48 COI

Lumian settled into an armchair with a polite smile aimed at Count Poufer. He responded, "That would be my honor."

With a graceful gesture, he extended an invitation to Miss Elros.

Count Poufer, dressed in a crimson shirt, waved his hand.

"After she finishes playing this piece."

Lumian shifted his gaze towards the piano, finally getting a clear view of Miss Elros.

Her chestnut eyebrows framed her expressive brown eyes, which sparkled with a youthful vibrance. The delicate curve of her cheeks and gentle facial contours suggested her age to be under 20, and there was no apparent trace of Sauron lineage.

Lumian surmised that Elros likely inherited her Sauron lineage from her maternal side.

He turned away briefly, his fingers wrapping around a glass of red, white, and blue liqueur resting on the coffee table. Engaging in lively conversation with Count Poufer, Novelist Anori, and others, Lumian discussed the latest trends and scandals circulating in their circle.

He had been diligently reading newspapers like Novel Weekly, Journal des débats, Youth of Trier, and Ghost Face to keep himself well-informed for occasions like these.

The black-haired lady who had been kneeling beside Count Poufer had already moved away to observe the newspaper editors engaged in a game of billiards.

Lumian was aware that she couldn't be Count Poufer's wife. Aurore had once enlightened him about the peculiar customs of Trier: in intimate gatherings and small-scale balls, the male and female hosts refrained from appearing together. It was considered improper and might invite unnecessary gossip. Therefore, when one of them hosted a salon, their spouse would attend someone else's event.

Back when Lumian first learned of this, he was barely fifteen, and it struck him as a bizarre set of rules. Now, reflecting upon it, he couldn't help but think:

You Trieriens have devised such absurd and comical unwritten rules to facilitate discreet affairs, and everyone willingly adheres to them!

As the musical piece concluded, Elros gracefully left the piano and made her way to the sofas. Her cousin introduced her to Lumian, pulling over a barstool for her. She sat with her legs neatly together, a silent observer of the ongoing conversation.

As time flowed by, others gradually converged in their direction. Laurent followed a casually-dressed, middle-aged man who sported an impressive beard.

Count Poufer took it upon himself to make introductions, saying, "This is Cornell, the editor-in-chief of Le Petit Trierien."

Lumian had perused the newspaper before, and he vividly recalled the advertisement for the "interstellar bridge to the crimson moon" featured in its pages.

Now, with that memory in mind, he couldn't help but suspect that it might be a cleverly disguised scam or perhaps a piece of Trierien performance art. He also harbored suspicions that it might be connected to devotees of some evil god.

"This is Ciel Dubois, the general manager of Coastal Import and Export Corporation," Poufer introduced the identity Gardner Martin had fabricated to Cornell.

Cornell extended his right hand with a look of surprise as he greeted Lumian. "You're quite the young lad."

Lumian accepted the handshake, offering a charming smile.

"This is the result of my unwavering diligence and hard work."

Just as Poet Iraeta was on the verge of commenting on the diligence of most individuals present without becoming the general manager of a large company at such a young age, Lumian added a touch of self-deprecation to his tone.

"It's precisely because I excelled in both areas that my father appointed me as the general manager of the import and export company."

The room erupted in laughter as everyone grasped Lumian's meaning.

Their perception of Ciel Dubois underwent a positive transformation.

In their social circle, there was no shortage of individuals who had landed important positions at a tender age due to familial connections. These people typically either avoided mentioning their parents and elders, striving to demonstrate their self-proclaimed abilities, or they struggled with confidence and maturity, endlessly fixating on their fathers or uncles. There were very few who exuded the kind of openness, honesty, and humor that Lumian effortlessly radiated. Back then, Count Poufer could scarcely be counted among them.

Lumian, with a touch of mischievous humor borrowed from his sister, turned his gaze toward Laurent and inquired, "Who might this be?"

Thud! Thud! Laurent's heart raced in response.

While they had an unspoken agreement not to reveal each other's true identities, Laurent lacked a thorough understanding of Ciel Dubois, the mob leader, and worried that Lumian might suddenly change his mind.

Cornell, the editor-in-chief of Le Petit Trierien, gestured to the young man by his side.

"This is Laurent. He's remarkably talented, well-informed, and unfailingly polite. I've been observing him for nearly three months, and I'm considering offering him a position as my assistant and deputy editor-in-chief. Laurent, how do you feel about this unexpected proposition?"

Laurent initially found himself taken aback, but soon, he was overwhelmed by joy and felt a slight sense of vertigo.

All the pains and anxieties he had endured, from his mother's tears to his neighbors' disdain, had led to this moment.

He had always believed that with his talents, he shouldn't be stuck at the bottom, and he had been actively seeking an opportunity, even if it meant squeezing his mother dry to maintain a facade of dignity.

Laurent refrained from displaying excessive excitement and responded to Cornell with a gracious smile, saying, "It would be an honor."

Not bad at all, Lumian thought as he assessed the situation. Speculation could be a risky endeavor, but the rewards could be substantial. However, there's the importance of changing one's mindset and genuinely starting from their current position. Speculating to improve social status might lead to losing everything in the long run. Lumian recalled his sister's comments after losing in the stock market as he considered Laurent's actions.

He was unlike Charlie and others; Lumian held a disdain for those who exploited their mothers in the speculative process. As long as Laurent's mother could accept it and didn't resort to violence against her son or show strong resistance, Lumian didn't pass harsh judgment.

With Cornell and the others now seated, Lumian's curiosity led him to ask, "Where did you first encounter Laurent?"

Cornell responded with a smile, "At the Vichy Café. He often visits to engage in discussions about various Trier-related matters and to share his opinions."

Vichy Café—the place where 5 verl d'or could buy half a bottle of mineral water and two boiled eggs? Laurent's mother, Madame Lakazan, doesn't even earn 3 verl d'or after a long day's work. Yet, the investment has clearly paid off. Even a rookie deputy editor-in-chief at a newspaper like Le Petit Trierien earns nearly 5,000 verl d'or annually, and that's just the tip of the iceberg. Lumian observed the differences and realized that Laurent's fixation on speculative networking had a certain logic.

Still, success in such endeavors was a rare occurrence—one in a hundred at best.

Lumian cast a glance at Laurent, who eyed him with caution, and smoothly changed the subject with a smile.

"Cornell, I happened to come across an advertisement for the Interstellar Bridge in Le Petit Trierien last month, or perhaps even earlier. It piqued my interest. Any comments about it?"

Cornell indulged in a puff from his pipe before bursting into laughter.

"I believe it's a bunch of delusional folks, but since they paid, there's no reason why I shouldn't run their advertisement. Maybe it can fool some fanatical enthusiasts of mechanics and science."

"How are they now?" Lumian chuckled. "I'm even thinking of investing in them, just to see if they're swindlers or if they can actually produce something."

Poet Iraeta picked up his pipe and muttered, "You might as well sponsor me instead of investing in them. At least then, you can berate me for writing like a piece of dogsh*t, and I won't have any comeback."

Lumian played along, acting as if money was of no concern to him. "No problem. How about 5,000 verl d'or?"

His intention was to give Iraeta only 3,000 verl d'or later, using the excuse of not having enough cash on hand at the moment.

Iraeta lowered his pipe and spread his arms theatrically.

"Praise the Sun and let Ciel's malice strike harder!"

"Haha, let's head back to the old city together after the salon." Lumian subtly hinted at his intention to sponsor Iraeta later but refrained from handing over the money directly to avoid the stink of money.

Following this brief diversion, Cornell seemed to warm up to Lumian's presence.

"I'm not sure how those people are faring. They only paid for a one-month ad."

As the conversation flowed, Count Poufer glanced at the setting sun and proposed a game with a warm smile. "Shall we play King's Pie? Consider it a warm-up before dinner."

Is this the only game you know? Do you have a childhood… Lumian couldn't help but inwardly critique Count Poufer's choice of games, but he refrained from objecting.

The others readily agreed, and Count Poufer promptly instructed his valet to bring out the sizable King's Pie that had been prepared in the kitchen.

It resembled the lid of a grand saucepan, emitting a tantalizing aroma and color.

"Who shall be in charge of the cutting?" Count Poufer surveyed the participants, his gaze sweeping over each of them.

After a moment's thought, he decided, "Elros, you do the honors. You're the youngest and most beautiful lady here."

Elros, seated on a barstool beside Lumian, gracefully rose and took up the table knife to start dividing the King's Pie.

Rather obedient of your cousin. Living off the Sauron family, off Count Poufer? Lumian realized that Elros's techniques were deft, perhaps from frequent practice.

In no time, the colossal King's Pie was divided into roughly 29 portions.

As was customary, Count Poufer proposed offering the extra slice to his ancestor, Vermonda Sauron, and no one voiced any objections.

After completing this part of the ritual, the living room seemed to descend into an eerie silence, as if the very atmosphere outside the castle had solidified.

Count Poufer then turned his attention to Lumian and Laurent. "Laurent, this is your first time attending my Saturday salon with Ciel. You'll be the first to choose."

Lumian laughed and said, "Of course, the host should be the first to choose. Don't you all think so?"

Instigated by him, the other participants readily agreed that the male host should have the honor of making the initial selection.

Count Poufer didn't insist and took up a slice of King's Pie, addressing the group, "Whoever bites into the gold coin shall be king."

