44 COI

Lumian shifted his focus away from thoughts of Roche Louise Sanson, the Soul Summoning Spell, and April Fool's. He began recounting the tale from the very beginning, all at the behest of Franca.

"In the wake of the Cordu disaster, I found myself tainted by the corruption of the evil god, Inevitability. Fortunately, the protection granted to me by Mr. Fool allowed me to retain my sanity, preventing me from transforming into a monster.

"This corruption, a curse and yet a blessing, is now being extracted in stages, as per the instructions of Madam Magician. The aim is to channel this corruption into my own power, finding equilibrium with the corresponding Sequence Beyonder characteristic."

Franca was enlightened.

"So, what you were referring to as a 'special contract' is essentially the power of a Contractee? No wonder you mentioned it's impossible for me to learn it."

Since Lumian didn't know the powers of a Sequence 6 of the Inevitability pathway, she deduced his current state as a dual Sequence 7 Pyromaniac and Contractee.

Lumian nodded.

"That's why Guillaume Bénet doesn't dare to meddle with my fate recklessly. The degree of corruption within me is rather substantial."

A sudden revelation crossed Franca's mind. "To require Mr. Fool's safeguard, it means there must be godhood involved. Could there be a chance for me to receive similar boons?"

Do you want to give everything a shot? Lumian clicked his tongue and asked, "Are you prepared to seek out the Great Mother, engaging in daily cycles of pregnancy, childbirth, and breastfeeding? Alternatively, do you wish to put faith in the Mother Tree of Desire and drag stray dogs to bed?"

"Hiss…" Franca gasped and said, "I was merely musing. Engaging in the risky business of following an evil god is out of the question for me. The immediacy of gaining Mr. Fool's protection by merely brushing against the power of an evil god, much like you, is a rarity indeed."

"This isn't a mere brush against power." To dispel Franca's unrealistic thoughts, Lumian divulged a little more. "The power of Inevitability is sealed within me. In essence, I beseech Mr. Fool and the corruption within me, for a boon instead of the entity known as Inevitability. This approach is pivotal for ensuring my very survival. Otherwise, I risk becoming unrecognizable or just dying abruptly."

Franca instinctively exhaled and said, "Just tell me about the Spell of Harrumph."

Lumian restructured his narrative, stating, "To prevent any indirect influences from Inevitability, I gave up the strange creatures that accompanied the knowledge bestowed by the boon. Instead, I obtained a wealth of information about creatures from the spirit world through Madam Magician. You know the rest.

"The Spell of Harrumph originates from a creature of the spirit world that I summoned. Initially, I aimed to summon the Shadow of Shriek. However, whether due to my invocation being witnessed by Mr. Fool or my summoning incantation lacking precision, I can't say for certain, but the entity I summoned greatly diverged from the description of the Shadow of Shriek…"

Lumian delineated the relevant summoning incantation, the concept driving its formulation, the Armored Shadow's visual attributes, and its array of capabilities, all in meticulous detail. He even used his barely-passable drawing skills to illustrate a rudimentary schematic.

Fish Scale Armor… Spell of Harrumph… Night Parade of Ten Thousand Demons… Soul Devouring Scream… Franca softly uttered these names to herself while gazing at the sketch on the coffee table, her gaze seemingly distant.

Lumian probed, "Is there an issue?"

Were Aurore present, would she also react in a similar fashion?

Franca snapped back to the present, her expression a blend of solemnity and exhilaration.

"That Armored Shadow might very well be from our world!"

"The world that you guys come from?" Lumian hadn't expected such an answer.

Yet, it made sense. The armor's design and the ability names bore a distinctive uniqueness, setting them apart from the present world.

Franca confirmed tersely.

"There are many countries in our world, and the culture and language of each country are different. The Armored Shadow is very similar to some entity in the myths and legends of the country your sister and I hail from."

"Are you from the same country as Aurore?" Lumian was most concerned about this.

He paused a beat before continuing, "Did Mr. Fool's might, combined with my imprecise incantation, summon the Armored Shadow from your world? Or did he transmigrate long ago, much like you, eventually transforming into a spirit world shadow after his demise?"

Franca said excitedly, "If it's the former, it could signify a bridge between our two worlds. This implies the potential for our return! If it's the latter, the question arises: how did he use the capabilities of our original world? Did he bring these skills along, or did he acquire them at a later time?"

Resolving these mysteries would inch her closer to the truth of transmigration, potentially paving the path back home!

Franca rose from her seat, her eyes gleaming with intrigue as she faced Lumian.

"Can you summon the Armored Shadow? I'm keen to witness it firsthand."

"I have a pact with him. The need to invoke Mr. Fool's intervention is eliminated for precise summoning," Lumian observed Franca's evident enthusiasm, as though she was readying to assist in setting up the altar. Steering the conversation, he added, "Nonetheless, I perceive him to be immensely dangerous. While under Mr. Fool's aegis, the danger is mitigated. However, if that protection wanes, we could well find ourselves killed by the shadow. Yet, should we remain sheltered by Mr. Fool, direct communication remains an impossibility, precluding spirit channeling. We can solely execute the summoning rite."

Franca frowned in disappointment.

"What's our course of action then?"

Lumian pondered for a moment and said, "Wait till I gather 100,000 verl d'or worth of gold and fulfill the contract.

"By doing so, the pact's power shall act as our shield, enabling us to figure out why the Armored Shadow demands such a substantial sum."

After a thoughtful pause that spanned nearly a minute, Franca finally exhaled.

"That's all we can do for now."

Initially, her intention had been to promptly corroborate the situation concerning the Armored Shadow and extract pertinent insights from it. Subsequently, she planned to inform the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society, pooling their collective effort to unearth viable solutions. However, for the time being, she had no choice but to defer these actions.

After a period of immersion in the summoning incantation, it became evident that Franca's success rate in summoning was rather low, presumably due to an imprecise methodology. While it was possible that a Shadow of Shriek could be summoned, Lumian surmised that by omitting a particular descriptive line and using "Lumian Lee's contracted creature," the target could be pinpointed more precisely.

After a while, Jenna returned with a spread of coffee, treats, and meatloaf. The ravenous appetites that had ensued from their prior battle now found their solace in afternoon tea.

As evening approached, Anthony Reid, masquerading as a clerk, made his return to Apartment 601 at 3 Rue des Blouses Blanches.

"How did it go?" Lumian's concern was evident, unabashedly displayed.

With his weathered top hat set aside, Anthony nodded slightly.

"I trailed the lady, her butler, valet, maid, and carriage driver to 20 Rue de la Terrasse, within the library district.

"It appears to be an alternate residence of sorts, akin to a safe house."

Franca turned her gaze towards Lumian, inquiring, "Should we maintain surveillance?"

Lumian ruminated for a beat and then grinned.

"No need. Periodic checks to ensure they haven't left will suffice."

"Why?" Jenna had expected Ciel to rush to deal with them to gather more information.

Lumian's smile was radiant.

"Behind them stands an organization known as the Sinners. Their point of contact is likely aware of Guillaume Bénet's demise, prompting them to disengage and erase any traces, making investigation thorny.

"Yet, if the Sinners find that they had managed to evade our pursuit and that there's no surveillance, what might come to pass?

"Perhaps a connection will be reestablished!

"Only authentic non-surveillance can convince the Sinners that the issue has faded. They could then become active anew, crawling out from their rat's nest!"

Dammit… Jenna cursed silently.

Ciel is so sinister!

Anthony, having garnered significant intel, claimed two-thirds of the final 15,000 verl d'or, leaving Jenna with a share of 5,000.

As banknotes were deftly stowed away within assorted pockets, Anthony Reid turned his attention to Lumian.

"I'm eager to delve into the secrets surrounding Hugues Artois and the truth behind his treachery. I hope to begin the investigation soon."

This was the primary reason for his involvement in the operation.

"Very well." Lumian had already discussed this matter with Jenna and Franca.

Jenna was set to glean relevant details from the Purifiers.

As Franca was highly excited about the Armored Shadow matter, she took the initiative to suggest,

"I have acquaintances from Loen. I'll see if I can obtain a battle record from the Loen military. It might shed new light on the situation."

"That's a good idea." Anthony Reid's eyes lit up.

The notion of soliciting the truth directly from the attacker had not previously crossed his mind.

…

On Rue Anarchie's forever-bustling nights, Lumian, relinquishing the task of divining the incantations to Franca, walked towards Auberge du Coq Doré. There, his intent was to summon the messenger of Madam Magician, intending to relay matters regarding Guillaume Bénet, the Sinners organization, and the Armored Shadow. Concurrently, he hoped she could relay to Madam Justice and Madam Susie his readiness for their final therapy session.

Under the cool embrace of the night breeze, Lumian's thoughts unfurled languidly.

After learning from Franca about the shared trait among members of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society, Lumian's impression of Aurore crystallized.

Of course, the vagueness was something he didn't understand at first, but he deemed it of little consequence. Investigations were unwarranted.

It's no wonder that Aurore severed her familial ties to reside in Cordu, a frontier village. It's no wonder that she harbors a disinclination towards Trier. It's no wonder she always says strange words and likes to explain to me what they mean. It's no wonder her novels were different from the contemporary ones. It's no wonder she likes to say 'a certain philosopher from home once said' only to substitute it with 'Emperor Roselle once said'… Lumian ruminated in a wordless, contemplative cadence, a sensation of calm washing over him, as if he wasn't strolling on Rue Anarchie but Cordu.

