67 COI

The flames of Quartier des Black Pearls danced in Lumian's eyes, pulling him deep into thought. As a Conspirer, his mind instinctively dissected the possibilities.

The Resistance and civil independence factions were easily ruled out—they had no presence in this archipelago, Intis's first far-flung colony. The religious and cultural genocide, along with the assimilation efforts of successive governments, they had tirelessly worked to make it happen. Emperor Roselle's policies had transformed this place into something akin to Intis's overseas province—loose laws and weak security. The Islanders, having abandoned their original faith, now saw themselves as discriminated citizens in the Intis border regions. This discrimination mirrored the plight of Reemians in the south of Intis and Savoyards in the east. Regardless, Trier's citizens held a universal disdain for all foreigners. However, their vigilance heightened against Islanders notorious for scams and thuggery.

Did the pirate trade spark internal strife, or were Southern Continent organizations, seeking to overthrow colonial rule, deliberately causing trouble in the Fog Sea Archipelago? Perhaps some ambitious individual is following the lead of an evil god. Lumian's thoughts raced as he noticed a 2.5-meter-tall half-giant emerging from a room beside the cathedral, dressed in a black trench coat and silk top hat.

Addressing the bewildered supplicants and tramps, he assured them, "Don't worry. The Lord will protect everyone.

"Stay here and don't go out. Wait for the riot to subside. There won't be any danger."

"Praise The Fool!" The believers of The Fool Church found solace, pressing their hands to their chests and bowing.

Their expressions softened, conveying a sense of security.

The tramps exchanged glances, but none dared to leave.

In the minds of most Intisians, a cathedral was a safer haven than any government, regardless of the Church it belonged to.

At that moment, golden sunlight descended into the area where the explosion had occurred, accompanied by a series of dense explosions, though not as deafening as before.

It was evident that the governor-general's office and the Beyonders of the two Churches were addressing the anomaly.

Simultaneously, Lumian observed the sky, once illuminated by moonlight and starlight, darkening. Despite no change in the weather, the street outside seemed cloaked in a thin, dark fog.

Ignoring the half-giant bishop's shouts after a moment of contemplation, Lumian opened the cathedral door of The Fool and stepped out.

The temperature outside had notably dropped, akin to Trier's autumn.

Beneath the gas street lamps' glow, Lumian retraced his steps back to the port.

Suddenly, a swaying figure emerged from a nearby alley.

The figure, clad in a thin shirt and pants with bare feet, had a pale, wrinkled face.

His eyes were more white than brown, and livor mortis covered his exposed skin.

Zombie? Lumian raised his eyebrows.

As the suspected zombie—an old man—staggered towards Quartier des Black Pearls, it seemed to detect a hint of spirituality and blood, abruptly turning to Lumian and emitting an inhuman sound.

Lumian promptly condensed a crimson fireball, nearly white, and sent it hurtling towards the zombie.

Amidst the rumbling explosion, the zombie's head shattered, and its body disintegrated. It met its demise once more.

No more movement.

Is that all you've got? Lumian had originally wondered if he had encountered a more dangerous undead creature.

Pressing on, he formed ten to twenty crimson fireballs above his head, behind him, on his shoulders, and at his sides, allowing them to follow his movements and maintain a relative suspension.

As Lumian rounded a corner, he spotted a young couple screaming in terror and fleeing.

Behind them, a zombie pursued, its dark-red heart and white intestines faintly discernible from numerous gunshot wounds.

A nearly white crimson fireball, unleashed by Lumian, flew past the couple and exploded on the pursuing zombie.

Rumble. The charred corpse scattered in all directions, accompanied by residual flames.

The young couple, halted in surprise, stared at Lumian surrounded by ten to twenty crimson, nearly white fireballs. Confusion and disbelief filled their eyes.

"Are you waiting for death?" Lumian cursed as he advanced. "Take the back street and enter The Fool's cathedral."

"Alright, alright!" The young man and woman responded instinctively, as if facing armed police officers or adventurers.

The fireball was clearly more powerful than a gun!

As the couple entered the street where The Fool's cathedral was located, Lumian, resembling an envoy of flames, continued towards the port at a moderate pace.

Along the way, he encountered a few more waves of people emerging from bars, open-air markets, and other places, who had encountered zombies.

Lumian didn't say a word. He directed the crimson, nearly white fireballs around him to help them eliminate the revived corpses. Then, he instructed them to hide in the nearest cathedral.

The zombies' pursuit and the intimidation of the fireballs made his words persuasive. No one insisted on finding their own way.

If there were any, Lumian couldn't be bothered.

After several similar encounters, Lumian began to discern a pattern.

These zombies weren't reanimated from the living; they were originally deceased. The entirety of Port Farim's deceased had risen without any discernible cause.

These zombies instinctively headed towards the explosion site, but if they encountered the living on the way, they'd be drawn by both flesh and spirituality, leading them to pursue, kill, and gnaw.

With this understanding, Lumian no longer advised passersby to seek refuge in distant cathedrals. Instead, he directed them to avoid hospitals, graveyards, and similar places, urging them to stay for two to three hours in bustling bars, dance halls, or houses where no recent deaths had occurred.

After a series of halts and advances, Lumian returned to the port and reboarded the Flying Bird. He continued unleashing the crimson, almost white fireballs until only two remained.

Philip, leaning against the ship's rail, kept his eyes fixed on the governor-general's office.

"What happened?" he inquired of Lumian.

"How would I know?" Lumian replied, amused.

Philip swiftly changed the topic.

"Did you come across any anomalies?"

Only then did Lumian briefly recount the explosion near the governor-

general's office and the sudden reanimation of the corpses.

"Zombie summoning?" Philip muttered to himself, a frown creasing his brow.

Without awaiting Lumian's response, he sighed and said, "It was smooth only on the first day of this voyage. On the second day, we encountered Bone Splitter. On the third day, Death Navigators attacked us at noon. By night, or rather in the early hours of the fourth day, another zombie calamity struck in Port Farim… We still have six days until we reach Port Santa…"

Lumian felt a pang of guilt.

In theory, his attraction to or attraction by calamities shouldn't be so frequent. When he was in Trier, he didn't encounter mystical incidents every day. If that were the case, 007 would have died from overwork.

Encountering one or two calamities throughout the journey would be understandable, but considering Dardel's Derangement, it's truly a daily affair… Could it be that some unclean entity is tailing me? Could it be the cause, the trigger, or the convergence? And is there essentially only one calamity I've encountered? The more Lumian pondered, the more he felt the urge to correspond with Madam Magician to investigate if there was an underlying issue behind such frequent calamities.

"Perhaps the zombie calamity was triggered by the initial trouble on the ship. Once we leave the Flying Bird, our subsequent journey might become peaceful," Lumian casually consoled Philip.

He didn't hold much confidence in his words.

"Hope so." Philip spread his arms slightly and prayed devoutly. "Praise the Sun!"

Lumian took his time before heading back to the first-class cabin. He lingered by the shipboard, surveying Port Farim.

The authorities' silent endorsement of pirate activities in the Fog Sea Archipelago had resulted in a certain level of chaos and misconduct. However, it had also led to a notable increase in the number of Beyonders compared to regular Intisian cities. Swiftly organizing a resistance, they cleared the streets of zombies, minimizing the casualties among citizens and tourists.

Whether pirates and adventurers exploited the turmoil to commit crimes or settle scores remained uncertain.

In less than half an hour, the turmoil near the explosion site subsided. Official Beyonders dispersed, addressing disturbances on other streets.

"Very good. Nothing major happened. They managed to control it in time," Philip remarked, relieved.

You can say that, but I can't… Lumian laughed self-deprecatingly.

Only then did Philip feel at ease enough for casual conversation.

"Did you go into Farim for a drink?"

"That's right," Lumian replied with a smile. "I happened to receive a commission."

"What commission?" Philip asked casually.

"Hunting a pirate—Baronet Black." Lumian didn't withhold any details.

Philip's eyes narrowed as he inquired with a frown, "Are you sure you're stronger than Baronet Black? He has a ship and over a hundred subordinates! Besides, even if you find an opportunity to assassinate him, aren't you afraid of the King of Dusk's retaliation? He's one of the maritime kings!"

"Just because I accepted a commission doesn't mean I'll definitely do it. I don't even know where to find Black Baronet Class Khizi. That's his name, right?" Lumian didn't mind the potential repercussions from the King of Dusk.

There were more than one Saint who wanted to deal with him!

Philip observed Louis Berry's nonchalant demeanor, realizing he had accepted a mission but would reconsider only if there was a chance to complete it. Thus, he didn't press further on the matter.

The next morning.

As the security supervisor finished breakfast, a subordinate sailor informed him: The governor-general's office had ordered the port to be temporarily closed, and all ships were prohibited from leaving!

Philip suppressed the urge to stand up and asked in a deep voice, "What are the soldiers at the port doing?"

"Searching ship by ship," the sailor replied truthfully.

In Room 5 of the first-class cabin, Lumian observed the chaotic harbor where the army had entered and continued writing a letter to Jenna and Franca.

"Something seems to have happened to Port Farim on Saint Tick Island in the Fog Sea Archipelago. Ask that person and see if he knows the exact situation."

At this point, Lumian raised his right hand and tapped his chest four times—up, down, left, right—like Mr. K. He whispered sympathetically, "Poor 007."

-x-X-x-

Trier, Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative, 9 Rue Orosai, Apartment 702.

Franca awoke naturally, rising lazily from her bed. Her plans were simple—grabbing a piece of toast, anticipating a heavy lunch.

Lately, the absence of Mirror People leads had made her days relaxed.

Thank the Heavens, thank the Earth, thank Mr. Fool. Lumian, the jinx, has left Trier… Franca muttered in her pre-meal prayer.

As she sipped her milk, Jenna returned and pointed to the coffee table.