Seeing that the Sauron family member had made the first choice, Lumian felt more at ease and leaned forward to survey the slices.

This was double insurance. First, he would let Count Poufer make his selection. Then, while there were still plenty of slices left, he would exploit Termiboros's aversion to the matter to choose a slice without the gold coin.

This time, Termiboros remained silent, not offering any warnings. Lumian naturally picked up the King's Pie slice he had personally selected.

But as he settled back into his seat, his mind spun unexpectedly. It was as if he saw the narrow glass window once again, and the image of the dark-red-haired man who had gouged out his own eyes intruded upon his thoughts.

-x-X-x-

Compared to his previous nightmare, Lumian could now "see" him more clearly. The dark-red-haired man behind the narrow glass window bore a striking resemblance to Count Poufer.

It was identical to Lumian Lee from Cordu Village, not the current Ciel Dubois!

When the dark-red-haired man with Lumian's face gouged out the bloody eyeball, Lumian's eyes ached, and his vision darkened.

Simultaneously, wild laughter echoed in his ears, infecting him to the point where he wanted to release his frustration, unleash violence, and satisfy his bloodlust.

Suddenly, his right palm heated up, and pure madness surged into his mind.

Out of nowhere, frustration, violence, and bloodthirst surged out of him as the maniacal laughter instantly ended.

Lumian's vision returned to normal, and he saw Novelist Anori sitting across from him, with Count Poufer beside him.

They grinned as they observed the other participants selecting slices of King's Pie, completely unaware of the unusual changes happening to Lumian.

Lumian counted the King's Pie slices that had vanished and glanced at Laurent, who was engrossed in his choice. He realized that only a few seconds had elapsed, but it felt like an eternity.

Drawing upon his Alms Monk abilities, he resisted the emotional turmoil stirred by the Blood Emperor's presence. He faintly perceived a peculiar, insane, bloody, and ruthless mental impression lingering in the void above him.

The desire to infiltrate Lumian's body, sending shivers down his spine, remained suppressed by Alista Tudor's hidden aura; it dared not descend. Instead, it circled above the living room, akin to vultures eager to feast on carcasses but cautious of nearby predators.

None of the participants in the King's Pie game detected the existence of such a manic spirit glaring fiercely at them from above. They giggled and selected their slices of King's Pie.

Come, dance with the Blood Emperor! Let's see who's crazier, you or Alista Tudor! Lumian scoffed inwardly, his emotions in turmoil.

Of course, he understood that his Blood Emperor aura was a mere facade. If the spirit were to forcefully enter his body, he wouldn't have the power to resist it. All he could do was hope that Mr. Fool's seal would activate and yield some effect.

However, judging by appearances, the frenzied and cruel spirit lacked any rationality. It operated solely on instinct and harbored an innate fear.

Lumian took a moment to collect himself. While observing Elros and the others choose their King's Pie slices and sensing the frenzied spirit's erratic movements, he contemplated the corresponding dilemma.

This appears to be the core of the Sauron family's King's Pie game…

Poufer employs his bloodline and a simplified ritual to summon the lingering spirit of his ancestor, allowing it to inhabit the person who consumes the symbol and becomes the king…

If a frenzied and bloodthirsty spirit were to truly take control of my body and corrode my mind, I might lose my sanity instantly. It's nearly impossible for ordinary individuals to resist such a force. What does Count Poufer rely on to maintain his composure? At the very least, he seems normal and has become king countless times…

No wonder Termiboros insisted I switch slices last time. If I were to lose control, He wouldn't fare any better…

Son of a sow! Why didn't you warn me today? Did you choose to remain silent because you knew I possessed the Blood Emperor's aura and wouldn't succumb to this insane mental invasion?

Could it be that the Sauron family has a special method for preserving the spirit of a high-ranking individual across generations? Or could Vermonda Sauron actually still be alive? Or perhaps the Beyonder trait he left behind has become too corrupted? Is the Sauron family attempting to gradually eradicate it using this method? But it's been two to three hundred years!

Hmm, this crazy spirit continues to hover above my head without descending… Will it eventually retreat, change its target, or trigger other alterations?

Lumian remained on high alert, keeping a constant watch on the frenzied spirit lingering in the air.

If it displayed any signs of forcefully invading through the Blood Emperor's aura or causing other unfavorable developments, Lumian would opt to "teleport" away.

Anori, Mullen, Iraeta, and the others each selected their King's Pie slices, leaving only the one reserved for Vermonda Sauron on the plate.

Count Poufer surveyed the surroundings with a grin and declared, "Everyone, let's dig in. The one who finds that gold coin will be the king for today."

With that, he elegantly sampled a portion of the King's Pie in his hand, then took a few more bites. His countenance gradually shifted from one of confidence to one of blank panic.

There was no gold coin!

Count Poufer stared at the other participants in disbelief, his assurance of control crumbling.

In that moment, a single thought consumed his mind:

No, this can't be! I'm the one who most closely resembles my ancestor!

His eyes fixed on Elros, the sole guest possessing the Sauron family's bloodline.

Though Elros was perplexed by her cousin's frantic and intense gaze, she still took a few bites of her King's Pie slice.

Yet, still, there was no gold coin to be found.

Count Poufer's confusion deepened. His gaze darted around, his mind racing with conjectures.

Could there be an illegitimate son of a family member here?

No, even if there were, I bear the closest resemblance to the ancestor!

Could a high-ranking member of the Hunter pathway be present?

Impossible!

Or perhaps someone here has been tainted in the underground world?

Lumian noticed Count Poufer's distressed head-scratching, and most of the game participants had sampled their King's Pie slices. He gradually lifted his right hand and took a bite.

As anticipated, his teeth encountered a solid metallic object.

He spat out the item onto his left palm. It was, without a doubt, a 10-verl d'or gold coin.

Novelist Anori let out a chuckle.

"Ah, a new king at last. It being always Poufer tires me out. He was getting rather dull with his pranks."

Lumian picked up the gold coin and cast a cold glance at Anori.

"Who gave you permission to speak?"

Anori's body quivered, and he instinctively clamped his mouth shut.

Lumian struggled to maintain control over the influence of the Blood Emperor's aura. He sensed the frenzied spirit above him spiraling faster and faster, as if growing more impatient and savage.

He surveyed the surroundings leisurely and offered a smile.

"From this moment forward, I am your King. Or would you prefer to address me as Emperor?"

For some inexplicable reason, all the participants, including Count Poufer and Miss Elros, experienced a stirring in their hearts, as if they were compelled to heed Lumian's commands.

Of course, it was merely a pulsing sensation, induced by the combined impact of his words and aura.

Among them, Poet Iraeta, who had recently entered into a sponsorship agreement with Ciel Dubois, rose nonchalantly, pressed his hand to his chest, and bowed.

"Indeed, Your Majesty!"

The others followed suit, either embracing the spirit of the game or yielding to the pulsing sensations in their hearts. They stood and offered their bows in their own unique ways.

"Indeed, Your Majesty."

Lumian's lips curled into a satisfied smile as he signaled for everyone to retake their seats.

Then, he turned his gaze towards Count Poufer and raised his chin slightly.

"I command you to present 30,000 verl d'or worth of gold."

Count Poufer was taken aback, a whirlwind of complex emotions surging within him.

This was the first time he had been subjected to the King's Pie commands.

He had an urge to respond with a jest, but he remembered the gravity of the consequences if he disobeyed the king's orders during this mystical game. He would meet a dreadful fate.

Count Poufer clenched his teeth and rose from his seat.

"Indeed, Your Majesty."

Exiting the living room, he ascended to a floor of the castle's main building and retrieved five hefty gold bars from a secure vault.

For him, parting with 30,000 verl d'or wasn't a significant loss.

Seeing Count Poufer offering him gold bars totaling 30,000 verl d'or, Lumian couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.

Had he known that his orders would be followed to the letter, he might have demanded even more!

The dilemma now lies in how to discreetly make off with the gold later. In normal circumstances, even if I accepted 30,000 verl d'or in person, I would have to privately return it. Failing to do so could offend Count Poufer… Moreover, I need to figure out how to explain to Gardner Martin that I had become king while remaining unaffected. Lumian pondered as he tucked away the five gold bars.

Then, he turned to Novelist Anori.

"Your mission is to bestow a kiss upon someone here. Your target is…"

As Anori eagerly eyed the beautiful women present, Lumian pointed towards Poet Iraeta, who had just taken a puff from his pipe.

"Our poet."

A momentary silence hung in the air, followed by a whistle from one of the guests, and then the others joined in.

Reluctantly, Anori stood up and muttered, "I really don't want to kiss that guy with bad breath. I could accept it if it were Mullen…"

Despite his reservations, he complied, giving Iraeta a gentle kiss on the lips.

Iraeta took it in stride, chuckling, and remarked, "I can sense your discomfort, Anori. Pull yourself together. Don't act like a naive country bumpkin."

Lumian observed with an impassive expression, his attention primarily drawn to the swirling madness.

Though it refrained from attempting to invade anyone's body, the influence of the madness made everyone slightly restless, their emotions displaying signs of instability.

Upon hearing Iraeta's teasing, Anori's countenance turned icy, as if he contemplated picking up a table knife and stabbing him.

However, he ultimately restrained himself.

Lumian suspected that as the game unfolded, the participants would grow increasingly agitated, irritable, and prone to bloodlust while the madness continued to linger.

