68 COI

The crash of azure waves echoed against the cliff's base, creating a cascade of white flowers in their wake.

Approaching the lighthouse, Lumian pondered its rumored history, a relic left behind by the Intisians upon their arrival at Saint Tick Island, his gaze fixating on the distant sea.

The night's crimson moonlight, still hours away, refrained from casting its dreamy glow, rendering the scene quiet and undisturbed by tourists.

Circling the lighthouse reminiscent of Roselle's era, Lumian observed for nearly fifteen minutes, fruitlessly searching for any sign of the Demon Warlock.

He didn't anticipate a direct encounter with Burman; it wasn't yet the time to admire the moon. Lumian simply sought to discern if Burman would visit to reminisce about the past and his wife after waking up last night—a moment of solace to steady his heart and find the strength to persevere.

The lighthouse guardian, with a pipe emitting the aroma of roasted tobacco leaves, offered a friendly reminder, "Kid, there's nothing much to see here during the day. It's a whole different story at night."

Lumian smiled and inquired, "Do people come in the middle of the night?"

"Indeed," the 50-year-old guardian boasted. "Those Trier playboys love bringing their dates here to bask in the moonlight."

"Any mysterious figures, perhaps someone donning a hood and pretending to be a Warlock?" Lumian pressed on.

The lighthouse guardian's face betrayed a nostalgic expression.

"Sometimes. Thought it was a ghostly silhouette a few times."

"Did such a figure visit late last night?" Lumian queried, a subtle curl forming on his lips.

There was nothing wrong with his speculation from his immersion!

Perhaps his similar experiences allowed him to better understand Burman's mental state and paranoid thoughts.

The guardian replied, "Can't say for sure. I didn't see anything."

Lumian didn't press further. He decided to return in the early morning hours, the enchanting few hours beneath the moonlight.

Over the next three hours, he explored the truly renowned gourmet restaurants in Port Farim. Despite asking similar questions, Lumian obtained no valuable information.

It became apparent that Demon Warlock Burman exercised restraint under normal circumstances, avoiding impulsive actions. He seldom frequented crowded places, and when he did, his disguise was impeccable.

By 4 p.m., Lumian reached Port Farim's modest steam locomotive station. He spent 3 verl d'or for a ticket bound for the Andatna volcano mine.

If he aimed to witness the sunset there, the journey had to commence now.

Woosh! Clunk! Clunk! Clunk! The iron-black carriage belched thick smoke as it lumbered along the railway sleepers.

Gradually, it gained momentum, akin to a colossal giant overcoming inertia and mobilizing its components.

Seated by the window, Lumian held a golden straw hat, quietly admiring the vanishing plantations.

Shortly before 6 p.m., the train halted outside Andatna's volcanic mine.

Adorning his straw hat, Lumian bypassed the mine entrance, opting for a nearby trail leading to the volcano's summit.

As the greenery dwindled, grayish-black hues prevailed. Occasional red rocks punctuated the landscape.

Approaching the mountaintop, desolation intensified. Grayish-black gravel lay dormant in the hushed wind.

Without the shelter of foliage, Lumian's vision expanded. The peculiar grandeur of this place seemed to embody the vastness of desolation and silence.

Following the tourist-worn grayish-black path, Lumian advanced step by step toward the volcano's mouth, revealing coal-black surfaces with reddish depressions.

The temperature inside was notably warmer.

Unbridled winds stirred, sending grayish-black gravel airborne, causing human forms to sway.

In this spectacle, the nearly setting sun bathed the desolate surroundings in a golden-red glow, intensifying the sunken redness.

Pressing down on his straw hat, Lumian ventured two to three hundred meters along the volcano's crater.

Abruptly, the mountaintop wind subsided, and the suspended gravel settled in eerie silence.

Lumian immediately spotted a figure standing silently on the grayish-black diagonal wall outside the volcano's crater, bathed in the last radiant sunlight.

Cloaked in black robes and a deep hood, the figure attentively watched the gradual descent of the golden-red sun.

Lumian's expression remained unchanged as he advanced step by step, refraining from initiating an attack.

Sensing Lumian's approach, the hooded figure turned around, unveiling a pale-white face marked by decaying wounds and a wide swath of fur.

It was none other than Demon Warlock Burman!

Perhaps influenced by the serene scenery and haunting memories, Burman, known for his madness, spoke wearily, "You've actually found this place."

Lumian, who had been securing his golden straw hat against the strong wind, chuckled self-deprecatingly and responded,

"If not for my illusions and hope, and if I didn't have numerous enemies awaiting my discovery, I would frequently return to Cordu and the nearest high mountain pasture. The grass there is vividly green, vast and expansive, with pale-yellow flowers in full bloom. Countless sheep roam about. The sky mirrors the brilliance of gems, and the occasional drifting white clouds resemble sheep grazing on the ground. At night, the stars emerge, densely packed like diamond gravel at the bottom of a clear river…"

Standing amidst the blazing sunlight and the vast, silent grayish-black surroundings, Lumian couldn't help but reminisce about Cordu Village and the alpine pasture.

Burman didn't interrupt. After Lumian finished speaking, he wore a dazed expression and uttered with a smile more pained than joyful,

"Helen and I thought we could come here to watch the sunset whenever we pleased since it's just a ticket away. But she never came again…"

And you don't even need to take the steam locomotive… Lumian sighed slowly and said, "What happened back then?"

Burman's face contorted in distortion, the agony evident in his expression.

"We were deceived. Something was wrong with the treasure map. We encountered real sea monsters!

"Damn the Islanders. Helen always believed they resorted to deceit and thuggery out of necessity. All the respectable positions were held by pure Intisians, but we treated them well and placed our trust in them. Yet, they colluded with others to betray us for money!

"I'll kill him, those deceivers, and every Islander!"

Lumian chuckled and remarked, "Some of the self-proclaimed noble Trieriens are swindlers, while others sell their bodies. I don't generalize against Islanders, but I remain cautious of specific individuals."

Suddenly, Lumian felt inspired.

"Was the Islander who betrayed you from the Marauder pathway?"

"Yes." Burman's face twitched with unrestrained anger.

Was it a Swindler acting? Lumian asked cautiously, "Did he have a tendency to wear monocles or pinch his eye socket?"

He pointed at his right eye.

"No." Burman seemed perplexed by Lumian's question.

Lumian heaved a sigh of relief.

"What's his name? Did you manage to kill him?"

Burman's pale face suddenly flushed, and decaying liquid dripped down.

"His name is Mark Benito! After that incident, he vanished. I never found him!"

Lumian chose not to provoke Burman further and inquired, "Which treasure were you seeking back then?"

"In the depths of the Fog Sea, there's an island. The inhabitants there don't age or truly die," Burman recalled the treasure rumors he had gathered. "There's reason to believe that something incredibly precious is hidden on that island. We didn't want to become enemies with the islanders. Our only hope was to infiltrate the island and steal some ageless medicine."

His words were somewhat disorganized, skipping over details.

"It bears a striking resemblance to the legend of the Fountain of Unaging," Lumian remarked after pondering. "The Adventurer series has already hinted that the Fountain of Unaging is a falsehood."

Ignoring him, Burman continued, "We found some evidence and obtained a treasure map to the island. To our surprise, the map was a forgery!

"The sea monsters wrecked our ship. In order to allow me to utilize that special witchcraft, Helen stood in front of me… I witnessed her torn into two by the sea monsters. I saw despair in her eyes…"

Burman panted heavily, unable to continue.

"And then, you switched to the Death pathway?" Lumian changed the topic.

Burman's icy flaxen-colored eyes gleamed.

"That's correct. Only Death, who controls the Death domain, can bring Helen back!

"In the treasure legend, many details suggest that only Death can achieve eternal life. Understanding the mysteries of death is the key to true resurrection! It's not that the islanders won't die; they can be revived!"

"Do you genuinely believe in that treasure?" Lumian already had an answer in mind after posing the question.

The partially unhinged Burman clung to every lifeline, trusting every rumor that promised to bring Helen back to life.

"I do." Burman nodded and spoke with a deep voice, "That's because I encountered people from that island some time ago. There really is such an island. There are truly islanders who don't age or truly die!"

"Really?" Lumian blurted out.

Burman's eyes burned with fanaticism as he declared, "I wanted to capture him, but he defeated me. Instead of killing me, he sympathized with my plight and imparted some knowledge about the Death domain. There's a way to bring Helen back to life!

"That cursed swindler. Fidel's attendant is nothing but a swindler. I didn't intend to rush the resurrection ritual. I wasn't fully prepared, but since he's a swindler, I'll kill him! All Islanders are swindlers! They all deserve to die!"

Is he truly from that island? Or could he be another swindler? Lumian realized that the incident with the swindler, Roddy, had triggered Burman. There was also the influence of that islander… Lumian narrowed his eyes and inquired, "What's the islander's name, and what does he look like?"

Burman suddenly became cautious, scrutinizing Lumian.

"What brings you here?"

