80 COI
Madam Magician had not confirmed Lumian's speculation or delved into the deeper truth of Hanth Island's Demon legends. Lumian realized that this likely involved something he shouldn't pry into at the moment, or perhaps it was best not to understand until the accumulated corruption was eliminated.
Does "find time" imply that I can go whenever I want, disregarding the healer's schedule? Has Madam Magician foreseen that there won't be any issues? Lumian clutched the paper with the spirit world's coordinates and activated the black mark on his right shoulder.
His figure vanished from the Berries, navigating through the swirling chaos of colors. Occasionally, he felt inexplicable gazes and caught glimpses of indescribable forms.
After an unknown period, Lumian arrived at the location corresponding to the spirit world's coordinates and stepped out.
Before him stood a towering dome, illuminated by bright glass windows, with a mural depicting an epic scene.
In the midst of the hall, Lumian noticed a ball of sunlight.
Realization struck, prompting him to approach.
As he walked, the sunlight seemed to "spread" over, banishing shadows and darkness wherever it touched.
Soon, Lumian found himself enveloped in the sunlight.
Suddenly, it felt as if pure sunlight pierced through his skin, flesh, bones, and internal organs, exposing his soul.
Bits of illusory black gas were expelled from his soul by the sunlight, portraying various of Lumian's expressions–ferocious, pained, pleading, or intimidating.
Within seconds, the black gas dissipated under the purifying sunlight.
Simultaneously, Lumian felt his heart throb, and his left chest burned.
The blazing sunlight appeared to expel and purify everything in its path.
Amidst the agonizing heartache, Lumian sensed a change in the seal on his left chest, as if it was concealing itself, synchronizing with the sunlight.
However, before the attempt could fully succeed, the sunlight took the initiative to stop, receding like a tide into the depths of the hall.
Lumian swiftly returned to his usual state. Aside from the lingering discomfort in his heart, he felt significantly more at ease, as if he had suddenly caught the morning breeze and glimpsed the sunrise after an extended period of oppressive darkness.
His attention was drawn to a tall man in a simple white robe standing in the depths of the hall.
Observing the man, Lumian estimated him to be around 22 or 23 years old, towering at over two meters with an imposing aura. Despite his height, he exuded a calm temperament, and his brownish-yellow hair was neatly styled.
"The residual corruption on you has been cleared," the tall man spoke in ancient Feysac.
Lumian had a suspicion and inquired, "Are you Mr. Sun?"
"Yes," the young and tall man responded politely, devoid of arrogance or impatience.
He's actually so young, but one can't judge his age from his appearance… Lumian expressed his gratitude without delving into further questions.
Indicating towards the hall's exit, Lumian asked, "Can I go out for a walk?"
Though unaware of his location, the murals suggested it was an essential cathedral of the Church of The Fool.
Lumian deduced that the Major Arcana card holder, The Sun, held a prominent position in the Church, or perhaps even the top position.
"Sure." Major Arcana The Sun nodded.
Observing the Church of The Fool's etiquette, Lumian pressed his hand to his chest and bowed before turning to exit the hall.
Once outside, the world teemed with life. Voices and figures surrounded him.
His initial thought: Did I accidentally step into a land of giants?
The shortest individuals on the street were at least 1.89 meters tall, with occasional figures reaching three to four meters. Clad in white shirts, black trench coats, and half top hats, the men carried canes resembling spears, emitting an inexplicable sense of absurdity.
Even the ladies matched the towering height, mostly opting for flexibility in long pants rather than skirts.
Lumian surveyed the area, his gaze traversing doors exceeding four meters in height.
For a moment, he fell silent, feeling like a newborn in this peculiar environment.
However, this realization only briefly dampened his mood for exploration.
Of course, it was only a brief moment.
…
Trier, Trocadéro, at the entrance of a grape manor.
Franca clarified to the valet that her purpose was to visit Madame Clarice, and he stepped aside without guiding her. His stance implied that she knew the way and could proceed independently.
Undeterred, Franca followed the path ingrained in her memory, arriving at the circular pavilion nestled among the grape trees.
Demoness of Black Clarice, adorned in a black court dress, was seated there.
"Good morning, Your Excellency Clarice," Franca greeted warmly, openly admiring her beautiful face and slightly sorrowful demeanor.
Demoness of Black Clarice nodded slightly and inquired, "Has there been progress in the Mirror People investigation?"
Franca, not in a rush to respond, met Clarice's dark-gray eyes and remarked, "Is Browns not present?"
"She's not my lady's maid. She attends to her own matters," Demoness of Black Clarice replied succinctly.
"Not at the Red House Café or the hunting ground beside the forest either," Franca observed the air's fragrance and chose to engage in conversation with the Demoness of Black.
"She has other matters to attend to," Clarice evaded delving into Browns' affairs.
Reluctantly, Franca recounted the details of the Minister of Industry, Moran Avigny's situation, from the initial sensing of the Mirror World Fragment's tremors after the play, substituting herself as the person involved.
Clarice remained silent, her eyes lowered in contemplation.
Franca didn't rush the Demoness of Black. Her gaze flickered between the deep gray of her eyes, the fairness of her delicate skin, the curves that stirred the soul, and the unnaturally alluring red lips.
She knew this wasn't a good idea, but she couldn't rein in her impulses. Her heart gradually heated up, and her thoughts got a bit muddled. Her mouth dried, forcing her to purse her lips intermittently.
Dammit! Why am I feeling this way right now? While humans as animals can be susceptible to instincts, I've always maintained composure during serious discussions and encounters with high-ranking figures. At most, I've held admiration… Could it be that the Demoness of Black is intentionally radiating her charm to draw me in? Or is there another explanation? Yes, the lingering corruption from the Demon incident must be affecting me! Though it's subtle and doesn't manifest in my daily life, it's making it difficult for me to control my desires in the presence of a high-ranking Demoness known for her feminine allure. As a result, I find myself slipping into an aroused state… Franca gritted her teeth, refusing to succumb to the temptations of desire.
Clarice looked up at her.
"Has it been too long since you've experienced pleasure?"
"Not since my last lover passed away," Franca replied truthfully, aware that the Demoness of Black referred to a specific kind of pleasure. She explained, "As I mentioned earlier, to get close to Moran Avigny's illegitimate daughter, I used a mystical item. Unfortunately, it had a side effect, leading to encounters with Demons and other evil entities for a transaction. I was somewhat affected."
Clarice's voice turned icy.
"Endurance is not a sustainable solution. Indulge yourself. Otherwise, the Demon pathway will become your nemesis."
The Demoness of Black's aura instantly shifted to a holy and dignified state, becoming inviolable.
Franca also sensed that she couldn't entertain lascivious thoughts about such a captivating beauty. Her desires gradually subsided, and her mind cleared, breaking free from her aroused state.