"Rabbit Chasel delivered a letter this morning. It's from Lumian."

"Letter?" Franca's eyes narrowed as her relaxed body tensed.

The source of Dardel's Derangement was still at large. What had happened this time?

"He mentioned an incident in the capital of the Fog Sea Archipelago. He wishes to gather details and hopes you can inquire with your contact among the authorities. I refrained from waking you since you only reach out to that contact late at night, so I opted to read the letter immediately. It seems you can only make inquiries during the night," Jenna explained concisely.

"How considerate. Lumian, that rascal, would undoubtedly knock on the door and jolt me awake!" Franca, who had experienced Lumian's disruptive wake-

up calls countless times, felt unusually touched.

She chuckled.

"Did something happen to Port Farim once he arrived? Even though it seems unrelated to him, but…"

Franca leaned back slightly and remarked, "What's up with the walking mysticism catastrophe detector?"

Since it wasn't urgent, she planned to ask about 007 in the telegram group later at night. After all, he was an official Beyonder of Trier. It was unlikely he would have immediate information about the events in the Fog Sea Archipelago's capital. If she didn't initiate the inquiry, he might remain unaware.

Franca, with her penchant for instant messaging, set down the bottle of milk and wrote Lumian a teasing reply.

"If you want to know what's happening, investigate it yourself. A walking mysticism catastrophe detector like yourself doesn't need clues or information. Stroll through the streets of Port Farim aimlessly, and who knows, you might bump into the person involved!

"Hey, let's not turn letter-writing into work-related communication, using it only to discuss issues or ask for help. Can't you share the interesting sea tales and details of pirates' bounties?

"Heh heh, ever since you left Trier, everything's been calm and quiet. I can enjoy sleeping in again. Enjoy your sweet revenge. No need to rush back. Give us a heads up if you need assistance…"

Jenna observed Franca thoughtfully as she gleefully filled nearly two pages of the letter.

…

Inside Room 5 of the Flying Bird's first-class cabin in Port Farim, Lumian, confined to his quarters, sneered as he finished reading Franca's reply.

How many complaints has this fellow received from 007? She's blaming me for the frequent mysticism catastrophes.

Folding the letter, he brought it to Ludwig's lips.

The boy, who had just finished dessert, looked at Lumian and remarked, "I'm not a shredder."

"I thought you eat everything," Lumian replied casually as he lit the letter, watching it turn to ashes in the sea breeze blowing through the window.

Shortly after lunch, Philip knocked on the door, accompanied by four soldiers in blue military uniforms adorned with golden threads.

The officer, holding copies of Lumian and the others' identification documents, compared their faces to black-and-white photos.

"Like you, they came from Port Gati and only arrived last night?" the officer inquired, having confirmed Philip's reliability.

"Yes, I watched them board the ship. We met frequently in the past two days," Philip replied, wisely choosing not to expose the fact that Lumian and the others' identities and information were fake.

Very wise… Otherwise, you'll witness true trouble… Lumian joked inwardly.

If his disguise were to be exposed, he would choose to "teleport" away with Lugano and Ludwig rather than make a scene and reveal the adventurer Louis Berry to the world. Lumian's only devotion to Gehrman Sparrow, ready to hunt pirates when the opportunity arose. In truth, Lumian had no intention of becoming a true adventurer. His purpose for venturing out to sea was revenge!

After confirming Lumian and the others' situation, the officer led the soldiers to the next room, with Philip accompanying them.

Lumian observed that the investigation of the Flying Bird was thorough, yet not overly intense. The officers followed procedures meticulously without delving into further inquiries.

It made sense. The explosion in Quartier des Black Pearls and the abnormality of the corpses couldn't have occurred overnight. Even if it was an accident, it had been brewing for a while. The extensive impact suggested a prolonged development. Unless the person involved was a demigod, it was nearly impossible for ordinary authorities to trace any demigod-related traces.

This meant the Flying Bird, having arrived in Port Farim only the previous night, likely had no connection to the incident. The focus was on confirming the passengers' identities.

The possibility of a demigod being injured and unable to escape Port Farim was considered, warranting a comprehensive investigation, but there were no suspicious casualties on the Flying Bird.

The officers disembarked after nearly two hours, accompanied by 20 to 30 soldiers. Lumian, now on the deck, approached Philip and inquired, "What happened last night?"

Philip glanced around and lowered his voice.

"I heard from my former colleague that they're searching for Demon Warlock Burman."

"Burman?" Lumian expressed his ignorance.

Having only read a portion of the wanted posters the previous night, Lumian was not familiar with Demon Warlock Burman. His attention had been on maritime kings, pirate admirals, and other significant pirates. Then, he had shared a drink with Batna Comté.

"He's a wanted adventurer," Philip explained with a sigh. "Before I left the Fog Sea fleet, he was still normal. He chased bounties and treasures and met his wife, Helen, a female adventurer. Later, Helen died in an accident, causing Burman to go crazy. He wanted to revive his wife and did many things—both good and bad attempts.

"He mercilessly orchestrated the destruction of a 300-person town to fulfill the conditions for a resurrection ritual. He organized gatherings of evil Warlocks, aiming to use the lives of others, especially newborns, for cruel and bloody witchcraft to revive Helen. These events pushed his bounty to surpass Bone Splitter Basil, reaching 600,000 verl d'or."

In his quest to resurrect his wife, he was driven to become a cruel and cold Demon Warlock? Lumian suddenly sighed.

If Madam Magician hadn't found him back then, if Mr. Fool hadn't offered a glimmer of hope, and if the Tarot Club hadn't arranged for two formidable Psychiatrists to provide treatment, would he now resemble Burman and carry a Demon-prefixed moniker?

Moreover, simply treading the path of boons would expedite his growth. With Termiboros's aid, he could reach Sequence 5 Fate Appropriator within a few months. The obliteration of a 300-person town held the potential to elevate him to a Circle Inhabitant.

"600,000 verl d'or is nearly on par with Vice Admiral Black Tide Holle Sassen, who has the lowest bounty among pirate admirals," Lumian remarked, drawing a comparison.

Vice Admiral Black Tide was a great pirate who had only gained fame in recent years. His bounty was 700,000 verl d'or.

Philip fell silent for a moment before adding, "Burman might not be weaker than Holle Sassen, but he doesn't have his own fleet. He's always alone and occasionally collaborates with those evil Warlocks. This allows him to escape authorities' encirclements and successfully infiltrate towns adorned with his wanted posters."

From Philip's description, Lumian gathered that Demon Warlock Burman possessed diverse abilities, excelling at disguises.

With the elegance of a true Warlock, Burman combined it with mastery over the power of the dead, whether acquired through resurrection research or inherent in his original Sequence's contradictory description of both "comprehensive" and "specialty skills."

…

The port blockade left the Flying Bird stranded in Farim, delayed from its scheduled departure.

At 4 p.m., Lumian found himself with nothing to do. Sporting his new golden straw hat, he disembarked from the ship, where passengers and sailors could now freely move. Once more, he stepped into Port Farim.

He planned to investigate the scene of last night's explosion. Perhaps he could unearth some clues.

What lay in ruins was a hospital. Nearly half of it crumbled, unveiling a massive pit leading underground. Corpses littered the remaining structures, amidst fresh blood and humanoid shadows charred by the blast.

With the ban lifted, numerous adventurers flocked to the site, seeking answers. Lumian blended into the crowd, discreetly observing.

"Louis, you're here too?" Suddenly, Lumian recognized a familiar voice.

It was Batna Comté, armed with a substantial revolver and an exquisite rapier. Meticulously groomed, he looked sharp and sophisticated.

"That's right," Lumian replied with a smile. "As an adventurer, how can I miss the grand occasion of pursuing the Demon Warlock?"

Our main goal is to gather clues for a reward… Batna muttered under his breath.

As he investigated the battle remnants for leads, he casually inquired, "Did you come across those resurrected corpses last night?"

"I did. Besides being a bit eerie, there's nothing noteworthy about them," Lumian boasted.

Batna glanced at him and suddenly smiled.

"Anything unusual happened to you after leaving the bar last night?"

Lumian replied nonchalantly, "I ran into a few swindlers and walked away with a small fortune."

A small fortune… Batna was taken aback.

He suddenly recalled Louis Berry's actions at the bar and his words: "Perhaps they think I'm an easy target?

-x-X-x-

When Batna turned his gaze back to Lumian, there was a discernible shift in his eyes.

The mimicry of Gehrman Sparrow and the apparent recklessness that characterized this guy seemed all too contrived. Beneath the facade lurked cunning and a hint of sinister intent!

Anyone falling for his act was in for a world of trouble!

Lumian chose not to dwell on how he'd managed to swindle a small fortune out of the swindlers. Instead, together with Batna, he meticulously surveyed the aftermath of the explosion, scrutinizing every detail.

Regrettably, even the official Beyonders, armed with their diverse Sequences and synergistic combinations, were at a loss, let alone the duo lacking any proficiency in divination or prophecy.

Batna absentmindedly ran his fingers over the finely crafted rapier hanging diagonally at his waist, letting out a sigh.

"I know it's a long shot, but I can't resist coming here, wasting my time. It's not about the bounty. What adventurer doesn't dream of overnight fame?"

Hunting down the Demon Warlock Burman wasn't the only route to fame. Assisting official Beyonders in tracking this wanted criminal, whose bounty rivaled that of a pirate admiral, was a noteworthy feat in itself.

"Wasn't your primary motivation to gather clues for the money?" Lumian inquired, a playful smile on his face.

"Uh, well, that's a secondary motive," Batna awkwardly defended himself.

Suddenly, he had a realization.

He never explicitly mentioned that his investigation aimed at accumulating clues for monetary gain. He merely thought about it!

Can he read my thoughts, or is he just bluffing? Batna scrutinized Lumian with a perplexed expression.

Lumian chuckled.