It was a place he could never return to.

Simultaneously, Lumian gained an understanding of the symbolic elements in the dream.

Aurore's acquisition of the land previously occupied by a deceased Warlock—could this embody her possession of Roche Louise Sanson's body?

Consequently, might the legendary Warlock, Roche Louise Sanson, symbolize the original adherents of Inevitability?

Mr. Poet failed to interpret the dual symbolic meanings because he lacked crucial information previously. He had solely indicated to Lumian that they likely bore their own significance.

As his thoughts raced, Lumian returned to Room 207 and saw a simple folded letter on the table.

Letter? This doesn't seem like Madam Magician's… Lumian walked over, alarmed and suspicious. He picked up the letter and unfolded it.

Two lines of elegant Intisian script graced the parchment:

"I have arrived in Trier.

"Hela."

-x-X-x-

Madame Hela has arrived in Trier? Lumian held the letter with a countenance etched in complexity.

She had advised Lumian to keep a vigilant watch over Muggle's familial roots, surmising it to be a promising avenue of investigation.

Sheer coincidence, or is there another reason? Lumian pondered briefly before easing into his seat. Beneath the carbide lamp's glow, he set pen to paper, commencing correspondence with Madam Magician.

In succinct prose, he relayed the day's occurrences, his discourse with Franca, and the conundrum of the Armored Shadow. While he withheld no mention of Hela's arrival, he refrained from disclosing the fact that the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society's members hailed from an alternate world.

Approximately half an hour later, Lumian received a response from Magician:

"Giving up on the creature accompanying the boon and autonomously choosing a contract partner from the spirit world was a prudent choice. Your transition into an Inevitability Hunter, with the bestowed of the Inevitability pathway as your objective, proves that my subtle guidance bore fruit after all."

At this point, Lumian was a little puzzled.

When had Madam Magician ever hinted at forgoing the strange creatures that came with the boon?

Suddenly, a realization surged forth.

Before praying for a Contractee boon, unaware that the mystical knowledge it brought would encompass contract targets, Madam Magician had offered him information on creatures from the spirit world for his consideration.

It was indeed a hint, but did it have to be so subtle? Lumian mused that those skilled in divination or enamored with astromancy seemed averse to straightforward elucidation. Instead, they favored dropping crumbs of insight or weaving riddles imperceptible to others.

After figuring this out, Lumian lowered his head and resumed poring over Madam Magician's response.

"Sinners, a secret organization that venerates Inevitability, has been around for more than six years. Its origins can be traced back to the closing stages of the Loen Kingdom, the Feysac Empire, and the Intis Republic's war. Roche Louise Sanson, the name you mentioned, might have been an adherent of Inevitability, though perhaps not granted its corresponding boons. In sum, that war provided evil gods more crevices for invading our world.

"You've likely discerned the close connection between Roche Louise Sanson and your sister Aurore. To a certain extent, they're one, yet not wholly distinct personas. Much like the Rebirth ability, your sister carried a prior background, resurrecting within the departed body of Roche Louise Sanson. According to the normative progression, your sister should've taken such a path:

"Integration of Roche's memories and sentiments→internal conflict→a prelude to dissociative identity disorder→self-harmony→embracing a fresh existence.

"If self-reconciliation fell short, engaging a genuine Psychiatrist was requisite.

"Judging by your sister's behavior during the first five years, even if her self-harmony remained incomplete, she fared reasonably well. Likely, her disquiet was manageable. Yet, she found Roche's association with an evil god unacceptable. This unresolved matter provided an opening for the Soul Summoning Spell.

"Just as you're puzzled, why would she want to use the Soul Summoning Spell on herself? It's a crucial question…

"I suspect that Sinners is not only the secret organization's name, but also a Sequence 2 or Sequence 1 of the Inevitability pathway.

"The entity known as Inevitability does have authority over the past, present, and future. You glimpsed this in your dream, did you not? Sinners of the past and Sufferers of the present, do they not harmonize splendidly? But what befits the future?"

He was relatively calm now. Be it the real Roche Louise Sanson's revival or Aurore's dissociative identity and the vestige of spirit unveiled through the Soul Summoning Spell, he could embrace either without much hardship.

Lumian released a deliberate, slow breath, shifting his gaze towards the letter behind.

"The Armored Shadow problem is very complicated. Neither you nor the Two of Cups should be privy to the specifics at this juncture. In fact, prior to your summoning of such a shadow, I'd only heard of analogous entities from Mr. Hanged Man. He's come across them only three or four times, one instance even within a dream.

"In the future, as you summon the Armored Shadow again and fulfill your commitment, remember to write to me and inform me of any noted changes."

Mr. Hanged Man… The holder of the Hanged Man card in the Tarot Club? Responsible for addressing the problem with the other world? Lumian's mind engaged earnestly, realizing Madam Magician's implicit message: This entails a matter of high caliber. Details are beyond your grasp for now, but you can investigate and follow leads within your capabilities.

This implies the Tarot Club's vested interest in the world represented by the Armored Shadow… Lumian tacitly nodded, his focus returning to the remnants of the letter.

"I'll notify you when the timing for the final psychiatric treatment is confirmed…

"Your mystical item should be ready within the upcoming week…

"Meet Hela. No glaring concerns on my end. You might even hint that Aurore's anomaly might have stemmed from the sale of the Soul Summoning Spell by an April Fool's member, gauging her reaction. As for telling her about the Armored Shadow, it's up to you and the Two of Cups."

Lumian lightly brushed his fingertips, causing the crimson flames to set the letter alight.

After completing this task, he composed a response to Hela.

"Honorable Madame Hela, if it suits you, let's meet tomorrow at 10 a.m. at Quartier de l'Observatoire's Little Cow Café on Rue Ancienne."

Lumian had initially planned to choose a meeting spot in the market district he knew well. But the risk of the Iron and Blood Cross Order spotting him with a stranger was too high.

His second option was to pick a café or beer house near a cathedral. However, he felt that this might come off as overly cautious. It would seem as if he could seek refuge in the cathedral if anything went awry. But the truth was, he didn't dare to hide there.

In the end, he settled on Rue Ancienne, the street where Salle de Bal Unique was situated.

When the time came, if there was something amiss with Hela, he would draw the danger to the dance hall that set his nerves on edge. He wanted to see if he could manipulate the troublemakers into turning against each other.

After receiving Hela's response and confirming the time and place, Lumian returned to Rue des Blouses Blanches with the Earth Blood ore. He knocked on Franca and Jenna's door once more.

Franca was still dressed in her usual attire, not having changed into her nightwear. She looked at Lumian with a puzzled expression and asked, "Why are you here again?"

Instead of answering, Lumian inquired, "Where's Jenna?"

"Why do you need to know? She received a payment from you and left to visit her brother," Franca replied, sensing that Lumian had serious matters to discuss.

Only then did Lumian bring up his meeting with Hela the next day. Finally, he posed the question, "Should I mention Armored Shadow?"

"Not yet. We'll wait until we have a clearer picture," Franca said after careful consideration. "For now, don't mention me. Act as if we've never met."

A chuckle escaped Lumian's lips. "You're suspicious of everyone."

Once the details were confirmed, Lumian glanced at Franca. "Are you heading out?"

"Yes, I'm going to Rue des Fontaines to find Gardner," Franca replied openly, a mischievous grin on her face. "I'm going to introduce him to some real pleasure."

Lumian was momentarily speechless.

Franca let out a soft laugh.

"I don't have much of a choice. Since neither you nor Jenna are helping me, I need to find someone else to share in the pleasure."

Without waiting for Lumian's response, she added with a smile, "I'll also tell Gardner that I took part in your operation against your enemy at Jenna's request, and that I received a substantial share of the spoils."

Lumian was surprised. "I thought you'd keep it a secret from him."

Franca chuckled and explained, "That guy is actually a very suspicious person. In most cases, telling him the truth works better than keeping things from him."

As Lumian nodded in agreement, Franca recalled something.

"The ritualistic incantations have been divined. The dispelling incantation is 'His Grace,' and the usage incantations are 'Cow,' 'Sheep,' and 'Dog.' It depends on the type of hide used. Everything's in Hermes."

With that, the Demoness waved her hand and left with a joyful demeanor.

The dispelling incantation is 'His Grace'… The padre sure has a taste for power… Lumian entered Apartment 601, grabbed the five ritualistic hides, and made his way to his safe house.

Of course, he didn't forget to lock the door for Franca.

…

The following morning, on Rue Ancienne, Quartier de l'Observatoire.

Lumian walked among the vintage buildings, realizing that Salle de Bal Unique and the Alone bar remained closed at this hour.

Ding ding ding. A postman pedaled by in a blue floral coat.

Lumian diverted his gaze from the firmly shut door of Salle de Bal Unique and continued his stroll, heading towards the café named Little Cow.

-x-X-x-

Little Cow Café served the working-class folks of the nearby streets, offering them affordable breakfast and lunch options. Even amidst the bustling night market, patrons could enjoy a hearty and satisfying meal for just 1 verl d'or. Many individuals with modest incomes, such as motel attendants, restaurant handymen, and cleaning staff earning between 60 to 80 verl d'or per month, frequented the café either alone or with their families every couple of weeks to treat themselves.

