scratched his chin and added, "I'm curious what kind of monster an Instigator would end up as after losing control."

Jenna shot him a glare and settled onto the sofa, shutting her eyes and focusing on her breath.

Lumian sprawled in the armchair next to him, his arms draped over the armrests. He turned to Franca and inquired, "Have you gotten your hands on genuine mummy ashes?"

"Nope," Franca shook her head, a touch of helplessness in her expression. "I even offered 500 verl d'or for 10 grams, but those guys keep pushing fakes. Worthless bunch. They can't even tell the real from the fake!"

"Only 500 verl d'or?" Lumian teased. "Aren't you rolling in it?"

"Normally, 10 grams go for just over 100 verl d'or. 500 is already a small fortune, alright?" Franca snapped back, her frustration evident. "And I'm not exactly swimming in money at the moment."

Lumian nodded, getting why Franca's funds were running dry.

Her infiltration of the Iron and Blood Cross Order wasn't a true success. It could only be considered as aiding Lumian in reaching the goal. So, the reward she received wasn't the main ingredients for the Demoness of Pleasure, but rather the privilege to buy them at a discount.

"How much more do you need?" Jenna's eyes popped open, a willingness to help evident in her gaze.

Franca shook her head and replied, "If 500 verl d'or can't get me the real stuff, neither will a grand. They'll just think I'm a fool, waiting for me to bid higher."

She then turned her gaze to Lumian.

"What's your plan for now?"

Given time, she could likely snag actual mummy ashes in a fortnight or a month. However, Lumian needed her assistance within the next week, pushing her to consider searching for true mummies in the Star Highlands of the Southern Continent.

Lumian caught onto Franca's unspoken message and mused, "Maybe consider a little arson and digesting the potion to some extent."

This way, he could unlock the Contractee boon, garnering diverse abilities from different creatures through contracts.

As far as he knew, a freshly minted Contractee could only forge three contracts. Lumian intended to cherry-pick three from the four possible abilities: ones that impacted the Spirit Body or psyche, basic teleportation skills, a moderate level of disguise, and an ability akin to invisibility or shadow blending.

The final choice hinged on the information on creatures from the spirit realm. Maybe the willing creatures suitable for a contract with Lumian didn't wield matching skills.

Lumian was sure of one thing—all spirit world creatures could traverse the spirit realm—a basic form of teleportation. The variance lay in swiftness. If he struck a pact with White Paper, perhaps he'd manage only ten to twenty meters per jump. Not the optimal choice for traversing to the Southern Continent—exhaustion would likely make him lose control long before he arrived there.

"Arson… What's your thinking?" Franca sat cross-legged in the recliner.

Lumian recounted the acting principle he had deduced about the Pyromaniac.

Franca shared her insight based on her own experiences. "Upright acting is incitement, and inverted acting is instigation. They can all help you digest the potion. Wouldn't that be easy? Go down to the docks tomorrow and incite the dockworkers into a strike. The rallying cry will be for better pay."

Lumian shook his head slowly.

"If I can rally them into a strike and there's a good chance it'll get them some benefits or help them achieve their goals, I'll give it a shot. But if it's only going to bring disaster upon them, I'm not so keen on it.

"I can't stand exploiting others without benefiting them and causing harm instead—unless there's no other way. Then anyone can be sacrificed.

"Once there was this guy who always said that we could only grab more and have enough food if we united. But when we did unite to fight others for food, he took advantage of the chaos and made off with the food."

"You've got quite a bit of experience." Franca studied Lumian anew, feeling that he wasn't just as simple as Muggle's brother.

Jenna had been through similar situations.

Franca sighed and said,"As expected, you're quite the instigator in the upright sense. I'd be the same if I were you. Though I can put up a tough front, truth be told… haha, I can't bring myself to do it."

Lumian regarded her thoughtfully and spoke,

"I find you a bit paradoxical. Sometimes you're seasoned, well-informed, and have a knack for analyzing things. Other times, you're foolish, innocent, and naive."

Lumian had only encountered such a contradictory disposition in one other person—his sister Aurore.

Stirred by Lumian's string of words, Franca blurted out, "Are you trying to provoke me? How am I foolish or naive?"

At this, she caught Jenna's disapproving glance.

"Ahem." Franca cleared her throat and went on, "It's because I have this core kindness and certain expectations for the world. Even after seeing how harsh life can be, I still cherish life. Sigh, most in my group are like that. Only a few are resilient, brilliant, and agile. They seem to never be daunted by hardships or moral dilemmas."

The Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society? Why do they have such similarities? Lumian nodded, choosing not to probe further.

With Jenna's plan to gather the remaining supplemental ingredients the following day to advance as an Instigator, Lumian swiftly departed from Rue des Blouses Blanches and returned to Auberge du Coq Doré.

As he made his way up the stairs, Lumian caught sight of Anthony Reid, the information broker, coming down with a suitcase.

"Moving out?" Lumian inquired.

"That's right." Anthony Reid, still donning his military-green camouflage, gave a slight nod.

Lumian chuckled and remarked, "Didn't you mention some unfinished business in the market district?"

"The lead's gone cold." Anthony Reid let out a soft sigh.

Gone cold? Suddenly, Lumian recalled having seen a parliamentary election poster in the other man's room. He prodded, "Because Hugues Artois is dead?"

-x-X-x-

Upon hearing Lumian's question, Anthony Reid, his round face slightly pudgy and his skin with a slight sheen, fixed his dark brown eyes on him for a moment before responding, "I'm not sure what you're getting at."

The information broker's emotions appeared steady, and his expression seemed unaffected. It was almost as if Hugues Artois's demise hadn't affected him in the least.

Lumian's grin widened, and he didn't press further. Pointing toward the lower level, he suggested, "Let me buy you a drink. You've aided me in the past, and we've fought side by side. Consider it a parting gesture."

Anthony Reid scratched his retreating, light-yellow hairline with his free hand, his other holding a suitcase, pondering briefly before conceding, "Okay."

Descending the narrow, gas-lit staircase, the duo entered the basement bar and settled at the counter.

"What's your poison?" Lumian inquired in a casual tone, as if he'd just stepped into his own abode.

"Fennel absinthe," Anthony Reid replied succinctly.

"Absinthe, eh?" Lumian chuckled, producing a verl d'or silver coin and four coppet copper coins. He tossed them to the barkeep, Pavard Neeson, who sported a ponytail. "Two glasses of Somersault."

Somersault was bar parlance, signifying a double serving of fennel absinthe and a measure of "little mummy."

The latter took seven licks, while the former required twelve.

Pavard Neeson deftly flipped over standard cups and filled them with a dreamy green liquid for Lumian and Anthony Reid.

As Lumian took a sip, he savored the familiar bitterness and revitalization. He observed Pavard Neeson, whose dark brown beard framed his lips, muttering in a low, ingratiating tone,

"Ciel, got any of them peculiar drugs?"

The bar owner and amateur painter believed that Ciel, a notorious mob leader, surely possessed a couple of routes for obtaining proscribed substances.

Lumian caressed the glass with his thumb and smiled, inquiring, "What kind of drug are you after?"

Recognizing that Anthony Reid was an information broker often entangled in illicit affairs, Pavard Neeson did not hold back, explaining in hushed tones,

"Banned psychotropic drugs. Sigh, when that odd tree affected me, I created the draft I was most proud of. Actually, it wasn't just my most satisfying piece; it embodied the aesthetics I'd always strived for but never reached. It perfectly channeled my thoughts and convictions. Since then, that sensation's eluded me completely. Every stroke of mine has turned into dogsh*t! I'm considering experimenting with psychotropic drugs, hoping to recapture that sensation."