"Don't let your thoughts betray you. If you cross paths with a Spectator, your secrets won't stay hidden."

Batna instinctively lifted his right hand and touched his face.

Is my expression management that bad?

He vented his frustration with a muttered curse, "With the scene in this level of chaos and no traces left on the nearby streets, unless a deity blesses me, or I'm imbued with luck, finding any clues is like searching for a needle in a haystack… How about we grab a drink instead?"

Luck… Finding clues doesn't necessarily hinge on good luck; bad luck could work just as well… Lumian's heart stirred as he pulled a bandage from his pocket and calmly wrapped it around his eyes.

Batna Comté, utterly bewildered, couldn't help but ask, "What on earth are you doing?"

"Blindfolding. Relying solely on instinct to navigate the nearby streets eliminates external influences and unleashes the full force of luck," Lumian explained with a chuckle. "Perhaps today, luck is truly on my side?"

According to Franca, a mystical catastrophe detector like him didn't need conventional clues or intel; he might just stumble upon the person involved while strolling around.

In that case, Lumian decided to follow the whims of fate this time.

If he succeeded, he could use the Demon Warlock or related clues to claim a handsome bounty. If he failed, it would prove Franca's words to be nothing but baseless slander.

Batna couldn't help but wonder if Louis Berry had lost his mind. "Can you really do that?"

"There's no harm in trying," Lumian replied confidently, blindfolded and ready to step onto the street.

After a few paces, he abruptly halted.

Blindfolding, he realized, was useless for Hunters.

The path he had taken and the scenes he had observed while searching for clues were vividly etched in his mind, meticulously arranged according to their real-world locations.

Essentially, he possessed a high-definition mental map of the surrounding streets, allowing him to reach shops and buildings with uncanny precision.

With a Hunter's exceptional control over their body and direction, even without sight, coupled with heightened senses of smell and hearing, Lumian couldn't help but conclude that relying on the whims of fate was redundant.

After a moment of contemplation, he began to ponder his next move freely.

Demon Warlock Burman's elusive escapes hints at special abilities or possessions granting him such freedom…

Can he "teleport" away like me, alter his appearance and height at will, or perhaps even disguise himself as someone of a different gender?

Despite numerous bloody and cruel experiments, Burman has evaded capture, suggesting conventional methods and thinking wouldn't suffice…

Can I change my mindset and let him take the initiative to appear?

Yes, if we can't find him, we can make him come to us…

His primary concern is resurrecting his wife, Helen. If I can fabricate a few cases of resurrection or discuss resurrection at certain mysticism gatherings and provide verifiable mysticism knowledge in related domains, this Demon Warlock might very well follow the clues I left behind…

However, this plan faces two challenges. The official Beyonders might have attempted similar schemes, and Burman, being cautious, could see through them. Additionally, the time needed for setup and waiting could be weeks or even months, a luxury I lack in Port Farim… I can only weave the plan gradually into mysticism gatherings and bar conversations, occasionally revealing "secrets" to make it more realistic and my motives less apparent…

Lost in his thoughts, Lumian relied on Batna Comté for occasional support, preventing mishaps during their walk. When Lumian had a complete albeit time-consuming plan, he stopped, removed the bandage covering his eyes, and smiled at Batna.

"Where are we? My intuition says there might be clues about the Demon Warlock hidden here."

"It's a regular street with regular houses. The residents seem wealthy and powerful," Batna replied helplessly.

Lumian finally caught sight of the evening sun.

As Lumian adjusted to the evening sun, his eyes narrowed, and his heart quickened.

Although unfamiliar with many streets in Port Farim, his instinctive journey guided by fate had led him to a familiar place: 16 Rue Coreas!

The adjacent grayish-brown building, adorned with a sculpted outer wall, belonged to Fidel Guerra, the prominent merchant. Lumian had reserved Colorful Bearded Horned Lizard venom here last night and accepted a commission to hunt down Black Baronet Class Khizi!

"Temiboros, are you behind this?" Lumian's immediate instinct was to question the Inevitability Angel sealed within him.

Termiboros remained silent, leaving Batna, standing beside Lumian, puzzled. He couldn't fathom who Louis Berry was addressing.

If Termiboros didn't intentionally lead me here, then something in Fidel Guerra's house is aligning with my fate. Is it an item related to the Hunter pathway or connected to an evil god? Or could the clues to Demon Warlock Burman's whereabouts truly be found at Fidel's residence? Lumian's mind raced as he rapidly considered a series of possibilities.

Staring at Fidel's building, he evaluated the likelihood of the Demon Warlock's presence.

Burman, engaged in numerous resurrection experiments, likely struggled to complete his preparations alone. Snatching various resources would draw the attention of both official Beyonders and pirates who sought his capture. Only the assistance of other evil Warlocks could provide him with the necessary help.

If a well-connected merchant like Fidel supported him in secret, Burman wouldn't face difficulties obtaining experimental materials…

For Fidel, with a Sequence possibly not high enough, having a Demon Warlock reliant on him for covert protection is undoubtedly advantageous.

Considering Fidel's clandestine business, vulnerable to attacks from powerful pirates or adventurers, having a Demon Warlock at his disposal makes sense.

In case of future conflicts with authorities, the Warlock could shield him, enabling a change of identity and a fresh start in another city or country. According to Aurore's insights, such individuals often maintain fake identities and reserve assets in multiple places…

Last night, soon after I met Fidel, a mishap occurred involving the Demon Warlock's failed experiment…

Lumian averted his gaze. Lumian increasingly suspected that the merchant, Fidel Guerra, had motives to shield Demon Warlock Burman.

Of course, if Termiboros intentionally guided him here, the situation would only become more complex and serious.

"What are you looking at?" Batna inquired, following Lumian's gaze to 16 Rue Coreas.

"I met Fidel Guerra, a prominent merchant, here last night and received a commission from him," Lumian replied candidly.

"What commission?" Batna asked with curiosity.

Lumian responded with a smile, "Hunt the captain of the Golden Nepos, Black Baronet Class Khizi."

"Is the rumor true that Black Baronet Class hijacked Fidel's shipment? Fidel hired numerous adventurers to deal with Black Baronet…" Batna enlightened before lowering his voice. "Don't tell anyone about this."

"Why?" Lumian inquired with a smile.

Batna, stroking his neatly trimmed stubble, whispered, "These bounties and commissions don't necessitate actual acceptance, nor do they require success."

"Yes, if word gets out that an adventurer plans to hunt a pirate, and they're not too far apart, revenge from said pirate is inevitable. It's both a punishment and a warning.

"Baronet Black is a notorious pirate. If he catches wind that a newcomer like you is taking on a mission to hunt him and is spreading the news, do you think he'll take offense? He might track you down and use your demise as a lesson for other adventurers and Fidel."

Baronet Black is indeed in Port Farim… Lumian nodded thoughtfully.

"That's a smart approach."

Smart? Batna was momentarily taken aback.

In the evening, at a bar, Lumian, Batna, and the others had been reveling for nearly two hours, filled with joy and excitement.

Suddenly, Lumian lifted his glass and descended from the barstool to the floor. Addressing the adventurers and ordinary patrons around him, he declared, "Everyone, remember my name, Louis Berry!

"I'm on the brink of fame. I've accepted a commission from the prominent merchant, Fidel. My objective is to track down Black Baronet Class Khizi!

"When I succeed, the name Louis Berry will echo across the Five Seas!

"When that time comes, you'll proudly say you shared a drink with me!"

Ah… Batna froze on the barstool.

It felt like witnessing Louis Berry once again leaping onto the wooden platform and firing his gun the night before.

-x-X-x-

Amid the bustling scene, Lumian relished his drink until the clock neared midnight. Exiting the bar with Batna, they stepped onto the street, where the once-warm sea breeze had turned chilly.

Batna hesitated before asking, "Do you seriously plan to go after Baronet Black?"

Hadn't Louis Berry's performance been a repeat of the previous night's scheme, expecting Black Baronet Class Khizi to come looking for him?

Lumian turned his head, his green eyes devoid of any signs of intoxication. "Otherwise? If he doesn't seek me out, where am I supposed to find him? Sneak onto the Golden Nepos and take on their entire ship solo?"

Fair point… Batna conceded that Louis Berry's logic had merit.

Once Black Baronet made land, he would likely disguise himself, making him hard to track. At sea or on his own boat, a lone adventurer would find it nearly impossible to take him down. Even lions feared a wolf pack. Moreover, among the wolves, aside from Class Khizi, there were a few heads with Beyonder powers.

Batna had to admit that every head was no less formidable than himself.

After a brief pause, Batna sensed something amiss and blurted out, "Are you sure you can handle Baronet Black and the two or three helpers he might have?"

Lumian's lips curled into a smile.

"Every adventurer who comes to sea dreams of following in Gehrman Sparrow's great footsteps."

It wasn't the first time he said this, but the tone was different. This time, Batna detected a calm and serious demeanor.

Is he for real?

Is he sly and cunning or just plain reckless?

At that moment, Batna had to reconsider his understanding of Louis Berry.

There was a method to his madness, a trap meticulously laid out, but the aspirations and strategies were impractical. What struck Batna most was that Louis knew it was unrealistic, yet he calmly and persistently pressed on to realize his grand dream.

How to describe this guy? Batna couldn't find the right words.

At that moment, Lumian had already reached the open-air market stalls. He dropped 5 verl d'or on fried banana slices, scones, roasted meat, roasted oysters, grilled fish, roasted shrimp, and sugarcane.

"You're still hungry?" Batna asked, surprised.

During their drinking session, they had already ordered fries, fish, meatloaf, and more.

Lumian smiled and replied, "Getting supper for my godson."

Godson? At your age? Batna couldn't quite fathom this guy with a Savoie Province accent.

Maybe it's a trend in the mountainous province for young men to become godfathers?