When Lumian finally arrived, the bustling breakfast rush had subsided. The café had only a handful of customers, and the staff seemed somewhat fatigued, lacking any enthusiasm.

After placing an order for a cup of Macael coffee brewed from ground coffee beans, Lumian settled into the designated spot, patiently awaiting Hela's arrival.

As the cuckoo wall clock in the café struck the hour, a woman pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Clad in an intriguing black dress, she emitted an enigmatic allure, reminiscent of the attire one might expect from a widow.

Upon spotting the woman approaching, Lumian straightened up and scrutinized her intently.

Her skin possessed an unnaturally pale complexion, as though she had been shielded from sunlight for an extended period. Light golden hair cascaded naturally over her shoulders, soft yet lacking in luster. Her eyes seemed to absorb all available light, rendering them dark and impervious to revealing their true color. Though her facial features were rather attractive, they didn't leave a distinct impression on Lumian. It was almost as though her cold demeanor had cast a shadow, preventing him from forming a complete assessment.

Her icy demeanor didn't merely create distance; it seemed to emanate from within her, causing the ambient temperature to dip slightly.

Before Lumian could discern more details, the woman seated herself across from him and inquired in a chilly tone, "Muggle's brother?"

Although Lumian had already surmised that this was Madame Hela, her directness caught him slightly off guard.

He hadn't expected her to appear without any attempt at disguise, seemingly unconcerned about potential betrayal.

Lumian didn't use the Niese Face or the Mystery Prying Glasses, but he usually employed basic disguises. Relying on his distinctive golden-black hair and simple makeup, he maintained enough divergence from the Lumian Lee depicted in the wanted posters.

Perhaps this is a form of disguise that I can't detect… Lumian offered a polite smile and nodded. "Madame Hela?"

The lady nodded slightly, acknowledging her identity.

"May I offer you something to drink?" Lumian asked politely.

Hela didn't stand on ceremony.

"A glass of absinthe, and a triple espresso shot."

Drinking liquor at 10 a.m., quite the match for my habits… And she even goes for a triple shot of Reem espresso… Did she have a sleepless night? Or perhaps a night of drinking, seeking absinthe to clear her senses? Lumian lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers, signaling the waiter.

Once the light-green absinthe and the strong Reem espresso arrived in front of Hela, Lumian surveyed his surroundings to ensure a secure environment for their conversation.

Gulp… Hela downed half the glass of absinthe in one swift motion, her pale face gradually regaining some color.

Setting the glass down, she turned a ring on her right middle finger using her left thumb and index finger.

The ring possessed an elegant simplicity, a black diamond with numerous facets set into a base of pure silver.

As Hela rotated the ring gently, Lumian experienced a subtle shift in the surroundings, as if the ambient light had dimmed.

"No one can eavesdrop on us now." Hela's voice retained its chilly demeanor.

Impressive… This mastery goes beyond Franca's abilities. Truly befitting of a member of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society who has ventured farthest along the paths of the divine… Lumian maintained his gaze on Hela's black eyes that possessed a light-swallowing intensity. He proceeded with calm composure.

"I've made some new discoveries recently."

Hela remained silent, her gaze fixed on Lumian, awaiting further disclosure.

"I've caught Guillaume Bénet." Lumian conveyed this without an air of boastfulness; it was akin to a bartender at Salle de Bal Brise mentioning the concoction of a new cocktail.

Hela's response was a nod, displaying scant interest in the specifics of Guillaume Bénet's capture.

Commencing with Guillaume Bénet, Lumian recounted the transformations of Muggle—Aurore—detailing the peculiarities that arose, including the appearance of the lizard-like elf and the name Roche Louise Sanson.

In conclusion, he presented a stack of papers.

"This is the grimoire my sister penned three months prior to the spread of Inevitability's faith in Cordu. Please review it and ascertain any irregularities."

Throughout the narrative, Hela remained an attentive listener. Yet, her emotional fluctuations and facial expressions remained limited. Only when Lumian mentioned the second appearance of the lizard-like elf and uttered the name "Roche Louise Sanson," did she exhibit a slight frown.

Hela, who had maintained silence, swiftly perused the grimoire, her pace almost supernatural, as though she could glean mystical insights from its pages with each flip, detecting any anomalies.

After a span of five to six minutes, she extracted a page from her notebook.

It bore the Soul Summoning Spell that Aurore had documented.

Only members of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society and those sharing common experiences would detect the issue at a glance… Lumian found himself stirred by a sudden wave of emotion.

Hela raised the absinthe once more, finishing the rest of the dreamy green liquid in a single gulp.

After finishing it, she turned her gaze to Lumian and spoke, "What are your thoughts on the matter of the lizard-like elf?"

"I've heard rumors that Heaven has banished a group of elves in recent times. Among them are some who bear resemblance to diaphanous lizards," Lumian responded. He refrained from delving into the symbolic interpretations that Mr. Poet had provided, instead opting to present the account provided by the official investigator, Ryan.

Hela's complexion took on a slightly rosier hue, the chill in her demeanor diminishing.

"I possess certain insights into these elves and have conducted a degree of study on them.

"They were not banished from Heaven. It's plausible that they originated from an alternate realm. Aligning certain folklore and events in the alternate realm, coupled with the passage of time, may have allowed elements from the alternate realm to permeate the spirit world and enter our world.

"At present, this is a hypothesis I personally have. I haven't substantiated it as yet. I simply wish to convey that I've studied the phenomenon of these elves in recent years and have personally encountered the diaphanous lizard-like elves you described. However, they differ from the diaphanous lizard-like beings you've mentioned."

"Not true elves?" Lumian expressed no surprise at this assertion. After all, Ryan and his colleagues had been theorizing, and Mr. Poet's perspective leaned towards an affiliation with a different faction.

Hela chose not to elaborate, confirming Lumian's suspicion with a nod.

"I will continue to search for similar motifs in elf legends from various sources."

Having said that, she spun the grimoire containing the Soul Summoning Spell and pushed it toward Lumian.

"This is likely where your sister's problem originates."

Lumian's eyes conveyed his anticipation for an explanation.

He was genuinely curious to hear Hela's perspective. However, he didn't expect her to reveal the most closely guarded secret of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society, as Franca had done.

Hela's tone remained as cold as ice as she began, "I've had numerous interactions with your sister and have discerned that she had been grappling with psychological turmoil rooted in her original family.

"Something is amiss with her biological family. Consequently, your sister had no recourse but to distance herself from them and seek refuge in the border village. It mirrors your gradual realization of Cordu's growing abnormality, prompting your desire to escape. That's why I directed your attention to this avenue of investigation.

"And should one employ the Soul Summoning Spell detailed in this notebook upon themselves, it's highly likely that your sister's psychological distress will escalate into a mental ailment, potentially leading to true dissociation of her personality."

Lumian pondered for a moment before inquiring, "Are you suggesting that Roche Louise Sanson is a dissociated persona of my sister? That the foundation of Inevitability's faith originates from her biological family?"

This deduction, while refraining from disclosing the most guarded secret of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society, seemed to be the most logical conclusion. Yet, Madame Magician had also entertained the notion of dissociative identity disorder as one potential cause.

Hela took a sip of her triple-shot Reem espresso.

"The situation might be more complicated than a case of dissociative identity disorder. There seems to be some bizarre mystical phenomenon involved. That, however, remains contingent upon your future investigations."

Lumian acknowledged her response with a nod and posed his question with a serious demeanor,

"Is there any issue with the April Fool's member who sold the Soul Summoning Spell to my sister? Did they foresee a scenario involving dissociative identity disorder?"

Hela remained silent for a few seconds before responding, "It's suspicious, but I cannot definitively be sure. I intend to probe further, although it might take a considerable duration of time. As you're aware, the organizational structure of the Research Society is quite informal, and my connections with the individuals from April Fool's are limited."

"I understand." Lumian had heard a similar sentiment from Franca.

Hela glanced at him and pondered for a moment.

"In reality, you are the most suitable candidate to investigate this matter. Unfortunately, you lack the necessary prerequisites."

"Why do you say that?" Lumian questioned, genuine surprise lacing his words.

For someone known for wit and mischief in Cordu, the prospect of heading the investigation was unexpected. He had assumed that his role would merely entail supporting Franca.

Hela's tone retained its chilliness.

"If you possessed a Beyonder power to physically alter your appearance, you could transform into Muggle and participate in various Research Society Gatherings as her.

"Then, when the occasion arises, you could observe any April Fool's member who reacts oddly to Muggle's presence and displays signs of abnormal behavior. You could even employ yourself as bait to draw out any individual harboring hidden motives."

Me assuming Aurore and using the code name Muggle to become a member of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society? Lumian had never envisioned such a scenario.

His brow furrowed as he remarked, "Can I really pull off being my sister even with a transformation item? Especially within your Research Society?"

He wasn't familiar with their world and its intricacies. How could he effectively bridge the communication gap?

Just a sentence or two could potentially blow his cover!

-x-X-x-

Hela continued in her cold voice, "Don't worry, there's no reason to fret. Our Research Society operates rather informally. Except for a handful of members who maintain close private communication, the rest only convene two to four times a year, all while in disguise.