Lumian took another sip of the misty absinthe, his lips curling in a derisive smile,

"If I were you, I'd steer clear of painting altogether. You lack the innate aptitude."

Without waiting for Pavard Neeson's retort, he chuckled and stated, "Relying on drugs for passable creations signifies your dearth of talent!"

"But many famous painters have resorted to it…" Pavard Neeson began, only to be cut off by Lumian. He clicked his tongue and interjected, "That's an indication their creative faculties are waning, their fountain of inspiration drying up.

"Isn't that cheating? Pitting drug-fueled works against those of other artists, barely eking out a victory. Earning a spot in an exhibition and proudly proclaiming to every visitor: 'Behold, I'm despicable. I possess an inferiority complex. Drugs are my prowess, and demons are my parents.'"

Seeing Pavard Neeson's visage turn ashen, Lumian spread his arms slightly, probing, "Does that fill you with pride?

"Should you possess talent, you'd no longer be an amateur painter. Even if critical acclaim eluded you, and the World's Artists Exhibition snubbed you, private galleries would come seeking. You understand the harsh reality better than I do."

At this juncture, Lumian's smile broadened.

"Drugs won't save you. It's available to all, like a common commodity. When everyone resorts to it, won't they be pitted against their innate skill and standards?"

Pavard Neeson's lips quivered, yet he remained speechless.

With a somber expression, he took a couple of steps back, slumping into his seat, as if his spirit had vacated his body.

Anthony Reid, who had been quietly sipping fennel absinthe, turned his gaze to Lumian. "You're not a fan of those forbidden psychiatric drugs?"

"Otherwise?" Lumian scoffed.

Anthony Reid shifted his attention to Pavard Neeson, visibly grappling with his inner turmoil, and spoke contemplatively. "You seem to have swayed him."

"I merely stoked the embers of his guilt," Lumian replied with calm composure.

Anthony Reid nodded gently. "But what if your persuasion falls short?"

Lumian laughed. "I'm not his godfather."

If he couldn't sway him, so be it.

A brief pause fell upon Anthony Reid before he turned his gaze back to Lumian.

"Your method of dissuasion deviates from your usual approach. Is this acting?"

Impressively observant and astute, as expected from a Mid-Sequence Beyonder of the Spectator pathway… If I can kindle the inner fervor within a Spectator's heart, it should greatly aid my digestion… Lumian mused inwardly. Holding his glass of verdant liquid, he looked ahead and replied, "I stumbled upon some fliers earlier. They made mention of Hugues Artois deserting his troops during the war against the Loen Kingdom a few years back, leading to countless casualties."

Anthony Reid remained silent, savoring his fennel absinthe in quietude.

Lumian's gaze flickered toward the vacant bar counter as he continued, "I recall you wrestled with the lingering effects of PTSD from that war a few years ago."

With a gulp, Anthony Reid took a swig of the green liquor.

Lumian opted to not bring up the parliamentary election poster found in the information broker's room. He glanced at the vacant shell that was Pavard Neeson and mumbled to himself, "If the sole motivation is animosity towards Hugues Artois, then news of his assassination would be met with jubilation and him drinking until he dropped at the bar.

"But if one wishes to unravel the reason behind Hugues Artois's actions, understand how he wormed his way into politics and a parliamentary bid despite his past, and uncover the strings being pulled in his favor, one must seek out other breadcrumbs to grant the departed some semblance of peace.

"The official Beyonders should be on this case, but they labor under too many constraints. They lack the untamed boldness of wild Beyonders."

Seated still, Anthony Reid took another swig of fennel absinthe.

Lumian chuckled.

"It's indeed a vexing conundrum. The hurdles are countless, and the perils are real. Surrender becomes a tempting option for everyone. In the end, though, Hugues Artois lies deceased. The instigator of that tragedy rests in the grave. The departed souls should find some solace."

Anthony Reid ceased his imbibing, his middle-aged visage betraying no emotion.

Lumian glanced his way, lowered his tone, and smiled knowingly.

"Folks plagued by severe mental ills can't ascend far in the Spectator path. And even if they do plateau, external stimuli can trigger catastrophic lapses, transforming them into monstrosities. In this ever-more perilous world, stability is but a distant wish for flawed Beyonders."

At this juncture, Lumian reined in his expression and fixed his gaze upon Anthony Reid's profile. He inquired, his voice resonating with gravitas, "Do you fancy departing laden with remorse and reluctance, languishing in the throes of becoming a monster, shying away from your former comrades, or do you dare venture forth in pursuit of the truth, courting danger, and crafting your own heroic saga?"

Without acknowledging Anthony Reid's response, Lumian gracefully alighted from the barstool, lifted his fennel absinthe, and downed the remainder in a single gulp.

With that, he whispered into Anthony Reid's ear, "I contributed to Hugues Artois's demise. We're still untangling his problem."

Observing Anthony Reid's slight tremor, Lumian straightened up and exited the subterranean bar without casting a backward glance.

He strolled back into Room 207, not bothering to shut the door behind him, and lit the carbide lamp.

With a casual swivel, he spun the chair around and settled into it, his posture easy as he fixated on the dim corridor outside.

Lumian waited in abnormal silence, as he held a certainty that the figure he awaited would materialize.

As moments ticked away, the couple's voices escalated into a quarrel anew, and the rowdy drunkards began to trickle onto the street.

The soft patter of hesitant steps drew near Room 207, each sound echoing the uncertainty.

A sly grin played upon Lumian's lips, and he reclined in the chair, his gaze steady on the door.

Before too long, Anthony Reid stepped into view, garbed in a military-green shirt and matching pants, capped off by tall leather boots. His hair lay cropped and thin.

Standing within the circle of light cast by the carbide lamp, he regarded Lumian seated at the wooden table, a smirk adorning his lips. His features danced in a contorted display.

In a rich timbre, he intoned, "I know you're trying to provoke me. I know you're acting, but… you're correct…"

Anthony Reid, middle-aged and weathered, raised his right hand and pressed it to his chest, his expression one of fierce resolve.

"Over these past few years, my heart has been seared by anguish and righteous anger."

A knowing smile graced Lumian's face as he shut his eyes momentarily, sensing the Pyromaniac potion digesting a little.

He rose from his seat and addressed Anthony Reid, saying, "Truth wields the mightiest power of persuasion."

Anthony Reid felt a weight lift after speaking, the inner conflict and confusion subsiding.

He ventured into Room 207, the door clicking shut behind him. His eyes swept over the surroundings in a swift assessment.

"Did you truly eliminate Hugues Artois? How deep did your investigation penetrate?"

"Celia Bello, the one who assassinated Hugues Artois, is a friend of mine. It was I who first unearthed the heretic cults supporting Hugues Artois," Lumian responded in a matter-of-fact tone before extending a sincere apology. "My earlier words held a deceit, and for that, I'm sorry."

Anthony Reid was taken aback.

"Which statement?"

A mischievous grin curved Lumian's lips.

"Actually, we haven't even embarked on the trail to uncover the people and forces behind Hugues Artois."

-x-X-x-

The plump, middle-aged Anthony Reid found himself taken aback. But after a brief moment, he grinned in a self-deprecating way and uttered, "I was so rattled that I couldn't even judge the authenticity of that sentence. As anticipated, a Spectator must take a seat in the audience."

Lumian remained calmly seated, his smile unwavering.

"No, it's not that simple. Why did I leap off the barstool? Why did I murmur into your ear from behind? My aim was to shield you from my subtle expressions and involuntary body language. In those moments, your emotions were already stirred, blurring your ability to decipher my true intent."