Observing Burman's reaction, Lumian sighed and, with abnormal composure, said, "I'm here to kill you."

Burman was taken aback before bursting into laughter.

"For what? A bounty?"

Discarding the golden straw hat in his hand, Lumian lowered his body slightly and replied in a deep voice, "Punish your sins and put an end to your suffering."

Burman ceased his laughter and raised his hands with a cold expression.

"Bring it on, then."

-x-X-x-

His body began to fade, growing more transparent, as if he had transformed into a being from the spirit world—difficult for ordinary people to perceive.

In the blink of an eye, the Demon Warlock vanished.

Lumian made no move to intervene or evade potential attacks. Calmly, he retrieved the Flog boxing gloves adorned with iron-black spikes from his Traveler's Bag and wore them.

Completing this preparation, he suddenly knelt on one knee, pressing his hands to the ground.

Crimson flames erupted in all directions from Lumian's body, accompanied by a series of explosions.

Amidst the rumbling, flames surged, dominating the grayish-black wilderness. Burman's black-robed figure materialized in midair.

He slowly floated towards Lumian, narrowing the distance between them.

Lumian's figure abruptly vanished, reappearing behind Burman.

Spirit World Traversal!

Without hesitation, Lumian, holding a crimson fireball in his left hand, harrumphed.

Two beams of white light shot out from his nose, targeting Burman.

Floating in midair, Burman didn't lose consciousness as before. His body swayed, forcefully turning around to observe Lumian descending into the sea of flames on the ground.

An illusory vertical eye, dark purple and nearly black, materialized between Burman's brows, reflecting Lumian's figure amid pale-white patterns.

Almost simultaneously, a lanky black shadow emerged from within Burman's body. Nearby, arms made of bones or decayed flesh and pus extended from the void, encircling Burman's transparent and thin form.

He hadn't used witchcraft to quietly approach Lumian and strike. Instead, he had clandestinely swapped his spirit with the undead under his command, setting a trap to entice the enemy into deploying that peculiar spell to attack his body.

In such a scenario, the absence of one's Spirit Body meant immunity to abilities targeting the Soul Body!

Burman could then seize the opportunity to use the Eye of the Spirit to intimidate the enemy and create an opening for the manipulated undead.

This time, he refrained from delving deeper into the secret of the other party's Spirit Body. His goal was to uncover its vulnerabilities, strike with a lethal blow, and absorb the corresponding mystical knowledge!

Having suffered greatly from the Spell of Harrumph the previous night, he had used this ability as a breakthrough from the beginning.

Simultaneously, Lumian experienced once again the sensation of his spirit being intimidated and suppressed, as if frozen. Terrifying arms covered in festering warts or with eyes extended from the void, reaching out for his body.

Boom!

The explosion's force was mostly mitigated by the Flog boxing gloves, but since they weren't fully covered, the exposed part of Lumian's left palm was turned into a bloody mess.

An intense and familiar pain shot through his brain and Spirit Body, bringing him back to awareness.

Seizing this moment of clarity, Lumian activated the black mark on his right shoulder again, vanishing above the sea of flames and disappearing from the strange undead arms extending from the void.

Likewise, he remained vigilant against Burman's Eye of Illusory.

The crimson, nearly white fireball in his left hand was structurally unstable. He had to divert his attention to maintain it, and he couldn't sustain it when affected by the Eye of Illusory, leading to its natural disintegration and a self-

inflicted awakening.

If this failed to disrupt the Eye of Illusory's intimidation, the sea of flames below served as Lumian's second preparation. The residual aura of the Blood Emperor in his right hand was his last resort.

Upon vanishing, Lumian reappeared behind Burman once more.

Prepared, Burman raised his hands and scattered a tree-like powder.

Crackling sounds followed as silver-white lightning struck Lumian's head, as though a storm ruler had unleashed divine retribution from the sky.

For most Beyonders, this would be enough to paralyze and make them tremble incessantly. Yet, Lumian showed no such signs. Instead, he appeared like a reflection in the water, shattered by the lightning.

The real Lumian was curled up at the bottom of the figure. Burman had struck the phantom created using the Niese Face!

The Niese Face was essentially an illusion, but it couldn't be cast on others or items. Lumian had to rely on himself, pretending to be a root system with branches and flowers above, forming a derived illusion.

There was no fundamental difference between this and using the Niese Face to make himself taller and bulkier.

Amidst the crackling lightning, two crimson fireballs materialized beneath Lumian's feet and behind him.

Rumble!

The fireball exploded, propelling Lumian towards the levitating Burman.

Burman, being close proximity, couldn't dodge the swift Lumian in time. He could only slightly turn his body as a bone spear sprouted from his shoulder, its tip unusually sharp.

A grin spread across Lumian's face. He didn't evade, allowing the bone spear to pierce his right chest.

With a resounding thud, he swung his left fist, delivering a powerful blow to the side of Burman's face. The Demon Warlock's head twisted, revealing deep blood-stained, pus-filled holes on his face. His eyes burned with rage, as if he were witnessing the murderer of his wife!

The black mark on Lumian's right shoulder emitted a dim light once more.

His figure vanished beside Burman, dissolving into the encircling lanky black shadows and other undead creatures, leaving behind the bone spear stained with his blood.

The wound on his right chest was grotesque, blood dripping from it. In his hand appeared a dark-red bone flute with a hole in it.

Symphony of Hatred!

Lumian brought the bone flute to his lips. As he retreated, he played a mournful and haunting melody.

Once again invoking the Eye of Illusory, Burman, who was on the verge of catching up, was frozen in astonishment. Even the undead ceased their movements.

Suddenly, blood and pus seeped from Burman's eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, as if a muffled and invisible explosion had occurred within him.

His anger, paranoia, and thirst for revenge were fueled by the Symphony of Hatred.

This inflicted a severe blow on him.

Lumian refrained from playing the Symphony of Hatred from the outset because Burman differed from other Beyonders. Others needed to identify the problem, but with Burman, there were too many uncertainties.

His mental state was extremely unstable, burdened by severe psychological issues. His overwhelming desire to revive his wife and seek revenge on the Islander swindler was palpable. His body had undergone modifications from the Death domain, and Lumian had inflicted significant injuries on him the previous night. There were substantial hidden dangers…

Faced with such an adversary, Lumian himself was uncertain about the outcome if he were to unleash the Symphony of Hatred through the shepherd's flute. It might be manageable if it only triggered desires and emotions, but if Burman's mental state lost even the most basic restraints, the Demon Warlock could potentially lose control on the spot, transforming into a monstrous entity with mixed abilities.

Such a monster would likely be even more challenging to deal with than Burman!

Hence, after the Spell of Harrumph failed, Lumian promptly shifted to using Flog boxing gloves to kindle Burman's corresponding desires and emotions. This strategic approach increased the likelihood that when Lumian eventually used the Symphony of Hatred, it would exploit the target's emotions and desires, inflicting severe harm.

Observing Burman descend into the sea of flames amid the eruption of emotions and desires, Lumian executed another Spirit World Traversal, appearing in front of him in an instant.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

He extended his arms, unleashing a relentless barrage of attacks on Burman's body.

On the surface of his Flog fists, a crimson fireball, almost white, compressed layer by layer.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Flog tore at Burman's flesh like a two-headed python.

Rumble!

Crimson fireballs erupted around Lumian, with no concern for waste. They formed a barrier, preventing the lanky figure, strange arms, and other undead from interfering.

One punch, two punches, three punches. Lumian's eyes were fixed on the mangled Burman.

At that moment, he reflected on the village destroyed by Burman and the innocent lives lost because of him.

How many were beloved wives, waiting husbands, dependent parents, and cherished children?

Cordu had been annihilated due to the ambitions of the evil gods. What about the innocent?

Lumian's eyes gradually turned crimson as he clenched his fists.

This time, he didn't empathize with Burman. Instead, he placed himself in the village he had destroyed and the lives he had taken.

Wasn't Cordu like this back then?

The ambitions of these evil gods are to blame!

In just a few seconds, Burman snapped out of his pain and emitted an evil, cold, and incomprehensible voice.

The sound seemed to peel away Lumian's flesh, exposing his Spirit Body to the perilous sunlight and the grayish-black gravel.

Lumian's movements slowed, and the grotesque arms finally reached in, dragging Burman away from the area.

Phew… Lumian exhaled and recovered.

He didn't pursue. Instead, he gazed silently at the void ahead, raised his right hand, and snapped his fingers.

Rumble!

Amidst the sudden eruption of intense flames, Burman's body materialized, shattering from an explosion.

Fire Infusion!

Hunter's Fire Infusion!

In truth, Lumian hadn't acted rationally. His optimal strategy would have been to seize the moment when Burman's emotions and desires were ignited and strike at his vital points with the Symphony of Hatred, delivering a decisive blow. However, he yearned to repeatedly pummel the "hidden" version of himself that terrified him!

With a thud, Burman's head clattered to the ground.

In his daze, he caught sight of a slender figure with black hair, blue eyes, and a delicate face.