At that very moment, a piercing, terrified scream echoed from somewhere within the castle.

-x-X-x-

A chilling scream, filled with terror, reverberated through the living room, causing the hearts of every guest to race with fear.

Painter Mullen was very sensitive to this. His pale-white complexion exchanged a concerned look with Count Poufer.

"What happened?"

Count Poufer furrowed his brow, puzzled by the sudden disturbance.

Upon hearing Mullen's question, he snapped back to attention and casually reassured everyone,

"It seems there may have been an accident. I'll have a servant find out the details. Don't worry, it won't disrupt our gathering. What could possibly go wrong?"

With that, Count Poufer signaled to his valet, positioned discreetly in a corner of the living room, to investigate the source of the scream.

Then, he addressed the assembled guests, saying, "Please, let's continue."

As he spoke, the Sauron family member directed his gaze towards Lumian.

Ever since presenting the gold bars, he had been closely watching Emperor Lumian, analyzing every subtle movement and expression. He was determined to unravel the mystery of how Lumian had chosen the King's Pie slice with the gold coin and not him.

Lumian fought to keep his composure in the face of the madness that seemed to consume him and turned his gaze towards Painter Mullen.

"Create a piece of art using your buttocks."

In his role as Cordu's Prankster King, Lumian had an array of tasks in his arsenal to assign to each participant in the game, ensuring that none of them would forget their missions.

Yet, Lumian's main concern wasn't the playful antics but the malevolent presence that loomed over the sofas.

This sinister entity refused to dissipate, even after failing to infiltrate Lumian. It hovered in the air, exuding an impatient, bloodthirsty, and irritable aura.

Lumian suspected a connection between the earlier scream and this ominous mental vortex.

The handsome yet pallid and weary painter, Mullen, stood in bewildered silence, grappling with this bizarre request. Painting with one's buttocks was entirely uncharted territory.

Novelist Anori and the others, having readily accepted their own missions, not only cheered with enthusiasm but also summoned the servants to bring paint and drawing paper. They even "assisted" Mullen by loosening his belt.

With no escape, Mullen reluctantly covered his posterior with paint and made a few awkward imprints on the drawing paper. The result resembled a child's crude doodle.

Observing this spectacle, Novelist Anori was struck by an idea.

"Why don't we frame it and send it to art critics? Let's see their reaction to such a unique creation."

"The painting's signature is the word 'The Emperor.' For the title… Right, Mullen, any suggestions?"

Mullen, avoiding the crowd, cleaned himself up and contemplated for a moment before responding, "Let's call it 'Café.'"

Curious, Cornell, the editor-in-chief of Le Petit Trierien, asked, "What does it signify?"

Mullen shook his head as he discarded the paint-stained handkerchief and soft paper, pulling up his pants. "It doesn't signify anything. This painting was meaningless from the start."

As they discussed, Count Poufer's valet returned to the living room and whispered something into the host's ear.

Influenced by the unsettling aura of the Blood Emperor's madness, Lumian struggled to make out the words despite his best efforts, catching only fragments.

"Lost… harm… danger…"

Count Poufer's expression darkened, a hint of seriousness creeping in.

He nodded subtly, signaling for his valet to return to his previous position, maintaining an air of nonchalance.

Observing Count Poufer's reaction, Lumian racked his brain, searching for a way to dispel the malevolent spirit.

I can't wait for everyone to complete their missions, can I? No, there's one crucial step missing. At the end of the previous King's Pie game, Count Poufer had consumed the King's Pie slice meant for Vermonda Sauron…

With this thought in mind, Lumian fixed his gaze on the untouched offering that remained on the plate. Leaning forward, he extended his right hand and claimed it.

Count Poufer had no doubts about this.

From his perspective, it would be suspicious if Lumian didn't retrieve the offering!

Almost simultaneously, the frenzied entity, radiating negativity, reacted vehemently, positioning itself directly above Lumian's head.

It emitted waves of negative emotions, as though cursing the audacious human who dared to partake in its offering.

Lumian sensed anger, hatred, and an insatiable desire to rend his soul asunder.

Yet, he remained unfazed and even smiled.

This reaction confirmed that he had made the correct choice!

Had the agitated spirit not responded so vehemently to his appropriation of the offering, Lumian would have remained clueless about how to banish it from lingering above everyone's heads.

This wasn't a guarantee of success, and it might entail danger, but it was a preferable alternative to the participants of the King's Pie game growing increasingly agitated and bloodthirsty, ultimately turning on each other.

When the moment was right, Lumian could still "teleport" away. As for the others, barring Count Poufer, their chances of survival were slim.

Naturally, he couldn't predict whether there would be unforeseen changes or new threats after consuming the offering, but in this dire situation, it was better than nothing.

For the participants in the King's Pie game, Lumian's intervention was their only hope. Without his actions, their demise was certain. With them, there was a fighting chance.

Lumian raised the sacrificial King's Pie to his lips and took a substantial bite.

The frenzied spirit grew even angrier and more violent.

It no longer hovered above the others but remained directly above Lumian's head. At times, it seemed poised to descend upon him, while at others, it attempted to tear into its target. However, it was thwarted by Alista Tudor's aura, instinctively holding back from further aggression.

Another scream resounded.

It came from somewhere in Red Swan Castle—originating from a different person than the previous one.

A moment ago, it had been a man, but now, it was a woman.

Count Poufer's eyelids twitched, and he smiled.

"It seems the servant responsible for cleaning up the earlier mishap must have stumbled upon some rather terrifying sights."

Literary critic Ernst Young and the other guests readily accepted this explanation.

As guests, they lacked the authority to pry into the castle's internal affairs. Moreover, they had gradually become engrossed in the King's Pie game, growing a tad fanatical, impatient, and preoccupied, diverting their focus away from other occurrences within the castle.

Lumian relished the King's Pie offering, savoring the intangible anger and curse like a melodious symphony playing in his ears.

Compared to the horrifying ravings he endured whenever he received a boon, this was akin to the beautiful performance of an orchestra.

Unable to vocalize itself and hesitant to invade his body, the frenzied spirit could only indirectly influence his emotions and mental state.

During this process, Lumian turned his attention to assigning missions to various individuals, noting that the participants were fully immersed in the game, their gazes fixed on it.

Periodically, another scream would punctuate the air, sending shivers down the spine.

Finally, Lumian finished the offering, and the frenzied spirit hovering above him abruptly halted.

In the next instant, it vanished mysteriously, dissipating into thin air.

While the participants of the King's Pie game still appeared fanatical, their irritability and agitation had considerably waned.

Lumian let out a quiet sigh of relief and turned to Elros, seated beside him.

"Let's see you do the Twist. If you're not sure how, ask someone to show you."

In contrast to the risqué Can-can dance, which was already laden with suggestive undertones, the Twist seemed relatively innocent as long as it wasn't a male-female dance. However, it had a comical appearance.

Elros complied, rising from her seat and attempting the Twist with a hint of awkwardness.

Amidst the laughter of those present, Lumian continued to assign missions to the remaining participants.

After all the participants had completed their assigned missions, Lumian straightened up and assumed an air of superiority as he delivered his final instruction.

"Last mission:

"Keep everything that happened today a secret. You must not divulge anything about today's game to anyone."

"Yes, Your Majesty!" Elros and Laurent, still caught up in the game's ambiance, responded in unison, their expressions displaying utmost respect.

This compliance was partly due to the lingering presence of the Blood Emperor's aura that still clung to Lumian.

Observing the instinctive obedience of each participant, Lumian let out a contented sigh and offered a warm smile.

"That concludes today's game."

Count Poufer rose from his seat and gestured with a smile.

"Let's proceed to the dining room."

As they moved from the living room to the dining room, they had to pass through the castle's main hall. Lumian, who had returned to his usual self, noticed out of the corner of his eye that a few valets and maids were diligently at work near the corridor.

They were using mops to clean up a reddish puddle.

Red… Lumian's eyelids twitched as he swiftly averted his gaze.

Following dinner, the guests bid their farewells one by one. Lumian sought out Count Poufer and retrieved the five heavy gold bars with a smile.

Count Poufer shook his head.

"Since I proposed the game, I must adhere to its rules. Do you think so little of me, believing I can't do without the 30,000 verl d'or?"

"It's simply a gesture of courtesy," Lumian responded with a smile. He didn't insist and smoothly returned the gold bars to his pocket.

According to their arrangement, Lumian arranged for the poet, Iraeta, to join him in his four-wheeled, four-seater carriage. Using the pretext of having limited funds on hand, he handed Iraeta only 3,000 verl d'or.

Iraeta didn't seem to mind at all. He stashed away the banknotes and engaged in a conversation about his artistic preferences.

As the carriage began its journey, Lumian inquired, "Which district are you heading to?"

"Just take me to the Sacred Heart Cloister," Iraeta replied with a grin. "I'm meeting a friend there. Sponsored poets always find friends to share a drink with."

Sacred Heart Cloister… Lumian nodded slightly and instructed the carriage driver accordingly.

Before long, the carriage arrived at the picturesque cloister. Even in the darkness of night, the golden fa?ade of the building reflected the crimson moonlight, creating a surreal and dreamlike atmosphere.

After watching Iraeta enter the cloister, Lumian directed the carriage driver to head back to Rue des Fontaines in Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative.