Clarice redirected the conversation.
"You aim to deal with Moran Avigny?"
"He should be a crucial Mirror Person. If we can capture him or channel his spirit, we should uncover most of the Mirror People hidden in Trier. Madame, I seek your assistance," Franca stated, laying out her thoughts.
She avoided mentioning that Moran Avigny shared Clarice's dark-gray eyes and instead presented a color photo.
Clarice nodded slightly and said, "You can now strategize your operation. I'll assist during crucial moments, but for most scenarios, you must rely on yourself and the factions under your control."
"No problem." Franca didn't conceal her excitement.
As she exited the vine-surrounded circular pavilion, Demoness of Black Clarice's dark-gray eyes turned cold as she rose slowly.
…
In a brightly lit bar, Lumian clinked a beer glass, larger than his head, against the nearly three-meter-tall "giant" opposite him and gulped down the golden liquor.
Wiping the corners of his mouth, he chuckled.
"So, this is the New City of Silver in the Bible."
From the sermons he had heard, Lumian knew that the New City of Silver served as the headquarters of the Church of The Fool, situated in the Sonia Sea. It had been established by the surviving humans rescued by Gehrman Sparrow from the cursed continent of the Forsaken Land of the Gods.
Unexpectedly, the surviving humans were towering figures, almost like giants!
"That's right. All the warriors here are ready to defend Mr. Fool's Church at all times!" the nearly three-meter-tall giant expressed with satisfaction. "You're not bad. You worship the Angel of Redemption and believe in Mr. Fool. Just these two points alone makes us brothers!"
He extended his right palm and slapped Lumian, nearly toppling him. It felt like a child encountering a brown bear's paw.
Lumian forced a smile and inquired, "Can you share more about the Angel of Redemption's deeds in the Forsaken Land of the Gods?"
-x-X-x-
The nearly three-meter-tall giant expressed regret, "The six-member council mandates that we can't discuss matters not mentioned in the Holy Bible. As a believer of Mr. Fool, you must be familiar with the sermons and official statements. I can't share anything beyond that, just as I can't claim to have personally seen the Angel of Redemption and received his assistance."
Attempting to tap Lumian on the shoulder, the "giant" found Lumian deftly dodging the gesture.
"How should I address you?" Lumian, feigning reverence, inquired, not fully convinced.
The "giant" responded, "Livalie.
"A toast to the newborn of the City of Silver!"
Lumian raised his massive beer glass, clinking it against the other party's. Then, he downed the remaining golden liquid.
Rubbing his bulging stomach, he gestured towards the washroom, indicating his need to relieve himself.
The beer in the New City of Silver wasn't extraordinary, but the cups were simply too large. After two glasses, Lumian's physique and alcohol tolerance reached their limit.
He wasn't drunk; he was just stuffed!
Entering the washroom, Lumian stood before one of the urinals, unbuckling his belt and narrowing his eyes.
Amidst the splashing sounds, a "giant" more than three meters tall entered and chose the urinal beside him.
Lumian subconsciously turned his head before slowly retracting his gaze.
Dazed, he stared at the wall in front of him until the pressure in his abdomen completely subsided. Only then did he leave the washroom, returning to his usual seat at the bar counter.
Livalie had already ordered a new glass of beer for Lumian. It was dark-black but not murky. Swirling in the mug, it revealed a hint of brown.
"Try it. It's a specialty of the New City of Silver, Black-Faced Beer!" the "giant," firmly believing himself to be human, introduced enthusiastically.
"Black-Faced Beer?" Lumian, holding the beer glass larger than his head, asked in puzzlement.
Livalie suddenly felt a pang of sadness.
"The Forsaken Land of the Gods lacked the sun and fertile soil. Only Black-Faced Grass grew. It was our staple, sustaining generations of City of Silver residents. Though always insufficient, it was better than nothing.
"Back then, brewing alcohol from Black-Faced Grass was impossible. It was too, too extravagant.
"Heh heh, now with food, meat, and milk in abundance, I've grown taller again. I'm 30 centimeters taller than before."
"Can Black-Faced Grass still be planted in the New City of Silver? Grown underground?" Although Lumian wasn't a Planter, having grown up in the countryside, he knew that in extreme environments, those plants might not survive under normal circumstances.
Livalie smiled.
"It can be planted! It can grow in any environment. Of course, we've had someone modify the Black-Faced Grass seeds to make them more suitable for the current conditions. Its texture is actually quite different from before. Even more flavorful. Give it a try. You won't find this beer elsewhere. We don't grow much ourselves. It's mainly to remember the past."
Lumian raised the beer glass to his lips with interest, taking a large gulp.
The first thing he tasted was the normal, faint fragrance of wheat. Then, he experienced a refreshing grass-like stimulation in the sweet alcohol. Finally, a subtle milky taste filled his mouth.
"Not bad. It's a special and wonderful experience." Lumian was generous with his praise.
Curious, he inquired, "Do you have any liquor brewed from Black-Faced Grass?"
Livalie's expression darkened as he shook his head.
"We in the New City of Silver consider alcoholism debased, indulgent, and a waste of food. That's why we reject liquor."
At this point, he paused.
"Besides, Black-Faced Grass doesn't seem suitable for brewing. Even if it's made into beer, drinking too much will cause hallucinations. I can only handle three glasses at a time."
Minor toxicity? In the Forsaken Land of the Gods, people from the New City of Silver relied on eating this plant to survive generation after generation. It wasn't easy… Lumian recalled his sister's occasional jokes and smirked.
"If you drink too much, will you see a group of little people dancing?"
Livalie pondered for a moment and replied, "No, hallucinations are usually different. Some see their wives slapping them, some hear the cries of their deceased relatives, and some find a baby lying by the roadside wailing…"
Lumian couldn't bear to hear about matters involving babies crying, so he lost interest and focused on the taste of the Black-Faced Beer.
After finishing the glass, he made another trip to the washroom before leaving the bar. He planned to take advantage of the afternoon sun to stroll around New Silver City and teleport back to the Berries docked at Port Hanth in the evening.
In the sparsely populated yet unusually towering buildings, half-giants roamed. Every now and then, one or two "giants" standing over three meters tall could be spotted. Those below 1.8 meters were a rarity, except for those with child-like faces.
Lumian's stature barely met the criteria, and his eyes quickly scanned the surroundings.
He observed turquoise vines snaking up the outer walls of certain houses. On these vines, numerous soft, large, white, and plump mushrooms thrived.
Mushrooms? Since when did vines yield mushrooms? Lumian furrowed his brow, questioning his botanical knowledge.
It occurred to him that this might be a unique plant brought from the Forsaken Land of the Gods by the New City of Silver, bringing a sense of relief.
He approached a roadside stall and glanced up.