After Lumian picked up the brown paper bags, Batna exhaled and remarked, "Your plan might not be effective. Adventurers boasting about their exploits are a dime a dozen. They might not consider your declaration a joke to spread it to others. It's too common."

Lumian smiled and said, "No, they'll spread it like wildfire. In a few days, the entire Port Farim will know that a new adventurer has taken a commission to hunt down Baronet Black."

"How's that possible? You can't control their mouths," Batna retorted subconsciously.

Suddenly, he was taken aback.

"You can't really… control their thoughts, can you…"

Lumian scoffed and tapped his head with the paper bags.

"Use your brain and think carefully.

"They won't want to spread it. Someone will help me spread it."

Batna had an epiphany.

"You want to secretly hire a group of people to help you publicize this matter…"

He paused for a few seconds before continuing, "There's no need for you to hire them. The merchant, Fidel, will help you achieve your goal once he finds out about your act. He has ample resources. But what if he doesn't know…"

"I'll pay him a visit tomorrow," Lumian replied calmly.

It's meticulous and feasible. It's like iron chains, all interconnected… The more Batna thought about it, the more he realized that every detail of this plan had been considered, but overall, it exuded a sense of madness.

After a while, he instinctively assessed, "If Baronet Black leaves the Fog Sea, it might take months for him to hear the news. If he happens to be in Port Farim, perhaps he'll find out in two or three days."

Port Farim had a population of just over 100,000, including tourists. It might not even be comparable to a quartier in Trier. More people were scattered across Saint Tick Island's plantations and the Andatna Volcano Mines.

"I hope he's in Port Farim," Lumian said with a satisfied expression as he strolled through the night.

Batna fell silent, unsure of what to say.

Returning to the Flying Bird, Lumian entered Room 5 of the first-class cabin and found Ludwig enjoying the supper he had left for him. He placed the brown paper bags on the dining table.

The aroma of fried ingredients and barbecue filled the air.

Ludwig looked up in surprise before quickly devouring the food Lumian had brought back.

Lumian settled into a nearby recliner, rocking gently.

Finally, Ludwig let out a contented sigh and said, "You get tired of always eating cheese, bread, cakes, and crackers for supper."

A person who can even eat live rats raw doesn't have the right to say that… Lumian criticized and smiled.

"This proves that I haven't forgotten you, my godson.

"By the way, how long do you plan to follow me? I've already helped you escape the Church of Knowledge."

Ludwig pondered seriously.

"I'll follow you until I can earn my own living. N-now, I'm still a child!"

That's true. If this fellow doesn't have the money to buy food, something terrifying might happen… Also, before I go to the City of Exiles, the Church of Knowledge probably won't allow Ludwig to leave me… Lumian laughed self-

deprecatingly.

"I, an unmarried underage man, have to support a child like you for a long time."

Ludwig muttered under his breath, "Not necessarily very long…"

Does that mean you can recover to the point of supporting yourself within this year or next? Lumian pretended not to hear Ludwig's muttering and gestured towards the servants' quarters with his chin.

"Has that guy been acting okay?"

Ludwig, acting as a spy, asked in confusion, "For Intisians, is flirting with women on the deck and in the bar under the pretext of attending to patients considered okay?"

"Yes." Lumian sighed helplessly.

You Intisians.

…

The next afternoon, amid rumors of the port closure possibly ending the following morning, Lumian disembarked from the Flying Bird and headed straight to Rue Coreas in Quartier des Black Pearls to pay an early visit to the prominent merchant, Fidel Guerra.

The previous evening, Lumian had received a letter from Franca, delivered by Jenna's Rabbit Chasel. The explosion in Port Farim matched Philip's intel, but there were more details.

By the time official Beyonders reached the scene, Demon Warlock Burman had already vanished.

Facing an undead monster made of limbs and corpse fragments, capable of awakening the deceased in Port Farim, official Beyonders had their hands full.

The hospital suffered casualties—patients fell victim to the monstrous horror…

In Fidel Guerra's study, Lumian met the man—a blend of Intis and Feynapotter blood, smoking a cigar with a grin.

"Did you come here because of the smell? I just received the Colorful Bearded Horned Lizard venom."

Just obtained? I'm afraid it's been here all along. Considering my earnest efforts to draw out Baronet Black and fulfill your request, you're not suggesting you haven't secured the goods… Lumian ventured a guess, a smile playing on his lips.

"Seems luck's smiling upon me. How much?"

"3,800 verl d'or. My cut isn't much," Fidel replied sincerely.

Lumian didn't negotiate. He produced a stack of banknotes and tallied out 3,800 verl d'or.

Observing this, Fidel signaled an attendant and gave instructions.

Soon after, the attendant returned, carrying a brown glass bottle.

Fidel directed the attendant to take the money and hand over the goods while he kept a distance of roughly ten meters from Lumian. "Metal containers won't do. The venom's potency can be affected by corrosion."

Lumian nodded subtly, casting a glance at the brown glass bottle before stashing it away in his pocket.

After the attendant departed, Fidel grinned once more.

"I heard you replicated your act from the night before at the bar last night?"

This influential merchant showcased his well-informed nature.

"Indeed, we must employ effective strategies repeatedly," Lumian tacitly concurred.

Fidel nodded.

"I appreciate a sharp young man like you. I'll help disseminate your message and ensure Class Khizi hears it promptly.

"Heh heh, the adventurers I assigned to this task previously were far too risk-

averse."

"No problem. That's precisely why I'm here today," Lumian mentioned before making his way to leave.

After a few steps, he abruptly halted, turned around, and spoke thoughtfully, "Do you think Demon Warlock Burman is hiding here?"

Fidel was taken aback.

"What are you talking about?

"What does the Demon Warlock have to do with me?"

"Not much. Just a wild guess," Lumian replied with a smile. "Rue Coreas is very close to where the explosion occurred last night, and your establishment is quite suitable for hiding."

Without waiting for Fidel's response, he took another step and casually exited the building.

Fidel observed Lumian's departure, furrowing his brow in confusion. He couldn't fathom why Lumian had uttered those words.

…

In the deep of night, the sound of waves echoed in the distance, and the Flying Bird swayed gently.

Lumian reclined on the bed in Room 5 of the first-class cabin, enveloped in a velvet blanket. His eyes shut tight, breathing deep, he was sound asleep.

Suddenly, a dark cloud materialized outside the window, obscuring the crimson moon and stars in the sky.

The room, draped in curtains, plunged into darkness. Even looking at one's hands, one could barely discern five fingers.

Within the shadows, something seemed to stir to life.

-x-X-x-

A lanky shadow emerged from the shadows in translucent form. Swiftly, it lunged at Lumian, as if eager to claim a new host.

Resembling the possession of Wraiths and evil spirits, this entity sought control but lacked the speed to complete the process in a mere blink.

In an instant, Lumian, previously dormant, transformed into a shadowy figure, melding seamlessly with the darkness, leaving the bed bereft of his presence.

This marked the manifestation of his newly contracted skill—Shadow Transformation!

An eerie hush enveloped the room, dominated by the tall, translucent shadow, erasing any trace of Lumian or his unseen assailant.

Suddenly, the darkness rifted, revealing a decaying, skeletal python oozing yellowish-green pus.

Empty-eyed, its fangless mouth resembled a vortex, emitting a hurried, piercing sound. A suction force tugged at the surrounding shadows, drawing them in.

It seemed like an undead creature, a specialist in consuming shadows and shadowy creatures.

Room 5 of the Flying Bird's first-class cabin's master bedroom assumed an otherworldly tableau. Despite the lingering dim light, shadows dissipated, leaving everything cloaked in pure darkness.

In due time, Lumian emerged from the shadows, resuming his human form against the backdrop of a lush carpet and an exquisite wardrobe.

Simultaneously, a towering figure materialized—a knight adorned in tattered black armor. Pale flames flickered in its eye sockets, putrid liquid seeping from the armor's crevices, with only sticky flesh clinging to its exposed skin.

With a broadsword raised, the dead knight advanced, slashing at Lumian, as if poised to shatter both bed and wardrobe.

Lumian's agile form shifted, maneuvering from facing the Death Knight, the Shadow-Swallowing Python, and the looming tall, thin shadow to flank them all.

Crash!

The broadsword of the Death Knight cleaved through the wardrobe, sending fragments flying. Lumian, reacting swiftly, crouched down, clenched his fists, and struck the heavy brownish-yellow carpet.

From the center, a multitude of crimson, nearly white flames burst forth, consuming every inch of the room. The inferno devoured the three undead entities suspected to be from the spirit world.

Rumble!

Within the roaring flames, fireballs materialized and shot out from Lumian's form.

They homed in on the Death Knight, the Shadow-Swallowing Python, and the lanky black shadow, or recklessly engulfed the sizable bedroom.

Rumble!

The crimson, nearly white fireballs detonated consecutively, tearing apart the three undead beings, pulverizing the bed, desk, and other furnishings. Pungent smoke billowed from the scorched carpet.

In this explosive turmoil, any entity lacking pure ethereality or possessing partial corporeality faced inevitable destruction in the confined space. The once steel-clad armor of the Death Knight crumbled instantly, and the Shadow-Swallowing Python fractured into a multitude of burning remains.

Though the lanky shadow fared relatively better, it too succumbed to the engulfing flames, dwindling in substance.

Rumble!

Although the Flying Bird boasted a steel structure, the impact of such force—

reminiscent of multiple cannons targeting a confined space—inevitably took its toll on Room 5 of the first-class cabin. Strangely, only cracks marred the inner wall, with neither the wall nor the door fully giving way.

However, the formless barrier enveloping the area shuddered violently, on the verge of disintegration.

As shockwaves rebounded from the walls, doors, and ceiling, Lumian, the catalyst of the explosion, suffered as well. It was akin to being struck repeatedly by a massive hammer, with his vision clouded by golden specks and a metallic taste of blood in his throat.