It was his wife, Helen.

Y-you're back? Burman couldn't help but smile and extend his arm.

He no longer had an arm.

Gradually, he lost consciousness. Darkness enveloped his vision, as if sunlight lurked deep within.

Demon Warlock Burman—dead.

-x-X-x-

Donning the silver Lie earring and retrieving a white bandage, Lumian wrapped it around the burned wound on his right chest and his bloody left hand.

Crimson flames surged around him, engulfing his dripping blood and splattering flesh.

Throughout this process, Lumian gathered the nearby corpse fragments that Burman had scattered and piled them beside the head.

He had been calculating the time. If Burman's Beyonder characteristic still hadn't materialized, he would have to move the corpse pile to the forest beside the Andatna volcano.

This was because the Flog boxing gloves attracted the attention of certain hidden entities, enabling them to command dangerous creatures to attack.

In the past, Lumian would have had to leave the scene as soon as he finished using the Flog boxing gloves, but the battle lasted only a short time. The Flog boxing gloves had already been stowed into his Traveler's Bag, allowing him to wait a little longer.

Lumian observed various colored light spots—light purple, pale-white, and pitch-black—emerge from Burman's head and the scattered corpse pile. Among the items on the ground and torn clothes, Lumian found a diverse array of objects.

There was a miniature brain, blood-dyed and resembling brass, a retractable pitch-black telescope, ointment and powder in metal canisters, a short bone scepter, a peculiar badge encircling the sun with bones, a soft-cover notebook in an iron box, an ordinary-looking golden ring, and scattered gold and silver coins…

The deposit certificates and paper cash had likely been destroyed by the explosion and the inferno.

Lumian carefully stowed each item away, sensing that three possessed superpowers. Merely coming into contact with them triggered various adverse reactions.

Thankfully, I had no intention of prolonging the battle with Burman from the start… Him using these mystical items later would have been troublesome… To deal with such a half-mad and resourceful enemy, I must end the battle swiftly and deny him a chance to recover… Some items were likely gathered by him, while others might have been taken from Fidel… Lumian concluded, finally picking up the dented and cracked iron box.

Inside the soft-cover notebook lay a blood-stained treasure map. With a brief glance, Lumian suspected it to be a sea map leading to an island in a specific sea area. It contained records of weather patterns and markings of safe sea routes.

Could this be the fake treasure map sold to Burman by Mark Benito? Lumian mused. Flipping to the first page of the dark soft-cover notebook, he encountered scrawled words:

"My mind isn't reliable all the time. I tend to forget many things. I must record all relevant knowledge and prevent them from being forgotten."

Lumian refrained from delving deeper. He carefully stowed away the fake treasure map and the soft-cover notebook.

Lumian noticed an ordinary-looking golden ring adorning Burman's left ring finger in the corpse pile.

It bore a striking resemblance to the gold rings found in the pile of spoils. They varied in size, texture, and quality.

Lumian instantly grasped the situation.

He removed the golden ring from Burman's finger and tied it to another golden ring with a piece of wire he had on hand.

At that moment, Burman's Beyonder characteristics fully materialized, merging with parts of his corpse, resulting in two distinct items.

Lumian carefully stowed away the two Beyonder characteristics, taking hold of Burman's head before vanishing from the spot.

Silently, the remaining parts of Burman's body ignited, enveloping the grayish-black volcano in crimson flames.

More than 200 meters away, Lumian retrieved the golden straw hat that had been blown by the strong wind.

As he secured it on his head, he swiftly disappeared.

This time, he appeared on the road outside the Andatna volcano's steam locomotive.

Lumian glanced up at the grayish-black volcano's crater, witnessing the golden-red sunset, resembling flowing lava, receding faster than expected.

The mountaintop swiftly darkened.

…

In the cathedral of The Fool in Port Farim, not far from Quartier des Black Pearls, Lumian, adjusting his golden straw hat, approached the towering half-giant bishop donned in a half top hat and black trench coat. In a deep voice, he said,

"I want to repent."

The half-giant bishop, with light-blue eyes and a towering stature exceeding 2.5 meters, regarded Lumian for a moment before nodding. "Follow me."

He led Lumian into a specialized confessional—a windowless, pitch-black chamber.

"I don't wish to repent in the dark," Lumian calmly said, removing his golden straw hat.

The half-giant bishop ignited the candles, sealing the door shut.

Pa! Lumian tossed a head with pale-white fur and vacant eye sockets to the half-giant bishop's feet.

"Did you commit murder?" the half-giant bishop inquired in a mellow tone, giving the head a brief once-over.

"No, I just want to help him repent." Lumian gestured towards the bloody head, oozing yellow pus. "He's Demon Warlock Burman."

"Burman?" Only then did the half-giant bishop closely inspect the head, recognizing distinct features.

He fell silent for a few moments before stating, "You want the Church to assist you in claiming the bounty from the Intis government?"

"As I mentioned, I'm here to repent for him. His bounty is part of his penance." Lumian's voice remained unchanged.

The half-giant bishop struggled to comprehend.

Lumian retrieved most of the items acquired from Burman from his Traveler's Bag, leaving behind the dark soft-cover notebook and the fake treasure map.

Clatter. These items, some endowed with superpowers, some valuable, spilled onto the ground.

The half-giant bishop, sporting a top hat and trench coat, fell silent for a few seconds.

"The Demon Warlock bounty stands at 600,000 verl d'or. These items hold considerable value too. Together, they could fetch nearly 1 million verl d'or. It's a substantial sum for anyone. Enough to ensure you don't have to take further risks. Are you certain about donating it to us and establishing a charity fund?"

Lumian didn't directly answer the half-giant bishop's question. Instead, he reiterated, "This is Burman's penance."

"Alright, since you trust our Church, we'll comply with your wishes," the half-giant bishop, named Theis, said. "Remember my name and feel free to monitor the charity fund's progress closely."

Lumian gazed at The Fool's Sacred Emblem in the confessional, pressed his hand to his chest, and gave a slight bow.

"Praise The Fool!"

He then closed his eyes and prayed, Great Lord, I implore you to punish the world for their sins and watch over our compensation. This isn't atonement; it's self-punishment…

Lumian repented earnestly for a while before straightening up. He opened his eyes and turned to leave.

"What shall be the name of the charity fund?" the half-giant bishop hurriedly inquired.

Lumian took a deep breath and replied, "Helen, the Helen Charity Fund."

"Do we need to inform the authorities about who killed Burman?" the half-giant bishop cautiously asked.

"No need, but there's no requirement to deliberately obscure the clues for me." Lumian didn't look back. He put on his golden straw hat and exited The Fool's cathedral.

…

That night, Lumian once again entered the bar beside Sun Square known as Pelican.

Batna Comté, as usual, sat at the bar counter, sipping on Golden Somme sugar wine. Beside him was a girl dressed as an adventurer with adorable facial features.

Lumian walked over and joined Batna and the other patrons. He smiled and snapped his fingers at the bartender.

"A glass of Golden Somme."

Batna glanced at him and remarked, "Someone's in a good mood."

"Indeed." Lumian received the golden syrup from the bartender and tapped the table with the bottom of the glass. Then, he stood up and raised the glass. "Everyone, I've encountered two things worth celebrating today."

He spoke with enthusiasm and joy, "The first is that I completed a commission worth more than 100,000 verl d'or!"

"Impossible…" Batna and the female adventurer beside him exclaimed in unison.

This bounty was even higher than Black Baronet's bounty. How could it be accomplished in a day?

Moreover, Batna knew that Louis Berry's employer, Fidel, was already deceased. How could he have received a new commission?

Lumian continued in a passionate tone, "To celebrate this, I'll treat everyone at the bar counter to a glass of Golden Somme!"

Nearly ten adventurers and patrons expressed admiration. One of them teased, "Regardless of the truth, I believe you!"

The others chimed in.

Lumian's smile widened.

"Second thing to be happy about—I've woven a tale to deceive a group of fools!"

Suddenly, the expressions of everyone at the bar counter froze.

Lumian glanced at them and continued,"But it's true that drinks are on the house!"

The adventurers and patrons booed, expressing that if they could drink for free, they didn't mind being fools.

Thus, Lumian spent 96 licks, or 4.8 verl d'or, treating the twelve people at the bar counter to a glass of Golden Somme.

Observing Louis Berry, Batna silently muttered, He's genuinely happy…

…

Late at night, aboard the Flying Bird, Room 5, first-class cabin.

Lumian returned to the barely habitable master bedroom, ignited the kerosene lamp, and retrieved the dark soft-cover notebook and the fake treasure map he had obtained from Demon Warlock Burman from his Traveler's Bag.

-x-X-x-

Bathed in the yellowish glow of the kerosene lamp, Lumian perused Burman's notebook. The pages chronicled the erratic musings of a mind teetering on the edge of instability.

"Once life slips away, spirits journey to the spirit world, except in rare cases!

"If I can craft the right summoning chant, a Spirit Guide's power could pull Helen's spirit back to our reality.