"You're selling milk. Why don't I see a bucket of milk?"
The vendor, standing at 2.56 meters with slightly grayish-blue skin, smiled genuinely and replied, "The house behind me is mine. Want some milk?"
"I'll take a glass." Lumian, having already inquired, had no qualms about purchasing a glass of milk; money was not an issue.
Though verl d'or and gold risot weren't official currency in the New City of Silver, gold held value universally.
The vendor cheerfully grabbed a cup, turned around, and headed to his two-story house. He reached out and plucked a soft, white mushroom.
He aimed the mushroom at the cup and squeezed it.
Milk-white liquid gushed out, rapidly filling the cup.
Lumian's jaw dropped, confusion once again clouding his eyes.
This is what you guys call milk?
"It's ready." The half-giant vendor handed the milk to Lumian.
Lumian instinctively took it and asked in bewilderment, "Are those mushrooms?"
"Yes, milk mushrooms," the half-giant vendor replied earnestly.
You call that mushrooms? Lumian paid in a daze and left the stall with a cup in hand.
He couldn't recall how much he paid or even why he started the conversation about buying milk.
After walking more than ten meters, he brought the cup to his lips and took a sip.
It tasted like milk!
Lumian finished the glass with a frown, finding nothing peculiar.
Yet, the liquid came from mushrooms!
Just consider it a unique plant… Just consider it a unique plant… Lumian muttered, deciding not to try it again.
He feared that drinking too much might turn him into a milk producer himself!
He continued to wander aimlessly along streets twice as wide as those in Port Hanth.
Suddenly, another "half-giant" with slightly grayish-blue skin approached, holding a thick book and speaking with unusual enthusiasm, "My friend, would you be interested in hearing me introduce our beacon and savior…"
Lumian smiled, pressed his hand to his chest, and bowed.
"Praise The Fool!"
"Ah, a brother." The half-giant was both disappointed and delighted.
The two of them conversed in ancient Feysac, but Lumian had overheard New City of Silver residents occasionally speaking Jotun, a language that could stir supernatural powers.
"Are there usually foreigners here?" Lumian asked casually.
The half-giant smiled and replied, "We often have foreigners visiting, exploring, and sightseeing. In the early years, some chose to settle here, but most eventually moved away. Living with us proved challenging for them. Heh heh, we're too tall and not well-versed in the pleasures of life."
With that, the half-giant took something from his pocket and handed it to Lumian.
"I'm pleased to have you as a guest in the New City of Silver. Try our locally made candy."
It was a candy wrapped in thin blue-white paper.
Lumian didn't hesitate. He took it, tore off the wrapping, and popped the white candy into his mouth.
The rich milky aroma and smooth sweetness quickly unfolded on his tongue, creating a delightful experience.
Milk flavor… Lumian's curiosity sparked as he inquired with a peculiar expression, "Is this milk candy?"
"Yes," the proselytizing half-giant replied with a smile.
"What kind of milk did you use?" Lumian hadn't anticipated ever asking such a question.
The half-giant replied naturally, "Milk from the milk mushrooms."
"…" Lumian held the milk candy in his mouth, torn between spitting it out or swallowing it.
He sensed the genuine warmth and enthusiasm when the other party shared the milk candy.
As time passed, Lumian witnessed mushrooms with a cooked meat fragrance, mushrooms smelling like fish, and various peculiar mushrooms.
His gaze turned lost as he observed the half-giants and giants joyfully sharing their food.
Unconsciously, he arrived at a corner of the New City of Silver.
A towering building stood there.
It was split into two sections. On the left, a spire tower; on the right, a domed tower. The outer wall, standing 30 to 40 meters tall, was a grayish-white hue.
The Twin Towers? According to Livalie, the spire houses the library and other public facilities, while the domed tower serves as the council office for the ruling six-member council of the New City of Silver… There must be Sealed Artifacts and formidable individuals in such a place… Lumian stood nearby, examining the imposing structure before him.
His eyes moved across the domed tower and noticed black plants resembling hair growing from the cracks near the ground. They hung there, swaying occasionally in the wind.
Lumian diverted his attention and headed towards the spire, eager to explore the books passed down in the New City of Silver, a human settlement existing in the Forsaken Land of the Gods for thousands of years.
-x-X-x-
Guided by the signs on the wall, he ascended to the third floor, revealing rows of imposing bookshelves.
The custodian of the library, an elderly man draped in a linen robe, oversaw the space.
Even seated, he matched Lumian's height, and his slightly gray skin bore the marks of age.
Engrossed in a goatskin-bound book, the library administrator paid no heed to Lumian's entrance, his gaze firmly fixed on the text.
Lumian, not rushing to seek permission for his exploration, entered the library and followed the guidelines posted on each row of bookshelves leading to the section housing mythical books.
He ran his finger over the weathered leather-bound book and another with freshly copied pages, choosing a tome that chronicled creation myths.
Before the bookshelf, Lumian casually flipped through its pages, only to stuff the book back.
He couldn't comprehend it!
The words were in Jotun!
This ancient language, associated with the Beyonder race of giants, possessed the ability to manipulate the forces of nature. Ranked alongside Dragonese, Elvish, and ancient Hermes, Jotun held significant importance in mysticism.
Although Lumian had mastered ancient Hermes and Hermes, Jotun remained a language he recognized but hadn't fully mastered. He could barely decipher the title of the ancient book but couldn't comprehend its contents.
A sweep of his gaze revealed a corresponding copy of the ancient book, this time written in ancient Feysac—a human language devoid of supernatural influence.
Joy surged within Lumian as he retrieved the soft-covered book and settled into the reading area near the window.
Throughout the entire process, no one intervened or issued a warning.
He strolled past the section dedicated to Beyonder creatures, and his keen eyes snagged a book titled "Devilology."
In the reading area, he chose a spot shielded from direct sunlight yet bathed in ample illumination. Seated, he delved into the pages of "Devilology."
As he read, Lumian's eyes widened, and his mouth hung slightly ajar.
Each piece of information was invaluable!
For those potentially facing Beyonders of the Devil pathway in combat, the value of this book rivaled that of a potent Grade 2 Sealed Artifact or its corresponding mystical item.
giants and giants here are Devil Hunters? Perhaps, in ancient times, when Devils were more active, they shared information with other factions? Lumian grew more alarmed as he read on.
Midway through, he massaged his throbbing temples, sensing a rapid depletion of his spirituality.
Lumian temporarily closed "Devilology," intending to explore the creation myths of the New City of Silver and take a well-deserved break.
From the very outset, the creation myth read:
"The omnipotent and omniscient god created everything before slipping into a profound slumber.