The air, instantly devoured by flames, left him with a suffocating sensation.

Amidst the tumultuous flames, a figure emerged from the darkness, standing near the window, adorned in a black robe with a loose hood. Numerous wounds marked his body, testament to the explosive waves and engulfing flames, leaving charred imprints.

Lumian observed that the man's once fine hairs had transformed into pale- white, nearly indistinguishable feathers. Some were charred, emitting a dark dense fog instead of thick smoke.

Rather than the usual red blood, a thick yellowish-green hue oozed from the wounds.

Under the raised hood, Lumian discerned a pale-white face and a few ulcers reaching down to the bone. Vague traces of pale-white fur adorned the wounds.

In the blink of an eye, Lumian locked eyes with his opponent, who sported cold flaxen-colored irises. Between the brows of the hooded figure, a crack swiftly widened, revealing an illusory vertical eye with a deep purple border that almost verged on black. Devoid of eyelashes or pupils, it seemed to harbor countless pale-white patterns.

This peculiar vertical eye instantly mirrored Lumian's figure.

His initial intention to "teleport" behind the hooded man and employ the Spell of Harrumph met an abrupt freeze.

The impact resonated at the spiritual level.

It was akin to Lumian's Soul Body losing the protective shield of his physical form and standing exposed to scorching sunlight. Instinctively, fear, stiffness, and lethargy gripped him.

Ordinarily, humans explored the spirit world through Astral Projection, rarely detaching their Soul Body—the core of their soul—from their physical being, always shrouded in protection.

The Arbiter pathway's Psychic Piercing bypassed the physical body, Ether Body, Astral Projection, and Body of Heart and Mind, directly influencing the Soul Body. It carried an almost undefendable reputation, affecting individuals to varying degrees.

Lumian suspected that the Spell of Harrumph shared these characteristics.

Within the assailant's dark-purple, nearly black vertical eye, pale-white patterns silently spun, as if seeking the essence of Lumian's Spirit Body.

The sensation resembled being scrutinized by penetrating rays of light, causing Lumian's Spirit Body to quiver slightly, impeding intricate thoughts.

Just as he was about to take the simplest action of sinking his consciousness into the Blood Emperor mark on his right hand, the hooded man emitted a sudden pained groan.

His head snapped back as if struck by a bullet, the once illusory, dark-purple vertical eye now blurry, oozing dark-red blood mixed with yellowish-green pus.

With a pained groan, the hooded figure swiftly turned and soared out of the window, dragged by an unseen force.

Observing this, Lumian didn't hasten to block the escape with Spirit World Traversal. Instead, he raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.

Boom!

At the window, a crimson, almost blinding light erupted, and a violent explosion engulfed the hooded man.

Lumian had set this as a trap.

Before entering a state of "sleep," he had concealed the master bedroom within the Bottle of Fiction. There were two entrances, one by the window and the other by the door, accessible only to beings with superpowers. Both exits harbored delayed explosion fireballs.

Any trigger would unleash devastation.

Amidst the fiery explosion, the hooded man was propelled off his feet, crashing against the window frame. His limbs seemed on the brink of tearing from his body.

Without a moment's hesitation, Lumian "teleported" to the severely injured and unconscious man, harrumphing at his foe.

Two beams of white light shot forth, striking the target and rendering him completely unconscious.

As Lumian prepared for his next move, pairs of arms suddenly emerged from the darkness at the shattered exit of the Bottle of Fiction.

Some were covered in warts, some decayed to the point of pus overflowing, and some only displayed blackened bones…

These arms seized the hooded man's clothes and dragged him into the shadows, disappearing without a trace.

Observing this, Lumian refrained from an immediate transformation into a shadow creature to pursue them. Instead, he stood his ground, a slight frown creasing his brows.

The assailant shared an uncanny resemblance to Demon Warlock Burman as depicted on the wanted posters, but the non-human feeling was even more pronounced. The details suggested an undying monster rather than a human.

Lumian wasn't caught off guard by Demon Warlock Burman's appearance. It was one of the anticipated outcomes.

He had deliberately voiced suspicions about Fidel's connection with the Demon Warlock in front of him without providing clarity, fostering the illusion that Louis Berry, a bold adventurer with a penchant for conspiracies, was attempting to extort money from the prominent merchant.

Under normal circumstances, even if Fidel had something to hide, he wouldn't act so swiftly. He would likely observe closely for a few days to confirm the situation. Lumian, however, had "offered" him an opportunity this time.

Louis Berry, the adventurer, had made public the commission he accepted to lure out Baronet Black!

In such a scenario, it wouldn't raise eyebrows if he were killed by Class Khizi.

The death of an overconfident individual in Port Farim wouldn't spark trouble or suspicion.

So, why not nip the danger in the bud?

Even if Louis Berry's suspicions lacked evidence, they would still draw the attention of official Beyonders.

Lumian's "performance" at the bar the previous night seemed to bait Black Baronet Class Khizi, but in reality, it was bait for the merchant, Fidel Guerra!

If Fidel had no ties to the Demon Warlock, it wouldn't trigger an additional reaction. Lumian merely needed to pursue the superficial purpose of hunting Black Baronet. If there was a connection, he would promptly receive a "response."

To Lumian's surprise, the abilities exhibited by Demon Warlock Burman shared similarities with the few divine pathways he knew, but there were also notable differences!

-x-X-x-

The illusory eye between the Demon Warlock's brows bore a remarkable resemblance to the Eye of Mystery Prying from the Warlock pathway. However, this entity took a unique form, manifesting as a vertical eye rather than the typical manifestation within the eye itself. Lumian had never encountered or heard of such a phenomenon before.

While a Mystery Pryer might experience similar abnormalities as a High-

Sequence Beyonder, it was clear that Burman hadn't reached the Saint level. Otherwise, Lumian would have been the one fleeing, not him. In such a scenario, Lumian might not have been able to escape even if he desired; his only hope would be that the residual aura of the Blood Emperor could momentarily distract Burman, enabling him to "teleport" away.

Considering the authorities' wanted poster, information from 007, and details gathered from Philip and others, Lumian had long concluded that a Demon Warlock like Burman couldn't be a Sequence 4—he certainly wasn't audacious enough to hunt a demigod.

Based on the illusory vertical eye and Burman's diverse, comprehensive abilities, Lumian sensed a true alignment with the characteristics of a Warlock. However, no Warlock's Eye of Mystery Prying resembled this. Not only did it grow between the brows and become a vertical eye, marked with pale-white patterns against a nearly black background, but it also possessed the ability to intimidate others' Spirit Bodies, revealing a perceived "truth."

In that moment, Lumian felt as if he had been stripped of all externalities, leaving only his Spirit Body to resist Burman's. Yielding or failing would result in fainting or enslavement.

Fortunately, the "truth" on him was beyond the perception of Low- to Mid-

Sequence Beyonders, and Burman was no exception. Before Lumian could activate the Blood Emperor's residual aura, the Demon Warlock suffered a backlash, nearly incapacitating him.

Moreover, Burman's command over the undead and the protection he received after fainting surpassed typical Warlock capabilities. Even if others could achieve similar effects with learned or invented spells, it wouldn't be to that extent, let alone so effortlessly.

Which evil god's pathway is this? Or has Burman, a Warlock, been corrupted and acquired abnormal traits? That would explain the non-human details on him. After conducting so many resurrection experiments, he wouldn't lack the kind that sacrifices to evil gods…

The illusory vertical eye was undeniably powerful and bizarre. I couldn't withstand it head-on. Were it not for the protection of Mr. Fool's seal, Termiboros, and the lingering aura of the Blood Emperor—all surpassing my current level—I might have met my demise at Burman's hands. Lumian's thoughts raced as he quickly made a guess.

Seizing this moment to counteract the impact of the explosion, he retrieved the golden straw hat from his Traveler's Bag and placed it on his head before disappearing.

Lumian "teleported" to 16 Rue Coreas, the entrance of Fidel Guerra's opulent residence.

While Demon Warlock Burman had the means to escape, the same couldn't be said for this prominent merchant!

If Burman had been in good condition when he fled, Lumian worried that he might return out of professional courtesy and rescue his employer. However, since Burman had been rendered unconscious and taken away by some undead creature, he wouldn't be returning to 16 Rue Coreas. He wouldn't even after waking up either. The more time passed, the more likely Fidel Guerra's house would become a trap for the Demon Warlock.

Hence, Lumian still had time to ponder Burman's Sequence and the non-

human issues he exhibited.

His deliberate delay served a purpose.

If Demon Warlock Burman were to wake up promptly and flee with his employer, Lumian's calculated delay of a minute or two would ensnare both of them.

Standing at the entrance of 16 Rue Coreas, Lumian's brow furrowed slightly.

As a Hunter, he detected a faint scent of blood emanating from inside the house.

After a moment of consideration, Lumian gently pushed open the dark-blue door.

It was unlocked.

The door bore splatters of fresh blood that hadn't fully congealed. It seemed as though someone in a panic had sought refuge here, unlocking the door just before being pursued and torn to pieces.

However, there were no remnants of the corpse to be found.

Lumian halted at the doorway, listening intently. The entire house remained eerily silent.

Did Fidel act swiftly, eliminating those in the know and relocating to safety before Burman could strike me down?

In such a scenario, if Burman's operation proved successful and he uncovered the reasons for my suspicions and if there were others privy to the information, Fidel could use the pretext of a late-night attack by Black Baronet and other pirates, where he nearly lost his life. Escaping wouldn't have been easy before returning here. Alternatively, he might vanish forever, adopting a new identity to embark on a fresh business venture… Lumian pondered this mystery as he navigated past the blood-stained area at the entrance, intending to search the house for clues. His goal was to uncover the exact relationship between Fidel Guerra and Demon Warlock Burman.

Leaving the door slightly ajar, he proceeded towards the staircase, the scent of blood lingering in the air.