"That's step one toward bringing her back."

Upon seeing this, Lumian indiscernibly shook his head.

If only resurrection were that simple…

He turned the page.

"New mystical knowledge gained:

"In ancient times, intelligent beings ventured into the Underworld after death. Those deeply devout or exceptionally impactful could ascend to the corresponding deity's Heaven. However, during the Fifth Epoch, a surplus of undead lingered beyond the Underworld.

"I'm uncertain if Helen's spirit has entered the Underworld or returned solely to the spirit realm. When summoning, I must address these separately; mixing them would guarantee failure.

"Despite the sea monsters' formidable might, they lack the power to confine a soul. No similar occurrences manifest in that sea region. For now, special circumstances needn't be considered. Additionally, Helen wasn't a fervent follower of the Eternal Blazing Sun."

…

"I encountered Helen again.

"But she's entirely lost the memory of me.

"Her form and essence are gradually fading away. In a few short years, she'll transform into just another undead.

"I have no more than five years.

"How can I reawaken her consciousness and recover her memories? Merely providing a vessel capable of housing a departed spirit doesn't seem sufficient."

…

"Don't forget the moonlit waves by the city's lighthouse. They bore witness to my proposal and Helen's acceptance."

…

"Don't forget Gasparo seafood rice; it's Helen's favorite. After every adventure, when we returned to Port Farim, she always suggested indulging in it."

…

"Don't forget the sunset at Andatna volcano. That's where we met and vowed to revisit often in the future. Even as we age, we can't let that romance fade away…"

…

"Don't forget… Don't forget… Don't forget…"

…

"My head hurts."

…

"I razed a town, leading to the deaths of two to three hundred people.

"The sight of those couples, parents, and children perishing didn't bring me joy.

"Instead, my heart plunged into darkness.

"I acknowledge this as my sin, an irreversible mistake. I'm aware that I'm no longer the Burman you once liked.

"Yet, I harbor no regrets."

…

"Swindlers, curse them!

"Ending these swindlers has rekindled a long-lost sense of satisfaction."

…

"Helen, if you were still alive, we might have had our own child, right?

"Why do those evil Warlocks always employ infants, children, and their remains as essential ingredients for the creation of their dark arts?

"I've become even more evil than them…"

…

"Helen, I've lost my way. All my endeavors have ended in failure."

…

"Helen, I aspire to acquire the Sequence 5 potion formula and ingredients for the Death pathway."

…

"Helen, Fidel intervened. He warned that it would turn me into a monster and erase my original memories.

"Helen, I refuse to forget you.

"Helen, please forgive my cowardice."

…

"Helen, I actually encountered that islander from Resurrection Island!

"It truly exists!

"Harrison defeated me, but he spared my life. He questioned why I had forcibly transitioned to the Death pathway.

"He revealed that my previous attempts were misguided. True resurrection isn't that straightforward.

"He explained that within the depths of death lies everyone's mark. Only by bringing forth the corresponding mark into reality and utilizing it as a foundation to reconstruct spirit and flesh can we achieve genuine resurrection, retaining our original knowledge and complete memories.

"Helen, I'm overjoyed. I glimpse hope in reviving you once more."

…

"Harrison imparted knowledge about the Death domain to me. It's through understanding this knowledge and reclaiming their mark that he and his kin can undergo repeated deaths and resurrections, escaping the clutches of mortality.

"While they seldom depart Resurrection Island, it's not an absolute. Travel-

loving islanders like Harrison have ventured to different lands, leaving the Resurrection Island legend imprinted in the memories of a select few humans. Those with sinister motives compiled this information into a sea map for Resurrection Island.

"The treasure map Mark sold us is counterfeit, but parts of it trace back to the genuine one. Harrison, in his quest, left Resurrection Island to eliminate the authentic map and eradicate all who know how to reach that sea and discover Resurrection Island.

"Helen, armed with Harrison's information, I attempted to summon a spirit from the depths of death. I succeeded, conjuring an evil spirit named Arden. As it was feeble, I easily vanquished it, collecting its blood for the ensuing ritual."

…

"Helen, forgive me. I couldn't rein in my emotions.

"Ever since encountering Harrison and gaining the knowledge to truly bring you back, impatience has seized me. I can't control my emotions.

"Those islanders are swindlers deserving of death. I ended the life of a swindler and numerous others. I refused to squander any more time, hastening the ritual.

"Helen, I'm sorry. I failed again. I wasn't adequately prepared."

…

"Helen, have I lost my sanity entirely? A mere retort from Fidel triggered a frenzy, leading me to slay everyone in the house.

"He must perish too, the one who dared to threaten me and Fidel!"

…

"Helen, I've failed. It's been a while since I sustained such severe injuries.

"My body is largely undead. These wounds aren't fatal, but I lack any allies.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

…

"Helen, I've missed you once again."

Lumian reached the conclusion of the dark soft-covered notebook and fixated on the sentence for an extended moment.

It was as if he had transformed into a statue.

After a few minutes, Lumian couldn't resist raising his right hand to massage his temples.

The marks from the depths of death, Resurrection Island, and Harrison inundated his mind, prompting a sudden regret for not seeking Franca's assistance.

To ensure a clean demise for Burman, he never intended to channel the Demon Warlock's spirit from the outset. This meant he had no plans to return to Trier and bring Franca to his current location.

However, his instinct now urged him to delve further into the resurrection method outlined by Harrison. He desired an understanding of the island where inhabitants experienced repeated deaths and rebirths.

Phew… Lumian closed the notebook and exhaled, making an effort to recollect his knowledge of death-related mysticism.

He recalled hearing the words "death" and "mark" conjoined.

Madam Magician had mentioned the term "death mark" while answering a question about the Tudor figure at the Samaritan Women's Spring!

Is this a concept distinct from remnant spirits and imprints, directly linked to resurrection?

From the depths of death… What lurks within the depths of death…

What I now know that is explicitly tied to death—the Underworld, the Samaritan Women's Spring, the River Styx connecting two worlds…

What a pity. I wonder what Harrison from Resurrection Island looks like…

Burman's recorded knowledge is in disarray. It seemed he wrote whatever thoughts occurred to him. Without him, organizing a complete resurrection ritual and the corresponding principles proves exceedingly challenging…

No, not just challenging. Impossible. Burman only documented what he feared he might forget. The remaining knowledge is entirely absent… Lumian rubbed his temples once more and unfolded the counterfeit treasure map. After careful scrutiny, he couldn't discern which parts were authentic and which were spurious.

He intended to send the map to Franca and Jenna at dawn, employing them to employ mysticism to differentiate between the real and the fake.

…

The next morning, Lumian wiped his mouth with a napkin and observed Ludwig grappling with the breakfast dishes.

Knock, knock, knock. A gentle rap echoed on the door.

"Please come in." Lumian gestured for Lugano to open the door.

Do you really think I'm a servant? Alright, providing the money makes you the boss… Lugano criticized, leaving the dining table to open the door.

It was Philip outside.

Philip entered the room, smiling at Lumian.

"We'll set sail in two and a half hours. If you have any special items you want to buy, do it as soon as possible."

"I don't," Lumian replied with a smile as he stood up.

Philip glanced out the window and said, "By the way, you might not be aware, but the Demon Warlock has been apprehended."

"Is that so?" Lugano looked surprised.

Over the past few days, the most popular topic among the passengers on the ship was Demon Warlock Burman, who had caused them to stay in Port Farim.

Seeing Lumian raise his eyebrows in inquiry, Philip said with a relaxed expression,

"Not only was Burman apprehended, but he was also in the state of a corpse."

"Who's behind this?" Lumian asked, his curiosity piqued.

Philip shook his head.

"I don't have all the details yet. What I do know is that it's closely tied to The Fool's Church. The adventurer Gehrman Sparrow is said to be their messenger."

"Could it be that the adventurer took matters into his own hands?" Lugano asked eagerly.

At sea, he naturally heard about faith in The Fool and had no doubts about it

—sailors, passengers, and dock porters would tell him about it.

"Hard to say. But anyone capable of taking down a Demon Warlock has to be at least as formidable as a pirate admiral." Philip sighed deeply.

Suddenly, a commotion echoed from the gangway. Passengers destined to board at Port Farim were finally given the green light to board the Flying Bird.

Lumian approached the window and spotted a familiar face.

Batna Comté!

He and the adorable-looking female adventurer climbed aboard the deck together.

Lumian pushed open the window and called out, "Batna, are you guys headed to Port Santa as well?"

Batna looked up, surprised, his eyes fixed on the rooms on the top floor.

Spotting Louis Berry, he grinned and replied, "Absolutely. I'm off to witness Port Santa's sea prayer ritual!"

-x-X-x-

Among the nations of the Northern Continent, only the Lord of Storms in Loen wielded authority over the sea. Yet, sailors, sea merchants, and adventurers loyal to other deities sought to evade shipwrecks, brutal weather, and the need for specific protection. This led to various compromises and unique circumstances.