"And many of the coded terms and expressions we employ for communication are familiar to you. Given your relationship with your sister, she won't intentionally keep them from you or abstain from using them."

"Understood." Lumian's mood suddenly soured. "She'll also explain the exact significance to me and attribute it to a philosopher from back home or even Emperor Roselle."

Upon hearing this, Hela responded, "If you truly possess the potential to masquerade as Muggle and engage with the Research Society members, there's no need to forcibly cite philosophers from back home. Simply allude to the latter portion of the content."

"Then, should I incorporate 'Emperor Roselle once said'?" Lumian deliberated the specifics earnestly.

He lacked a key item and couldn't authentically impersonate Aurore. And even though the Niese Face was primarily an illusion, it could be instantly deciphered by Beyonders equipped with the corresponding abilities—whether the other party held a rank as low as Sequence 9 Mystery Pryer, they'd discern his non-female identity at a glance. Yet, he remained determined to give his utmost. Who knew if a chance for Transfiguration with diminished negative effects would arise in the future?

Regarding mystic makeup achieved through the use of the Mystery Prying Glasses, it wouldn't provide psychological suggestions, given that attendees concealed their faces at the gathering. Furthermore, it couldn't alter his gender.

Hela lapsed into silence, her facial muscles twitching subtly.

"In the event that you're presented with an opportunity to enact such a role, make sure to avoid these mentions. You might not possess precise discernment about when such references are suitable.

"Just keep in mind, other members frequently employ the phrase 'Emperor Roselle once said' to liven the mood or offer amusement."

Why does it feel like Emperor Roselle's image in the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society isn't too favorable… It's not that it's unfavorable. Instead, it assumes a comedic quality… Speaking of which, Aurore appears to do the same. Whenever her spirits dip, as long as I deliberately reference Emperor Roselle's words, she tends to loosen up and finds herself chuckling involuntarily… Lumian struggled to fully grasp the rationale of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society members, but he refrained from further probing, recognizing the necessity to feign ignorance concerning their most profound secret.

If the opportunity arose, he intended to seek Franca's insights on the matter.

Hela continued, "While participating in the gathering, keep in mind to listen more than you speak. If you lack confidence, avoid delving into profound discussions. Should others delve into the past, if possible, shift the focus and maintain a patronizing tone. Emulating Muggle's traits and characteristics will aid in effectively acting as her."

Lumian pondered for a moment.

"This guise, however, remains merely a surface-level ruse. Your Research Society houses Beyonders adept in divination and possessing keen intuition. They could readily discern that I'm not my sister."

"No, quite the contrary. They might prove you to be the genuine Muggle," Hela furnished an unforeseen response to Lumian's expectation.

In the midst of his unveiled astonishment, Hela expounded, "To begin with, most of us remain unaware of the realities of our fellow members, impeding our capacity for efficacious divination or prophecy.

"Additionally, with my understanding of your sister, I employed an artifact to divine her state. Yet, I couldn't ascertain her life or death status. It was akin to confronting a formidable anti-divination barrier."

Wh— Lumian was caught off guard before grasping the underlying rationale.

As per Madam Magician, Aurore hadn't entirely died. A possibility of revival persisted, her soul shard sealed by Mr. Fool, thereby rendering conventional divination unable to circumvent the seal and ascertain Aurore's genuine condition. A potent anti-divination effect was at play.

Hela took another sip of her triple shot Reem espresso.

What? Lumian nearly blurted out the question.

"Perhaps this stems from the fact that a fragment of my sister's soul has been specially preserved within me."

Lumian let out a long sigh.

"What a pity…"

Post Hela's analysis, he harbored the conviction that he could seamlessly stand in for his sister within the folds of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society without incurring exposure.

He yearned to do so. This way, he could not only aid Franca in her operation but also safeguard her from solitary risks. Together, they could operate—one in plain sight, the other in the shadows—ensnaring their adversary in a carefully orchestrated trap.

Simultaneously, Lumian recognized the potential of utilizing the society's gatherings to gather invaluable information about Aurore.

Regrettably, his one hindrance was his lack of Transfiguration abilities. The power to alter his gender, stature, or physique eluded him.

A brief silence hung in the air before Hela reiterated her commitment to investigating the April Fool's predicament.

Following that, she spoke candidly, "I've come to Trier this time to delve deeper past the catacombs. Do you have any information about that place?"

Deeper into the catacombs? Lumian's heart skipped a beat as he took the initiative to remind her, "It's very dangerous there."

Madame Hela's guidance from her letters and prior suggestion had been invaluable. With deep appreciation, he recounted his grasp of the catacombs and the bizarre phenomena he had borne witness to. Finally, he said, "For some inexplicable reason, I alone retain memories of the ill-fated couple. The rest feign ignorance, as though they never existed. True, Kendall, the administrator of the tomb, ought to have sensed it as well, yet he feigned ignorance."

Hela listened in quiet contemplation. Without astonishment or consternation, she inquired, "Have you heard of the Samaritan Women's Spring?"

"I have, though from the mouth of a charlatan…" Lumian mused, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall Osta Trul's narrative. "He claimed that the Samaritan Women's Spring on the upper level of the catacombs is a sham. Just a puddle left behind due to a construction error back then. The administrators spun it into a legend. But deep in the underground world, within an ancient tomb, there lies the real Fountain of Oblivion."

Hela refrained from commenting on Lumian's account and simply nodded.

"Thank you."

With her gratitude expressed, she downed the last of her three-shot espresso, rose from her seat, and made her way toward the café's exit.

As she rose from her seat, the heavy silence was shattered, and the sunlight once again flooded the area with its radiance.

Lumian remained seated a while longer, savoring the last sips of his Macael coffee. Afterwards, he strode along Rue Ancienne, his destination being Place du Purgatoire. There, he planned to catch a public carriage back to the market district.

Passing by Salle de Bal Unique and the Alone bar, a sudden, crystalline tinkle reached Lumian's ears.

His heart skipped a beat, and he swiftly turned around. He saw a figure he knew well, who had just entered the newly opened Alone bar.

Draped in a delicate, pale-white fishnet dress, the figure sported a small, circular hat adorned with silk flowers. Two dainty silver bells dangled from the intricate hair buns, complementing the similar accessories on the figure's dark-hued boots.

Leah… Bureau 8's Leah… Lumian recognized the person as Leah, the official investigator who had entered his dream.

Salle de Bal Unique is perilous. Could the Alone bar be used by Bureau 8 to monitor the opposing stronghold? After retracting his gaze, Lumian continued forward as if nothing had happened.

…

Returning to Salle de Bal Brise, Lumian found himself summoned to 11 Rue des Fontaines in Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative by Gardner Martin, just when he was hoping for some rest.

Inside a room adorned with bookshelves, Gardner Martin, donned in a light-colored shirt and dark trousers, greeted him with an energetic smile.

"Franca mentioned that your vengeance is complete?"

Lumian detected an odd thrill emanating from the Boss, as if he had indulged in immense pleasure and hadn't fully calmed down.

He responded candidly, "Yes, I've already killed Guillaume Bénet. Thankfully, Red Boots, Jenna, and Anthony Reid, the information broker I hired, assisted me."

He spared no details about the participants—there was no use concealing anything. They relied on "Rat" Christo and his pets to communicate, after all.

Gardner Martin nodded slightly and commented, "You've exceeded my expectations in terms of efficiency. Franca didn't delve into the specifics. Can you give me an overview of the overall situation?"

Lumian held nothing back when it came to the Sinners organization. He elucidated Guillaume Bénet's various abilities, detailing their specific impacts.

Gardner Martin listened intently and asked in thought, "What do you reckon is Guillaume Bénet's strength equivalent to in Sequence?"

Lumian replied without hesitation, "Sequence 5."

A brief pause ensued as Gardner Martin fell into contemplative silence before he uttered, "I've summoned you for a purpose, a mission."

"What mission?" Lumian didn't hide his curiosity.

Gardner Martin's smile reappeared.

"It's quite straightforward. Make your way to the Mechanical Café in Quartier de l'Opéra and establish contact with a literary and arts group named 'Black Cat.'"

"I lack any artistic inclination," Lumian honestly admitted.

Gardner Martin smiled and said, "No artistic inclination is necessary. Your primary role will involve sponsoring and befriending one of the members of Black Cat.

"His ancestor boasted an aristocratic title of a count, a fact he's quite fond of calling himself that.

"Right, his name is Poufer Sauron."

-x-X-x-

Quartier de la Maison d'Opéra, Rue Lombar.

The street was famous for its array of sweets, and colorful candies adorned every corner.

At the end of Rue Lombar stood the Mechanical Café, nestled next to a small confectionery factory.

From the outside, it looked like an ordinary place, and even peering through the glass windows, there was no hint of its mechanical nature. The black Triangular Sacred Emblem on the weighty wooden door was the only reminder of its true identity.

Lumian pushed the dark-brown door, but it resisted as if locked from within.

After a moment's observation, he pulled the doorbell hanging by the secondary window.

Amidst the tinkling chimes, Lumian caught the soft clink of metal and watched as the door inched open.

A mechanical arm extended from its rear, reaching all the way to the bar counter like an ornamental display.

Surveying the surroundings, Lumian made his way to a corner of the café. Two single-legged tables were placed there, hosting five individuals.