Perhaps sensing his approach, heavy footsteps suddenly echoed.

Amidst the rhythmic sounds of footsteps, a figure emerged from the basement, coming into Lumian's line of sight.

It wasn't human, or rather, it couldn't be deemed human any longer.

Standing three to four meters tall, its body comprised fragments from various human corpses. It possessed a mix of feminine curves and masculine traits, sewn together by linen threads, with blood-stained mucus dripping from the joints.

This "person" featured a relatively intact head, with only one source—Fidel Guerra, a mixed-blood Intis and Feynapotter.

The merchant's head didn't align with the body; it was as if a child's head had been placed on a half-giant's neck. Dark brown eyes, vacant yet still filled with fear and confusion, stared out.

Dead? Fidel is dead? Did he turn himself into a monster? Lumian pondered. Just as this thought crossed his mind, the stitched corpse lunged forward, dragging three human leg bones that seemed fused together.

A pale-white flame ignited on the colossal "bone sword."

Lumian's eyes narrowed, and his body abruptly vanished, reappearing instantly behind the massive stitched corpse.

"Ha!"

He opened his mouth and emitted a pale-yellow light.

However, the light struck Fidel's head, failing to disorient him, let alone render him unconscious.

It became apparent that the undead creature was immune to the Spell of Harrumph!

Almost simultaneously, the rapidly running sutured corpse forcefully pivoted, emitting a muffled sound from its throat—a language Lumian didn't understand or a word carrying magical effects.

Lumian's soul trembled, as if cowed by evil and death.

He momentarily froze.

The sutured corpse turned around, advancing with purpose. It raised the colossal "bone sword," burning with pale-white flames, and slashed at Lumian's head.

Lumian, experienced in such situations, mostly stemming from encounters with high-level entities, found the current threat less severe than the consequences of the Demon Warlock's illusory vertical eye.

Just in time, Lumian "woke up," activating the black mark on his right shoulder.

Amidst the howling wind, the colossal "bone sword," engulfed in pale-white flames, struck the afterimage left behind.

This time, Lumian materialized close to the stitched corpse's back, stabbing the Symphony of Hatred retrieved from his Traveler's Bag into it.

With a pfft, the pitch-black bone flute, seemingly fragile, plunged into the stitched corpse's flesh.

The flaxen threads burst open, and chunks of flesh and blood peeled off, revealing a dark-red heart emitting pale-white flames.

Lumian extended his left hand, pressing it against the near-fatal wound. The crimson fireball, nearly white, compressed layer by layer as it was pushed in.

Utilizing the reactive force, Lumian abruptly flew backward, dodging the massive "bone sword" that slashed at him.

Rumble!

In midair, he witnessed crimson, nearly white flames erupt from the sutured corpse, tearing apart the beating heart.

Rumble!

The sutured corpse disintegrated, and the flesh and blood of various humans scattered on the ground.

Bang! Fidel's head landed in a pile of flesh and blood, the blankness giving way to a pained expression.

"Who turned you into this?" Lumian inquired, glancing out the window, sensing that the explosion would likely draw the attention of the patrolling police.

Fidel's head opened its mouth, words muffled and filled with hatred.

"It's—it's Burman!"

"Burman?" Lumian was taken aback. "Were you infighting?"

Fidel's head throbbed with pain as his voice trailed off.

"I thought you were testing me. I wanted to observe for a few more days, b-

but he couldn't wait. He w-wanted to kill you tonight. I didn't agree, and he killed everyone in the house…

"H-he's a true lunatic!"

At this point, Fidel's head lolled, his eyes closed, and he fell silent.

Demon Warlock Burman's mental state is quite problematic… Lumian thought. Is that why he killed his employer's entire household? If he really wanted to kill me, he could have acted alone… Lumian had previously considered whether Fidel would think he was baiting him. For this reason, he deliberately created the illusion that he was baiting Black Baronet to lull Fidel. As for the effect, Lumian didn't care too much. If Fidel didn't take the bait, he would use another method. "Fishing" wasn't the only method in his arsenal.

Unexpectedly, this triggered infighting between Fidel and Burman.

Lumian believed even he couldn't bring himself to do such a thing when his psychological problems were at their worst. That was unless Fidel provoked him, such as pointing out that only a lunatic would believe in resurrection.

Observing the corpse fragments for a while, Lumian noticed no signs of a Beyonder characteristic emerging.

Curse my luck. Burman must have taken it. He shook his head and walked towards the room where the safe might be.

-x-X-x-

Lumian wasn't sure if he should attribute the misfortune of Demon Warlock Burman taking the banknotes, coins, and gold from the safe to the Symphony of Hatred. After all, he hadn't arrived at 16 Rue Coreas and hadn't utilized General Philip's blackened bone flute. Its abilities likely weren't potent enough to rewind the past.

However, Fidel, living up to his title as a prominent merchant, had numerous wallets stashed in various clothes. Lumian conducted a quick search, revealing a total of 30,000 verl d'or.

This provided a modicum of relief for his "psychological injury."

Upon hearing the arrival of a carriage outside, Lumian left Fidel's bedroom and turned to the adjacent room. He suspected it was the patrolling constables here to investigate the recent explosion.

The room was clean and tidy, yet a faint, uncomfortable smell lingered—the stench of decaying corpses.

Entering the room felt like stepping into a catacomb, surrounded by the marks of his own kind and their deaths, creating an uneasy atmosphere.

This should be Demon Warlock Burman's room. It allows him to protect Fidel in the shortest time possible, heh heh, but he ultimately killed him… This story tells us that the most important condition for choosing a bodyguard is mental stability… Lumian mused as he surveyed every corner of the room.

At that moment, the constables had already pushed open the house's door, revealing spilled blood and scattered flesh.

One of them swiftly drew his revolver, while the other blew a whistle, producing a piercing sound.

Lumian's gaze focused on the blackened marks in the room. The blood, suspected to be old, emitted a sinister aura.

"Burman once killed a special creature in this room to complete a resurrection experiment?" Lumian muttered to himself.

He didn't assume it was Demon Warlock Burman's blood because he believed that the other party wouldn't leave behind such a crucial item when he had enough time.

If a Beyonder skilled in curses obtained it, Burman would be in grave danger unless he had a way to sever the connection in advance.

In contrast, Burman's blood and flesh were more likely to be found in the master bedroom of Room 5 of the Flying Bird's first-class cabin. The Demon Warlock had suffered severe injuries from the explosion and the flames.

Of course, the blanket explosion and subsequent intense combustion might have rendered the ingredients for cursing inactive.

Lumian crouched down and retrieved a glass bottle from his Traveler's Bag. He scraped away the black marks on the wall and stored them inside.

After completing his task, Lumian cleared any potential traces—hair, skin, and other items. He activated the black mark on his right shoulder and vanished from 16 Rue Coreas before more constables and official Beyonders arrived.

Upon returning to the Flying Bird, he immediately inspected the previous battlefield, now reduced to ruins, scattered with charred and shattered remnants. Metal walls bore marks of distortions and minor cracks, remnants of the intense encounter.

The lingering gasses from the burning carpet and items slowly dissipated through the open window.

After Burman triggered the trap at the exit, the Bottle of Fiction had dissipated.

Lumian focused on examining the windowsill, finding charred remnants.

Phew… Exhaling deeply, he departed Room 5 of the first-class cabin, descending to the deck.

Philip, the security supervisor, leaned against the shipboard, gazing at the night view.

Where's your lover?" Lumian approached Philip, resting his hands on the shipboard.

Philip sighed and replied, "Her destination is Port Farim. Apparently, she was heading to a relative's plantation to assist them."

"Something to celebrate. This means you'll have a new lover," Lumian said, adopting the tone of a Dandyism believer.

"Please allow me to be downcast for another two days," Philip responded, not objecting to Lumian's words but emphasizing his invested feelings.

Of course, it was just a little.

"Did you just return from the port? Why didn't I see you board the ship?" Philip inquired, following his professional instincts.

"I've been in my room the whole time. There was a minor accident at the party just now that set the master bedroom ablaze. Many things were burned. Get someone to fix it promptly tomorrow," Lumian explained, seeking Philip's assistance in resolving the situation. Despite the possibility of staying in the fire-damaged room, Lumian preferred to take action to rectify the situation.

Philip appeared confused. "Party… Ablaze… What did you do in the room? I didn't hear anything…"

Lumian grinned and responded, "A passionate guest made an appearance. Their actions were a bit extreme."

"Really?" Philip inquired subconsciously.

"No," Lumian admitted straightforwardly. "Do you want to hear the real reason?"

Philip fell silent. After a few seconds, he said, "There's a need for compensation for such damage. We'll charge you the repair fee.

"Fortunately, we're still in Port Farim. We can replenish various items immediately. Otherwise, it would have been quite troublesome."

Lumian handed over a stack of banknotes.

"This is the repair fee. I hope it can be completed by tomorrow. If it's too much, consider it a tip. If it's too little, ask me for more."

Philip took the money, frowning as he weighed the stack of banknotes.

"What did you do to the bedroom?"

Why is he giving so much for the repairs?

Is this hush money?

Lumian smiled, turned around, and returned to Room 5 of the first-class cabin.

Observing him disappear through the cabin entrance, Philip counted the stack of banknotes under the crimson moonlight and the gas street lamps at the port.

"2,000 verl d'or? Did he blow up that room?" Philip was shocked and suspicious.

But I didn't hear anything…

That night, Lumian slept in a recliner in the living room.

Initially planning to summon Jenna's Rabbit Chasel and write Franca a letter about the Demon Warlock, seeking her help with Magic Mirror Divination to identify the source of the old blood in Burman's room. However, he remembered that Franca might still be awake while Jenna was already asleep.