"Among the mythical races He brought into being, Giant King Aurmir, Dragon of Imagination Ankewelt, Elf King Soniathrym, Vampire Ancestor Lilith, Devil King Farbauti, Phoenix Ancestor Gregrace, Mutant King Kvastir, and King of Demonic Wolves Flegrea emerged as potent and crazy beings. They partitioned the authority left by the Lord, transforming into ancient deities governing the sky, land, sea, reality, the spirit world, and the astral realm…"
Abruptly, a dull-skinned, slightly gray finger tapped a specific spot on the page.
An aged, raspy voice echoed.
"Do not utter this name in any Beyonder language."
Lumian looked up, surprised to find the library administrator, previously immersed in his books, standing beside him seemingly out of nowhere.
As a Hunter, Lumian remained oblivious!
Partly due to the lingering dizziness from reading "Devilology," it showcased the library administrator's proficiency in concealing both breath and movement, given his towering stature of more than three meters.
Lumian redirected his attention to the name indicated by the library administrator.
"Devil Monarch Farbauti."
Without awaiting Lumian's inquiry, the library administrator, bearing giant-like traits, shifted his finger a few centimeters and remarked, "It's advisable to avoid pronouncing this name in any Beyonder language as well."
Lumian followed the motion of the finger, silently noting the corresponding name in his mind.
"Vampire Ancestor Lilith."
"Why am I not allowed to read about it?" Lumian expressed his ignorance without reservation.
The library administrator spoke in a deep voice, "The Devil Monarch is still alive. This formidable ancient deity remains among the living.
"And the Vampire Ancestor is suspected to be alive as well. In recent times, an individual in the city experienced disturbances after uttering the name 'Lilith' in Jotun. Although their life wasn't at risk, they endured prolonged suffering."
Lumian read the description:
"The omnipotent and omniscient god stirred from slumber, rising from the earth to vanquish the ancient deities and reclaim His authorities.
"Note: In the present era, the omnipotent and omniscient god is also known as the Ancient Sun God…"
"The Vampire Ancestor's is acceptable, but it's advisable to refrain from attempting the Devil Monarch's. You must exercise caution even in writing it," responded the colossal library administrator. "We are uncertain if the Devil Monarch possesses any special abilities."
"Have you encountered this name before? I came across a Demon who identified itself as this. Much like the others, it cannot be spoken or written, only thought."
The library administrator accepted the note with a hand capable of engulfing Lumian's head. His gaze swept over the name "Naboredisley."
He lapsed into deep contemplation. After a minute or two, he silently retrieved a copy from a concealed location within the bookshelf.
The book's title read: "A Summary of Rumors and Hearsay Before the Cataclysm (1)"
"As anticipated, it's right here."
Lumian fixed his gaze and read silently.
"After the Devil Monarch Farbauti led the Devils back to the Abyss, occasional rumors persisted of Demons enticing humans.
"The Demons operated under the following names:
"Beelbubli, Almos, Samael, Lilatan, and Naboredisley.
"A high-ranking Demon Hunter speculated that these names conceal the aliases of Devil Monarch Farbauti…"
The library administrator responded calmly, "The Chief has already informed us that you are Mr. Fool's Blessed."
"Very well." Lumian found it amusing.
Apparently, not every foreigner could access this library.
The library administrator offered no further warnings. He took the book chronicling pre-Cataclysm rumors and departed from Lumian's vicinity.
Lumian continued to alternate between reading "Devilology" and "Creation Tales," taking breaks as needed.
As evening approached, he barely concluded both books and departed from the Twin Towers.
Releasing his compressed spirituality, Lumian teleported back to the Berries in Port Hanth.
Surveying the still-bright sky, Lumian confirmed that the investigation into Hanth Island's Demon legends had reached its conclusion.
The matter delved into complexities beyond his reach.
He no longer hesitated about his next steps and plans.
Since he hadn't fully digested the Conspirer potion, he resolved to head to West Balam and seek out Hisoka. There, he would hunt to digest the potion and complete the advancement ritual!
-x-X-x-
Late at night, in Trier, Angoul?ame de Fran?§ois sat in front of a small analyzer and a radio transceiver, attentively listening to the clicks and observing as a "translated" telegram was produced by a mechanical typewriter.
The signature above simply read Hidden Blade.
Having exchanged a few messages, Angoul?ame remained composed. He picked up the telegram and swiftly skimmed through its contents.
"Um, when you're protecting high-ranking government officials and members of parliament daily, do you tail them even during personal moments like affairs or trips to the washroom?"
A wry smile formed on Angoul?ame's face. He contemplated responding to Hidden Blade with, "What occupies your thoughts all day?" However, in the blink of an eye, his eyes narrowed as he tapped away on the mechanical typewriter.
"Tell me, what crime do you intend to commit? Which high-ranking government official or member of parliament is your target for assassination?"
Dammit! Franca, seated in the master bedroom of her apartment, squirmed uncomfortably.
Why did it feel like she was undergoing police interrogation?
She dryly chuckled to herself and replied on the mechanical typewriter.
"I'm just curious. Following them would be awkward, and not doing so might expose a security vulnerability easily exploitable by others."
She refused to acknowledge any plans involving the Minister of Industry in the current government.
After a while, 007 sent a new telegram.
"I rarely undertake such missions. Initially, I dealt with Beyonder incidents and battled cultists. Later, I got promoted and no longer had to participate in daily protection operations.
"Based on my knowledge and limited experience, we have to follow the protectee wherever they go. If they choose to have an affair, at least one of us will discreetly stand by the coat rack, keeping a watchful eye. If time allows, we'll investigate and confirm the identity and background of the target in advance. If the protectee enters the washroom, one of us waits by their side, guarding against potential threats from sewers, ventilation pipes, and shadows.
"However, there's an exception. If the protectee strongly requests and writes an exemption, we can respect their privacy. After all, we're not their parents obligated to protect their every move. If they perish, someone else will take their place. It's not easy to find a three-legged toad, but those aspiring to be high-ranking government officials and members of parliament can fill Avenue du Boulevard. Moreover, such officials and MPs don't often possess exceptional foresight and wisdom. What matters is the position they hold, not the individual.
"Very few high-ranking officials and MPs choose to write exemptions for privacy, but they tend to do so when discussing confidential matters with their team."
007, did you work overtime so much that you harbor resentment? Franca chuckled inwardly.
She felt that 007 wasn't as laid back as she would have liked. If it were the two members from Loen, they would likely say, "It's fine if most high-ranking officials who don't deal with real matters or MPs who only give speeches are dead. Even curly-haired baboons in their positions would perform better. At least the baboons wouldn't smack their heads to formulate policies or work for personal gain. They wouldn't boast about their wisdom and desire to show off. They'd simply enjoy bananas and play happily. That's the least harmful thing for the entire country."
Franca read 007's telegram again and turned to Jenna, who was sitting by the bed.