A short pause followed Anthony Reid's contemplative silence, then he spoke,

"That's one reason. Another lies in your characteristic demeanor. I don't know if you've caught on, but you tend to put on a bit of a show, appear nonchalant, or in modern terms, act cool.

"Just then, I believed those actions, given the circumstances, were in line with your usual behavior, aimed at lending weight to your words. So, suspicion didn't even cross my mind."

A chuckle escaped Lumian's lips.

"It's only natural for a lad like me to yearn for a touch of coolness, a bit of swagger. It also conveniently masks my true motives. Actually, both are genuine. That's why they remain impervious to scrutiny."

It was akin to him having Fire Ravens circling him with one hand in his pocket, unleashing them on his adversaries as he advanced. First, it was undeniably cool, and second, he seized the chance to grasp Mr. K's finger to avert any potential mishaps.

Anthony Reid pondered momentarily before nodding.

"Only a superficial motive, steeped in authenticity, can truly deceive a Spectator."

Raising his right foot over his left knee, Lumian steered the conversation back on track.

"Our journey to unveil the people and forces behind Hugues Artois hasn't yet commenced, as we are engaged in more pressing matters. But fear not, we shall delve into this matter next week. We possess the relevant sources of information as well."

Lumian's strategy involved Jenna delving deeper into Hugues Artois's background through the Purifiers, exploring ways she could "assist."

As the one responsible for Hugues Artois's demise, it was logical for Jenna to keep tabs on the investigation's progress, hoping to unearth all details without arousing the official Beyonders' suspicion. These thoughts and tendencies were inherent in Jenna, so Lumian didn't need to fuel them further. Just a reminder would suffice.

In due course, the Purifiers could subtly guide Jenna and her companions toward actions they might find inconvenient. This would undeniably supply Anthony Reid's investigation with invaluable leads.

Anthony Reid's deep brown eyes mirrored Lumian's figure as he absorbed the discourse in silence.

The information broker offered an almost imperceptible nod.

"I'll stay a while longer."

Engaging with Spectators of the Beyonder path is straightforward. There's no need to concoct another tale or search for an excuse to sway him. He can ascertain the truth for himself… Lumian flashed a grin and gestured toward the bed. "Take a seat."

This way, he needn't expose Jenna's true identity or her role as a Purifier informant.

Anthony Reid stood near the door, rooted in place, and spoke, "You've more or less sussed out what's happened to me. Is there something else you want me to add?"

"I'd prefer a more detailed account," Lumian responded without much ceremony.

Having been through the Poison Spur Mob, the Bliss Society, the Cordu catastrophe, Ruhr and Michel's deaths, and the explosion at the Goodville Chemical Factory, Lumian found the evil gods and their minions abnormally repulsive. His casual demeanor had been replaced by a newfound seriousness.

Once, he'd believed that people could fancy whatever beliefs they pleased—that it didn't concern him. Now, his perspective had entirely changed. He held that only heretics who'd gone to their grave were the good ones. The living ones were ticking time bombs of doom, liable to unleash havoc on him and his companions sooner or later.

So, he wasn't just spinning tales for Anthony Reid. He truly planned on delving into Hugues Artois' affairs and uncovering more of those heretics when he could spare a moment.

Moreover, this could endear him to Mr. K and the Aurora Order.

Of course, it did seem quite odd for a wanted mob leader to be lending a hand to the authorities in taking down cultists.

Anthony Reid's expression darkened as he said, "Towards the end of the war with the Loen Kingdom, my comrades and I were stationed at a vital route in the northern foothills of the Hornacis mountain range. Our commanding officer was Major Hugues Artois.

"We were split into three companies, each at different positions. We were to prevent small Loen Kingdom Beyonder teams from crossing the treacherous path and attacking us from the rear, as well as defend against direct assaults.

"That night, gunshots and cannon fire suddenly shattered my sleep. I watched as my comrades were torn apart, one by one, from behind. Their heads exploding, bodies rent asunder. The earth became a sea of blood…"

At this point, Anthony Reid's breath quickened, as if he was reliving the trauma.

He paused for a moment before continuing, "In the midst of that war, I had a fortuitous encounter that pushed my Sequence upward. I never reported it to Hugues Artois. Using my newfound abilities, I managed to break through the encirclement with four wounded comrades and retreated.

"Two of them were gravely hurt and were left behind on the mountain path for—forever. I can still see their pained and angry gazes.

"At first, I thought maybe one of the other positions had been compromised, or that Loen's airships had dropped troops behind us under cover of darkness. But later, I realized that the reason was that Hugues Artois's company had chosen to retreat without informing us, after encountering only a probing attack!"

Lumian pondered for a moment before replying, "When Hugues Artois ordered the retreat, didn't those soldiers question it? Didn't they try to get word to the other two positions?"

"Hugues Artois was our commanding officer, and he knew how to give rousing speeches. Plus, he had a warrant supposedly signed by General Philip," Anthony Reid said, his expression grim. "The soldiers back then assumed he had already passed on orders to the other positions. I still can't wrap my head around why he'd sacrifice us. It wouldn't have taken much time or caused him any harm."

"Maybe he was overwhelmed and forgot," Lumian suggested, not out to defend the late Hugues Artois, merely offering a possible explanation.

Anthony Reid shook his head.

"He wasn't a green recruit on his first battlefield. He had proven his mettle in prior fights, showed his leadership under duress."

Lumian didn't delve further, allowing Anthony Reid to continue.

"Once we found out the truth, the three of us fought to bring Hugues Artois to military court, but it was futile. They'd simply tell us that imagination wasn't evidence.

"Helpless, we watched Hugues Artois shift into politics after the war and rise through the ranks.

"My other two comrades were frail to start with. They passed away burdened by fury and pain. When Hugues Artois threw his hat in the ring for the Enlightenment Party in the market district's parliamentary election, I ended up here."

Lumian nodded slightly and inquired, "Being an information broker, that's to hide your true identity?"

"No, I've been scraping by as an information broker for a few years now," Anthony Reid replied with a wry smile. "Plus, this cover helps me dig deeper into Hugues Artois' dealings."

"Any breakthroughs?" Lumian asked naturally.

Anthony Reid's expression darkened as he answered, "Hugues Artois' foray into politics seems unremarkable. He rode General Philip's coattails and climbed the ladder. His eloquence caught the eye of several senior Enlightenment Party MPs. And he forged ties with a handful of ex-noble families."

"Is General Philip a concern?" Lumian queried, straightforward as ever.

Anthony Reid sighed slowly, his voice heavy, "The general met his end before I could investigate him. Official word is—illness took him."

Lumian posed a few more questions before saying, "I'll catch up with you when I've got more to share."

"Sure." Anthony Reid understood Lumian's sincerity.

…

After departing Auberge du Coq Doré, Lumian made his way back to the safe house on Rue des Blouses Blanches. He swung open the iron cabinet, retrieving a hefty stack of information concerning the denizens of the spirit world.

Within the assortment, he discovered a notebook labeled 'Sights in the Spirit World.' Flipping through a couple of pages, he could feel a surge of frustration and anxiety creeping into his mind.

His immediate aim wasn't to grasp the intricacies of the spirit world, but rather to pinpoint suitable creatures from that realm. Thus, he closed the notebook and delved into the introductions of the various spirit world entities.

Somewhat inexplicably, after poring over the pages for over half an hour, Lumian sensed his mental energy draining away. His thoughts seemed to evaporate, forcing him to bring his study session to an abrupt close. He sprawled out on the bed, drifting into slumber.