Among them, a middle-aged man with fiery red hair stood out. Fair-skinned from cosmetics, with dark circles accentuating his brownish-red eyes, he was a captivating figure.

Clean-shaven, he sported an open brown velvet coat and a red shirt sans bow tie, exuding an air of refinement and casual elegance.

This was "Count" Poufer, the member of Intis's former royal Sauron family whom Lumian sought.

Having inherited a substantial fortune from his father, he hadn't ventured into politics, military service, or trade. Instead, he moved within various artistic circles as a literary critic and frequented "Black Cat" gatherings.

Approaching with a smile, Lumian inquired, "Are you Count Poufer?"

Poufer Sauron looked up casually, his tone relaxed as he asked, "Are you the friend Martin mentioned?"

"Yes, Ciel Dubois." Lumian responded without any reservation, claiming a seat by pulling up a chair.

Poufer gave him a measured once-over, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"Not bad at all; you're quite the beautiful friend."

"Among literature, oil paintings, sculptures, poetry, and music, what's your preference?"

"Novels," Lumian replied without hesitation.

Poufer leaned back, gesturing towards the plump middle-aged man diagonally across from him.

"Anori, the author with the most literary eloquence in recent times."

The author who delved into the realm of erotica, forgetting that the essence of writing is to explore human nature? Lumian naturally recollected Aurore's assessment of this novelist.

Initially, Anori's works had explored love as a means to understand humanity. But over time, the focus shifted, consumed by the former. Aurore believed that if not for restrictions, Anori might have penned something akin to 'Monks Chasing Dogs'—a risqué novel.

Of course, Lumian cared little for probing human nature; he simply enjoyed the engaging parts.

"Your novels have certainly broadened my horizons," he said to Anori genuinely.

With black hair and blue eyes, Arnaud puffed on his pipe and remarked, "Luckily, you didn't mention appreciating my 'Death of a Herald.'"

Death of a Herald… Isn't that Adri's work? Right, Aurore had mentioned the similarity in names, leading to frequent confusion. Enlightenment dawned as Lumian inquired, "You mean the Adri who's backed by the government, earning a five-figure fortune yearly, yet only manages to produce dogsh*t?"

Anori erupted in laughter.

"That's worth a glass of absinthe!"

With that, he tapped the silver-gray metal button on the single-legged table before him, thrice.

Count Poufer took pleasure in Lumian's reception and proceeded to introduce the other members of the Black Cat organization.

Among them were Mullen, a painter with a pale and weary complexion, Ernst Young, a slightly stern-looking literary critic, and Iraeta, a poet who held a cherrywood pipe.

Just as Lumian was wrapping up his greetings, he witnessed the iron-colored surface of Anori's one-legged table split open unexpectedly, unfolding like a blossoming flower.

Within the "stamen," a glass of emerald absinthe, radiating a dreamlike sheen, appeared on a tray that ascended through a mechanical lift.

Author Anori picked up the glass of absinthe and tossed a silver coin worth 1 verl d'or onto the tray.

Gradually, the mechanical elevator descended, causing the parted metal surface to seal shut, restoring the one-legged table to its original state.

Anori slid the absinthe toward Lumian, a smile gracing his features.

"Cheers to what you just said!"

It's really a Mechanical Café… Lumian reacquainted himself with this place.

His gaze drifted to the table's broad and sturdy leg, suspecting it to be hollow and linked to an underground conduit.

Taking a sip of the absinthe and savoring its familiar bitterness, Lumian directed his attention to the one-legged table.

"No change?"

"Here, a glass of absinthe costs 1 verl d'or," Anori responded with a grin.

Isn't that rather steep? Salle de Bal Brise and the basement bar only charge seven licks. Their quality is nearly identical… Lumian critiqued inwardly.

1 verl d'or was equivalent to 20 licks.

At that instant, Mullen, the pale-faced painter who seemed perpetually fatigued but was a handsome man, took a sip of his coffee and shared, "I heard that an elephant has arrived at Trier Zoo. Quite an uncommon sight."

The pudgy Anori muttered, "What's so intriguing about an elephant? It strikes me as utterly mundane."

Count Poufer let out a soft chuckle.

"Shall we then discuss the ongoing clash between the parliament and the two Churches, the high-ranking government officials perpetually stumbling, the detestable censorship of publications, and the covert agents shadowing us like hyenas?"

Anori sighed in resignation.

"Let's just stick to that elephant."

Amidst the laughter of the Black Cat members, Count Poufer crossed his right leg and proposed, "Since we have a new friend, how about engaging in a game of mysticism?"

A game involving mysticism? Lumian's eyebrows twitched.

"What sort of game?" inquired Iraeta, the poet, puffing contemplatively on his pipe.

Count Poufer smiled and said, "A game known as King's Pie."

Observing the perplexed expressions around the table, Count Poufer chuckled and continued, "Don't any of you have a childhood or a family? Haven't you played this game?

"The rule is to divide the King's Pie into portions equal to the number of participants plus 1. The larger piece is ritually dedicated to a deity or esteemed ancestor we hold in reverence. Among the remaining portions, one contains a broad bean or coin, hidden. Whoever discovers it becomes the 'king' for the day, empowered to issue commands to the others. Naturally, these commands must remain within the bounds of reason."

The mysticism aspect involves offering up the excess King's Pie in sacrifice? Lumian cast a glance at Anori, Mullen, and the rest, intrigued by the idea and curious whether any Beyonders were part of the group.

Of course, none of them appeared to be.

In just over ten seconds, Count Poufer's proposal garnered agreement from everyone except Lumian.

He commenced by pressing the corresponding button on his one-legged table, hitting it the appropriate number of times to signal the kitchen to dispatch a King's Pie.

Reportedly, this dessert had been a favorite since the era of the Sauron Dynasty.

…

In the underground of église Saint-Robert, within the confines of the Inquisition, a gathering of Purifiers was underway. Valentine, Imre, and their fellow Purifiers congregated in the office of Deacon Angoulême.

Dressed in a light-gold shirt and pale-white pants, Angoulême raised the dossier in his hand and addressed the group, "We've verified the body found at 50 Rue Vincent in Quartier de la Princesse Rouge to be that of Guillaume Bénet, the former wanted padre. Ensure that the police headquarters takes down the wanted posters from the market district."

The market district case wasn't under the Purifiers' jurisdiction, but Valentine had heard about it. Finally, there was confirmation.

Sporting a formal blue coat, Valentine glanced at Angoulême and asked, "Deacon, have there been any developments in the investigation into Guillaume Bénet's killer?"

"At the moment, no suspects," responded Angoulême, his golden hair, eyebrows, and beard lending him an imposing aura. He continued, "What we can ascertain is that there were clear signs of incineration at the scene, and it's likely that Guillaume Bénet succumbed to a Demoness's curse."

"At least a Sequence 7 Hunter and a Demoness? That's an uncommon combination," Imre remarked, clearly taken aback.

To his knowledge, most who followed the Demoness pathway were affiliated with the Demoness family, a formidable secret organization that seldom required collaboration.

"Uncommon doesn't mean impossible," retorted Angoulême.

As a Purifier deacon, he had access to more confidential information and experience compared to Imre, Valentine, and the others. He had even personally executed two members of the Demoness family.

Valentine furrowed his brow, ruminating for a moment before suggesting, "Could Lumian Lee be involved? He does have a solid motive."

"But he lacks the power," Imre objected. "How could he advance to Pyromaniac so quickly after leaving Cordu? Isn't he concerned about losing control? Furthermore, based on your description, not even a Pyromaniac would be a match for Guillaume Bénet."

Valentine clung to his conjecture.

"That's why he might have sought help from a Demoness.

"Could he have joined the Demoness family to seek revenge and then transition into becoming a Demoness himself?

"If that's true, this could become a major issue. Lumian Lee carries significant problems with him. And you mentioned the Demoness family's penchant for sowing chaos."

Angoulême nodded. "We must keep a close eye on this. I'll report this matter. Meanwhile, intensify the scrutiny of suspicious individuals in the market district."

Having made up his mind, he reassured Valentine, "Don't be overly anxious. Lumian Lee isn't the only one with a reason to eliminate Guillaume Bénet. There are powerful bounty hunters, official members of the Aurora Order, and the bestowed of other evil gods."

Valentine acknowledged concisely, signifying his comprehension.

Following their discussion on recent Beyonder cases, Valentine and Imre exited the deacon's office, passing by Charlie who was acquainting himself with a mechanical typewriter, before heading towards the tunnel leading to église Saint-Robert.

"Why do you think the quasi-Demoness is seeking us? Has she uncovered crucial information?" Imre inquired curiously, conversing with his fellow teammate.

Valentine ruminated briefly before responding, "Could it be related to Guillaume Bénet's death?"

Imre was caught off guard.

"Are you suggesting she had contact with the Demoness family?"

Before Valentine could reply, Imre shook his head.

"That's impossible. The Demoness family despises female Assassins. If they encounter one, they'll surely eliminate them."

-x-X-x-

On Rue Doyle, nestled between the market district and the solemn Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative, stretched a verdant street. Its clean pavements and modern architectural style set it apart from its surroundings. Jenna had deliberately chosen this location to rendezvous with the Purifiers. The individuals frequenting this place had little connection to her former life, and the likelihood of recognition was slim.