As the carriage rattled along, leaving behind the woods and fertile fields,

Lumian suddenly heard the resonant voice of Termiboros.

"A dangerous creature is tailing you; it has been since Red Swan Castle. It brims with hostility and is preparing to strike."

Dangerous creature… Lumian narrowed his eyes, calmly opened the carriage door, and effortlessly leaped out.

Facing the carriage driver, he spoke with the remaining authority of an Emperor, "Wait for me in the nearby town."

The carriage driver hesitated for a moment before complying with the order.

As Lumian watched the carriage and its driver disappear into the distance, he calmly retrieved the Flog boxing gloves from his briefcase and methodically donned the iron-black gloves.

The nearby forest seemed to darken, and the river that flowed through it took on an eerie blood-red hue.

-x-X-x-

A figure emerged slowly from the blood-stained river.

Lumian's mind seemed to freeze momentarily for some inexplicable reason as he observed the figure crawling ashore. Instead of an immediate attack, he watched the figure climb out of the water.

The unfamiliar man's face bore an eerie stiffness, and his clothes clung to him from being soaked in water. The latter seemed to merge with his flesh.

It was a wax statue, a wax statue that came to life!

Crimson blood seeped from the waxen figure, mixing with the river's flow before smashing against the wild grass along the bank.

The wax statue's light-blue eyes shifted slightly within their white sockets, casting a vague reflection of Lumian.

Meeting that gaze left Lumian feeling overwhelmed, unable to resist mentally or physically. Instinctual fear surged within him, drowning out all other emotions.

Suddenly, Lumian's survival instincts kicked in, fully erupting and overpowering all other emotions and states.

Lumian's vision was restored.

The wax statue, with its cold, unyielding eyes, was now less than a meter away. Its pale-white hand, dripping with blood, extended its fingers like deadly blades, thrusting toward him.

Lumian had no time to react. He raised his right palm to shield his face, and there was a resounding impact as the wax statue's razor-sharp finger collided with his iron-black Flog boxing glove, adorned with short thorns.

Where the boxing glove fell short, the wax statue's finger pierced Lumian's palm, leaving a conspicuous wound on his face.

Had he not shaken off the initial intimidation, the blow might have punctured his skull and reached his brain.

The familiar searing pain jolted Lumian awake. Clenching his left hand, he conjured a blazing crimson flame and launched a powerful punch at the wax statue's face from the side.

Simultaneously, with a smile, he tightened his right palm, using his own flesh and blood to hinder the wax statue's right hand, preventing it from evading his fiery strike.

Bang!

The Flog boxing gloves knocked the wax statue's head askew, and the iron-black thorns on their surface etched exaggerated scratches onto its unyielding face, the wounds shifting from deep to superficial.

Despite the vivid flow of bright red blood, there was no flesh-like texture to the injuries, only layers of wax that seemed to melt under an invisible fire.

In response, blood-colored capillaries extended from the wax statue's light-blue eyes, exuding an intense, bloodthirsty desire that lent it an eerie vitality, making it resemble the living.

Lumian had chosen the Flog boxing gloves for its potency, a mystical weapon of utmost power, especially against the creature that Termiboros had labeled as dangerous. He couldn't afford to be careless. However, he never expected his enemy to be a wax statue rather than a living being.

It rendered the Flog's ability to evoke specific desires or emotions ineffective; it could only serve as a defensive tool.

If not for the bizarre intimidation, Lumian would have discarded his boxing gloves and opted for the Decency brooch. Now, with his adversary before him, he had no choice but to stick with the Flog gloves, focusing instead on Fire Infusion.

To his astonishment, his punch had ignited the wax statue's bloodlust, suggesting that the entity retained a degree of life, along with faint emotions and desires of its own.

"Good to see you're still kicking!" Lumian's grin widened.

He pulled back his right palm, gritting his teeth through the pain, and his fiery fist realigned the wax statue's head.

The wax statue, its bloodthirsty desires now heightened, showed no inclination to increase the distance between them. It resumed its intimidating tactics, instinctively and desperately engaging in close combat with Lumian.

This played perfectly into Lumian's strategy. His iron-black boxing gloves, ablaze with crimson flames, consistently clashed with the wax statue's limbs, fists, shoulders, torso, and head in rapid, precise succession.

Each punch lacked brute force; what Lumian needed was a relentless onslaught.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bang! Bang! Bang! Lumian's fists, adorned with the Flog gloves, trailed crimson flames, effectively suppressing the agile and skilled wax statue to the point where it couldn't employ any other abilities.

His feet executed a fluid dance of stepping forward and raising knees to fend off the attacks from below.

Within a mere ten to twenty seconds, the wax statue abruptly ceased its movements, and an ethereal explosion emanated from its form.

The capillaries within its eyes ruptured, staining the once light-blue hue a vivid crimson. Cracks crisscrossed its head, connecting with the injuries inflicted by the Flog gloves.

Desire Detonation!

Lumian's relentless assault had triggered the Desire Detonation effect of the Flog boxing gloves.

In response, Lumian withdrew his fists and watched in silence as the wax statue's blood-red eyes revealed signs of pain.

Two crimson teardrops slowly welled up at the corners of its eyes, streaming down its waxy cheeks.

The wax statue opened its mouth as if attempting to speak, yet no sound escaped.

Rumble!

A muffled explosion emanated from within its body, and the exaggerated wounds extended across its form.

Crimson flames erupted from these regions, engulfing the wax statue entirely.

Fire Infusion!

Amidst the fierce inferno, the wax statue rapidly softened, its body dripping with blood-stained, viscous droplets.

Thud!

It collapsed to the ground.

What kind of monster is this? Lumian gazed at the fallen creature for more than ten seconds, his Hunter's instincts telling him that this prey couldn't possess Beyonder characteristics.

During this moment, he retrieved his briefcase and carefully stowed away the Flog boxing gloves.

Without hesitation, Lumian turned and exited the forest.

Behind him, crimson flames surged, consuming his dripping blood.

Within the blazing inferno, the wax statue had melted beyond recognition. Lumian's figure gradually faded, disappearing not far from the scene.

Spirit world traversal!

To evade the attention of evil gods and the dangerous entities summoned by the Flog boxing gloves, Lumian shifted his position, effectively "teleporting" to a nearby town.

It was a location he had scouted in advance, with precise coordinates within the spirit world.

After several dozen seconds, the forest path was suddenly replaced by a desolate wilderness, with only a few flickering flames remaining.

The weeds gradually flourished, and the figure of a person in a white robe materialized swiftly.

This figure donned a light-colored veil, and her abdomen was notably swollen. An unmistakable maternal aura enveloped her form. It was Lady Moon of the Nightstalkers.

Lady Moon directed her gaze towards the entirely melted, blood-stained wax statue, silently observing the dance of crimson flames.

After more than ten seconds of contemplation, the woman and the desolate wilderness vanished.

…

In a room within the main building of Red Swan Castle,Count Poufer, clad in a red shirt and sleek black trousers, occupied a cluttered desk. His icy stare remained fixed upon the wax statue's head placed before him.

The head bore an uncanny resemblance to a living being, with light-blue eyes and jet-black hair.

As the silence lingered, Count Poufer couldn't conceal a hint of restlessness. Occasionally, he tugged at his collar, shifted in his chair, and even unbuttoned the top of his shirt, as if the air had grown unnaturally thin, impeding his breathing.

As time ticked by, the wax statue's head suddenly emitted an ominous cracking sound.

It shattered into numerous pieces, each one grotesquely melted.

Poufer shot to his feet in shock, his pupils dilating in disbelief.

Tiny blood vessels protruded from his eyes, ruptured, and dyed them a vivid shade of red.

It was killed? Poufer murmured to himself, his astonishment mingling with suspicion.

Ciel Dubois was even more mysterious and formidable than he had initially thought!

Even if he wasn't, the hidden faction operating behind him was!

Count Poufer paced back and forth with a solemn expression.

…

After Lumian "teleported" to the town ahead, he exercised caution, remaining concealed in the shadows while meticulously calculating the time.

Only when he felt that a Hunter could potentially reach his location from the forest by running did he cautiously make his way into the town. He located the carriage driver and arranged for his return to 11 Rue des Fontaines in Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative.

In a room adorned with bookshelves, Lumian fixed his gaze upon Gardner Martin, who held a cigar in his hand. Lumian spoke frankly, "I was attacked."

There was no way to hide the truth from the Boss.

"Huh?" Gardner Martin responded in his distinctive nasal tone.

Lumian proceeded to recount the events, detailing how he had chosen the King's Pie slice after Count Poufer and subsequently felt a frenzied spirit attempting to invade him. He described how he had utilized Fire Infusion to dismantle and melt the wax statue, displaying the wounds on his hands and face.

What Lumian chose not to reveal was that he had discerned why the frenzied consciousness hadn't fully occupied his body and that he had used the Flog boxing gloves. He attributed the former to an unknown cause.

Gardner Martin smoked his cigar, listening quietly, unsurprised that Lumian's mind had remained incorrupt.

Had he displayed any hint of astonishment or suspicion, Lumian would have swiftly "invited" Mr. K to eliminate the Iron and Blood Cross Order's stronghold.

With a cigar in hand, Gardner Martin smiled and remarked, "It appears that the official members of our Iron and Blood Cross Order are more favored by Poufer's ancestor's spirit than Poufer himself. However, we also instill fear in it."