Certain Churches established subsidiary gods, Angels, and Saints endowed with storm and sea-related powers for followers with corresponding concerns. Take, for instance, the Sea God of the Church of The Fool.

In some Churches, believers were tacitly permitted to hold a partial belief in the Lord of Storms.

Other Churches turned a blind eye to the folklore beliefs flourishing in ports and islands, allowing the performance of specific rituals without requiring the presence of clergymen.

The sea prayer ritual of Port Santa in the Feynapotter Kingdom fell into the latter category. Its folklore was believed to trace back to the Fourth Epoch. This annual event, overseen by the Church of Earth Mother, was modest and confined to this port; it lacked any widespread publicity.

In essence, nearly nobody—neither the locals of Port Santa nor the merchants, adventurers, or pirates frequenting the shores of the Fog Sea—

was aware of such a sea prayer ritual.

After gathering the pertinent details, Lumian made an initial assessment that either Bard or Ultraman, the culprits behind the sea prayer ritual pranks, were likely locals of Port Santa or actively engaged in maritime affairs.

Considering that Bard's work, "Emperor Roselle's Secret Chronicles," had been specifically handed over to Trier's underground booksellers for publication, Lumian leaned towards the belief that Ultraman had been the instigator of the problems at Port Santa's sea prayer ritual.

Despite the fact that "Emperor Roselle's Secret Chronicles" seemed more suited for sale in Intis, Lumian reasoned that if Bard had a permanent residence in the Feynapotter Kingdom, it would be wiser to publish it under the Feynapotter Kingdom's name before discreetly selling it to Intis. This precaution was to avoid drawing the attention of Intis's secret police.

Many Beyonders had underestimated the vigilance of ordinary police officers and investigators, resulting in unwanted attention and arrests by official Beyonders who got wind of the news.

Upon learning that Batna and his female companion desired to witness Port Santa's sea prayer ritual, Lumian waved with a grin.

"Me too!"

He stepped back from the window, biding his time until nearly noon to compose a letter detailing his recent encounters and the handling of Burman's "legacy."

After folding the letter and wrapping it within the folds of the fake treasure map, Lumian summoned Rabbit Chasel once again.

The rabbit-like spirit creature still sported its gold-rimmed glasses and a small, blurry half top hat.

Silently observing for a few moments, Lumian then handed over the items destined for Franca and Jenna.

"Thank you," he said politely.

That's basic courtesy!

"No need to thank me," replied Rabbit Chasel, removing his half top hat and executing a slight bow.

Lumian's lips twitched as he witnessed the mutated Rabbit of Knowledge disappear from the room.

He was worried that this rabbit might unpredictably draw its gun and finish off the sender at any given moment.

The next time around, he resolved to caution Jenna against imparting such dangerous knowledge to Rabbit Chasel!

…

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

Franca glanced at Rabbit Chasel, adorned with its half top hat and gold-

rimmed glasses. Leaning closer to Jenna, she whispered, "Isn't it too dangerous to let it read the Adventurer series?"

Jenna smiled and replied, "Don't you find Rabbit Chasel adorable? Furthermore, a messenger can encounter danger. Reading more about Gehrman Sparrow might make it stronger."

Franca had only briefly raised the issue but shifted her focus to unfolding the fake treasure map and letter, reading it with earnest attention.

"Wow, Lumian's efficiency is impressive. He aimed to punish Burman for his sins and managed to complete the hunt in less than twelve hours!

"The Beyonder characteristics didn't form Sealed Artifacts with mixed abilities; instead, they emerged and merged separately. Could it be because Burman no longer harbored madness and paranoia before his death, and his emotions had calmed down?"

"Heh heh, there's no need to inform 007 so quickly if we encounter similar cases in the future. Lumian might resolve it himself within a day. Everything will return to normal, and world peace will prevail. That way, 007 won't blame me for always causing trouble for him."

Franca had previously informed Jenna that the code name of her collaborator among the authorities was 007.

So fast? Demon Warlock isn't weak… Jenna couldn't believe it.

That was a criminal with a bounty of 600,000 verl d'or. All the verl d'or she had seen so far added up to less!

Lumian's bounty amounted to less than 100,000.

Franca pursed her lips and remarked, "Think about his experiences in Trier and the items and abilities he possesses. He's simply a supermodel, alright? If he were to be released, it would be equivalent to a dimensional reduction strike on Beyonders without any special traits. He wouldn't be much inferior to most Sequence 5 Beyonders!"

Jenna recalled the dangerous situations she had faced alongside Lumian and nodded in agreement.

"What do you mean by dimensional reduction strike?"

Franca, slightly surprised by Jenna's question, took a moment before explaining, "It's akin to an adult bullying a child or a demigod bullying a Low-Sequence Beyonder.

"Furthermore, think about it. A half-mad Beyonder like the Demon Warlock is mentally, psychologically, emotionally, and physically problematic. He was completely countered by Lumian's Symphony of Hatred. When facing him, all you need to do is be wary of the strange combination of abilities and avoid provoking him into a monster. Lumian has the experience, so he won't be careless."

Jenna muttered, "Now that you mention it, why do I feel that killing the Demon Warlock isn't too difficult?"

"You can't put it that way. It can only be said that the forced switching of pathways will indeed make one very powerful and dangerous, but it also has huge flaws and many problems. It's easy to target," Franca corrected her before continuing reading Lumian's letter.

After she was done reading, Franca sighed with excitement and said, "The sea sounds so fun, and the scenery is beautiful. If it weren't for the mission, I'd want to be an adventurer at sea and hunt pirates!"

Jenna, leaning against the sofa and reading the letter from behind, felt a longing in her heart.

Who wouldn't love to travel? It was just that they hadn't had the luxury before.

Franca regained her composure and clicked her tongue.

"Lumian is truly generous. He actually donated all the bounty and spoils of war to establish a charity fund. Sigh, actually, I understand his thoughts…"

Until now, she had been covertly providing for the family of her body's original owner until now.

As Franca and Jenna conversed, they both performed Magic Mirror Divination.

Their answers were unanimous: The map was real!

"Whether it's Burman or the immortal islander, Harrison, they both admit that a portion of this map is fake. It can't help adventurers reach Resurrection Island, and they might even encounter great danger along the way… What's fake about it?" Franca pondered, casting her gaze at the treasure map.

On the map, the location marked as Resurrection Island lay deep within the Fog Sea. The westernmost colonial island of the Intis Republic, Aroca, was still quite a distance away.

…

Can't distinguish the fake parts? Lumian shook his head after receiving the reply and continued reading the information about spirit world creatures in his hand.

His primary focus was to find any introduction to the Arden evil spirit that Burman had summoned from the depths of death.

Lumian flipped through the information until evening, satiating his hunger in his room. Grabbing the golden straw hat he had recently taken a liking to, he descended to the deck and entered the bar.

By that time, the Flying Bird had already departed Port Farim. As expected, Batna and his female companion sat at the bar counter, engaged in animated conversations with the surrounding passengers about Demon Warlock Burman's demise.

"We don't know which adventurer did it either. If it hadn't been officially announced, we wouldn't have known that Burman had been killed. No one in Port Farim's adventurer circle knew about it in advance!" Batna held the Lanti Proof and said excitedly, "To think that such a powerful adventurer remains hidden in Port Farim! Indeed, we can't be arrogant or conceited. Perhaps the tramp sitting by the roadside is a powerful figure!"

Spotting Lumian pushing his way through, Batna whistled.

"You're staying in first-class? Are you that rich?"

"I'm not considered rich," Lumian replied with a smile as he settled onto a barstool. "I just feel that accidents can happen at any moment at sea, and I can be killed by pirates at any moment. So, why not try to pamper yourself? What's the point of saving up money when you're dead? Since you're an adventurer, you have to lead a carefree life because who knows if there'll be a tomorrow."

"Since you're an adventurer, you have to lead a carefree life because who knows if there'll be a tomorrow…" The female adventurer beside Batna whispered Lumian's last sentence, seemingly touched.

Batna took a sip of the Lanti Proof and chuckled.

"However, the prerequisite is that you have some savings. Otherwise, if you end up having fun today, you'll go hungry tomorrow.

"Man, 600,000 verl d'or. I wonder which adventurer obtained Burman's 600,000 verl d'or. And the items on him…"

Batna revealed a yearning and envious expression.

Lumian picked up the absinthe he had just requested and took a sip, savoring the faint bitterness lingering in the fragrance.

…

In the following days, the Flying Bird calmly navigated towards the Feynapotter Kingdom. Philip, the security supervisor, found it surreal.

Is the bad luck over? Did the major problem disembark? Did Demon Warlock Burman's death stem from the major problem entering Port Farim?

Just as Port Santa was only a day away, Philip observed his subordinate deliver a telegram.

"Boss, it's from your comrades in Port Farim." The subordinate handed the folded telegram to Philip.

What happened in Port Farim that requires me to be informed? Did the major problem cause trouble in Port Farim and trace it to the Flying Bird? He unfolded the telegram and scanned its contents.