Nevertheless, her overall presentation remained faithful to a certain style: a portrayal of cleanliness, radiance, and vitality. This image was a composite distilled from the bishop's sermons and the impassioned advocacy she had encountered during her involvement in Church activities.

A Sun Talisman dangled around her neck, accentuating her brownish-yellow hair that was neatly tied up. She followed the elongated shadows cast by the trees, moving toward Apartment 17.

In the midst of her journey, a brown four-wheeled carriage rumbled by. The window was ajar, revealing an arresting visage.

Adorned in a black court dress, a lady graced the carriage's interior. A dark veil hat adorned with white feathers crowned her head, intricately framing her raven-black hair. Her face boasted soft contours; her chin held a graceful curve. A slender, elevated nose bridge led to plump, subtly upturned crimson lips. Within her dark gray eyes, a glint of brightness coexisted with a hint of melancholy, evoking a pang of sympathy.

How beautiful… Jenna sighed from the bottom of her heart as the carriage passed.

Even though Jenna herself could be considered attractive, she remained capable of appreciating the allure of others. Simultaneously, she acknowledged the stark contrast between her appearance and that of Franca, who had ascended to the rank of Demoness of Pleasure, as well as the lady who had just passed.

Shifting her focus, Jenna ascended to the roof of Apartment 17 on Rue Doyle.

Her wait was brief, for Imre and Valentine soon appeared.

Valentine's demeanor, though frosty, gave way to a proactive inquiry. "Have you obtained crucial intelligence?"

Valentine's gaze swept past Jenna's neck, where the Sun Sacred Emblem was suspended. A subtle nod confirmed his satisfaction.

Jenna shook her head slowly. "No."

Without permitting Imre and Valentine to voice their queries, she bared her emotions in earnest. "I want to repent."

Repent? Imre exchanged a quizzical glance with Valentine.

Had something gone awry?

Jenna's gaze lowered, a bittersweet smile touching her lips as she regarded the ground.

"My mother haunts my dreams, recurring persistently.

"And each time she appears in my sleep, I find myself grappling with a nagging question: Why did the Church permit someone like Hugues Artois to partake in the elections? Upon uncovering the truth, why did they not promptly apprehend his accomplices and thus forestall the ensuing catastrophe?

"I-I yearn for redemption. The pain gnaws at my heart, sowing doubt in my faith, and causing me to question whether God and the Church still watch over us."

These sentiments were sincere, albeit less intense than they seemed.

Valentine felt ashamed and didn't know how to respond to Jenna.

"Likewise, the Church isn't all-powerful. In Intis, we remain subject to the constraints imposed by the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery, the National Convention, and the government. Our actions are bound by limitations; we cannot operate without restraint and probe at will.

Jenna fell into contemplative silence for a few seconds before exhaling, a slow release of tension. She extended her arms slightly, proclaiming, "Praise the Sun!"

"Praise the Sun!" both Valentine and Imre echoed in unison.

With her sincere performance, Jenna asked, "Who propelled Hugues Artois to the position of parliament member? And who facilitated his representation for an evil god?"

"We're in the midst of investigating. No substantial breakthroughs have emerged thus far," Imre replied after measured consideration.

Jenna's expression turned to one of anxiety and concern.

"Why the lack of substantive progress? Is it due to the limitations mentioned earlier, which hinder the acquisition of pivotal leads? Do you require my help? I operate unbound by restrictions and hold no fear of breaching the law!"

Imre and Valentine weren't caught off guard by Jenna's reaction. It echoed the same spirit as her abrupt assassination of Hugues Artois, albeit in a more subdued form.

The two exchanged glances, a wordless deliberation on whether to entrust this matter to an informant bound by contract, thereby affording greater flexibility and latitude.

Drawing upon Franca's counsel, Jenna refrained from invoking Instigation directly. She instead gauged the disposition of the two Purifiers and employed words to accomplish her intent.

"If the Church itself finds its hands tied, could it not delegate the task to capable devotees?

"Which holds greater importance—the Church's dignity or the well-being of God's children?

"With each thwarted catastrophe, numerous families and lives are spared. They all stand as devout supplicants to the Sun.

"An evil god was backing Hugues Artois!"

Valentine found himself swayed, and observing Imre's absence of dissent, he addressed Jenna with gravity, "Are you sure you want to help us investigate this matter? It's very dangerous. The odds of forfeiting your life are substantial."

Jenna responded with a smile suffused with complexity, "I'm afraid of death, but I'm more afraid of becoming a sacrificial lamb for the heretics, much like my mother."

She didn't hide her hatred at all.

Imre then said, "In the course of our investigations, we've ascertained that Hugues Artois shared close ties with General Philip. Certain covert activities trace back to him. However, General Philip succumbed to illness last year, resulting in the loss of all leads.

"The other backers and supporters of Hugues Artois either owed their allegiance to General Philip or deemed him an asset worthy of support. Their involvement in heretical belief or secret organizations remains unverified."

Jenna blurted out, "What about Philip's family? What of the heretics who encircled Hugues Artois?"

"There's nothing wrong with Philip's family," Valentine responded, his tone revealing traces of vexation. "We've apprehended only two heretics affiliated with Hugues Artois's campaign. Their roles were comparatively inconsequential. The individual most knowledgeable opted for suicide when escape became unfeasible. His fanaticism stymied our quest for the sought-after leads. We've effectively eliminated two branches of the secret organization, the Order of All Extinction."

Order of All Extinction… Jenna recalled the secret organization that believed in an evil god.

Imre supplemented, "The primary source of knowledge is the red-haired woman named Cassandra. She hails from the Sauron lineage, a collateral branch of the former royal family. A Beyonder and a heretic graced with a boon."

Imre shook his head.

"At present, no concrete conclusions exist. The noble families that supported Hugues Artois maintain standard relations with the Sauron family. Cassandra chose an adventuring life, as she encountered minimal regard within the Sauron family hierarchy. Subsequently, she became a Beyonder, ultimately joining Hugues Artois's team last year."

…

Quartier de la Maison d'Opéra, Rue Lombar, Mechanical Café.

Mechanical precision guided the King's Pie to Poufer Sauron and his associates within the Black Cat organization. The pie bore the appearance of a brown floral marvel adorned with intricate black motifs.

Poufer looked around and said to Lumian, Anori, and the others, "I suggest that this game of King's Pie serves as a tribute to one of my esteemed forebears. He held the title of the first Count Ardennen and the twenty-seventh Count of Champagne."

In his interactions, Poufer habitually designated himself as Count Ardennen.

"The Count of Champagne, the one who coveted Roselle's ass?" Novelist Anori quipped with a grin.

Over the past year, the most sought-after banned manuscript within Trier's covert book market had been "Emperor Roselle's Secret Chronicles." Within its pages lay a trove of Emperor Roselle-related rumors, intermingled with an array of outlandish, sizzling revelations.

Poufer sighed and said, "That would be the thirtieth Count of Champagne, the great-grandson of my illustrious ancestor. He hails from a distinct Sauron family branch."

"I have no objections." The flaxen-haired painter, Mullen, steered the conversation back on track.

This was merely a game—no one else insisted on allocating the surplus King's Pie to a specific figure, thus prompt consensus was achieved.

Considering Lumian's usual style, he should have objected and angered Count Poufer. However, he recalled that his current role revolved around that of a friend of Gardner Martin, scion of a prosperous merchant family with a penchant for art. He was essentially playing the role of a spendthrift imbecile, a persona that basked in the lavish spending only to incur disdain.

Poufer shifted his attention to the more reticent literary critic, Ernst Young, and instructed, "You shall have the honor of cutting the pie."

Ernst Young, his black curls framing his face, indulged in a self-deprecating smile.

"I despise the absence of waiters in the Mechanical Café. It makes me feel like a waiter."

"Isn't that a good thing? It signifies the absence of spies," Novelist Anori muttered.

A puff of cherrywood smoke escaped the pipe held by Iraeta, the poet, as he chuckled in response, "Perhaps the spy is among us."

At that moment, Ernst Young had already picked up the table knife, slicing the King's Pie into seven equal portions.

Poufer delicately positioned one of the King's Pie slices near the plate's rim, hands clasped, cradling it against his chest. His voice, a soft cadence, invoked an invocation, "To you, member of the mighty Sauron family, the great Vermonda Champagne Sauron."

Poufer repeated the incantation thrice. Lumian couldn't help but note that Mechanical Café, already bereft of its waiters, descended into an amplified hush, akin to the commencement of the bishops' sermons.

After offering the excess portion of the King's Pie to Vermonda Sauron, Poufer raised his gaze to Lumian and grinned.

"You're the guest. You'll be the first to choose."

Without observing, Lumian extended his hand to the King's Pie closest to him.

At that moment, Termiboros's resonant voice echoed in Lumian's ears: "Switch."

-x-X-x-

Switch? Lumian hadn't anticipated that Termiboros would drop a hint at a moment like this.

Whether this Inevitability angel aimed to use the opportunity to set a trap or had some other intention, or if He simply sought to avert any trouble from befalling His vessel at this particular time and place, it was clear that this seemingly unremarkable game of King's Pie concealed profound hidden hazards. Once triggered, it would plunge all those present into a perilous abyss.