Does this refer to Beyonders who have succumbed to the peculiar corruption at 13 Avenue du Marché? The frenzied consciousness won't invade the other formal members of the Iron and Blood Cross Order, even in the absence of the Blood Emperor's aura? I wonder how true this is. Why don't you give it a try, Boss? Lumian suddenly felt the urge to goad Gardner Martin into playing King's Pie with Count Poufer.

"Now, I've confirmed something," Gardner Martin's expression grew serious. "The ancestor of the Sauron family, Vermonda Sauron, is not truly deceased. He exists in a manner beyond our current comprehension."

-x-X-x-

Lumian couldn't quite understand how Gardner Martin could be so certain that Vermonda Sauron wasn't dead. Still, it seemed that the other party didn't intend to explain, so he could only give up on asking.

He was concerned about one thing:

"Does that mean my mission is over?"

Clearly, combined with Count Poufer's fondness for creating wax statue heads for friends he knew and the fact that a wax statue had attacked him, Lumian believed that he was now under suspicion by the other party. It would be very dangerous to interact with him again.

Gardner Martin shook his head slowly.

"No, you have to continue."

Holding the cigar, he stood up and paced towards the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"The fact that you became the king after Poufer will undoubtedly make him suspicious of your origins, but he will be more eager to find out the real reason for that incident. The subsequent wax statue attack was mainly attributed to this.

"Therefore, he will still invite you over to test you in different ways and extract your hidden secrets. For us, this is an opportunity to confirm the true state of Vermonda and the Sauron family's ancestors.

"And through this, we can grasp the reason for the gradual decline of this once exceptionally powerful family. This is of great significance to us, who are also mainly from the Hunter pathway. It is our primary mission now.

"To put it simply, the Sauron family is like Red Swan Castle. They've been in disrepair for a long time, but they hide many secrets. They have guards that can deter spying. What we need to do is figure out the castle's defense flaws and confirm if those secrets pose a fatal threat to us. Then, we can find an opportunity to break through the guards, bypass the traps, and take the treasure.

"Don't worry, I'll covertly provide protection for Poufer's future invitations. The risk you'll take won't be significant."

Lumian pondered for a moment and said, "Commanding Officer, you mentioned before that our primary mission is to find the true entrance to the Fourth Epoch Trier."

How could the primary mission change so easily?

Gardner Martin took a puff of his cigar and smiled.

"These two matters are connected to a certain extent and serve the same purpose, but you don't need to know for the time being."

What's their motive? In other words, the Iron and Blood Cross Order's current focus is on exploring the underground, finding the entrance to the Fourth Epoch Trier, investigating the Sauron family's decline over the past 200 to 300 years, and securing something precious from them? According to Mr. K, one reason for the Sauron family's decline is their descent into madness and the loss of many important members over time. Gardner Martin and I are mainly responsible for the Sauron family aspect. Are the other members, including Supervisor Olson, exploring the underground? Lumian had a clearer understanding of the Iron and Blood Cross Order's recent plans.

This was also his primary mission.

Of course, he only knew what to do and didn't understand why.

"Yes, Commanding Officer," Lumian agreed without further ado.

He had a hunch that this would be an opportunity for him to digest the Pyromaniac potion and advance further on the Hunter pathway.

According to Madam Magician, the Sauron family was once a powerful faction with a Hunter angel.

Gardner Martin didn't inquire about how much gold Poufer had offered to the "king," hinting that Lumian could leave and await the Count's future invitation.

Passing through the renovated hall, Lumian spotted Faustino, the butler, who was also an official member of the Iron and Blood Cross Order, leading a black-cloaked figure in.

The man was of average height, barely 1.75 meters tall. His attire was loose, and he was tightly wrapped, obscuring his exact appearance and physique.

Lumian could only determine that it was a man based on his walking posture, height, and strides.

Faustino nodded at Lumian as a greeting before leading the mysterious man through the hall and into Gardner Martin's study.

Who could it be? What brings him here so late at night for a discussion? Lumian averted his gaze, his thoughts racing as he left 11 Rue des Fontaines.

…

In the market district, Rue Anarchie, Auberge du Coq Doré.

Upon reaching the second floor, Lumian suddenly gave weight to his pace, producing thumping sounds.

He leisurely returned to Room 207, ignited the carbide lamp, turned around in the armchair, and sat down. He smiled at the unlatched door.

After 20 to 30 seconds, soft footsteps echoed from Room 201.

The footsteps hesitated before showing determination. Soon, they arrived outside Room 207 and gently knocked on the door.

"Please come in," Lumian said, raising his chin slightly.

As expected, it was Laurent. He wore a linen shirt and black pants, completely different from whenever he headed out.

After closing the door, Laurent looked at Lumian and said, "Monsieur Dubois, I wish to borrow 500 verl d'or from you."

Lumian was taken aback, not expecting this development.

He thought the man was here to plead with him not to expose his true identity.

Unexpectedly, he came to borrow money!

"Why 500 verl d'or?" Lumian's expression remained unchanged.

Laurent's voice deepened as he said, "I'm about to become one of the deputy editors-in-chief of Le Petit Trierien. Although I'll be the most junior-ranking editor, I can't continue living here. I have to invite my colleagues to gatherings at home regularly to build a good relationship with them.

"Therefore, I wish to borrow 500 verl d'or to rent a good apartment in Quartier de l'Observatoire or Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative. I want to bring my mother there and use the time to teach her how to host a small banquet.

"Once I receive my salary, I'll repay the debt in installments. How much do you think the interest rate should be?"

This is not only borrowing money to secure his job, but also taking the initiative to give me leverage and some benefits so that I won't ruin his plans… Lumian thought a little higher of Laurent and nodded thoughtfully.

"I don't need interest. You'll definitely come into contact with some interesting news, information, and advertisements at Le Petit Trierien. I hope you can organize them regularly and give me a copy."

As Lumian spoke, he took out his wallet and counted five banknotes worth 100 verl d'or.

"Just pay it back this year."

Laurent heaved a sigh of relief and said, "No problem."

After watching the speculator write the IOU and leave Room 207, Lumian took out the five heavy gold bars from Count Poufer's pocket and tossed them in his hand.

With this unexpected windfall, he had amassed 75,000 verl d'or worth of gold. At the same time, he had 2,000 verl d'or that hadn't been exchanged for gold and the remaining 4,000 verl d'or funds for his activities.

It won't be long before I complete the Armored Shadow's contract and summon it again… Lumian fiddled with the gold bars for a while before leaving the briefcase containing the Flog boxing gloves on the armchair. He washed up and went to bed, awaiting the inevitable nightmare.

…

In his daze, Lumian once again caught sight of Red Swan Castle, its beige outer walls stained with aged blood.

In a daze, he walked in and arrived at the large living room where he had played King's Pie.

Miss Elros, Painter Mullen, Le Petit Trierien's editor-in-chief, Cornell, and the other guests who often attended Count Poufer's banquet sat on the sofa, as if awaiting Lumian's arrival.

Laurent and the other guests' temporary female companions were absent.

This made the scene seem like another salon or a past one.

As Lumian approached the sofa, Count Poufer and the others stood up and greeted him respectfully.

"Good afternoon, Your Royal Majesty," they greeted in unison.

Instinctively, Lumian glanced at them coldly.

"Oh?"

Count Poufer and the others were taken aback for a moment.

"Your Imperial Majesty!"

Lumian nodded slightly and settled into an armchair, watching as the guests settled around him.

They chatted nonchalantly, their topics diverse and vague.

Suddenly, Novelist Anori raised his right hand and scratched his face.

With a tearing sound, he ripped off a large piece of skin, revealing squirming flesh and blackened tubes.

Almost simultaneously, Painter Mullen and the others either stabbed themselves in the heart or tore at their companions' necks.

In an instant, the entire living room turned abnormally bloody, and there was a terrifying scene everywhere.

Lumian's thoughts raced as his vision underwent an immediate transformation.

In another hall of the castle, surrounded by countless lit white candles was a coffin.

The coffin was made of bronze and its surface was rusted. It was unknown how long it had been there.

Lumian's heart swelled with sorrow and helplessness, as if he had lost his kin and support. He slowly extended his right hand, attempting to caress the rusty bronze coffin.

At that moment, the coffin's lid creaked open, revealing a deep crack.

Suddenly, a palm with dark-red, nearly-black blood vessels extended, holding an extremely withered heart with some blood seeping out.

The heart was still gently and indiscernibly contracting and expanding.

Upon seeing the withered heart, Lumian's thoughts raced chaotically, tainted with a certain madness.

His right palm felt slightly warm, and he suddenly woke up from his dream.

He wasn't surprised or flustered by the nightmare. As he calmed his racing heart, he recalled the details of the nightmare.

Gradually, Lumian frowned.

In the first scene, most of the King's Pie game participants eventually went crazy. They either mutilated themselves or others, but there were three exceptions. Even when the scene changed, they were still normal.

One was Lumian himself, and the other was Count Poufer.

There was another one Lumian hadn't expected: Miss Elros!

She's not as reserved and obedient as she appears. She has her own secrets… Lumian smiled silently.

As for what the bronze coffin, dead body, and withered heart represented in the second scene, he couldn't decipher them at all. He could only guess that it might be related to the Sauron family's secret.