"The protective measures are tight, and there are no loopholes to exploit."
"Yes, that's the case with the Purifiers. The Machinery Hivemind and Bureau 8 should be similar."
Franca, Jenna, and Anthony had been gathering information for a while and had devised several plans, but they still found it unsafe and uncertain. Hence, they consulted 007, seeking clarification on the security situation around Moran Avigny.
Being a Cabinet Minister of a country, Moran Avigny was not an easy target for assassination.
Moreover, Franca and the others' primary goal wasn't assassination. Even if they considered it, they had to factor in the time required for spirit channeling, making it even more troublesome.
Listening to Franca's summary of 007's response, Jenna pondered for a moment and said, "If it were any other Demoness, they might choose to sacrifice their established legitimate identity by seducing Moran Avigny and pretending to be shy to make the minister get an exemption from the protectors. However, I don't think that's feasible. Moran Avigny is likely a Mirror Person, and Mirror People have a close relationship with the Demoness pathway. They might be especially wary of a Demoness approaching them."
Franca had initially hesitated to involve Jenna in the operation against Moran Avigny because the Demoness of Black Clarice would secretly monitor and provide assistance at critical moments. It would be risky if she discovered Jenna using the Demoness pathway's abilities.
However, Jenna insisted on participating. Her reasoning was:
After Franca admitted to Clarice that she hadn't experienced pleasure for a long time, the Demoness of Black would likely suspect her relationship with Franca. After all, Franca had approached Browns Sauron under the guise of attending a female orgy.
Therefore, Jenna wanted to showcase a Vampire's abilities and combat style in front of the Demoness of Black. The mystical item she currently possessed would allow her to disguise herself effectively and maintain sufficient combat strength. The prerequisite was that she had to conceal the Arrow of the Bloodthirsty well and hide it under her clothes. As for Mirror Substitution, she could explain it away with Franca since Anthony had one too.
Franca had muttered, "Demonesses can also have pure love," but as she finished speaking, she awkwardly changed the topic and tacitly allowed Jenna to participate.
"Hmm." Franca, sitting cross-legged, nodded slightly and said, "Moran Avigny's strength is unknown. He might be very formidable. If we attempt to seduce him, we risk becoming his prey if he's vigilant, possibly even losing our lives. Sigh, I'd better write to Lumian and see what he thinks."
Franca chuckled self-deprecatingly.
"Ever since he left Trier, my brain seems to have gone on vacation."
She was mocking her past laziness, acknowledging that she often delegated the primary responsibility of thinking to Lumian while playing a supporting role.
Jenna chuckled and said, "You're really good at self-deprecating. That's what I admire most about you. You're open-minded and cheerful."
Franca chuckled.
"Teasing can liven up the atmosphere and foster closer relationships, but sometimes, if you can't gauge others' acceptance, teasing can easily turn into mockery. It's safer to make a self-deprecating remark."
As the two Demonesses conversed, a telegram clattered in. It was still from 007.
Franca's eyes lit up as she read the telegram.
The telegram read:
"Hidden Blade, if you disclose your target and provide sufficient reason, I might be able to offer assistance and discreetly cooperate with your actions."
Wow, what a bro! Franca praised inwardly as her fingers swiftly moved over the mechanical typewriter.
"Here's the deal. I currently possess ample evidence to believe that the Minister of Industry, Moran Avigny, is a Mirror Person who has infiltrated Trier and assumed the original owner's identity for decades. Haha, I didn't reveal this earlier because I needed to acquire crucial information from Moran Avigny. If he's captured by you, I can't guarantee that you'll gain access to pertinent information, so I plan to take action myself."
"Phew… There's hope!" Franca turned around and joyfully raised her right index and middle fingers to Jenna.
Before long, 007 responded:
"Gather the results of your previous investigations and Moran Avigny's information promptly and place it at the designated contact point. I'll verify it first and find an opportune moment. Await my further instructions."
Franca's face lit up with joy. She pursed her lips and sent a brief telegram:
"It's highly likely that a demigod of the Demoness Sect will be involved in this operation. Exercise caution."
Jenna read it quietly and asked thoughtfully, "Are we still seeking Lumian's opinion?"
"Yes," Franca replied without hesitation. "As the saying goes, 'three smelly cobblers are as good as Roselle.' With more people brainstorming, we may uncover better solutions."
"What kind of proverb is that? Why haven't I heard it before…" Jenna suspected that Franca was making it up.
…
The crimson moon remained unseen, with only the stars casting a faint glow.
Seated in the Berries' first-class suite, Lumian perused Dutanese textbooks when his messenger, Penitent Baynfel, abruptly materialized before him.
Baynfel, draped in a black clergyman's robe, resembling a charred corpse, handed over the letter.
Lumian caught it, inhaling the lingering fragrance on the paper.
Franca's letter… Jenna even held and read it… Lumian made a casual judgment as he observed his messenger curiously.
He had a persistent feeling that Penitent Baynfel harbored many untold stories, but every attempt to engage in conversation was met with stoic silence.
After Baynfel traversed into the spirit world, Lumian unfolded the letter, reclined in his chair, and leisurely read.
With 007's help, this shouldn't be difficult. Lumian smiled suddenly and whispered to himself, If it doesn't work out, they can force the bait. Focus on the Mirror Person's wariness of Demonesses and the potential strength they possess to lure him. When Moran Avigny believes the target is a bait from the Demoness Sect, with a demigod hiding behind her, planning to take the poison pill and retreat to deliver a bomb, he'll find himself facing one or two Angels, three to five demigods… However, this way, Franca's Demoness Sect mission will be finished…
Lumian's thoughts raced as he crafted and discarded one plan after another.
Tomorrow, the Berries would depart from the Berserk Sea, sailing into the Southern Continent's waters.
When the time came, the ship wouldn't need to navigate complex twists and turns to avoid storms, maelstroms, and mystical phenomena. It could head directly for its destination port in West Balam.
Suddenly, Lumian sensed something and stood up.
Approaching the window, he peered out. In the darkness not far away, an ancient three-masted sailboat sailed silently.
There were no lights on the ship, and no one strolled on the deck.
-x-X-x-
Lumian had heard from Lugano that ships deviating from the safe sea route might mysteriously disappear. In a few years, they would occasionally appear at night–with no lights or people.
This seemed to be the case now.
In the past, Lumian might have teleported over out of curiosity, taking advantage of the three-masted sailboat's reentry into a safe sea route to assess its internal condition. However, after encountering the Demon legends on Hanth Island, he felt that less curiosity was better. As long as the uninhabited ship traveling in the darkness didn't exhibit signs of attack or an imminent danger, he could treat it as a unique spectacle of the Berserk Sea and simply observe.
The brown ship gradually distanced itself, leaving only the billowing sails in its wake.