Early the next morning, Lumian arrived at Apartment 601, 3 Rue des Blouses Blanches, and rang the doorbell.

Franca had already risen from her sleep, attired in her customary shirt and breeches. She directed her gaze towards Lumian and inquired, "What brings you here so early?"

Lumian's eyes flicked towards Jenna, who occupied the living room, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Isn't today the day Jenna advances to being an Instigator? I'm here to witness the moment."

A frown played across Franca's features as she muttered, "You seem quite concerned about her."

"Absolutely," Lumian affirmed, his grin widening. "Once she's an Instigator, she can aid me in dealing with Guillaume Bénet. While I can't exactly count on her for a direct confrontation, she'll excel at launching sneak attacks and surveying the surroundings to forestall any potential mishaps."

Jenna emitted a derisive snort, while Franca offered a mix of exasperation and amusement through a tongue click. "Your words are like honey."

"The kind that's already been digested?" Lumian chuckled, his self-awareness evident.

-x-X-x-

Naturally, Franca caught onto Lumian's true intentions; otherwise, her Instigator potion would've been a wasted effort. She felt satisfied that Lumian was one who wouldn't falter in a battle of sophistry, and she hoped he could maintain that.

"Come on in." Franca gestured for Lumian to step into the living room.

Right then, boxes already occupied the coffee table, containing Demon Throat Honeyguide and other ingredients.

Simply glancing at these items stirred something in Lumian, an urge to devour them.

Thankfully, it wasn't overwhelming. It was more like hungry folks eying a chef grilling lamb.

Jenna's focus had returned to the ingredients. Gazing at the white porcelain broth bowl with its dual handles and cover, she found it absurd that she was going to consume it the same way she had consumed the Assassin potion.

How was this potion concoction? It seemed more like cocktail mixing or broth preparation!

Mysticism was nowhere to be found!

Jenna inhaled deeply, then poured 100 milliliters of pure water into the broth bowl using a measuring cylinder. She added the Demon Throat Honeyguide and the Dark Prowler poison sac.

Amidst the bubbling sounds, the two main ingredients fused in the pure water.

A manifestation of the law of Beyonder characteristics convergence… Lumian observed closely, holding his words.

Franca carefully unsheathed a ritual dagger and conjured a wall of spirituality around the living room.

The hive-like heart and the dark-green poison sac began to dissolve simultaneously, coloring the pure water in the white porcelain bowl with a gleaming black hue.

Jenna then added the syrinx of the Demon Throat Honeyguide, five drops of blue Jimsonweed juice, and 10 grams of fern powder. Finally, she tossed in an unpeeled walnut.

Watching the walnut disappear as if swallowed by crimson molten steel, Jenna couldn't help but feel a shiver of fear.

Can this thing really be drunk?

"Not bad. It's exactly like the Instigator potion I brewed before," Franca commended with an easy smile.

Of course it's the same. Concocting a potion is that simple… Lumian thought to himself.

Franca waved her hand, her confidence unwavering, and continued, "No need to fret. Downing a Sequence 8 potion directly won't trouble you. Plus, you've already digested the Assassin potion."

Infected by her confidence, Jenna's expression gradually turned resolute.

Oh, you're employing Instigation, are you? Is this an upright approach for an Instigator? Lumian grasped Franca's intentions, yet he didn't call her out.

Jenna steeled herself and composed her mind. She picked up the double-handled broth bowl and lifted it to her lips.

Gazing at the obsidian potion fizzing with tiny bubbles, as though harboring hidden desires and ill intent, she tilted her head back and poured the contents from the porcelain bowl into her mouth.

An acute pain coursed from her mouth down to her esophagus, radiating to her brain and other parts of her body.

The pain jolted her awake, memories of the explosion at Goodville Chemical Factory flashing through her mind. She gained fresh insights, a better understanding of the true intentions and thoughts of those involved. She sensed malevolent thoughts that had either come to fruition or were waiting to be acted upon.

Soon, Jenna's heart was filled with rage, loathing, and a desire to obliterate those individuals and matters. She felt an urge to cease holding back and unleash her emotions.

Recalling Franca's repeated warnings, she resisted letting her hatred, anger, and desires take the reins. She clenched her fists, standing still.

Her shadow seemed to deepen, and her brownish-yellow hair appeared to lengthen.

In a little over ten seconds, the pain gradually receded, and Jenna reconnected with her body.

It's indeed quite easy… Most of the reason why I'm feeling half-dead after gulping down potions at a low Sequence is due to Inevitability's corruption… Lumian sighed.

Jenna swiftly gathered her thoughts and stretched her limbs, examining the changes in her body.

"Oh, my body's definitely gotten stronger. And I've got this new ability, Instigation…"

"It's actually pretty great. Instigation is more than just an ability. It lets me feel what others are feeling—emotions, desires, even malice. It sharpens my thinking and analytical skills. Ha, I'll have to use this to my advantage. Can't have Ciel always making fun of my smarts and performance…

"Even if I don't speak, using Instigation actively will make me seem more reliable and approachable. It'll help folks around me think better of me."

"With the Instigation ability and some clever talk, I can plant certain thoughts or desires in someone's mind, making them choose to act the way I want…"

After a quick adjustment, Jenna confirmed that her combat skills hadn't improved significantly, but she could be much more valuable in other situations.

"How'd it go? Told you there wouldn't be any trouble," Franca said with a grin, her satisfaction not hidden at all.

Jenna's blue eyes still had traces of black threads in them. She let out a relieved breath and replied, "I was a bit worried earlier."

"That's just the way it is at low Sequences. You'll need to be careful when you move up to Sequence 7," Franca reminded Jenna, ensuring she didn't underestimate the risks of a potion.

Jenna nodded and said to Franca, "I owe you 30,000 verl d'or, including this time. I'll pay you back in installments."

She included the Assassin potion from earlier.

Franca had discussed this with Jenna the night before. She had intended to treat it as a gift. After all, she could continue selling the potion formula and information about the Deep Valley Quarry. However, seeing Jenna's determination, she decided to accept it after some thought.

With a smile, she replied at that moment, "No need to rush. Take your time repaying. You could even stretch it into a 20 or 30-year loan."

Lumian couldn't help but click his tongue and turned to Jenna. "Has the compensation from the Goodville Chemical Factory come through?"

"Imre and Valentine told me the legal process is done. Once the auction wraps up, the assets will be distributed—perhaps in two weeks." Jenna didn't quite grasp why Lumian was suddenly bringing this up. "Julien and I should get around 6,000 verl d'or. We'll split it evenly after settling our debts. Honestly, I don't really want it, but he won't agree for sure."

Lumian nodded and inquired further, "And what about your father's compensation?"

"Because of the Goodville Chemical Factory explosion, the court's given its final say, but the factory owner's dragging his feet. Ugh, is he trying to move his assets out before he pays up?" Jenna's tone carried a hint of anger as she spoke about it.

A chuckle escaped Lumian's lips.

"How about this? We pay a visit to the families waiting for compensation soon. You 'instigate' them, and I'll 'incite' them. We alternate, gather them at the factory owner's place, and demand what's owed to them. It helps them and gives us a chance to digest the potion."

"The factory owner's got a bunch of armed guards, and he's got ties to the police. What if they hurt the people just asking for their dues? They're already going through so much," Jenna expressed her concern.

Lumian arched an eyebrow and replied, "The court has made its decision. They've got every right to seek their compensation. If anyone dares to fire shots, I promise they won't shoot again. Don't worry, with us around, they'll be safe. Besides, you can give the heads-up to the Purifiers. They'll understand."