Just like the last time, Lumian had several nightmares that night, but the clarity and completeness of his dreams gradually decreased.

Just before dawn, the nightmare was completely gone.

After waking up, Lumian quickly wrote a letter and sent it to Madam Magician while his memories still remained fresh.

-x-X-x-

After fifteen minutes, Madam Magician replied with a brief letter:

Lumian's temples throbbed at Madam Magician's response. She had conveyed a lot, but the crucial details remained elusive. While he understood each word individually, their combined meaning eluded him.

What does the Iron and Blood Cross Order actually possess and what does it claim?

Lumian massaged his temples and continued reading.

"This situation presents both danger and opportunity for you. Investigating the truth behind the Sauron family's downfall is a mission I eagerly anticipate. Mr. Fool assigned this long-term mission to our Tarot Club, much like the Two of Cups interacting with the Demoness Sect to confirm the Primordial Demoness's condition. There's no need to rush. Take your time. Even if it takes years to complete."

"…" Lumian was taken aback.

He had expected Franca's Major Arcana, Madam Judgment, to agree to her contact with the Demoness Sect. But what kind of terrifying mission was it to ascertain the Primordial Demoness's condition?

That was a true deity!

Based on Lumian's recent knowledge from various sources, not only was direct observation of deities impossible, but attempting to understand Their specific situation was exceedingly perilous.

As for the evil gods like the one known as Inevitability, mere awareness of Their existence equated to corruption.

A long-term mission… a task that could only be completed once Franca achieved demigod status? Lumian thoughtfully read the last sentence of Madam Magician's reply.

"Focus on this matter. If you need help or find yourself in a bind, contact me in advance. As for the Aurora Order, refrain from participating in other missions. Concentrate on the Iron and Blood Cross Order. I believe Mr. K will understand."

Madam Magician had previously tasked me with infiltrating the Aurora Order and slowly gaining Mr. K's trust, with the ultimate goal of becoming an Oracle. However, it is apparent from her tone that priorities had shifted. Now, she emphasizes giving precedence to the Iron and Blood Cross Order… Lumian discerned this as a significant signal from her reply.

Crimson flames erupted as Lumian burned the letter in his hand. He slung a satchel over his shoulder and placed the Flog boxing gloves inside. Then, he made his way to Rue des Blouses Blanches.

He located a random café and had breakfast there.

It wasn't until nearly nine o'clock that Lumian knocked on the door of Apartment 601.

Franca didn't express any annoyance at being awakened this time. She didn't appear to be asleep, wearing a troubled expression instead.

Upon seeing Lumian, she tugged at her flaxen-colored hair, which was left untied, and said, "Guess what? I've accepted a suicide mission!"

"Confirming the Primordial Demoness's condition?" Lumian chuckled.

Sensing that Franca had done so willingly, he no longer fretted about her.

"Do you want to hear the truth or a lie? For the lie, I divined it. The truth is, I just reported the recent situation to my Major Arcana card holder, and she mentioned your choice." Lumian strolled over to the divan and sat down casually. "Where's Jenna?"

"Ever since she received her father's compensation, she's been keen on instigation. Yesterday, she poached a supporting actress whose contract had expired and convinced her to switch to a theater in Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative. While it did boost her income significantly, I could have matched the offer if I had been informed. Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons has been quite profitable lately."

Franca didn't hold a grudge against Jenna because Jenna had sought her opinion beforehand and obtained her approval. She believed such instigations were beneficial. Plus, having a supporting actress leave opened up opportunities for apprentices like Jenna and the former dancers.

After recounting the matter briefly, Franca sighed and continued, "Madam Judgment only wants me to interact with the Demoness Sect. Under the condition that I control my desires and mental state, I can use their resources to enhance myself, monitor their activities, and understand their immediate plans. Confirming the Primordial Demoness's condition can be considered once I truly attain godhood and become a saint. I can deduce certain situations through the Demoness Sect's activities, their recent plans, and the reactions during prayers to the Primordial Demoness."

"Aren't you troubled by the mission?" Lumian raised his eyebrows.

Franca sighed.

"I am troubled by the mission, but what's troubling is that I'll remain a Demoness at Sequence 4. I won't be able to transform back into a man."

"You can wait until Sequence 3," Lumian suggested with a relaxed demeanor.

"That's true, although it would be even more challenging." Franca had thought it through and then asked why Lumian had suddenly reported the situation to Madam Magician.

Lumian briefly recounted his experience at Red Swan Castle from yesterday and Gardner Martin's words, omitting specific details.

Franca listened intently, contemplating for a moment before saying, "Our current missions combined involve the secrets and movements of the relevant factions within the Hunter and Demoness pathways.

"The Tarot Club appears to attach great importance to such matters…"

Lumian chuckled.

"That's the only way we'll have a chance."

Franca acknowledged his words tersely and suddenly remembered something.

"How much gold did you command Count Poufer to give you?"

"30,000," Lumian replied honestly.

Franca's eyes lit up.

"How much gold do you have now?"

"75,000. I can add another 6,000 at any time," Lumian disclosed without hesitation.

Franca's smile widened.

"Then I'll lend you 25,000 first, interest-free!

"Let's summon the Armored Shadow tonight and try to figure things out before the gathering next week."

He recalled that Franca had spent all her savings to advance to the Demoness of Pleasure.

Franca said smugly, "I received 20,000 verl d'or for assisting you in dealing with Guillaume Bénet, and Gardner Martin has been quite generous lately. He entrusted me with managing most of the earnings from Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons and the dancers. Heh heh, Madam Judgment even provided me with 10,000 to support my activities."

Your earnings are quite impressive as well… Lumian realized that while the profits from Théatre de l'Ancienne Cage à Pigeons and the dancers might not match those of Salle de Bal Brise, they were undoubtedly substantial. If Franca could claim a significant portion of them, she could easily make around 20,000 per month.

He nodded and said, "Alright, we'll perform the summoning ritual at 11 tonight at the same place the other time."

Franca's joy was palpable.

"I'll arrange for someone to exchange the 25,000 gold right away."

…

Late at night, at Rist Docks, within the charred remains of a building.

Franca observed Lumian as he set up the altar and placed all the gold upon it.

Rather than staying outside the wall of spirituality, she chose to remain by her companion's side.

Lumian proceeded to light the candles one by one, letting the essential oil drip. Stepping back, he intoned, "The Fool that doesn't belong to this era;

"…"

Almost simultaneously, Franca chanted Mr. Fool's honorific name, ensuring her safety in the presence of the ritual's power.

Soon, amid the faint fog and a sense of impending danger, Lumian recited the final part of the incantation.

"I!

"In the name of the great Fool, I summon:

"The spirit that wanders the void, a combination of numerous shadows, Lumian Lee's contracted creature."

Within the wavering candlelight, an ethereal door adorned with enigmatic symbols materialized. From it emerged a shadowy figure clad in dark armor reminiscent of fish scales.

Just as before, each scale seemed to bear a face, each belonging to a different creature.

Those are indeed fish scales… Franca couldn't tear her gaze away, her anticipation and anxiety

overriding the eerie ambiance that surrounded them and the evident malevolence emanating from the Armored Shadow.

Lumian locked eyes with the Armored Shadow and spoke in Hermes, "I will fulfill the contract and offer you gold valued at 100,000 verl d'or."

To be honest, Lumian harbored some doubts about the 100,000 verl d'or worth of gold. The ever-changing exchange rates between verl d'or and gold left him uncertain whether he should prepare the amount based on the exchange rate at the time of signing the contract or the current rate. As a precaution, he had only acquired an additional 1,000 verl d'or worth of gold as a backup.

As Lumian finished his words, the gold bars, jewelry, and various items on the altar suddenly disintegrated, transforming into golden particles that flew toward the mysterious illusory door.

Most of these particles landed on the Armored Shadow, while a few passed through the open illusory door and disappeared.

Gradually, almost a fifth of the Armored Shadow's pitch-black armor, resembling fish scales, transformed into gold. It was no longer dark and foreboding but radiated a holy and pristine aura.

Franca's eyes widened.

Legends and terms from her original world rushed into her mind as she muttered to herself, "Could this be… the reconstruction of the golden body?"

In her memory, the golden body referred to the golden powder or gold foil applied to the surface of idol statues. Sometimes, it denoted the special form of someone with godlike status or significant achievements. The Armored Shadow now resembled a weathered statue that had been rejuvenated with a coating of golden powder.

When all the gold on the altar had vanished, Lumian sensed that the contract had been completely fulfilled.

Taking the opportunity, he asked on Franca's behalf in Hermes, "Where do you come from?"

The Armored Shadow opened its mouth and spoke with a deep, dignified, and somewhat sinister voice.

However, Lumian couldn't comprehend its words at all. He could only watch in confusion as the Armored Shadow returned to the illusory door.

Once the summoning ritual concluded, Lumian turned to Franca and noticed that her companion seemed lost in thought, her brows furrowed.

His heart stirred as he asked, "Did you understand the Armored Shadow's response?"

Franca nodded slowly.

"The language he used is very similar to the language from my home world.

"He said…"

Franca paused and muttered to herself, puzzlement evident on her face,"The Blood Son of Heaven disrupted the netherworld, and the Underworld Daoist sacrificed himself to enter the river."