Abruptly, Lumian, utilizing his exceptional vision, spotted a face silently staring out of an open hole in the cabin's uppermost window.
The face, shriveled and pale-white, clung tightly to the bones, devoid of flesh and blood. Flaxen-colored hair cascaded like withered weeds. The eyeballs were absent, leaving only a void of deep darkness.
It resembled the head of a desiccated corpse, yet its lips were surprisingly vibrant, as if recently adorned with lipstick.
Lumian instinctively sensed the face belonged to a woman. At least, she had been a woman when alive.
He refrained from raising his right hand for a warm greeting. Instead, he quietly observed as the ancient three-masted sailboat sailed beyond the safe sea route and into the dark night. The desiccated face, with blood-red lips and pitch-black eyes, blended into the darkness.
Only then did Lumian wave his hand and offer a faint smile.
"Goodbye! You won't be missed!"
He then helped Franca and the others to devise a plan to confront Moran Avigny. Ultimately, he opted to await further information from 007 before finalizing their strategy.
Conspirer wasn't a visionary, known for conjuring conspiracies out of thin air; they required substantial information as a foundation.
When Lumian awoke at dawn, the Berries emerged from the dense, death-carrying fog of the Berserk Sea.
Before him stretched a clear blue sea, bathed in the intense sunlight of the high sky.
The next day, the Berries bypassed Behrens Harbor at the northernmost tip of West Balam. Instead, they continued southwest, reaching Port Pylos by 4 p.m.
Situated in Matani, the port was under the rule of Admiral Querarill.
Originally a colony of the Intis Republic, Port Pylos saw Intis colonists withdraw after the war a few years ago. Subsequently, various factions from the Feynapotter Kingdom, maintaining a favorable relationship with Admiral Querarill, took control.
Lumian's target, Hisoka, was yet to surface in Port Pylos, but Lumian knew that the two pranks he had engaged in were in Matani. One occurred in Tizamo Town, at the outskirts of Port Pylos, closest to the forest, and the other in Devise, the southernmost gold mine city in Matani.
As Lumian unbuttoned the second button on his linen shirt, he remarked to Lugano in a self-deprecating tone,
"I feel like I'm shunned by winter and have been living in a scorching environment."
Having arrived in Port Santa during late autumn, which was relatively hot and sunny, Lumian moved on to Port Colla as Port Santa began to cool. His journey continued through what his sister called the tropics, devoid of winter and maintaining a temperature of at least around 20 degrees Celsius.
While Trier was already in midwinter, the Southern Continent was experiencing the height of summer.
This made Lumian's specially prepared black tweed coat and Gehrman-styled trench coat impractical.
"Because we've been traveling south all autumn," Lugano declared authoritatively on matters of weather and seasons.
Lumian donned a golden straw hat and strolled down the gangway to the port, hand in hand with Ludwig.
He boldly embodied the traits of the adventurer Louis Berry.
Initially, Lumian had contemplated altering his strategy, adopting a new identity to discreetly investigate the two pranks in Matani and uncover Hisoka without drawing attention. However, after Franca vividly detailed Hisoka's usual characteristics to Anthony Reid, the Hypnotist's profiling revealed an exceptionally aggressive trait, ranking among the top.
As a result, Lumian reconsidered and returned to his role of casting out "bait."
Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that success was a slim possibility. The sea sacrificial ritual and Loki's survival had likely provided Hisoka with a comprehensive understanding of the factions backing him. April Fool's, with its former display of resources and energy, seemed ill-equipped to challenge the might of the Tarot Club. And Lumian wasn't solely relying on the Tarot Club for support.
If he were in Hisoka's shoes, Lumian would opt for patience. He'd wait a month or two, allowing the vengeful enemy to grow restless and make mistakes. When the formidable forces behind him could no longer guarantee protection, he'd launch a surprise attack.
For now, let's not devise a plan. I'll consider it when I find clues, Lumian muttered to himself. Leaving the port alongside a throng of passengers, he reached the public carriage stop.
Numerous rental carriages and pitch-black or vermilion coffins were parked nearby.
Coffins? Despite having read many travelog books on West Balam's customs, Lumian found it absurd to witness coffins lining the roadside.
Before the invasion of the Northern Continent, before East and West Balam's division, the Balam Empire revered Death—
the Emperor of the Underworld from the War of the Four Emperors. Thus, the locals valued and loved coffins, considering them objects that brought peace, tranquility, and the blessing of Death. When traveling, they would lie inside, carried by people or pulled by horses and single-horned goats.
Of course, this form of transportation was reserved for those of a certain wealth level. Ordinary people couldn't even afford lying in a coffin.
After a momentary daze, Lumian addressed Lugano and Ludwig with interest, "Do you want to take the coffin? I plan to give it a try."
"I-I'll pass," Lugano replied, finding the idea of lying in a coffin unsettling.
Ludwig shifted his attention to the nearby street vendors.
The aroma of corn and potatoes intertwined, enticing every passerby and prompting increased saliva production.
"How lame," Lumian teased with a smile. Approaching the four locals with disheveled black hair and dark brown skin, he raised his right hand and pointed at the pitch-black coffin beneath the shade of a tree.
"How much?" Lugano inquired in fluent Dutanese before Lumian could.
"How much?" Lugano inquired in fluent Dutanese before Lumian could.
His linguistic talent was evident. Less than a month had passed since their departure from Port Santa to their arrival at Port Pylos, and he could already communicate with people in Dutanese. Of course, his proficiency was limited to basic words and short sentences.
A half-naked local in linen pants replied in Dutanese,
"Nearby, 40 coppet; faraway, 1 verl d'or."
Recognizing the foreigner's inquiry, he refrained from quoting the price in the local currency, Delexi, the Intisian term for copper coins.
Quite affordable. This coffin, carried by four people, should be considerably cheaper than the one carried by eight… Lumian mused, appreciating the direct use of verl d'or and coppet. It showcased the recent Intisian influence in the former colony, lost only a few years ago. Lumian's grasp of Dutanese surpassed Lugano's, thanks to the mid-level Language Comprehension charm he had used on the ship.
Learning Dutanese in this manner proved more efficient.
Regarding charm consumption, Lumian harbored no concerns. In his view, items served a purpose, and there was no concept of waste as long as they proved useful. He couldn't align with those miserly individuals who hoarded their wealth throughout life, only for it to benefit others after their demise. If he urgently needed Language Comprehension charms, he could acquire them from the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society. If their gathering didn't align with his schedule, teleporting to various cities in Lenburg would allow him to purchase them from the Church of Knowledge.
"Sure," Lumian nodded at Lugano and said, "Let's go to Hotel Orella."
After Lugano paid 1 verl d'or, the local who had quoted the price lifted the thin coffin lid, revealing the interior covered with thick dark-red cloth and a stiff neck pillow.