Patiently waiting until the morning, Lumian set up the ritual using "Rabbit-

shaped spirit that wanders about the unfounded, a runner who pursues knowledge, a messenger that belongs solely to the Seven of Cups" to summon the book-holding transparent creature resembling a rabbit with powerful legs.

Today's Rabbit Chasel, unlike the last time, wore a pair of indistinct gold-

rimmed glasses.

Handing the letter and the glass bottle containing the blood and powder to Rabbit Chasel, Lumian asked curiously, "Why are you suddenly wearing glasses? Is this the downside of knowledge?"

Behind the gold-rimmed glasses, Rabbit Chasel's eyes glinted sharply.

"No, I learned this from a novel given by the Seven of Cups."

"What novel did she give you?" Lumian inquired, having a hunch.

"The last time I helped you deliver a letter to her, she didn't have any other books with her, so she could only lend me one of her newly purchased collections." Rabbit Chasel adjusted its gold-rimmed glasses on the bridge of its nose. "That novel is called 'The Adventurer 1: First Show of Strength.'"

As expected, Lumian thought. So, that's why you learned to wear glasses? He didn't know how to comment on this matter.

After Rabbit Chasel left, Ludwig and Lugano woke up one after another,

with the former casting a glance at Lumian's bedroom before eating his pre-

breakfast snacks. Lugano, however, seemed puzzled.

"Was there a fire last night?"

Why don't I know?

Lumian chuckled.

"It happened while you were engrossed with a certain lady. I quickly resolved it."

"Is that so…" Lugano reined in his disbelief.

Choosing to explore local delicacies in Port Farim rather than enjoying the ship's breakfast, Lumian disembarked.

Shortly after, Philip, the security supervisor, arrived with a dining cart.

Standing in the doorway of the charred bedroom, Philip was stunned.

You call this a minor accident?

Even if it was blasted by cannons, it couldn't be in a worse state, right?

Was he planning to dismantle the entire ship?

Uh, such destructive power actually didn't affect the room's exterior. Even the damage to the walls is within repairable limits… I didn't hear anything either…

What had Louis Berry done in the room last night?

No wonder he gave 2,000 verl d'or!

At that instant, Philip's blood surged into his brain.

…

In the Sun Square open-air market of Port Farim, Lumian enjoyed a tortilla filled with various fruit cubes and sipped a peculiar coffee laced with salt as he leisurely strolled through the stalls.

Occasionally, he treated himself to a roasted sausage, relishing the sizzling, oily delicacy.

Approaching the end of the open-air market, he encountered Batna Comté.

The well-dressed adventurer's eyes lit up as he approached Lumian and whispered, "Something happened to your employer!"

Curious, Lumian inquired, "What happened?"

He wanted to know how the official Beyonders had publicized this matter.

"It's that Demon Warlock. He killed Fidel's family and all his servants!" Batna's relief was evident; he hadn't been present yesterday and was glad to have avoided potential danger.

The evidence does seem to point toward the Demon Warlock… The authorities must have shared all the details… Lumian smiled at Batna and remarked, "So, everyone at 16 Rue Coreas fell victim to the Demon Warlock?"

"Yes," Batna confirmed with a solemn nod.

Lumian glanced at him and joked, "Remember how I blindfolded myself yesterday, hoping fate would guide me to uncover clues left behind by a Demon Warlock? Do you recall where we ended up?"

Batna was momentarily taken aback before muttering, "16 Rue Coreas…"

Suddenly, he looked up at Lumian in shock and fear.

-x-X-x-

The destination was Demon Warlock Burman's next target!

Without waiting for Lumian's response, the adventurer mumbled to himself in puzzlement, "Are you a Blessed of luck?"

No, a Blessed of calamity… Lumian replied inwardly.

As thoughts raced, Batna suddenly formulated a new hypothesis.

Could this be Demon Warlock Burman himself?

He had investigated the explosion scene, returning to flaunt his prowess at the crime scene and blindfolded himself to randomly choose the next victim!

Such an explanation seemed far more plausible than being blessed with luck!

Lumian glanced at Batna's Batna's tense expression and smiled.

"Don't tell me you think I'm Burman? How long have I been in Port Farim?"

That's exactly it. Something happened the night you first arrived in Port Farim… Batna didn't dare vocalize it.

"When the Quartier des Black Pearls exploded, I was still praying in the cathedral," Lumian said with amusement, providing an alibi.

Batna pondered for a moment and relaxed, but confusion still lingered on his face.

Lumian sighed and inquired, "Yesterday, I didn't expect to encounter anything related to the Demon Warlock while walking blindfolded. I just found it fun."

He spoke the truth.

However, he couldn't shake the suspicion that the corruption caused by 0-01 might be more severe than he had imagined.

Of course, he couldn't rule out the possibility that Trier, a seal from the Fourth Epoch, had effectively suppressed the preexisting issues within him.

The excuse of finding it "fun" barely convinced Batna. He felt that Louis Berry was undoubtedly such a person.

Yet, the other party would sporadically set traps just for the amusement of it. Anyone treating him as an idiot would end up becoming one!

"Perhaps I was truly blessed by luck yesterday," Lumian concluded.

Lumian's reasoning convinced Batna that Demon Warlock Burman's continuous evasion and access to resources stemmed from his close symbiotic relationship with Fidel, a prominent merchant. The subsequent tragedy likely resulted from the pressure exerted by the official Beyonders' investigation, leading to internal strife.

"What a shame…" Batna sighed. "If I had sold the clues about the Demon Warlock's close connection to Fidel to the authorities beforehand, I could've bagged a hefty bounty."

It would've been at least 5,000 verl d'or!

Batna shook his head.

"No, without evidence, the authorities won't buy it. Can't tell them we stumbled on clues blindfolded, blessed by luck. They'd just cuff us for being fraudsters."

A chuckle slipped from Lumian's lips.

"Can't you fabricate some evidence to back the clues?

"Say you spotted someone suspicious at Fidel's back door, maybe the Demon Warlock. Let the official Beyonders confirm it themselves. They'll uncover the truth in due time."

"T-That'd work?" Batna's mouth hung slightly agape.

"Why not?" Lumian grinned. "If you truly found the Demon Warlock, tell them not to sweat the details. Just ask if the clues are legit and if they helped capture the Demon Warlock. If they miss Burman, it's a small scam at worst. Few days of hard labor for you."

"Official Beyonders can take tips from adventurers without solid certainty, right? They'd miss genuine info otherwise."

Lumian's words left Batna silent momentarily before he blurted out, "Don't tell me you've got Islander blood?"

Deception seemed to be his forte.

Lumian casually replied, "Knew an Islander in Trier, quite the con artist with rich experience and techniques."

With a flicker of interest, Lumian raised his left hand, pinching his left eye socket.

Glancing at Batna, he asked, "How long have you been adventuring? Why still so green?"

"Over a year," Batna defended himself. "It's just that I stick to the rules with authorities. I'm more adaptable when dealing with pirates and others."

"Adventurers slipping clues to authorities also dabble in deceit, right?" Lumian grinned. "They scam if they can."

He suspected Batna's strict adherence to rules came from a well-bred background, a notion confirmed by the other party's attire and appearance.

Observing Batna's silence, Lumian finished his remaining salted coffee and glanced back at the lively open-air market.

"Try not to go to the morgue, cemetery, or other places for the time being."

Just as Batna was about to ask why, he instantly grasped the advice's true meaning.

Without Fidel to provide resources, the Demon Warlock might feel compelled to take action!

…

Before long, his messenger, Penitent Baynfel, emerged from the void and handed him a letter.

Franca:

"Based on your latest account and my discussion with 007 last night, I suspect that Demon Warlock Burman had been compelled to switch Sequences.

"He was originally a Warlock, but to revive his wife, he switched to the neighboring Death pathway. He went half-mad, becoming half-human and half-monster.

"Though this could be explained as a Warlock receiving an evil god's boon, your situation doesn't align. No cases of Beyonder powers from two pathways fusing and mutating have been documented. This was evident in your clash with Burman. The Eye of Illusory you mentioned has the Eye of Mystery Prying, revealing the side of reality, but it also displays the Death pathway's suppression of the Spirit Body or even enslavement.

"As far as I know, the Death pathway gains an Eye of Death ability at Sequence 8 Gravedigger. Did it fuse with the Eye of Mystery Prying, forming that distinctive Eye of Illusory?"

As Lumian read, he suddenly recalled the appearance of the Eye of Illusory.

Embedded vertically in his forehead, illusory and blurry, a deep purple bordering on black, with numerous pale-white patterns—undeniably a fusion of the Eye of Mystery Prying and the Death pathway's abilities.

Lumian's gaze shifted downward as he continued reading.

"White feather-like fur, decaying wounds, control over various undead creatures, unstable emotional states, and extreme actions—all indirectly confirming my hypothesis…

"The origins of the old blood are rather peculiar. I've conducted Magic Mirror Divination several times and consulted various entities, but all I've gleaned is that it stems from the depths of the spirit world. No further information. It seems the irreversible half-mad Burman had some other fortuitous encounter."

Unstable emotions… Extreme actions… irreversible half-madness… Lumian mulled over the descriptions and let out an inaudible sigh.

How determined and desperate must Burman have been when he chose to consume the Death pathway potion?

Wild Beyonders didn't know they could switch to neighboring pathways at a specific Sequence. They believed once a divine pathway was chosen, it couldn't be altered. Forced consumption of potions from other pathways led to madness or death.

Moreover, Mystery Pryer and Death weren't adjacent pathways that allowed switching.

Burman wouldn't have drunk the Death pathway potion without a resolve bordering on death, all to revive his wife, even at the cost of his sanity.

Lumian sensed he might have made the same choice in such a situation, hence his conflicting emotions.

Franca's letter ended with reassurance: "Don't fret over the aftermath. Burman's mental state will soon cause him to resurface without Fidel's support and restraint. He might succeed once or twice in gathering materials for experiments, but it won't last. Official Beyonders will eliminate him within weeks or even days."