-x-X-x-

Despite Franca speaking Intisian, it left Lumian perplexed. He struggled to grasp her meaning or intentions.

Surveying the silent ruins around him, he found nothing out of the ordinary. Turning his attention back to Franca, he inquired, "Care to explain?"

Franca contemplated for a moment before responding, "The Son of Heaven is roughly equivalent to an Emperor. As for Daoist, eh—think of it as a mighty Beyonder."

"In essence, this Emperor, bearing the title 'Blood,' wrought havoc in hell, sowing chaos. As for the Daoist known as 'Underworld,' a powerful Beyonder, they made the ultimate sacrifice, entering a certain river to seal away this Emperor."

The Emperor with the title of Blood… Lumian was alarmed.

"The Blood Emperor?"

Memories from the Samaritan Women's Spring came flooding back.

In those vivid recollections, the Blood Emperor's elusive figure burned with concealed flames, his battered armor soaked in blood. The dark waters receded within the fountain only to surge forth again, merging with the ethereal mist, transforming into a pale spring. Alista Tudor's apparition was tugged back into the fountain's depths by an inexplicable force. It appeared as though a fierce battle had transpired between the two entities…

With Franca's explanation, Lumian's mind began to piece together a new interpretation of the Armored Shadow's cryptic words and his encounter.

He said thoughtfully to Franca, "I suspect the 'Blood Son of Heaven' you mention is none other than the apparition of the 'Blood Emperor' Alista Tudor."

"But how did the Blood Emperor's apparition find its way to my home?" Franca didn't immediately connect it to Alista Tudor, but Lumian's deductions were beginning to make sense.

The special fish-scale armor and the Spell of Harrumph, which originated from myths and legends, made her suspect that the Armored Shadow came from back home. And now, the language basically matched, making her even more certain.

Lumian nodded, continuing, "I'll have to start with the events at the Samaritan Women's Spring, where Madame Hela and I fetched the water…"

"You went with Madame Hela?" Franca murmured, her curiosity piqued but allowing Lumian to proceed.

Lumian went on to recount the events at the Samaritan Women's Spring in detail, ensuring Franca remained focused on his narrative. He then presented his theory.

"I suspect that during the War of the Four Emperors, the Blood Emperor did not fully perish. For some extraordinary reason, He preserved a fragment of His lingering soul. During the godly war, a passage was opened between our world and your homeland, allowing a mysterious river from your world to infiltrate ours. Mr. Fool sealed it, creating the Samaritan Women's Spring.

"This river appears closely tied to the realms of death and the Underworld. The Blood Emperor's apparition, trapped in a state of death, traverses between your world, the Samaritan Women's Spring, and even the Fourth Epoch Trier.

"The Blood Emperor possesses an innate desire for resurrection, and the first step to achieving that is to escape the river's confinement. In this process, He brought chaos to the Underworld of your homeland. The powerful Beyonder from the domains of Death and the Underworld had no choice but to make the ultimate sacrifice, immersing themselves in the mysterious river to harness its power fully and seal away the Blood Emperor's apparition."

Franca alternated between confusion and clarity. When Lumian finished sharing his theory, she responded with a mixture of surprise and suspicion, saying, "Your guess seems quite realistic and logical…"

His explanation shed light on the words of the Armored Shadow and the peculiar occurrences at the Samaritan Women's Spring.

Franca fell into a brief silence, then continued, "Back in my homeland, that elusive and mysterious river is known as the Yellow Springs."

"However, before I transmigrated, the Yellow Springs and the netherworld were nothing more than legends, unverifiable myths. There were no tales of the Blood Son of Heaven or the Underworld Daoist…

"Could it be that I was just an ordinary person who never had the opportunity to encounter such things?"

Lumian chuckled.

"Before I discovered Aurore was a Warlock, concepts like superpowers, demons, and ghosts were nonexistent."

Franca acknowledged his words, her expression gradually shifting towards excitement.

"Now that there's a passageway connecting our worlds, returning home is no longer an unattainable dream!"

Lumian, in a friendly tone, warned, "Madame Hela mentioned that the pale-white spring water is deadly to anyone who touches it."

Franca's expression froze for a moment, then she replied, "That may be true for us now. But with the power of godhood and ascending to sainthood, we might be able to handle it."

Lumian reminded her again, "There are the figures of an angel and a true god imprisoned in the spring."

"…" Franca rolled her eyes at Lumian. "Aren't you a buzzkill! Compared to before, when we had no answers, no direction, and no hope, now there's a glimmer of hope. We know where to focus our efforts. One of the reasons Madame Hela went to retrieve the Samaritan Women's Spring might have been to confirm if it's connected to the Yellow Springs. She's truly exceptional at finding leads!"

Lumian simply shrugged, opting not to dampen Franca's newfound optimism and enthusiasm.

Franca's excitement was palpable as she paced back and forth before suddenly posing a question.

"Were you asking where the Armored Shadow came from? Why did it mention the Blood Emperor and Daoist Underworld?"

That wasn't an answer!

Could there be some hidden secret?

Lumian thought for a moment and said, "It's a shadow born after death, and some of its abilities clearly belong to the Death domain. It also has a strong urge to break free from its restraints and escape imprisonment… Given these factors, I believe it's a ghost-like entity sealed by Daoist Underworld. Asking about its origins would inevitably lead to uncovering the current state of the Daoist Underworld, which is why I received that answer."

Franca was enlightened.

"That makes sense!

"Underworld Daoist destroyed its golden body and sealed it. Could that be why it's collecting gold to reconstruct its golden body and break free from its imprisonment?"

Observing Lumian's puzzled expression, Franca clarified the concept of a golden body and her interpretation.

"Is that so?" Lumian nodded slowly. "It seems like we might be able to continue trading gold with the Armored Shadow in the future, but fully restoring it to its original state should be avoided. This entity is extremely dangerous and holds a deep malice. I wonder what it will do once it escapes its seal."

Franca agreed wholeheartedly. "At the very least, we need to advance to Sequence 4 before considering this matter."

Lumian snickered. "Didn't you mention that achieving godhood and becoming a saint is an arduous endeavor? Why the newfound confidence?"

Franca glared at Lumian. "Isn't it because I have a goal now? Can't I indulge in a little daydreaming with all the motivation I have? Seriously, did we switch roles?"

She recalled that not long ago, she had remarked that Lumian made the path to godhood and switching pathways sound too simplistic.

Lumian chuckled and said, "It's good to have a goal and motivation. Yes, the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society's gathering is coming up next week. Should I inform the others about the Armored Shadow, the Blood Emperor, Underworld Daoist, and the Yellow Springs?"

Franca pondered for a moment and said, "In the past, I would have shared this information, but now I can't do so until I solve the issue with April Fool's Day. However, we can inquire about the illusory river related to death and see if anyone has relevant information."

Lumian thought for a moment and said, "I'll do the asking."

Franca was momentarily surprised but quickly understood Lumian's reasoning.

Lumian had gone to the Samaritan Women's Spring with Madame Hela. It made more sense for her companion, who was posing as Muggle, to inquire about the situation at the Samaritan Women's Spring. There was a logical rationale behind it.

From Hela's perspective, Lumian and Hidden Blade were strangers who didn't know each other. If Franca were to casually mention the River of Death, it would undoubtedly raise suspicion.

…

On Monday, Franca arrived at Trocadéro's Red House Café once again.

This time, she had taken care to dress more in line with her usual attire, wearing a shirt, pants, and boots, even though she still maintained her black-haired, brown-eyed form.

Her intention was to create the illusion that she was a man who had transformed into a Demoness, which she hoped would deter any sudden attacks from the Demoness she was waiting for.

However, the long-haired orange-red Demoness did not appear throughout the morning. Instead, Franca found herself engaged in conversations with two female patrons who took the opportunity to strike up a chat with her.

Franca calmly sipped her coffee, seemingly unfazed by the interactions.

She couldn't help but notice that Lumian appeared unusually calm and encouraged her to take her time. Franca understood the urgency of eliminating the core members of the Bliss Society, particularly those close to Susanna Mattise. Failing to do so would mean Lumian would forever be overshadowed by the Rose School of Thought.

…

Lumian had already reported to Madam Magician about the Bliss Society, the Rose School of Thought, and the activities at the Red House Café. The response he received was concise: "Do not leave Trier for the time being, and there should be no major issues."

Lumian ignited the letter and departed Rue du Rossignol, strolling towards Avenue du Marché.

As he approached Salle de Bal Brise, he spotted a familiar figure—a man with dark-brown eyes, a prominent nose bridge, and a flaxen-colored beard that covered his chin. This man wore a robe reminiscent of an ancient Warlock's attire. It was Secrets Suppliant Osta Trul, the same person who had introduced Lumian to Mr. K's mysticism gathering.

"My cabbage," Lumian inquired with a smile. "What brings you here?"

Osta Trul responded with a magnetic voice, "I've come to find Baron Brignais to settle my debt."

"You've got the money?" Lumian raised his eyebrows.

Osta Trul smiled and replied, "Yes, I've come to realize that some honorific names derived from the potion can be used for prayers. There's no danger involved. This discovery has been quite helpful to me."

Lumian was slightly taken aback by this revelation. With a dark look, he tapped his chest four times—up, down, left, and right.

Osta Trul mirrored his actions with an even warmer smile.

Lumian didn't continue the small talk. He simply waved his hand and walked past Osta Trul.