"The adventurer who hunted Demon Warlock Burman is suspected to be on your ship. His name is Louis Berry."

-x-X-x-

"His name is Louis Berry."

Philip's gaze froze at the last sentence.

Him?

He killed Demon Warlock?

Suddenly, Philip recalled the tragic scene of Room 5 in the first-class cabin as though it had been shelled.

Could it be that the clash between Louis Berry and Demon Warlock Burman had caused this devastation?

Rumors circulated that the Church of The Fool exchanged Burman's head for a bounty the following day, but procedures like that didn't happen instantaneously. A delay of half a day was ordinary!

Did Louis Berry truly kill Demon Warlock?

Is he truly that formidable? I couldn't discern it at all…

I understand he's a magnet for trouble, and various details attest to his strength and unpredictable nature, but the notion of him vanquishing Demon Warlock caught me by surprise. And he appeared unscathed.

He even contained the battle's impact within a single room, ensuring no one overheard anything…

Could he have also been the one who frightened off Bone Splitter Basil? No, he was near me and didn't make a move… Unless Basil knows him and comprehends his danger?

A person capable of eliminating Demon Warlock is indeed capable of deterring Bone Splitter… Even though Basil might not be weaker than Burman despite the relatively low bounty. Louis Berry, however, possesses the ability to silence Burman without a trace…

What caused the encounter with the Death Navigators?"

Philip muttered silently.

Though he couldn't fully embrace the idea that the young man who always boasted in the bar with a smile was a powerful enough adventurer to vanquish Demon Warlock, Philip hesitated to harbor too many doubts.

"Boss, should we… should we expose Louis Berry's identity as a fake?" the crew member who had delivered the telegram asked in a hushed tone.

Philip instinctively raised the paper bearing the telegram and delivered a light smack to his subordinate's head.

"Do you have a death wish? I've emphasized repeatedly, when faced with anomalies on the ship, turn a blind eye unless it's an immediate crisis, and wait until we reach our destination."

Philip pondered for a moment, concerned that his subordinate might act in error due to misunderstanding or disbelief. He clarified deliberately, "We're still at sea. Even if we report the false identities now, confirming Louis Berry's true identity and existence won't save or aid us unless someone departs from Port Santa. Yet, such inter-country cooperation requires days of prior communication. By the time assistance arrives, Louis Berry will likely have disembarked.

"Moreover, verifying his real identity takes time. To blow the whistle successfully, we'd be risking Louis Berry noticing and retaliating. Is it worth it?

"I prefer to preserve the peace of these past few days."

The crew member pondered for a moment and ultimately concurred with the boss's decision.

Philip breathed a sigh of relief, tearing up the telegram and casually tossing it into the trash can.

"Inform the recipients and translators of the telegram to keep this information under wraps!" Philip instructed before leaving the room and descending the stairs to the deck.

Just as he was contemplating the romantic plans for the evening with his newfound lover, his thoughts came to a sudden halt when he spotted Louis Berry, the central figure of the telegram. There he stood by the shipboard, his gaze fixed on the gently undulating blue sea, idly twirling a golden straw hat in one hand while holding a glass of light golden champagne in the other.

As if sensing Philip's gaze, Lumian turned around, locking eyes with him.

A subtle smile played on Louis Berry's lips as he raised the champagne glass in his right hand, as though toasting him, before taking a leisurely sip.

Philip's body tensed, determined to conceal any change in expression.

Is Louis Berry merely extending a greeting, or does he possess knowledge about the telegram and my decision?

…

Waa! Waa! Waa!

White-headed seabirds soared gracefully under the pristine, blue sky, their cries distinct from those in Port Gati and Port Farim.

At times, they glided low, skimming past wooden fishing boats adorned with billowing white sails.

Fishing, a vital industry in Port Santa, instilled both fear and reverence for the sea in every fisherman's veins.

While they could have children who strayed from the beliefs of the Earth Mother, they couldn't bear descendants who dared to blaspheme the sacred sea prayer ritual.

Lumian, taking in the scenery different from the Intis port and Port Santa's gradually rising mountain range in the distance, silently offered praise to The Fool.

The journey from Port Farim to Port Santa unfolded surprisingly uneventfully

—no storms, no pirates, and no encounters with Beyonder incidents.

This respite allowed him a few days of tranquility. Lumian finished two foundational Highlander textbooks and perused information on spirit world creatures.

He failed to find a description of Arden, the evil spirit from the depths of death. Whether Madam Magician omitted the information or remained unaware of it remained uncertain.

"We'll be entering the port in half an hour." Lumian, who had been taking respite for the past few days, cracked his neck from the living room window of Cabin 5 in first class.

Here lay potential clues about the key members of April Fool's, Bard, and Ultraman!

Of course, it could also be a trap.

Lumian's body trembled slightly, filled with anticipation.

Finally, the Flying Bird smoothly docked at Port Santa.

Lumian, hand in hand with Ludwig and trailed by Lugano carrying their luggage, made their way towards the gangway. On the deck, they encountered Batna Comté and his companion Nolfi, already awaiting their turn.

Perhaps influenced by Lumian's words about seizing the moment as an adventurer, Nolfi, who had initially insisted on separate cabins, had moved in with Batna two days ago.

Batna's face radiated a flush of confidence as he waved and exclaimed, "Louis, you don't strike me as much of an adventurer. What adventurer brings their child out to sea?"

"Isn't it a common task for adventurers to protect their employers' children?" Lumian retorted with a smile.

In a sense, the Church of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom was indeed his employer.

Batna, eyeing Ludwig, dressed in a young gentleman's attire and carrying a distinctive red school bag, found Lumian's explanation reasonable.

Yet, he couldn't help but wonder, how could the child's parents be so nonchalant about entrusting their son to an unfamiliar adventurer?

"At the same time, he's my godson," Lumian added.

Understanding dawned on Batna as he gestured towards the harbor below.

"Where do you plan to stay? Shall we attend the sea prayer ritual together?"

"I'm not sure yet. If the gods will it, our paths may cross again." Lumian's demeanor shifted upon arriving at Port Santa, his nerves tightening. Casual disclosure of his whereabouts was no longer in his plans.

Batna, accustomed to Lumian's occasional seer-like words, detected nothing unusual. He sighed and said, "I hope our paths cross once more."

With a casual wave, Batna led Nolfi toward the ramp.

Lumian smiled and offered a parting reminder, "Do you know Highlander?"

"A bit," Batna replied, gesturing toward Nolfi, whose adorable features, black hair, and brown eyes spoke of her mixed Feynapotter and Intis heritage. "Her mother is a native of Port Santa. She carries blood from both Feynapotter and Intis."

Port Santa local… That explains your desire to experience the sea prayer ritual after learning about it. Lumian held his silence, watching as Batna and Nolfi descended the gangway with their suitcases.

"Not only is Louis generous and warm, but he also has a knack for humor. He appears quite professional," Batna commented before leaving the port district. Glancing back at the Flying Bird, he said to Nolfi, "He didn't disclose their lodging just now. Clearly, he's unwilling to unveil his employer's circumstances. He likely came to Port Santa to escort that child home."

Nolfi nodded gently.

"You shouldn't have asked. An adventurer's companions are only in the present. We might not cross paths again in the future."

"Haha, you've been influenced by Louis's life philosophy." Batna noticed a paperboy approaching and suggested to Nolfi, "Grab a few newspapers related to maritime rumors. We've been at sea for days, and we're out of the loop."

Nolfi shared the same idea, using degan copper coins she had exchanged prior for two newspapers.

Standing on the street, she unfolded the coastal port favorite, Five Seas News, and began reading its contents.

Batna, unfamiliar with Highlander, patiently waited for Nolfi to digest the news and relay the information to him.

Suddenly, Nolfi's eyes narrowed, and her grip on the newspaper tightened.

"What's wrong?" Batna asked curiously.

Nolfi hesitated before sharing, "There's a rumor in Port Farim that the adventurer who hunted the Demon Warlock is named…"

"What's his name?" Batna pressed.

Nolfi fell silent for a few seconds before saying, "His—his name is Louis Berry."

Louis, Louis Berry? Batna was taken aback.

…

Lumian, Ludwig, and Lugano patiently waited for most passengers to disembark before making their exit.

As Lumian stepped off the gangway, his attention was drawn to a woman in a black nun's attire and matching hat. Carrying a brown suitcase, she turned into a fork in the road.

C-could it be the weeping woman I glimpsed through the Mystery Prying Glasses? Lumian pondered, averting his gaze thoughtfully.

As he moved forward, his mind raced with plans for the immediate future.

Firstly, he needed to find an inn in the harbor district. Secondly, he had to compose a letter to Madam Magician, notifying her of his arrival in Port Santa. The situation involved Celestial Worthy and potentially played into Loki's schemes. Carelessness was not an option.

Write a letter to Madam Magician…

Write a letter!

Lumian's pupils dilated as he sought to discern if the world ahead was real.

Throughout his days aboard the ship, he kept forgetting to write to Madam Magician!