Jenna was convinced, her thoughts racing.

"Dammit, you're inciting me!"

While she grumbled, she accepted Lumian's idea and decided to gather information as soon as possible to figure out where the factory owner was now residing.

Simultaneously, another thought crossed her mind. "Now that I'm an Instigator, I need to interact with the entrustee. It's a task from the Purifiers. Franca, when's the next meetup?"

Franca said indignantly, "Next weekend. Reaching out to the entrustee is risky business. The Purifiers are kind of taking advantage of your lack of knowledge by only advancing you one ingredient for the Instigator potion. If it were me, I'd demand a better deal!"

Habitual instigation… Lumian chuckled inwardly.

As Franca and Jenna tidied up the coffee table, Lumian remained seated in an armchair, looking all repulsive.

After a while, Jenna approached him, her body lowering.

Lumian turned his head in surprise.

With a confident smirk, Jenna adjusted her hair.

"I can safely say that you didn't just show up to watch me drink that potion for dealing with Guillaume Bénet."

Her grin was playful and teasing. Though she wasn't wearing makeup, it brought Lumian back to their first meeting when she was an underground singer at Salle de Bal Brise.

Before Lumian could respond, Jenna straightened up and strolled toward the bathroom, leaving behind a casual question.

"Is it really so hard to admit that we're friends and you care about your friends?"

…

On his way back to Salle de Bal Brise, Lumian mulled over his role as Pyromaniac.

He was teetering on the edge of taking the first step towards digesting the potion; his hunger for more acting chances was insatiable.

Though I must set aflame minds and society, I cannot overlook the elemental act of kindling substances and fulfilling fire's symbolic essence.

Who would be a suitable candidate for burning…

As these thoughts raced through his mind, Lumian's gaze spotted Baron Brignais.

The mob leader, who usually emulated Gehrman Sparrow, had discarded his customary poise and genteel demeanor. Instead, he marched restlessly and agitatedly along Avenue du Marché, his eyes darting around incessantly.

Lumian fixated on him briefly, though Baron Brignais remained oblivious.

Baffled, he retraced his steps to Salle de Bal Brise and inquired of Sarkota, who had once served under Baron Brignais, "Do you have any knowledge of what happened to Brignais? I observed him in a state of great unease just now."

The reticent Sarkota glanced towards the café's glass window and replied, "Baron Brignais's illegitimate son has gone missing."

Illegitimate son? Gone missing? Lumian's thoughts immediately turned to the young lad Baron Brignais had picked up from the Suhit steam locomotive station.

-x-X-x-

"How did he go missing?" Lumian asked, puzzled.

Baron Brignais wasn't just a mob leader; he was a Beyonder, too. As long as he was attentive, how could he allow his child to disappear?

Moreover, who in the market district would dare to snatch his child?

Sarkota shook his head. "He didn't provide details."

Could it be the machinations of the Rose School of Thought, striving to expose the truth about the Savoie Mob from Baron Brignais? With recent events woven into the mix, Lumian had some unconfirmed theories.

After a brief pause of thought, he inquired, "Do you know what Brignais's illegitimate son looks like?"

Sarkota nodded. "The baron's underlings came by with a portrait that resembles a photograph."

A portrait that resembles a photograph… Had he invoked ritualistic magic? Lumian's memory recalled the contents of Aurore's grimoires.

Gazing at the brilliant sunlight streaming through the window, he turned to Sarkota.

"Gather some men and aid Brignais."

Regardless of whether the child was ensnared by the Rose School of Thought or had truly gone missing, if they couldn't locate him soon, the outcome would be grim.

At his age, even without additional complications, his fate as a street urchin wouldn't be kind.

"Understood." Sarkota refrained from inquiring why his boss had decided to lend a hand to Baron Brignais.

After all, it wasn't yet noon, and Salle de Bal Brise had just commenced operations. The real hustle and bustle didn't kick in until three or four in the afternoon. Apart from the janitors and kitchen staff, most folks had time aplenty.

Lumian ordered a glass of ice water topped with sugar-infused alcohol and stood on the café's balcony, observing the mobsters interrogating vagrants along Avenue du Marché.

After a while, "Rat" Christo appeared. The diminutive smuggling chief emerged from an alley, trailed by seven or eight dogs of varying hues and breeds, and entered the diagonally opposite alley.

Before long, he drew nearer to Salle de Bal Brise.

At this sight, Lumian finished the remaining alcohol, placed the glass on the railing, and leaped from the second floor to the street.

Christo, his two rat-like whiskers wiggling, approached with a sycophantic grin.

"Good morning, Ciel."

"Are you aiding Brignais in locating his illegitimate son?" Lumian inquired directly.

Christo nodded gently. "Indeed. He personally reached out to me for assistance. Coincidentally, these kids excel at tracking down people."

As the "Rat" spoke, he affectionately patted the dogs' heads.

They alternated between gathering and dispersing, following a distinct scent.

Baron Brignais truly cares for that illegitimate son… Lumian advised "Rat" Christo with a pensive air, "There might be something peculiar about this situation. Stay vigilant. I don't want you to go missing before finding the boy."

The Rose School of Thought being responsible for abducting the boy was always one of the possibilities.

Christo was taken aback, pondered for a moment, and remarked, "There's indeed something amiss. In recent years, we've never heard of Brignais having such a son. Moreover, he holds him in high regard. Why would the boy vanish?"

A sudden appearance of an illegitimate child? Lumian's intuition suggested this might be more intricate than he presumed.

After contemplating briefly, Christo gratefully said, "Ciel, your intellect surpasses mine."

"Don't you possess medicine to enhance your mind?" Lumian inquired, half jesting and half curious.

As Christo allowed the dogs to nuzzle his trousers, he sheepishly smiled and replied, "Indeed, but they're short-term solutions. Their effects are middling, nowhere near the potency of a potion. Damn it, excessive consumption can lead to complications."

Lumian shifted the conversation, asking, "Do you possess authentic mummy ashes?"

Christo assumed an enigmatic expression.

"How much do you require? I can provide you with the best version. That 'Little Minx' Jenna often frequents Franca. She's a tricky one. Just days ago, Franca inquired if I had genuine mummy ashes. Tsk, even the Boss is having trouble."

Ciel also had numerous dancers and actresses as mistresses. Despite his youth, he still relied on medicine.

"I mean true mummy ashes." Lumian stroked his chin.

"I don't." Christo shook his head. "That stuff is ineffective, and I don't know who propagated the falsehood, but I do have a concoction that can satisfy all your paramours. It's composed of various herbs; I merely claim mummy ashes as the primary ingredient."

"Did Franca buy it?" Lumian inquired with a grin.

"She did." Christo cooperatively chuckled. "Probably because the Boss is too embarrassed to approach me."

Her facade was impeccable. She concealed her true desires from the "Rat," seeking the so-called "ineffective" mummy ashes… Lumian sighed and confessed openly, "I need genuine mummy ashes. They possess mystical uses. Keep an eye out since you often engage with merchants trading in alchemical materials."

"No problem." Christo suspected that Ciel aimed to preserve his dignity and wouldn't acknowledge his quest for such a remedy. He insisted on mysticism as a pretext for seeking mummy ashes but didn't expose him. After all, it was a minor matter.

Observing Christo's persistent search for Baron Brignais's missing illegitimate son with his dogs, Lumian turned on his heel and made his way back to the dance hall.

As he was about to approach the bar counter, Termiboros's commanding voice reverberated in his ears: "To the cellar."