Excitedly, Lumian removed his golden straw hat and lay down, immediately feeling a cooling sensation enveloping his body.
In the hot season, the coffin effectively dispelled the humidity.
Is it the coffin's wood or the sun-screening black paint, or perhaps the shade of the tree? It feels like stepping into a morgue in the summer—surprisingly comfortable… Lumian observed the thin coffin lid closing, witnessing the shadows rapidly expanding until they dominated his world.
Outside, the voices became muffled in his ears.
The coffin was lifted, swaying slightly as it moved forward.
Within Lumian's view, everything was dark, and his surroundings exuded a sinister, cold ambiance. For some reason, it felt like he was walking toward death, touching it.
Setting aside the psychological discomfort, it isn't bad. The only downside is the tendency to easily fall asleep… Lumian evaluated the mode of transportation in a good mood. It's unsuitable for mixed-gender rides, which could be more awkward. Heh heh, I wonder if the "romantic" Intisians have ever engaged in an affair under such circumstances?
Nearly half an hour later, the coffin halted in front of Hotel Orella.
Lumian stepped out, finding himself in front of a small, man-
made valley.
Rows of grayish-black stone rooms encircled the inner wall of the "deep valley" until reaching the bottom.
This was Port Pylos's most renowned Hotel Orella.
Originally belonging to a Balam royal family descendant, Orella Eggers, it had been constructed with the intent of approaching death. Later, it fell into the hands of Intis colonists.
Upon the Feynapotterians' arrival, they perceived it as a symbol of entering the earth and returning to the land, prompting its transformation into a sizable hotel.
-x-X-x-
In the well-lit lobby of Hotel Orella, aboveground, Lugano effortlessly balanced Ludwig, munching on a burrito, in one hand and clutched his suitcase in the other. His eyes darted around uneasily. From his adventurous beginnings to trailing Lumian south, he'd never lodged in a place proudly declaring itself a "hotel" instead of a "motel."
He'd only encountered Trier's renowned Grand Champs-élysée in newspapers and magazines, learning that its construction cost a whopping 21 million verl d'or. With 800 rooms and 65 functional halls, even the most basic accommodations demanded 12 verl d'or per day in the off-season. A stark contrast to Lugano's usual frugal 3.5 verl d'or weekly motel stays.
The bustling metropolis of Trier had left an indelible mark on Lugano, urging him to rise above and recommend himself to Lumian.
Accumulating wealth, obtaining potion ingredients, and advancing to Doctor became his priorities.
He aspired to join the ranks of high society!
Only when he became a Doctor did he grasp the vastness of the Beyonder world. He had barely scratched its surface.
The male receptionist, sporting curly black hair, dark brown skin, and a keen countenance, addressed Lugano in fluent Intisian.
"Would you prefer a suite or a standard room? Are you inclined towards a coffin bed or a conventional one?"
Lugano glanced at his employer.
Lumian toyed with a caramel-colored East Balam cigarette wrapped in roasted tobacco leaves, bringing it to his nose for a gentle sniff. He savored the blend of tobacco leaves, internal spices, and assorted herbs.
The aroma was mildly invigorating and redolent, tempting one to inhale deeply.
"A suite. Standard, and closer to ground level." Lumian had sampled rental coffins for transportation and had no plans to continue sleeping in them.
It wasn't a traumatic experience, but it did alter his perception of his surroundings. In case of an attack, it could impede his initial response.
Lugano sighed in relief upon hearing Lumian's decision and conveyed the employer's request to the male receptionist.
"8 verl d'or a day. Three days' payment in advance," the native male receptionist stated the price.
After Lugano completed the payment, the receptionist, with a nod to his colleagues, said obsequiously, "I'll escort you down."
Three mechanical elevators stood at the back of the hall. Lumian and his group entered the middle door, pulling the brass handle to B3.
Chains tightened, gears clamped, and various metal parts started to operate with resonating sounds. In the distance, it resembled the roar of a boiler, and white steam billowed out.
As the mechanical elevator descended, the native receptionist glanced at Ludwig and smiled at Lumian.
"Settling down in Port Pylos, are you?
"If you need info on local grammar schools and rentals in different communities, feel free to approach me."
In his view, anyone bringing a seven- or eight-year-old child to the Southern Continent was likely moving, not merely traveling. After all, the child was too young for perilous long-distance journeys.
Moving meant finding a house—renting or buying—and choosing a good school. These were all opportunities to make money!
At the mention of "school," Ludwig, munching on a roasted corn cob, suddenly stopped chewing, as if the food had lost its fragrance.
Lumian wasn't oblivious to the native receptionist's thoughts but didn't mind. Instead, he admired the man's shrewdness.
He grinned and remarked, "I'll take a look first. We haven't confirmed if we would stay in Port Pylos."
At that moment, the mechanical elevator halted at B3.
Entering the room on the right, with a stone fence on one side and the cold valley aisle on the other, Lumian addressed the native receptionist, "Do you know Tizamo Town?"
The native receptionist, aiding Lugano with the suitcase, slightly bent and led the way.
"I do. Many gentlemen head to Tizamo on weekends for forest hunting.
"There are secret temples and mausoleums left behind by former nobles in the forest. If you want to have fun, don't venture too deep. The primitive tribes there are barbaric and savage."
Lumian nodded, not probing further. Upon reaching Suite 7 and entering the living room, he casually tossed a verl d'or silver coin to the native receptionist.
"What's your name?"
The receptionist, pleasantly surprised, responded, "You can call me Ron."
Lumian chuckled.
"I might have to trouble you often in the future. For example, what's the name of the nearest and better bars? Where is it?"
Ron touched the silver coin and smiled.
"It's my honor to assist you.
"Head to the Man-Eating Flower Bar. Intisian is used for communication there. It's on the street behind our hotel."
Lumian instructed Lugano and left the room with Ron, waiting for one of the mechanical elevators.
Inside, a man with a deathly pale face and vacant eyes stood.
The man's face was deathly pale, and his eyes were vacant. He wore a wrinkled shirt and pants.
Lumian glanced at him without a word.
Amidst the tightening of the chain and the relatively stable elevation, the mechanical lift returned to the ground.
Once the vacant-eyed man exited the lift and distanced himself from them, Ron leaned closer to Lumian and whispered, "I wanted to remind you to pretend not to see that customer."
"Who is he?" Lumian asked casually.
Ron glanced around and lowered his voice.
"He resides in a suite at B18, a servant of Mr. Iveljsta.
"That gentleman's servants don't seem normal."
Of course, it's not normal. They are walking corpses… Lumian criticized.
He had already observed the servant and realized his fate was dark and that of a deceased.
Lumian wasn't surprised to encounter such a situation in a country that once worshipped Death.