When Count Poufer brought up the mystical aspect, the act of sacrificing a piece of King's Pie to a deity or revered ancestor, Lumian suspected the presence of a Beyonder element. It resembled the divination games favored by many enthusiasts of mysticism. To his astonishment, the issue proved even graver than he had initially imagined. It had prompted an angel to believe that he—Lumian, a dual Sequence 7—was incapable of handling it or could be harmed by it.

As these thoughts raced through his mind, Lumian struggled to fathom Termiboros's motives. All he could manage was cautiously extending his arm and nonchalantly selecting one of the remaining five slices of King's Pie.

This time, Termiboros didn't intervene.

After Lumian, Anori, Mullen, Ernst Young, and Iraeta each acquired a slice of King's Pie, only the one nearest to Lumian remained.

"Seems like it's mine." Count Poufer leaned in, grinned, and seized the slice of King's Pie. He brought it to his mouth and delicately took a bite.

Lumian followed suit. The crust was crisp, the filling sweet, its aroma lingering on his palate. The quality was rather impressive.

After a few bites, Count Poufer chuckled and remarked, "Looks like I'm the king today."

As he uttered the words, he extracted a broad bean from his mouth.

The instant Lumian laid eyes on the broad bean, a faint trace of blood and rust wafted to his senses.

Meanwhile, the atmosphere in the Mechanical Café grew heavy, as if everyone dreaded receiving an order they couldn't bear.

Count Poufer rose from his seat, his back to the window that faced the street, blotting out the sunlight, which cast a faint shadow over his face. His smile seemed somewhat dark.

Count Poufer's gaze fixed upon the novelist Anori, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips.

"Step outside the café and declare to the passersby, 'I'm dog sh*t.'"

Anori, who had been on edge, let out a sigh of relief and responded with a grin, "Sure thing."

The portly man rose from his seat and hastened to the door, grasping the handle nestled in the side wall.

Amidst a grinding noise and faint clatters, the mechanical arm suddenly tightened, its grip "dragging" the weighty wooden door ajar.

Anori ventured outside and onto the street. He directed his voice at the pedestrians, "I'm dogsh*t!

"I'm a piece of dogsh*t raised by a sow!

"My whole family is dogsh*t raised by sows!"

The passersby stared in astonishment before erupting into laughter.

After cursing himself, Anori returned to Lumian and the others in high spirits.

"You've got an impressive mental fortitude." Lumian compelled himself to rephrase "you're really thick-skinned" in a more polished manner.

Novelist Anori chuckled and said, "Whenever I'm stuck in my writing, I'll curse myself out on the balcony. It's the simplest method."

"You writers do have your peculiarities." Lumian was reminded of his sister, who fancied herself afflicted by an advanced stage of procrastination syndrome.

Anori took a sip of absinthe and resettled himself. His attention turned to Count Poufer, who, with his back to the light, cast his gaze upon Mullen, the pale and handsome painter.

"Slap Iraeta."

Mullen relaxed in his seat, opting not to rise. He leaned forward and delivered a slap to Poet Iraeta.

Iraeta, his hair thinning and his facial muscles slightly sagging, remained unperturbed. He merely drew another puff from his pipe.

Noticing Lumian's scrutiny, he offered a casual smile.

"As a poet, I must learn to relish the malice around me."

Finding joy in malice… What a poetic youth. Well, more accurately, a poetic middle-aged man… Lumian surveyed the participants of the game, realizing that aside from Count Poufer, who had consumed the broad bean, nothing else appeared amiss.

Count Poufer shifted his posture slightly, his features still shaded by the backlight.

He said to Ernst Young, "Express your loyalty to me."

When the Black Cats convened, they often engaged in a variety of audacious acts. In a more contemporary characterization, they were avant-gardes of performance art. Hence, Ernst Young felt no qualms about kneeling on one knee and professing loyalty. He even considered it insufficient, sensing that it lacked excitement or humiliation.

Count Poufer then turned to the poet, Iraeta, and dictated, "Give all your money to the beggar across the street."

Iraeta was taken aback. His heart ached as he responded, "Alright.

"As you know, I'm a pauper. Over the past five years, I've scarcely earned 3,000 verl d'or from my poetry. Each day, I ponder which friend might organize an event and offer me a free drink."

Quite the honest poet… Lumian pondered whether he should sponsor this individual and witness what kind of verses he could produce. After all, the "sponsorship fee" was supplied by Gardner Martin. Not employing it would result in it going unused. Conversely, by sponsoring certain artists, he could potentially pocket a portion for himself.

Before Count Poufer could reply, Iraeta suddenly burst into laughter. He fumbled in his pocket and exclaimed with excitement, "That's why I only brought 5 verl d'or!"

"5 verl d'or? At the Vichy Café, that'd barely cover half a bottle of mineral water and two boiled eggs," Novelist Anori murmured as he watched Poet Iraeta hastily depart. He tossed the 5 verl d'or to the beggar opposite.

Vichy Café resided in an alley off Avenue du Boulevard. It drew parliament members, high-ranking government officials, bankers, industrialists, financiers, famed courtesans, and esteemed authors, painters, poets, and sculptors from the upper echelons of society.

By this juncture, every participant had taken their turn, leaving Lumian as the last.

Count Poufer fixed his gaze on Lumian, his look profound as he spoke, "This is your inaugural time attending our Black Cat gathering. I'll assign you a simple task. Take your slice of King's Pie and proceed to the last room in the café's basement. Exchange the pie for a sheet of white paper."

This bears a hint of mystique… If anything goes awry, I'll just burn down that basement… Lumian mumbled to himself as he clutched the partially-eaten King's Pie. As per Novelist Anori's guidance, he located a staircase leading to the basement close to the kitchen.

Before venturing forth, he ignited the gas wall lamps in the vicinity. Under their faint yellow radiance, he navigated a corridor cluttered with various items until he reached the last room.

The vermilion door stood tightly sealed. Lumian listened attentively but detected no movements from within.

There were no suspicious signs around the door either.

Lumian extended his right palm, gripped the handle, gave it a gentle twist, and gradually pushed inward.

As the gas lamps in the basement's corridor illuminated the space, objects came into view.

These objects were heads, clustered within the dusky shadows, their gazes devoid of emotion, fixed on the "intruder" at the entrance.

Lumian's pupils dilated as he recognized a few familiar heads.

They belonged to Novelist Anori, Painter Mullen, Critic Ernst Young, and Poet Iraeta!

Just before conjuring a fireball, Lumian, experienced and resilient, forced himself to steady his nerves and discern the situation.

The heads lacked the pallor of the deceased, and the room was bereft of the distinct scent of preservatives.

Lumian reined in his initial reaction and scrutinized the scene. He realized that these were wax heads that had been taken down.

Resembling melons, they were stashed within compartments on a wooden frame.

Is this mission intended to startle me? Were it not for Termiboros's forewarning, how could such a prank perturb me? What's so mystical about this? Lumian ruminated for a moment before placing his King's Pie on a wooden shelf and extracting a sheet of white paper from one of the wax heads.

Upon returning to the Mechanical Café with the white paper in hand, he was met with smiles from Anori, Iraeta, and the others, as though gauging any lingering trepidation.

Count Poufer nodded in satisfaction.

"You executed the mission admirably."

What if I hadn't executed it admirably? What would have transpired? Lumian simulated residual unease and inquired,

"Those wax heads seemed so lifelike that they nearly stopped my heart!"

"Haha," Anori chortled. "This serves as Count's welcome gesture to every newcomer. He's rather fond of collecting wax figurine heads. Each individual he acknowledges receives an invitation from a wax sculptor to immortalize their heads as art and place them in the basement of the Mechanical Café."

It's almost as if your heads have been given to Count Poufer… Lumian eyed Anori and the others' necks, yet found no trace of sutures.

After delving into various rumors circulating within the novelists' circle and offering 2,000 verl d'or to sponsor the Black Cat, Lumian took his leave.

As he departed, his gaze inadvertently swept over the two-legged tables.

Abruptly, Lumian's pupils constricted.

He observed that Count Poufer, Anori, and the others still had unfinished King's Pie on their plates, while the white-glazed porcelain plate that had previously held the pie now sat empty.

There should have been a slice of King's Pie intended for the Sauron family ancestor!

It was gone!

Lumian's perplexity couldn't be concealed. He gestured toward the snack plate and remarked,

"I recall there being a slice of King's Pie left."

Count Poufer chuckled and sipped his coffee.

"I ate it."

"Is that so…" Lumian smiled in realization.

Turning away, he exited the Mechanical Café, the smile on his face gradually waning.

Count Poufer had only taken two bites of his slice of King's Pie!

-x-X-x-

As Lumian strode down Rue Lombar toward the nearest public carriage stop, a sense of unease settled over him. Observing the deserted street, he dropped his voice to a hushed tone as he muttered, "Temiboros, why did you make me choose the King's Pie slice without the broad bean?"

What if he had consumed that fateful broad bean and ascended to the role of the "king"?

But Termiboros remained silent, withholding any response.

Lumian pondered for a moment, then rephrased his question.

"Though the entire incident held a few unsettling details, the outcome appeared unremarkable. It's hard to discern whether it's tied to mysticism or Beyonder powers."

After a brief pause, Termiboros's deep voice echoed in Lumian's ears.

"Next time, you could consider defying the king's orders."