To the cellar… Lumian's initial thought was that the Inevitability angel had something planned.

"Which cellar?" he inquired.

"The one used to store ingredients," replied Termiboros.

So proactive, so eager… What's He plotting? Lumian began to wonder if there was an underlying scheme at play.

Termiboros continued, "It's a stroke of fate for you. Even if you don't go, it will find its way to you. It's destined."

You're giving me chills… Termiboros won't likely put me in immediate danger right now… What could be in that cellar… Lumian contemplated briefly and reckoned that the ingredient storage cellar was usually bustling around noon. In theory, there shouldn't be anything unusual or perilous.

After careful consideration, he decided to head to the cellar, listen at the door, and take a look. If he sensed anything awry, he would write to Madam Magician and inquire if he should heed Termiboros's advice and enter.

Amidst the greetings of the chefs, kitchen helpers, handymen, and dishwashing maids, Lumian crossed through the kitchen and descended the stairs to the ingredient storage cellar.

The cellar's dark-brown wooden door was securely shut, as usual.

Lumian strained his ears, intently listening for any signs of activity.

A faint chewing sound reached his ears.

It wasn't a dramatic sound, devoid of the horrifying notion of a creature devouring flesh. Rather, it resembled a tramp gnawing on food after a long bout of hunger.

Something's definitely amiss… Lumian cautiously pushed open the cellar door.

The light from the stairs seeped in, revealing a figure.

It was a boy of seven or eight, his back to Lumian. He had short yellow hair, a caramel coat, white stockings, and black strapless leather shoes. Behind him lay a dark red school bag that seemed somewhat weighty and sturdy.

Lumian found the attire oddly familiar.

Suddenly, he recalled where he'd seen it before.

Baron Brignais's illegitimate son!

So, his disappearance led him to hiding in the ingredient cellar of Salle de Bal Brise? Lumian had intended to take a quick glance before shutting the door and leaving to pen a letter to Madam Magician at Auberge du Coq Doré. Yet, upon realizing that the person in the cellar was likely Baron Brignais's illegitimate son, he furrowed his brow slightly and swung open the dark brown wooden door a bit more.

Additional light streamed in, causing the boy to instinctively turn and face the door.

Lumian caught sight of the brass buttons on his clothes, a black-and-white checkered shirt, and a linen coat. He saw a face with evident baby fat, unperturbed but vacant brown eyes, and a mouth smeared with blood.

The boy clutched a few raw steaks tinged with a dark red hue in his hand. His mouth kept opening and closing as he chewed on a vague mass of flesh resembling a rat. Its thin black tail gently swayed near his lips.

Lumian narrowed his eyes and slipped his left hand into his pocket.

The boy remained unperturbed, his gaze vacant as he continued staring at Lumian. He chewed a few more times before swallowing the bloody rat, tail and all.

Lumian arched an eyebrow and asked, "Are you Brignais's illegitimate son?"

"No," the boy mumbled, nibbling at a piece of raw steak.

"Then what's your connection?" Lumian queried in a "peaceful" manner.

After a while of eating raw steak, the boy answered, "He's my godfather and guardian in Trier."

Remarkably precise Intisian, hardly any accent… Lumian regarded the peculiar boy with puzzlement and probed, "Are you running away from home?"

"Yes," the boy replied, blood staining his mouth as he continued nibbling on the raw steak.

Behind him stretched a thick darkness, enveloped by the dim light from the corridor.

"Why did you flee from your godfather? Do you need me to help you return?" Lumian asked, offering a friendly smile, noticing that the other party was more amicable in conversation.

The boy shook his head vigorously.

"No! I don't want to go back to attending classes, studying, doing homework, taking practice tests, and sitting for exams!"

Wh— The boy's reasoning left Lumian oddly bewildered, as if he had glimpsed his own past.

He was intelligent and had no trouble attending classes, reading, or taking exams. He absorbed knowledge swiftly, but he disliked homework or practice tests. He relied on Aurore's "heartfelt education" to barely persevere. He often wished he could rope in Reimund, Ava, and his friends to do those tasks for him.

Is this rat-chewing enigma the fateful encounter Termiboros alluded to? Lumian pondered and inquired, "You don't seem to be from Intis?"

With an honest demeanor and a bloodied mouth, the boy responded, "I'm from Lenburg."

-x-X-x-

Lenburg? Baron Brignais's illegitimate son or godchild resides in Lenburg? Lumian was puzzled, his mind racing with playful guesses.

Lumian studied the young lad before him and asked in a laid-back tone, "Aren't you supposed to be hitting the books in Lenburg at your age? The education there is leagues ahead of what Trier offers."

The boy's face lit up with an oddly animated expression. "Nah, I'm not up for the daily grind of school, burning the midnight oil over homework, and tackling exams every month!"

Sounds a little terrifying… A shiver trickled down Lumian's spine at the thought of such a life.

At the very least, it didn't sit right with him.

Agreeing with a nod, Lumian casually asked, "Are live rats tasty?"

The boy regained his composure. "It's not exactly gourmet, but I can't be choosy when hunger gnaws. Waiting till midday to raid the kitchen doesn't cut it. True bliss is savoring a meal whipped up by a maestro chef. And some mild hunger pangs do add a certain… flair."

After explaining, he must have felt he came across too mature and quickly recalibrated.

"Can't blame me if your kitchen's dragging its feet until noon!"

Well, that's hardly the point, now, is it? When I was wandering about without a proper place to stay, I sure as heck didn't have any notions of munching on live rats. The big issue, of course, was that I couldn't even catch the pesky things. And if by some miracle I did, then I had to somehow figure out how to set up a fire, skin them, and roast them. But this kid right here? He's out here grabbing rats, using nothing but his own bare hands. His strength or maybe just his good luck isn't half bad, I'll give him that. It's not even an hour away from noon, and he's acting like he's got an insatiable hunger? The more Lumian looked at him, the more he was convinced there was something peculiar about this little lad.

Amused, he inquired, "Brignais didn't bother to feed you, then? Need me to escort you to the police headquarters so you can lodge a complaint about his child abuse?"

"Well, aside from pestering me about my studies, he's alright. He makes sure I have a proper meal every two hours. On top of that, he whips up cakes, biscuits, roasted meat, and pies for those midnight hunger pangs." A subtle lick of the lips revealed the boy's longing.

Are you a pig? Lumian had never eaten so much while undergoing puberty.

And yet, the lad didn't appear overweight, only solidly built.

In the blink of an eye, the boy's gaze shifted as he spoke in rapid succession, "Perhaps studying demands a lot of energy. I need all this sustenance to keep my brain firing on all cylinders."

Is there no saying about how "trying to explain is just a cover-up" in Lenburg's education? Your elaborate justification makes me wonder if your appetite is problematic… All this eating hasn't exactly made you a genius, has it? Lumian grinned and quipped, "If Brignais wasn't intentionally starving you, why resort to raw rats and steak?"

In a frustrated tone, the boy retorted, "I managed to slip away without breakfast or morning tea today!"

And yet, you're so famished that you're downing raw rats? If you go hungry for another half day or so, will you start eying pedestrians on the street? With a fluid motion, Lumian produced an iron-gray military flask from his shirt pocket.

His left hand slid into his trouser pocket, deftly unscrewing the cap of the flask before tucking it away.

Lumian raised the iron-gray metal flask, breathing in the fragrance with a satisfied grin. He inquired, his voice light, "Fancy a sip?"

Gulp! The boy's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed his saliva.

He's tasted it before, and he's taken a liking to it… Lumian passed his judgment and swallowed a mouthful of the spirit.