Lumian glanced at Penitent Baynfel, yet to depart.

"Help me deliver my reply to the sender."

Swiftly, he penned a line: "I'll kill Burman as soon as possible."

Before long, Penitent Baynfel returned with Franca's reply: "Why?"

Lumian wrote on the same piece of paper: "I wish to punish him for his crimes…"

He paused for a moment before continuing, "And end his pain."

Folding the letter into a square, Lumian handed it to Baynfel and glanced at the messenger.

"Don't you find it troublesome to send letters back and forth?"

It wasn't concern but puzzlement.

After delivering the letter, Penitent Baynfel didn't leave immediately. Instead, he waited for a potential reply.

This time, Baynfel didn't remain silent. He replied in a deep voice, "Being busy makes me feel better. It's better to have something to do than always watch the darkness."

Lumian listened quietly without responding, watching Penitent Baynfel turn and walk into the void.

He empathized with those words.

Franca didn't stop Lumian. Her reply was concise and forceful: "Be careful!"

Phew… Lumian exhaled and walked to the living room window, casting his gaze at Port Farim bathed in the blazing sunlight and the distant Andatna volcano.

-x-X-x-

Under the sunlight, Port Farim appeared to be tinged with a golden hue, and the air seemed to carry the sweetness of cane sugar.

Lumian lingered by the window, contemplating the whereabouts of the Demon Warlock.

During his rescue the previous night, Burman had slipped into a deep coma, unable to direct the undead creature he controlled. Therefore, the undead being must have relied on its instincts and routines to transport Burman to a safe haven he frequented.

Ordinarily, Fidel's residence would be his top choice. Yet, when Lumian scoured the premises, there were no traces indicating Burman's return.

His initial assumption was that Burman had employed the undead creatures to eliminate Fidel's family, attendants, and servants. Recognizing 16 Rue Coreas as a battlefield and unsafe, they likely sought an alternate hideout.

Where could that be?

From his Traveler's Bag, Lumian retrieved the information Franca had provided about Burman and the rest of the details gathered from Philip, Batna, and the others. He read through it again, attempting to immerse himself in the mindset of the Demon Warlock, simulating his thoughts, actions, and motivations.

Burman hailed from Fog Province, also known as Winter Province, situated in the northern part of Intis. Bordering the Feysac Empire, the region had relatively rustic folk customs, with a penchant for strong liquor.

His wife, Helen, a Port Farim native without Islander heritage, had a grandfather who worked as a cane sugar merchant traveling between Port Farim and Port LeSeur. Unfortunately, he encountered pirates, losing most of his business and relying on a plantation he had previously acquired.

Born and raised on that plantation, Helen witnessed its sale due to conflicts among her father's generation after her grandfather's death. Her family received a portion of the money and relocated to Port Farim. After her father's passing and her mother falling ill, she became an adventurer and crossed paths with Burman.

Both had experienced fortuitous encounters during their adventures, gaining superpowers. They even acquired property in Port Farim, planning a future away from the adventurous life as they grew older.

Several years ago, they, along with a group of fellow adventurers, rented a boat to explore the seas for treasure. Unfortunately, they encountered sea monsters, and only Burman and two others survived.

Following this tragic incident, Burman's attempts to revive his wife took a progressively desperate turn.

"Treasure hunting at sea? Are there really that many treasures at sea?" Lumian mumbled, convinced that it was highly likely Burman was still in Port Farim.

This place held his dearest memories, remnants of the years spent with his wife, Helen. When selecting a hiding spot, he would instinctively lean towards this area.

With this in mind, Lumian continued reading the latter part of the intel.

As anticipated, Burman's past dangerous experiments had unfolded near the Fog Sea Archipelago, encompassing other islands and the villages and towns along the Northern Continent's coast. If he connected them into irregular concentric circles, the center would be in Port Farim on Saint Tick Island.

Burman uses Port Farim as a base for resurrection attempts in various places… Lumian pondered. He hasn't stirred trouble in Port Farim before, so why the exception this time? If I were Burman in his half-mad state, I'd treat Port Farim as my spiritual home, a haven of beautiful memories. Typically, I wouldn't disrupt the order here. I might even secretly maintain it and handle some audacious pirates and adventurers on the sly… Lumian analyzed thoughtfully.

He had substituted Port Farim with Cordu. Believing that if his sister's death had no connection to Cordu and the peace remained, anyone daring to disturb Cordu's daily life and alter the situation would be his enemy!

Frowning slightly, he sensed there might be crucial details unclear about the previous night's explosion. There could be a reason why Burman killed Fidel and his family beyond a mere disagreement. Fidel, having collaborated with Burman for years, should have known about his unstable mental state. How could such a shrewd merchant not consider the potential repercussions of his words on the Demon Warlock?

Moreover, Burman aimed to eliminate the adventurer Louis Berry to conceal his collaboration with Fidel. If Fidel was already dead, why silence Lumian?

Perhaps, Fidel had assumed he could persuade Burman to wait a few days before acting, only to find Burman already in a deranged state, driven by instinct.

After careful consideration, Lumian decided to re-enter Port Farim and visit Burman and Helen's former residence.

Even though Burman had sold it long ago to fund his resurrection experiments and it was under official Beyonder scrutiny, there remained a possibility of discovering crucial clues.

What if the mad Burman insisted on returning to his previous abode?

Instructing Lugano to keep an eye on Ludwig, Lumian descended to the deck and encountered Philip.

The Flying Bird's security supervisor regarded Lumian with a mixed expression. Without mentioning the room that seemed to have been bombarded by cannons, he stated, "I'll distribute the remaining repair fees to the participating workers and attendants."

The implication was clear: "I've already compensated those who need to be silenced."

"You can take a share yourself," Lumian replied with a smile.

Philip shook his head and sighed.

"Not having any more incidents like that on the way from Port Farim to Port Santa would be the best reward for me."

"I'll do my best," Lumian sincerely assured him.

He refrained from making promises, acknowledging factors beyond his control.

He also looked forward to reaching Port Santa without trouble and beginning the hunt for the key members of April Fool's—Bard and Ultraman.

Philip gazed at Lumian for a few seconds, as if contemplating whether to report him in advance.

He sighed again.

"The port lockdown will be lifted tonight. The Flying Bird will set sail again tomorrow morning. Don't miss it."

Lumian nodded and asked curiously, "The Demon Warlock has been apprehended?"

"No, but it's pretty much confirmed that it has nothing to do with the ships at the port. Nor is he hiding here," Philip replied nonchalantly. "Burman even killed the prominent merchant Fidel's family last night. They seemed to be in a cooperative relationship. Perhaps Fidel wanted to betray him…"

At this point, Philip gave Lumian a sharp glance.

"Last night, the battle in your room—could it be related to this?"

"What kind of connection do you think there will be?" Lumian asked, amused.

Philip pondered for a moment and couldn't make the connection.

Observing this, Lumian waved his hand and donned his golden straw hat. He descended the gangway to the docks and left the port district.

As Lumian reached Sun Square, adorned with numerous wanted posters, he was approached by an Islander man with brownish-black skin, sunken eyes, and a deep-set gaze. The man handed him a folded book with a plethora of words and crude patterns printed on it.

"Traveler, this is Port Farim's travel guide. It lists scenic spots, unique delicacies, and sexual entertainment venues," the Islander introduced with zeal. "It'll make your stay here more enjoyable."

Lumian played along and asked, "How much?"

"It's free! I'll give it to you for free!" the Islander exclaimed in a high-pitched voice. "The government prints these for tourists, hoping for a positive impression of Port Farim."

"Awesome." Lumian accepted the guidebook with an expression of "pleasant surprise" and unfolded it.

The guide detailed scenic views and recommendations from various shops—sugar cane outlets, sexual entertainment venues, renowned eateries, and more.

Suddenly, Lumian swiftly drew his revolver and pressed it against the Islander's forehead.

The Islander froze, stunned. After a few seconds, he stammered, "No, no charge. I'm not lying!"

Was this minor situation worth a gun being drawn?

I'm going to call the police!

Lumian smiled and inquired, "What's the connection between these recommended shops and you?"

"No…" The Islander felt the chill of the gun and carefully changed his words. "Th-they paid us to recommend them. Some of them are owned by our partners."

"How many are legitimate shops?" Lumian pressed, undeterred.

"90%." Just as the Islander finished speaking, Lumian cocked the revolver's hammer, sending a clear message.

He hastily added, "90% of them are connected to us."

Lumian chuckled, continuing with another question, "What about the scenery?"

"50%. Only the plantations and primitive tribes are connected to us." The Islander trembled in fear.

Lumian shook the travel guide and smiled at the Islander.

"Show me the real ones."

The Islander quickly pointed out different parts, worried that the gun might misfire.

Only then did Lumian stow away his revolver and take the guidebook to the open-air market on the other side of Sun Square.

He had engaged the Islander partly to frighten the swindler and partly because a new idea had struck him.

For Burman, who had resided in Port Farim for many years, were some of the delicacies and scenery here also part of his cherished memories?

During setbacks, when he killed his best partner and faced defeat in battle, would he, driven by madness and paranoia, seek out places with beautiful memories to draw strength and recharge?

Lumian believed if he were in Burman's shoes, he would have done the same.

Reason might suggest that he could be tracked and discovered, but half-mad individuals often ignored reason.

Therefore, whether it was the moonlit scenery of the lighthouse, the setting sun behind the volcano, Reptow minced pork, Gasparo seafood rice, or Saint Tick chocolate ice cream, all could attract the covert patronage of the Demon Warlock.

In his current state, there was a high chance that he wouldn't meticulously erase his tracks.

Adjusting his golden straw hat, Lumian made his way through the open-air market, heading toward the cliff mountain outside Farim, where Port Farim's lighthouse stood.