He had intended to consult his Major Arcana card holder, questioning the significance of the frequent occurrences related to the Flying Bird's calamities.

Yet, he had completely forgotten about it!

-x-X-x-

It was today, amidst Lumian's contemplation of his next moves, that he seemed to snap out of a dream-like trance. The recollection of his intention to write a letter to Madam Magician, now forgotten, hit him like a bullet.

The realization was more unsettling than a battlefield injury, sending shivers down his spine, and causing his hair to stand on end.

Had this situation escalated, he might have perished without even realizing it!

It feels like déjà vu… That's right! In Dardel, Lugano and I had unintentionally overlooked the option of escaping. We were searching for a pretext to enter the town and investigate Derangement. As Lumian's thoughts raced, a sudden revelation struck him.

The woman he had seen weeping on the Flying Bird was the source of Derangement—a humanoid Sealed Artifact that had escaped its restraints!

After leaving Dardel, she had reached Port Gati and boarded the Flying Bird.

Could she be instinctively influencing the minds of those around her, erasing thoughts that might pose a threat? But that would require her to monitor everyone's psychological activities at just the right time.

Or, as Anthony had speculated, did she naturally implant mental cues, causing observers to overlook her existence? Even if glimpsed, the memory of her would fade later. Simultaneously, any communication with High-

Sequence Beyonder powers would be 'actively' forgotten or abandoned. This classification wasn't determined by her but by the individual's self-

awareness. If they believed the person to be a High-Sequence Beyonder, then so they were…

Once she disembarked and ceased planting those natural and persistent cues, the overlooked issues could be recalled through other connections.

Fortunately, the Sealed Artifact remained dormant on the Flying Bird. Otherwise, I might have lost control and transformed into a monster…

Apart from me and Ludwig, she also played a part in scaring off Bone Splitter Basil? Heh heh, it's quite funny from the perspective of the notorious pirate. Choosing an ordinary merchant ship for plunder, Basil found himself faced with three escalating waves of malice upon surfacing—a hornet's nest stirred into action. In that scenario, he had no other choice but to escape.

Were the strange Death Navigator fish also drawn by her presence?

Initially, Lumian felt lingering fear, but soon a sense of joy washed over him.

This revelation confirmed that his contribution to the calamities on the Flying Bird was minimal, just as Aurore had suggested. Throughout the journey, only the Demon Warlock incident could be attributed to him.

Lumian could accept such frequency.

With determination, Lumian retrieved a post-it note and fountain pen, hastily scribbling a memo:

"Find a nearby motel and write to Madam Magician. Focus on the death mark and the humanoid Sealed Artifact."

After folding the note and stowing it in his pocket, Lumian utilized Lugano's interactions with the dock's inhabitants to discreetly inquire about nearby motels. Lowering his voice, he addressed his left chest.

"Temiboros, you actually failed to notice such a dangerous Sealed Artifact nearby."

Termiboros's majestic voice resonated. "Why should I warn you?"

Lumian criticized, Oh, you've learned the art of sophistry… He turned to Ludwig, who was nibbling on a long piece of bread.

I wonder if this kid's lack of awareness stems from the Church of Knowledge's seal or a belief that there was no danger since the woman hadn't gone mad. I don't have to dwell on it for now… Averting his gaze, he waited for Lugano to gather directions before leading Ludwig toward the exit of the port district.

Port Santa stood divided, its territories sliced into thirds. One-third bustled with the comings and goings of fishermen, surrounded by a vast open space. Nearby, three ice mills hummed with activity. The remaining two-thirds, a realm reserved for merchant ships, witnessed a constant influx of passengers. Mechanical cranes labored tirelessly, lifting smelted steel, forged swords, and woven wool into the undercabin.

Amidst the pungent scent of fish, Lumian maintained an outward calm. Sometimes, his gaze wandered to the distant mountain range; other times, he scrutinized the billowing black smoke drifting from the southeast, carried downwind by the breeze.

Tasking Lugano and Ludwig with selecting two candidates each, Lumian delegated the decision-making. Ultimately, they settled at an unassuming motel named Solow.

In Highlander, "Solow" translated to "sun."

Although the Feynapotter Kingdom didn't subscribe to the Eternal Blazing Sun faith, instead venerating Earth Mother, the prevalence of sunlight in their environment resulted in the frequent use of words like "Solow" and "Soros" (sunlight) in various place names.

Lumian removed his golden straw hat, shielding him from the October sun, and secured a suite from the motel's owner—a gray-haired, tall figure with prominent cheekbones and a thick beard. The cost: 1.5 gold risot per day, or 3 verl d'or.

Official currencies in Feynapotter included risot, setta, and degan. Legend had it that before the kingdom's split from the south-central regions, the Church of Earth Mother and the Church of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom jointly governed the land. Unlike the Loen Kingdom's unconventional gold pound system, Feynapotter's currency was designed by scholars from the Church of Knowledge. One risot equaled 10 settas, and one setta equaled 10 degans, denominated as five degans, whole degan, half degan, and a quarter degan. Currently, one risot was roughly 2 verl d'or, making 12 risot equivalent to approximately 1 gold pound.

Having exchanged for 1,000 risot, Lumian held a variety of settas and degans in his possession.

After settling the bill and ascending to his quarters, Lumian's attention was drawn to a young girl with long brown hair and freckles entering the establishment. She greeted the proprietor using the Highlander term for "grandfather."

The owner, his cheekbones tinged by the sun, warmly embraced the girl, their right cheeks meeting as he responded with a smile and a single word

unfamiliar to Lumian. Puzzled, he turned to Lugano, seeking an explanation with his eyes.

"Ol' Delva said, 'It's so good to see you, my little cabbage.'"

"Little cabbage…" Lumian echoed, taken aback by the term.

Lugano, with his pronounced eyebrows, large eyes, and sharp features, inquired with confusion, "Don't you know that there are many descendants of Dariège here?"

Positioned on the second-floor staircase, he gestured towards the wall outside.

"The distant mountain range is the Pyraez mountain range. You Dariège folks prefer calling it the Dariège mountain range."

At that moment, Lumian grasped the entirety of the situation.

"Is this south of the Dariège mountain range?"

"Southwest. The Dariège mountain range is a few hours away by train. In between, you'll find vast plains, pastures, and numerous towns and villages," Lugano clarified as he ascended the stairs. "As you might know, every autumn, shepherds from Dariège and nearby areas migrate to the southern plains for grazing. Some settle down, while others seek opportunities in the larger surrounding cities, including Port Santa.

"If you head northeast, Highlander might not be necessary. Many people there are familiar with Intisian. I have a cousin who was a widow initially. Later, she met a local while shepherding and married him. She gave up grazing and helped the herdsmen develop businesses related to sheep, cheese, wool, and more. Eventually, they saved enough to start a vineyard. Her husband values her opinions. This might be an example of Feynapotter men. Unfortunately, I'm not a woman; otherwise, I might have converted to Earth Mother!"

Listening to Lugano's insights, Lumian recalled a piece of information Aurore had once shared.

The Dariège mountain range acted as a barrier against the cold winds heading south.

Consequently, the Gaia Province, situated south of the Dariège mountain range, enjoyed abundant sunlight and warm weather. Even in winter, the plains and pastures thrived with lush grass suitable for grazing. Lumian sensed that this knowledge had become "dynamic," forming a network that allowed him to comprehend the geographical and weather characteristics of Port Santa and its northeastern region.

Abruptly, another thought crossed his mind.

Could it be that most of the Beyonders captured by shepherds like Pierre, who believed in Inevitability, hailed from this area?

Given the presence of a thriving port and a mountain range rich in mineral deposits, it makes sense that there would be more Beyonders here…

If that were the case, perhaps my Hunter, Provoker, and even Pyromaniac Beyonder characteristics might have originated from this region.

I'm here now…

Why do I smell the scent of inevitability…

Lumian responded casually to Lugano's information, "How many children did your cousin have?"

"Three," Lugano replied.

"If she hadn't produced children, would her husband have been so obedient?" Lumian, aware of the beliefs of Earth Mother's faith, heard about these matters with the shepherds who frequented the pastures.

They held fertility and reproduction in high regard.

"Definitely not," Lugano affirmed without hesitation.

As the conversation unfolded, the trio ascended to the fifth floor, entering a suite at the corridor's end.

Lumian strolled to the balcony, casting his gaze towards the rugged mountain range in the distance.

There lay a highlander pasture and Cordu.

After nearly fifteen minutes of silent contemplation, Lumian returned to his room and began composing letters to Madam Magician and Franca.

His intention was to inform Franca of the humanoid Sealed Artifact, urging her to alert the official Beyonders of the Feynapotter Kingdom through 007. A potentially hazardous pathogen capable of madness at any moment was not fit for roaming freely outside.

…

"Wow! See? What did I say? Lumian will definitely encounter the source of Derangement again!" exclaimed Franca as she was about to depart with Jenna when she received the letter.

They were heading to Trier's catacombs.