"Why're you asking?" the boy inquired cautiously.

Seeing the lack of alarm, Lumian breathed a sigh of relief. He tipped the flask again, the liquid gurgling.

He lowered the military flask, his expression bright as he spoke with clarity, "As a devout follower of the God of Steam and Machinery, I've got to verify the faith of those with uncertain origins."

"By steam!"

This time, Lumian spoke without the veil of alcohol.

Subconsciously, the boy shook his head.

"Words don't mean much. Just saying I believe in whichever deity doesn't make it true."

Lumian studied the boy's reaction. "It's true that folks from the orthodox Churches can sometimes claim belief in any deity without much sincerity, but they're harmless. I'm more concerned about worshipers of evil gods. They're fervent and unpredictable. They won't fake it to deceive others, believing that to be against their faith and blasphemous."

Instinctively, the boy retorted, "Not always. Some followers of evil gods will pose as adherents of the orthodox gods to further their holy missions. They can pray, attend rituals, join Mass, and chant the names of other gods without a second thought—as long as they repent to their own deity afterward, they reckon there's no issue…"

At that moment, the young lad abruptly halted. He exchanged gazes with Lumian and lapsed into a prolonged silence.

After a spell, he took a bite out of his uncooked steak and introduced himself, "I'm a believer of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom. The devoted faithful in our Church have this peculiar knack for pointing out slip-ups in the other party's speech, just like before. Yep, just like before!"

Lumian fixed a piercing gaze on the lad for a few beats before inquiring, "What might be the usual prayers at the God of Knowledge and Wisdom Church?"

Quick as a flash, the boy responded, "Like I was saying earlier, folks who believe in those evil gods can mutter the honorific name of an orthodox god with a heavy heart and toss out those prayers. You can't rightly figure out what's in others' minds unless you're a card-carrying member of the Eternal Blazing Sun Church and you've got it notarized that you won't lie…"

With that, the lad clammed up once more, his gaze fixed vacantly on Lumian.

After a brief pause, he stretched out his empty right hand, and pressed it to his forehead. "May wisdom be with you!"

Such a foolish fellow shouldn't be a spy sent by an evil god… From his intelligence, he's really a child… Lumian struggled to maintain his composure, requiring a concealed deep breath to regain control over his facial muscles.

"Indeed," he concurred, his lips curving into a smile. Mirroring the boy's action, he brushed his head with the base of the iron-gray military flask and uttered with significance, "May wisdom be with you!"

Without affording the boy a chance to reply, Lumian adopted an alluring tone. "Would you care to join me at the café on the second floor? I'll treat you to a proper meal. The chefs here are quite remarkable."

The boy swallowed visibly. "You won't turn against me, will you?"

"You can tail me the entire time. That way, I won't ever get a shot at double-crossing you." Lumian initiated a little trial, testing if the other guy's brains matched his looks and age, or maybe they lagged behind. "And mind you, we only prohibit the God of Knowledge and Wisdom Church from preaching in Intis or setting up a cathedral. We do let their believers cross the border. Trier's got the Lenburg Chamber of Commerce, you see."

The boy pondered for a moment and said, "Okay."

Lumian sized him up, withdrew his left hand, sealed the liquor flask, and tucked the iron-gray flask back in his brown coat.

With that, Lumian pivoted and ascended the stairs.

The kid stuck to him, politely shutting the cellar's deep-brown door behind him.

Seeing Lumian whirl around, the kid explained earnestly, "If it's left open, the food inside will spoil."

"True enough." Lumian pulled his gaze and climbed up the stairs.

The kid trailed him close, eyes peeled for any odd moves, any signs of betrayal.

Lumian steered him into the kitchen, then upstairs to the café on the second floor and ordered a set meal.

In no time, the spread hit the table: fried veal steak, grilled eel, roasted leg of lamb, chicken pie, red wine, and cream.

Lumian settled in, watching the kid wolfing down like he was bottomless.

Every now and then, he tossed a comment,

"Veal is crisped good, but the meat is nothing special…

"Sweet sauce masks the eel's fishiness, but it makes it greasy…

"Leg of lamb is roasted just right, crispy outside, tender inside. Spices are off a touch, though. Too much fennel…

"…"

Just eat. Why are you so talkative… Lumian silently watched the boy eat the table full of food with a satisfied expression.

Fifteen minutes later, Baron Brignais walked in from the second-floor entrance, donning a half top hat with a diamond ring shining.

The boy turned in surprise and glanced back at Lumian.

Lumian smiled and said, "Did you think I'm the only one here who knows you?"

The boy was startled as he fell silent.

Baron Brignais walked up to Lumian and said with unconcealed relaxation, "Appreciate it, Ciel."

"Just so happened to catch him skulking around in the cellar, munching on something," Lumian responded, his voice warm and friendly.

Baron Brignais gave him a sidelong glance before shifting his attention to the boy. "Time to head back, Ludwig."

Ludwig, the young boy, remained silent. Swiftly, he polished off the last remnants of his meal and rose from his seat.

"Ciel, we'll catch up," Baron Brignais directed a nod at Lumian.

Seated opposite, Lumian observed as Baron Brignais clasped Ludwig's hand, their departure imminent. Lumian's lips curved again before saying, "Don't forget to settle the tab."

Baron Brignais displayed a hint of surprise. His eyes flickered, suggesting a momentary uncertainty in his initial assessment.

Yet without uttering a word, he withdrew a wallet brimming with banknotes and promptly covered the cost of Ludwig's meal.

Lumian maintained a contemplative silence, watching the duo disappear down the stairwell. Leaning back in his chair, he murmured softly, his voice a mere whisper, "Temiboros, where exactly is the stroke of fate you mentioned?"

-x-X-x-

Though Lumian maintained a cautious skepticism toward Termiboros, his curiosity about the enigmatic "stroke of fate" continued to gnaw at him.

The way Termiboros had alluded to the Earth Blood ore as an "encounter" had caught his attention. Could this time involve Ludwig, the young boy?

There was something off about this fellow, something amiss. Yet, as their conversation unfolded, Lumian came to acknowledge Ludwig's intelligence, origins, and apparent devotion to the God of Knowledge and Wisdom. Despite this interaction, Lumian found himself gaining no true insights or foresight. It was unlike his understanding of the Earth Blood ore's potential, which hinged on specific conditions of going underground, finding the right area to encounter something.

Once again, Termiboros's powerful voice reverberated through Lumian.

"The moment will reveal itself."

"Can't you people make yourself clear?" Lumian's frustration surged, his blood boiling in his veins..

"I'm unlike what you consider people," Termiboros responded, straightforwardly. "I'm a Mythical Creature."

"…" Lumian was left speechless, taken aback. He forced a scoff and retorted, "I doubt even your sealed form can truly grasp fate's threads. Each time, your answers are mired in vagueness. What sets you apart from amateurs in the Divination Club? If you possess the power, reveal clearly where my next opportunity lies!"

Termiboros responded with a deep tone, "Tonight, at 11 p.m., Rist Docks, Warehouse 3."

Huh? Surprise coursed through Lumian; Termiboros's hint was unexpected.

Yet, within his astonishment, puzzlement persisted.

Inevitability's angel is that kind?

As a high-ranking Alms Monk, He shouldn't have been provoked so easily to interpret my fate…

Could there be an ulterior motive?

Regardless, I'll consult Madam Magician's insight first.

Lumian decided swiftly. He rose, departed Salle de Bal Brise, and embarked on a journey to Rue des Blouses Blanches.