Quietly, he approached the white spherical statue constructed from skulls outside Salle de Bal Brise, releasing a soft sigh.

At 9 p.m., Lumian returned to Room 207 at Auberge du Coq Doré. He finally received a letter from a pure silver skull with pale-white flames burning in its eye sockets.

The letter was from Hela, and its content was brief.

"There will be a gathering in one hour.

"If you wish to participate, silently recite the following incantation within five minutes of 10 p.m."

-x-X-x-

It's finally here… Lumian exhaled, folded the letter, and left Auberge du Coq Doré.

He hadn't prepared an additional iron cabinet. With a few traps hidden in the room, regular thieves couldn't approach the core area. Forcing their way in would only cost them their lives. An iron cabinet wouldn't stop exceptional thieves anyway.

When the time was right, Lumian donned a hooded black robe that bore a striking resemblance to the attire worn by Warlocks, all according to Madame Hela and Franca's descriptions of his sister's appearance at these gatherings.

Then, he pulled out Lie and transformed it into a simple yet exquisite silver-white earring. He secured it onto his right earlobe.

Gazing into the full-length mirror, Lumian maintained a calm demeanor as he observed a sudden transformation of him growing shorter. His hair morphed into a luxuriant shade of pure gold, growing thick and cascading down his back.

His facial features underwent a metamorphosis, mirroring those etched in his memories of Aurore. His nose bridge, now elevated and delicate, complemented his lips, neither too full nor too thin, painted in a subtle shade of red. His eyes, light-blue and clear, emitted a faint but captivating luminescence.

In the past, Lumian had always perceived his sister as a paradox, her inner self contrasting sharply with her outward appearance. She exuded an aura of sunshine, cheerfulness, and open-mindedness, yet in reality, she was a homebody, reluctant to venture out for social interactions. Only those who had truly earned her trust were privileged to witness her relaxed demeanor, the quirky phrases she often uttered, and her playful and bullying side.

On the contrary, Aurore displayed no apprehension when stepping out into the world. Much like Lumian, she possessed the natural ability to connect with the elderly ladies of Cordu and regale the children with captivating stories, earning their affection.

Ever since Lumian had learned about his sister's true background, he had come to comprehend the stark divergence between Aurore's inner self and her external appearance and demeanor. Certainly, many people grappled with such contradictions, but Aurore's unique circumstances had magnified this incongruity.

Lately, Lumian often found himself pondering what his sister had been like and the kind of life she had led.

As he stared into the mirror, Aurore's light-blue eyes seemed to take on a misty quality, as if she too were lost in reminiscences of days gone by.

Lumian still held vivid memories of the first time his sister had mentioned her homeland. It happened during his second year in Cordu.

Back then, when the shepherds had returned to the highland pastures, Aurore had taken him to pat the newly born lambs and, "cruelly" bought their loved ones. They ventured into the green pastures adorned with white and yellow wildflowers, carefully selecting a spot that wouldn't disturb the serene surroundings. They then set up a charcoal grill for a picnic.

As night descended upon them, and the starry heavens unveiled themselves like a boundless river of glistening diamonds, Aurore suddenly drifted into a reverie, her fingers brushing away tears.

Lumian inquired about her thoughts, and she confessed to a profound sense of homesickness.

Aurore's gaze in the mirror seemed to lose focus, mirroring the soft, yellowish-blue glow of the carbide lamp.

The mountain village nestled beside those vibrant green pastures under the radiant sun—it was a place they could never return to.

After a while, Lumian opened the pocket watch he had borrowed from Salle de Bal Brise, confirming the time.

Then, he donned a sleek silver-white half-mask, revealing his finely sculpted lips and chiseled chin to the world.

Without delay, Lumian retrieved a piece of paper adorned with the ancient Feysac script and affixed it securely to his left breast, displaying the word "Muggle."

Despite hailing from the same world, the society's members hailed from diverse homelands, each with their distinct languages. Upon their transmigration to this world, they found themselves scattered across different countries, inevitably erecting language barriers. Initially, they relied on the linguistic prowess of fellow members who were polyglots. However, over time, they gravitated towards adopting ancient Feysac, the common tongue of the Northern Continent, as their shared language.

Naturally, there were exceptions among the society's ranks—those whose native languages diverged significantly from ancient Feysac—but they were a minority. They had to follow the majority, knowing that, until they mastered the language, someone would always be there to translate for them.

Lumian had already laid a strong foundation in ancient Feysac. Ever since his arrival in Trier, he had diligently immersed himself in Aurore's grimoires, plunging deeper into this linguistic realm. Basic communication posed no challenge for him any longer.

Approaching 10 p.m., Lumian made final adjustments to his appearance in front of the full-length mirror, ensuring everything was in its rightful place. He concealed an assortment of ritual components and the alcohol flask containing the Decency brooch within the concealed pocket of his Warlock-like black robe.

With Madame Hela's letter clutched firmly in his hand, Lumian began the recitation for the Hermes gathering.

"A Beyonder from ancient times, Ruler of the Nation of the Evernight, noble Mother of the Sky, I beseech your permission to enter your kingdom."

As the words escaped Lumian's lips, the world around him underwent a sudden and eerie transformation. He beheld his own reflection in the mirror, like a pencil sketch hastily erased by an eraser.

His vision dimmed, plunging him into what felt like the deepest of slumbers.

Abruptly, Lumian's consciousness drifted to the gathering, the pounding of his heart resonating within his ears.

He snapped out of his reverie, finding himself within a palace marked by crumbling stone walls and encroaching weeds.

In its heart lay a massive, weathered stone throne, yet no one ventured near it. Through the fissures in the walls and the timeworn windows, Lumian glimpsed a night shrouded in darkness and cold, veiled by a thick fog.

Faint starlight penetrated the fog, casting a feeble glow upon the palace and the dreamlike town enshrouded by the fog.

The town appeared utterly deserted, as if plucked from a dream. Within the palace, stone candlesticks embedded in the walls flickered, bathing the surroundings in their warm, yellow flames.

At that precise moment, over a hundred figures arrived, each attired in distinctive garments. Lumian scanned the assembly but could not yet spot Madame Hela. However, he recognized Hidden Blade Franca.

Clad in her favored assassin's garb—black robes complemented by leather armor, a hood drawn low, and a silver half-mask gracing her countenance—Franca engaged in conversation with a group of similarly attired individuals.

Yet, among them, Franca stood as the sole genuine Assassin.

Lumian didn't greet Franca. Following her instructions and the hints in Madame Hela's letter, he approached the huge stone chair.

Such a crowded gathering was no different from a marketplace. It was unlikely to form a unified communication and transaction. The gathering naturally fragmented into smaller groups. Only when there was a matter of particular significance would President Gandalf or vice presidents like Hela take their place by the massive stone chair to address the assembly.

Of course, someone could do the same if they wanted to share their intentions with the entire gathering.

Aurore had been a regular attendee at the Academy's gatherings. Their designated meeting spot nestled deep within the palace, tucked away to the left of the huge stone throne.

As Lumian advanced in that direction, he couldn't help but marvel at the mystical nature of the gathering.

After reciting the incantation, he had departed from the Rue du Rossignol safe house in the market district, only to find himself transported to this mysterious and ancient palace.

The members of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society hailed from diverse corners of the Northern and Southern Continents, yet they had all managed to converge here within a specific timeframe.

What baffled him, however, was Franca's never sharing the method of entering the gathering. Even if they were face-to-face, he wouldn't hear it unless granted permission by Madame Hela.

But it was just reciting an incantation, wasn't it? How could he not hear it?

As Franca had explained, this power likely stemmed from a Sealed Artifact—an Artifact Madame Hela couldn't fully control but could employ to a certain extent.

Beyond this method of convening, the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society possessed other means, although these were established by various groups for internal or clique gatherings. For instance, Hidden Blade Franca had set up a telegram group with select members, utilizing a miniaturized and simplified analyzer for scheduled chats.

Recalling Franca and Hela's rough descriptions of Aurore during the gatherings and forming his own assumptions, Lumian's steps grew lighter.

He believed that, given the unique and shared origin of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society members, even if his sister wished to remain guarded amidst the assembly, her relaxed demeanor, akin to his interactions with her, would prevail, possibly even more prominently so.

This was a state devoid of profound secrets.

Additional figures began to manifest, their forms rapidly taking shape in the air, akin to oil paintings successfully duplicated.

Among the members of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society, a diverse and eclectic array of disguises flourished. Some were clad in traditional iron-gray full-body armor, while others embraced vibrant red, yellow, white, and multicolored paint, transforming into clowns. A handful sported extravagant makeup veiling their true visages, resembling wicked witches from ancient folklore. Still, others adorned themselves with monstrous helmets sculpted from orange-yellow pumpkins or relied on makeshift hoods to become pale vampires with strikingly red lips. Some even chose horse-like attires that enveloped them from head to toe…

It was a spectacle more fantastical and imaginative than the masquerade balls documented in newspapers and magazines.

As Lumian strolled amidst the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society's diverse members, a faint smile played on his lips. Occasionally, he would nod in acknowledgment of those who greeted him.

At last, he reached the corner housing the Academy team.

His eyes naturally swept over the code names displayed on their attires: Pettigrew, Professor, Griffin, Eagle, Bear, Headmaster, Periodic Table, Isotope…