In the preceding days, Jenna harbored a desire to revisit Krismona Night Pillar, hoping to uncover something valuable. However, she hesitated to approach recklessly, fearing it might attract the suspicion of the Demoness Sect. Residing with Franca offered no guarantee of safety from their watchful eyes.

Thanks to Anthony's introduction, she finally secured a mission at a mysticism gathering, providing a valid pretext.

Her task involved venturing to a specific family's tomb on the catacombs' third level, retrieving an antique tearcatcher for her employer.

-x-X-x-

Jenna completed reading Lumian's letter and lapsed into silence for a few moments before remarking,

"The origin of the Derangement is genuinely formidable… Lumian unknowingly endured its effects for nearly half a month."

Luckily, the woman's ailment didn't erupt. Otherwise, everyone on the ship would have descended into madness.

Jenna contemplated for a moment, convinced that if she were in Lumian's position, the outcome would be the same; nothing would alter.

"Hence, Sealed Artifacts above Level 2 wield immense power, but they're not practical for most situations. Their mere existence can bring catastrophe to the surrounding humans," Franca seized the chance to enlighten her companion, who had only been a Beyonder for half a year.

She conveyed this information to Madam Judgment, not 007. This decision arose from the unpredictability of the emergency communication methods. What if 007 happened to be occupied and didn't go to that location? Regular communication had to wait until after 10 p.m.

Considering the imminent threat of Derangement, Franca didn't want to waste valuable time. With Madam Judgment's real-world identity, contacting the official Beyonders of the Feynapotter Kingdom was assured—no worries about not locating her. Come nightfall, she would notify 007, ensuring the message reached the right people.

With this matter settled, Franca and Jenna reached the catacombs in a rented carriage.

Having followed Lumian to the third level, they had drawn valuable information from him. The place was now familiar to them. Soon, they entered a small square illuminated by burning white candles and adorned with two sacrificial pillars.

Jenna reflected for a moment and, to Franca's confusion, approached the sacrificial pillar representing the Eternal Blazing Sun. She outstretched her arms and reverently declared, "Praise the Sun!"

She was seeking protection.

Franca couldn't help but twitch her lips as she observed the scene. Amused, she remarked,

"Why are you becoming more and more like Ciel—uh, Lumian?"

"Dammit! How do I resemble him?" Jenna retorted instinctively.

"In terms of faith flexibility," Franca pointed out with a smile. "Like me, I only praise Mr. Fool. I didn't say anything like 'By Steam.'"

Jenna pondered for a moment and admitted, "Because Lumian and I once truly believed in the Eternal Blazing Sun…"

Suddenly, she halted, her lips moving as she cursed herself.

Am I admitting that I do resemble Lumian?

Franca had only been teasing. After praising The Fool, she left the sacrificial square with Jenna and headed towards the entrance of the fourth level, where the Krismona Night Pillar stood.

Thanks to Lumian's information, they navigated past the skeletal "blockage" on the road. In the dim environment, they moved cautiously, guided by the faint candlelight.

As Franca walked, an idea crossed her mind.

"Do you think we have to hold the lit white candles in our hands? Can we hold them above our heads or make a lantern and place them inside? Will this also protect us?"

Accustomed to Franca's occasional peculiar thoughts, Jenna casually replied, "You can give it a try."

After considering the potential consequences of a failed experiment, Franca chuckled dryly.

"Forget it, forget it. No need to be curious about such things."

She looked at Jenna beside her and changed the subject.

"Why are you dressed like this?"

Jenna, now in a black dress and a dark bonnet, exuded a beauty that carried a touch of maturity beyond her years.

Jenna instinctively scanned the surroundings for any dim yellow candles before whispering,

"I'm playing the part of a Witch to add a mysterious touch."

Clad in a black robe with a hood, she might resemble the witches known to humans, but it could easily raise suspicion from the Demoness Sect, so Jenna found a compromise.

Franca quickly grasped the situation and nodded in approval. "You've put in the effort."

Seizing the moment, Jenna inquired, "What about you? Since Gardner's demise, have you not found an opportunity to digest Pleasure with someone?"

Franca, usually thick-skinned, felt a bit embarrassed by Jenna's words. She coughed twice and replied, "It's not difficult to find someone if I wanted. If it doesn't work out, I'll turn down Browns at an opportune moment and see if she takes offense. Heh heh, if she truly experiences pleasure, she might invite me to join her…"

Franca suddenly shut her mouth, wishing she could raise her right hand and slap herself.

Why did I disclose all this to Jenna?

What a disgrace!

Clearing her throat, Franca said, "Besides, this presents an opportunity."

"Opportunity?" Jenna was puzzled.

Franca nodded solemnly.

"Relying solely on the matters in bed and physical pleasure can indeed slowly digest the potion. It also aligns with the negative characteristics of a Demoness. However, I keep feeling that the meaning of Pleasure shouldn't be limited to this. Taking advantage of the absence of a target for physical pleasure, I want to calm down and slowly experience and explore other possibilities.

"For instance, captivating a man's heart. Bringing joy merely by being around me. Providing pleasure through interaction, yet beyond his reach. Each encounter becomes a torment, a glimpse into the catastrophe and affliction a Demoness brings…

"Dammit, I despise such women the most!"

Franca's frustration blazed as she spoke.

Jenna was taken aback, her lips pursed, her body trembling slightly as she struggled to contain her laughter.

"Something along those lines. At any rate, that's the gist," Franca abruptly concluded the conversation.

In the dim candlelight, Franca passed by a newly constructed tomb beside an ancient one. A sudden frown creased her forehead, questioning if she had missed an opportunity.

If I had sighed and hinted at the stagnation of my digestion due to the absence of a pleasure partner, would Jenna offer sympathy and assistance?

Argh, my stubbornness has cost me!

But perhaps she'd suggest Lumian…

Franca's thoughts raced, but she remained vigilant, especially when she noticed the jumbled bones strewn along the roadside.

Finally, she and Jenna reached the Krismona Night Pillar, a black marble structure supporting the cave's ceiling.

No etchings or signs of erosion adorned its surface.

Franca studied it for a moment and remarked, "It's reminiscent of the one in Fourth Epoch Trier, albeit smaller. More like a tip."

Turning to Jenna, she inquired, "Do you sense anything peculiar?"

Furrowing her brow, Jenna shook her head slowly.

"No."

…

Feynapotter Kingdom, Gaia Province, Port Santa, Solow Motel.

Lumian swiftly received a response from Madam Magician:

"Have you faced the dread of a Grade 1 Sealed Artifact?

"Repeating it won't imprint as deeply as experiencing it firsthand.

"This likely is the power of a High-Sequence Beyonder in the Spectator pathway, constantly shaping the thoughts and perceptions of those around. Remember: 'Beware of the Spectator'…

"The Sealed Artifact has other powers. I'm uncertain if it belongs to the evil gods outside. For now, you needn't pursue or capture it. We'll liaise with the Earth Mother Church through Mr. Moon."

Reading this, Lumian muttered to himself, I'd rather not get involved, but it's not my call. Sometimes, my nature thrusts me into things I'd rather avoid.

It was just like him and the Sealed Artifact being on the same voyage, headed for the same destination.

Simultaneously, Lumian gleaned a vital detail from Madam Magician's arrangements.

Mr. Moon of the Tarot Club had close ties with the Earth Mother Church.

After a moment's reflection, Lumian resumed reading the letter.

"We're also probing Resurrection Island's existence. Mr. Hanged Man and Madam Hermit are leading the investigation. They have theories but can't confirm yet. If they need your aid, they'll inform you and seek your consent. However, don't search for Resurrection Island now. It's very dangerous. Remember, very dangerous…

"The death mark is a lingering essence of death. Ordinary humans leave one mark; certain Sequences of certain pathways can leave many. Such marks erode and merge with death, lasting longer for those higher in status or with special abilities. As for ordinary Low-Sequence Beyonders, the corresponding death mark won't exist for anything beyond a few years.

"Setting up a ritual to summon the death mark is nearly impossible. Even a Sequence 0 true god wouldn't dare approach the essence of death, let alone with a ritual.

"I suspect something amiss with the Arden evil spirit Burman summoned. The decline in Burman's mental state may have started with that spirit, not his encounter with Harrison of Resurrection Island.

"Perhaps, the Arden evil spirit isn't dead."

The Arden evil spirit, leaving behind blood traces and easily dispatched by Burman, isn't dead? What an absurd storyline… Even Madam Magician remains clueless about the nature of this creature. Recollecting Burman's encounter, Lumian couldn't detect anything abnormal.

This behavior seemed like that of a half-mad individual, forcibly transitioning between pathways.

In her closing remarks, Madam Magician cautioned: "Exercise caution during your investigations in Port Santa. Should you encounter any difficulties, don't hesitate to seek aid from the Knight of Swords."

There's no need for that for now… Lumian replied inwardly.

This stemmed from a lack of leads or information. Even if he were to correspond with the Knight of Swords, Lumian wouldn't know what to inquire about or what kind of assistance to request.

-x-X-x-