Executing a simple act of arson, he could initiate the initial potion digestion step and contemplate gaining a Contractee boon. Despite his anxiety, Lumian refused to lower his guard against Termiboros.

Within Rue des Blouses Blanches, in the safe house.

Lumian meticulously documented the particulars regarding Ludwig and Termiboros's clue. Subsequently, he conducted a ritual, summoning the doll-like messenger.

As Lumian awaited Madam Magician's response, he delved into a trove of information concerning spirit world creatures. Reading the descriptions of certain knowledge consumed a substantial amount of his spirituality. Some even induced dizziness, nausea, frustration, headache, a burning sensation, and illusions.

Similar to Aurore's grimoires' portrayal of profound knowledge about deities and high-level creatures, this information is fraught with intense corruption and perilous ramifications. If all the knowledge that pursues humans bear such attributes, it's genuinely chilling. The prospect of losing oneself upon hearing it or succumbing to immediate demise is unsettling… Thus, Lumian punctuated his reading to safeguard his mental well-being from plummeting to precarious thresholds.

After poring through descriptions of approximately 30 to 40 spirit world creatures, Lumian stumbled upon a figure he recognized.

"Rabbit of Knowledge:

"Weak spirit world creature, friendly to humans and possesses an innate thirst for knowledge. Their summons are rarely declined.

"Diverse experiences yield distinct Rabbits of Knowledge. Shared traits include mastery of various languages, spoken and written communication skills, and adept reading capabilities. Extracting salient information from extensive knowledge is their forte, and their transcription speed outpaces even mechanical typewriters.

"Drawback: Limited communication finesse and inflexible thinking. Some Rabbits of Knowledge have been tainted by anomalous knowledge, evolving into significant hazards. To summon, restrict choices to the friendly and weak."

So, it goes by the name "Rabbit of Knowledge." Summoning this entity in the future should be more targeted… Yet, its abilities and attributes are of limited value. If I had gone as per Aurore's vision of university enrollment, I would benefit from its multilingual proficiency and strong reading skills… Noteworthy, the text omits mention of its speed within the spirit realm, implying its negligible worth in that aspect. It moves sluggishly, drains spirituality… Lumian lowered the document, massaged his temples, and embarked on his third respite.

During this juncture, the messenger bore Madam Magician's response:

"I share curiosity regarding what encounter the lad named Ludwig would bring. His appearance in Trier intrigues me; motivations remain nebulous.

"Vigilance is prudent. His existence carries intrigue.

"Proceed. The window of acting presents itself to me as well."

Can't you people make things clear… Lumian's lips twitched, absorbing the succinct message.

However, a nuanced sense emerged that Madam Magician's opening sentence wasn't an immediate response. It resonated more as a condensed echo of her contemplations.

In essence, Madam Magician, imbued with her astromancy prowess, struggled to glean Ludwig's fate. Her perceptions seemed clouded, suggesting she only harbored conjectures.

The obscurity surrounding Ludwig's destiny, evident in her inability to perceive it, spoke volumes.

…

At 10:50 p.m., at Rist Docks, outside Warehouse 3.

Lumian took cover in the shadows, poised to seize the much-anticipated opening for action.

Soon enough, two silhouettes approached Warehouse 3, drawing within a mere five to six meters of Lumian.

One of them spoke hushedly, riddled with concern, "Héctor, the accountants arrive tomorrow for an audit. How do we address this? Shall I hire a thief to pilfer the account records?"

"What purpose would that serve? The moment they inspect the warehouse, suspicion will arise. Our remaining stock barely equals a tenth of the required amount." Héctor's tone escalated, simmering with intensity. "If we're to proceed, we ought to do so comprehensively by reducing the warehouse to ashes. This way, any discrepancies would remain concealed."

I see… Listening closely, Lumian deduced his cue to act.

As his companion wavered, Héctor interjected, "Fires are commonplace in Trier, normalized in everyone's mind. Moreover, igniting them ourselves isn't necessary. The market district swarms with miscreants and rogues. Once the time is ripe, we can entice them to vacate Trier with a handsome fee.

"Honoré, we can't wait any longer. You must decide now."

Honoré paused, then spoke resolutely, "Agreed! We'll locate Guy and recruit him into our plan!"

The duo conducted a swift survey of the warehouse's surroundings before departing for the docks, en route to rendezvous with their comrade, Guy.

After a brief trek, the sky abruptly reddened, casting an incandescent hue across the scene. Simultaneously, the crackle of flames resounded.

Honoré and Héctor instinctively spun around, bearing witness to an inferno emerging. Vermilion flames surged, fierce and ravenous, soaring to engulf the structure.

"Fire, fire…" Héctor mumbled, a glint of realization dawning. "Indeed, fire! Praise the Sun, it's a fire!"

Honoré exhibited a similar reaction, his right hand tracing a triangular Sacred Emblem over his chest, lips moving in muted invocation.

Yet, within the momentary elation, disquiet brewed within Honoré's senses.

Trepidation tinted his voice as he discerned, "The warehouse isn't aflame. It's our office!"

Positioned meters away from the warehouse was their office—a modest gray two-story edifice.

The expanse separating it from the warehouse remained empty, devoid of combustible material.

"…" Héctor's visage contorted in terror. Clenching his jaw, he spoke with grim resolve, "We must set fire to the warehouse now!"

Even as the words left his lips, an explosion erupted from the locus of crimson flames.

Though not seismic, the detonation garnered the attention of dock workers and firefighters.

"Fire! Fire!" The clamor resounded as responders converged. In Trier, a city renowned for frequent conflagrations, firefighters were seasoned in addressing such crises.

Observing the scene, Héctor and Honoré, who hadn't reached Warehouse 3, slumped onto the roadside, their vigor sapped.

At the entrance of the dock.

Albus, his hair now a fiery hue, averted his gaze from the raging blaze to the middle-aged man at his side.

"Monsieur Guy, your colleague seems even more agitated than you."

Guy's complexion paled as he shook his head in bewilderment.

"The warehouse wasn't the target of the fire…"

A pause lingered before Albus sneered.

"I warned you already. Hesitation begets mishaps. Now, ponder your escape. May you be more decisive this time."

Beside the unassuming two-story structure, Lumian gazed upon the soaring flames. The timber and flammable materials metamorphosed into an ephemeral dragon, casting his countenance in fiery red, eyes alight with fervor.

With a grin, he advanced toward the blaze.

The duo's intent to commit arson entailed erasing incriminating evidence by reducing the warehouse to ashes. However, Lumian's purpose was to generate turmoil, inviting scrutiny that would unearth the discrepancies within the warehouse!

Such was the duty of a responsible citizen.

A mantle of flames enveloped Lumian, adhering to his attire obediently—merely a hair's breadth from ignition.

Donning the flaming cloak, Lumian marched into the roaring blaze.

Fire coalesced with fire, repelling smoke. Effortlessly traversing the structure, Lumian exited on the opposite end of the dock.

Following the arson, Lumian acquired a rudimentary mastery over the potion's powers. He tamed it, dispelling the burning sensation on his skin and the trepidation in his heart.

While his potion digestion remained incomplete, Lumian had already adapted to his present state, giving him the capacity to receive an additional Inevitability boon.

…

After carrying out a few rounds of anti-tracking, Lumian returned to the safe house on Rue des Blouses Blanches.

Initiating the initial step of digesting the Pyromaniac potion prior to tracking down the padre filled him with satisfaction. He maintained a smile, yet his demeanor faltered upon glimpsing the towering pile of dense information within the iron cabinet.

It would take at least a month or two to finish reading them!

How could he identify an apt contracted creature in so brief a span?