What if I chose to disregard the king's commands? What if I indulged in my King's Pie instead of placing it in the room of wax figurines or even walking away with the paper? Lumian's mind plunged into contemplation.

Rather than heading directly back to the market district, he hailed a public carriage bound for Rue Scheer on Avenue du Boulevard.

As an official member of the Aurora Order, he bore the responsibility of promptly reporting his execution of Guillaume Bénet and the latest developments within the Iron and Blood Cross Order to Mr. K. Simultaneously, he hoped to fleece something out of them.

Participating in three secret organizations came with the potential of receiving triple rewards, but it also entailed making three reports per mission.

19 Rue Scheer, underground of Psychic's headquarters.

Mr. K, perpetually unchanging, sat in the red armchair, attentively listening as Lumian recounted his strategic utilization of the Iron and Blood Cross Order's resources to pinpoint and eliminate Guillaume Bénet, the heretic.

When Lumian mentioned how the former padre of the Eternal Blazing Sun Church had embraced the entity known as Inevitability in pursuit of power and strength, Mr. K lowered his head and traced a cross upon his chest in a deliberate up-and-down, left-to-right motion. His voice, hoarse and subdued, chanted a prayer, "Merciful Father, forgive the world's transgressions."

Lumian's lips twitched, mirroring Mr. K's penance, although he couldn't fathom the necessity of such repentance.

Post-repentance, he succinctly recounted Aurore's dual nature and the sinister Sinners organization that underpinned Roche Louise Sanson. Finally, he said, "Mr. K, I request your aid in locating the original family of Aurore—or rather, Roche Louise Sanson. They may well be tied to the Sinners, a heretical group devoted to Inevitability."

Mr. K's face, obscured beneath a voluminous hood, remained shrouded in shadow. His words, tinged with satisfaction, hoarsely resonated. "I understand your desire to avenge Aurore. There is no problem in that. The benevolent Father and the omnipotent God do not bar believers from securing their own futures. If they can intertwine personal matters with the sacred crusade against heresy, all the better.

"In this endeavor, leveraging your assets and harnessing the resources of the Iron and Blood Cross Order to fulfill your objective is a strategy I admire. Strive for more of such feats.

"I'll investigate the Sinners."

He agreed to Lumian's request as it aligned perfectly with his own aspirations.

By unearthing Roche Louise Sanson's family, he could deal with the Sinners, a faction devoted to the evil god, Inevitability!

"Thank you, Mr. K," Lumian said sincerely.

He pondered for a moment before proceeding, "The death of Guillaume Bénet might trigger an intensified pursuit from the official Beyonders. I'm wondering if there exists a mystical item that would suit my needs, enabling me to alter my appearance and stature at will?"

He was seeking a means to assume Aurore's identity, infiltrating the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society as Muggle.

Mr. K's tone shifted abruptly, infused with zeal.

"Only the Lifeblood I possess can accomplish what you seek. So long as you can master your flesh and blood, altering your height and appearance becomes attainable. While it may not provide an exact replica of your desires, it suffices to veil your true identity. The caveat lies in the necessity for early injection and its limited duration. You won't possess the liberty to transform at your whim."

Precision isn't required; members of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society assume disguises, masking their true selves during gatherings… Yet, that falls short. A perceptive Spectator might notice something from Aurore's eyes or the contour of the chin. To fully pass off as Muggle and dupe everyone, the masked face must mirror Aurore's flawlessly… Plus, the adverse effects of Lifeblood are beyond my tolerance… Lumian's thoughts coalesced, and he articulated his response.

"I'm concerned that administering Lifeblood could revert me to the most primordial human archetype. Despite the Lord's protection mitigating severe physical and mental consequences, the Iron and Blood Cross Order could easily detect the anomaly and discern my true allegiance."

Mr. K sighed in disappointment.

"That's a problem. Though I believe the Lord will safeguard you, preserving your devout persona from exposure, your concerns bear merit."

Having declined the offer of Lifeblood, Lumian continued, "Recently, the Iron and Blood Cross Order tasked me with an interaction…"

He detailed Gardner Martin's summons, narrating until the culmination of the King's Pie game.

The sole omission was Termiboros's warning, the reason subtly placed on his intricate grasp of mysticism. A niggling suspicion prodded him to sidestep the matter, avoiding any potential anomalies.

Mr. K listened attentively, refraining from interjection. As Lumian concluded, Mr. K stood and paced the room.

"Your next objective is to figure out the Iron and Blood Cross Order's rationale for engaging the Sauron family. Are they coveting the Saurons' inheritance or considering collaboration?"

"Yes, Mr. K." Lumian recognized the need for him to remain well-informed, irrespective of Mr. K's order.

Mr. K halted his pacing, fixing his gaze on Lumian.

"Your intuition is sound. Should any mishap occur within that game, it could set off a mystical catastrophe.

"The central figure of Poufer's sacrifice, Vermonda Sauron, held significant standing within the Sauron royal family of that era. Born into the Champagne lineage, he was adopted into the main family by King Odo the 12th, who invested resources in his upbringing.

"Vermonda began auspiciously but met a negative end. His later years saw him vanish without a trace, dealing a heavy blow to the Sauron dynasty. In the ensuing two decades, several prominent Sauron family members met untimely and mysterious deaths, or succumbed to sudden insanity. The family's power dwindled, paving the way for Roselle's eventual overthrow."

Emperor Roselle's successful usurpation of the Sauron Dynasty was partly facilitated by the apparent decline of the ancient royal line? Vermonda's inexplicable disappearance spanned two to three centuries. How could today's sacrifice catalyze a dangerous mystical shift? Lumian's thoughts raced, absorbing the details recounted by Mr. K.

…

Apartment 601, 3 Rue des Blouses Blanches.

Jenna, having gleaned some insights from the Purifiers, sought out Franca in hopes of sharing her findings.

As her gaze roamed the room, Jenna's attention was drawn to the slightly ajar master bedroom door, from which emanated a rhythmic tapping sound.

"Franca?" she called.

Franca's clear voice resounded.

"I'm here! Come inside."

Jenna, who had never entered Franca's bedroom, hesitated for a moment before walking over and pushing open the door.

A burst of amazement brightened her blue eyes as they fell upon an intricate apparatus nestled against the wall, distant from the window.

The contraption consisted of a myriad of interlocking gears encircling brass cylinders, interconnected through levers, crankshafts, and screws.

In awe, Jenna regarded the towering device and inquired, "What is this?"

Seated before the elaborate mechanism, Franca's fingers danced across a state-of-the-art mechanical typewriter as she proudly introduced it to her companion, "This is a third-generation difference engine, cleverly modified—a sort of analyzer. It's a truncated version, simplified and miniaturized. The complete model wouldn't fit in my room."

"Are you really a believer of the God of Steam and Machinery?" Jenna blurted out.

Franca chuckled and explained, "Sometimes."

Jenna's scrutiny lingered on the so-called analyzer, revealing the connection of a telegraph machine and two metallic mechanical typewriters at its lower end.

It wasn't long before Franca ceased her typing, and the analyzer's mechanical appendage set the second typewriter into motion, producing letters upon pristine paper. The energy and information seemed to flow from the radio transceiver.

"What… what are you doing?" Jenna felt illiterate.

Franca happily pointed at the analyzer and said, "When the coding remains consistent, this contraption can automatically decode telegrams and codes for me. Through the metallic fingers linked to the mechanical typewriter's keypad, it types the corresponding letters, shaping the intended words.

"In essence, I can directly read the content of telegrams. No need to laboriously decode the encrypted messages I receive. It saves me considerable time and effort.

"Likewise, I can draft telegrams in standard language. The machine will autonomously encode them and transmit them via a predetermined radio frequency."

Studying the gears as they turned in their various states, Jenna struggled to grasp Franca's intent.

"But what's the purpose?" she asked, befuddled.

Franca was caught off guard.

"Purpose? Well, the purpose is to simplify telegram conversations. Make it something mundane and routine. Though admittedly, it does consume quite a bit of paper."

"Telegram conversations?" Jenna felt a touch of perplexity.

Franca had constructed such an intricate apparatus and embarked on such an elaborate matter simply for conversation?

The late-night typewriter sounds were Franca engaged in casual chatting?

"Exactly," Franca affirmed with a self-satisfied grin. "A friend of mine in the Loen military agreed to share the information Anthony Reid seeks during that timeframe. We just had a brief exchange."

While Franca could easily request the pertinent information from Madam Judgment, she preferred not to burden her Major Arcana cardholder unless absolutely necessary.

As Franca finished speaking, the analyzer completed its task of typewriting, and the telegram materialized in Intisian.

Snatching the paper, Franca's countenance darkened as she scanned its contents.

…

At night, in Apartment 601.

Lumian, Anthony Reid, Franca, and Jenna reassembled.

Waving the paper in her grip, Franca addressed Anthony Reid, stating, "I've received a response. The Loen military's official report on the encounter states: No such battle occurred!"

"No such battle occurred?" Anthony Reid's eyes widened as he jolted to his feet.

No battle at all? Lumian arched an eyebrow.

Such a response was undeniably unexpected.

Franca nodded gently, her gaze fixed on Anthony Reid.

"To put it simply, it's highly probable that the assault against you and your companions was not executed by the Loen army!"

-x-X-x-