Having already seen the Blood Emperor's afterimage, encountering a zombie was hardly shocking.
…
In the sweltering evening, Lumian bypassed the artificial deep valley where Hotel Orella stood and entered a street with an unpronounceable name. He spotted a bar adorned with an exaggerated Man-Eating Flower.
Donning a golden straw hat, he lit the East Balam cigarette purchased from the hotel lobby and placed it between his lips.
Cough, cough, cough!
Lumian quickly coughed, emitting white smoke from his nose.
His intention was to showcase his experience as an experienced adventurer by smoking East Balam cigarettes, but he hadn't anticipated their potency. As someone who rarely smoked, he found it unbearable.
In Cordu, various cheap alcohols abounded, but cigarettes were scarce. Lumian had only witnessed Pons Bénet, Louis Lund, and a few others indulging in smoking.
After extinguishing the East Balam cigarette and tossing it into the trash can, Lumian entered the bar and skillfully approached the counter. He pulled up a barstool and settled in.
Sensing the lingering smoke in his mouth, he opted for something milder. He tapped the counter and spoke in Intisian, "A glass of kilju, the regular kind."
"Ten licks," replied the bartender, a local man in a white shirt and black vest, his Intisian tinged with a distinct accent.
Lumian settled the bill and awaited the bartender's pour. He discreetly surveyed the area, noticing nobody paying him any heed except for a dozen wanted posters adorning the bar's wall.
Thoughtfully accepting the amber-colored kilju, he adjusted his golden straw hat and addressed the bartender with a smile, "Do you know who I am?"
The bartender glanced at him and smiled back.
"Every now and then, a self-proclaimed renowned adventurer poses that question, but I'm sorry, I don't know you."
From the looks of it, the adventurer Louis Berry's exploits in hunting the Demon Warlock are primarily known in the Fog Sea. My rising fame was tied to activities within the Church of Earth Mother's sphere of influence. Louis Berry's reputation waned upon entering the Berserk Sea, and few in West Balam are familiar with him… If Hisoka isn't stationed at the docks every day, he likely doesn't know about my arrival in Port Pylos… Lumian refrained from erupting in rage at the bartender's words. He sipped his kilju, contemplating the situation.
Noticing Lumian's silence, the bartender casually smiled and remarked, "You just arrived in the Southern Continent, right?"
"Yes, I left the Berserk Sea this morning." Lumian seamlessly assumed the role of a regular at Ol' Tavern, recounting his story with a smile. "Encountered a ghost ship in the Berserk Sea, danced with dried corpses under the moon, and repelled a Demon's attack. Praise the Mother of All Things. You might never understand how magical and dangerous the Berserk Sea is…"
The bartender wiped the glass's inner wall and interrupted Lumian.
"I know. After all, that's where Death disappeared."
"Where Death disappeared?" Lumian asked in surprise.
While he had speculated about the dangers of the Berserk Sea and abnormal weather being linked to a deity's demise, he hadn't expected such an easy answer.
The bartender regarded Lumian with an expression that implied, "You're actually a rookie."
"Have you never heard of the legend of treasures at sea?
"At the top is Death's Key. It's said that at the end of the Fourth Epoch, Death, who had lost the Pale-White War, stirred violent waves to obstruct the returning enemy to Balam, creating insurmountable obstacles that severed the Northern and Southern Continents. However, He ultimately didn't return to His throne and vanished. Only those with the special key can find Him, discover the treasures He left behind, and gain His boon."
The bartender's tone was complicated.
Lumian fell silent.
He had embarked on the sea seeking revenge and held little interest in treasure legends. He hadn't anticipated missing such crucial information.
Just then, the heavy wooden door of the bar creaked open.
The once-noisy bar hushed in an instant.
Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Lumian turned his body, fixing his gaze upon the door.
-x-X-x-
At the entrance of the Man-Eating Flower bar, a figure strode in.
A woman, neither towering nor petite, clad in a conservative, deep-black dress, caught everyone's attention. Her eyebrows were meticulously drawn, her skin thickly powdered, and her cheeks adorned with noticeable blush. Her lips shone gorgeously, and the area around her eyes sparkled with gem-like hues.
Despite the woman's excessive makeup and unconventional style, her captivating brown eyes, high nose bridge, luscious lips, and curvaceous figure emitted a potent charm.
Male patrons in the bar shifted their gazes to the door, momentarily silent. Only when the woman acknowledged a few customers with an aloof nod did the atmosphere spring to life. Some attempted conversation, while others raised their voices at their companions, trying to make an impression on her.
Without lingering, the woman navigated through the crowd and settled on the opposite side of the bar counter.
Unique. If Franca were here, she'd surely strike up a conversation… Lumian felt a twinge of regret for his companion and averted his gaze. He smiled at the bartender and commented,
"That lady seems quite popular."
The bartender wiped away the expression reserved for new adventurers and replied sternly,
"She's my boss."
Boss… Lumian suddenly recalled the bar's name and asked thoughtfully,
"Man-Eating Flower?"
"It's her," the bartender lowered his voice and approached the beautifully made-up woman of indeterminate age. He poured her a glass of some unknown brand of Black Rand.
After the bartender returned, Lumian asked curiously,
"Why does she have the nickname 'Man-Eating Flower?'
"She seems very popular."
The bartender instinctively turned his head, observing his boss as she focused on her drink and surveyed the patrons nearby. Leaning in, he whispered,
"In Port Pylos, women of her caliber often relish the pursuit and adulation of men but keep them at arm's length. Our boss, however, is different. If she takes a liking to you, she'll extend an invitation for a memorable night. Sometimes, we can hear her passion echoing through the halls upstairs…"
The bartender paused, a mix of nostalgia and desire evident on his face.
Pleasure? Lumian subtly frowned and inquired with a smile, "Have you ever been the object of her affections?"
The bartender fell silent.
For a moment, Lumian wondered if the other would smash his head with the cup in hand.
Changing the subject, Lumian asked, "Aren't there brash men who try to force themselves on your boss?"
The bartender sighed and replied, "Remember the name of our bar."
Man-Eating Flower… Is that what it means? Lumian grasped the meaning.
The bartender elaborated, "Those who tried to force themselves on our boss ended up badly. Some were severely injured or thrown down the stairs. Others simply vanished.
"Even those who caught her eye would be pale the next day, legs unsteady. They couldn't walk properly.
"That's why she's called 'Man-Eating Flower.' She embraces it. Eventually, she named the bar after it."
This is a departure from the Demonesses of Pleasure's style… But each demoness has her own unique approach. Franca, a Demoness of Pleasure, stands out from the rest… Lumian's curiosity sated, he didn't delve further into the bar owner. Instead, he retrieved an ordinary deck of poker cards from his Traveler's Bag and asked, "Have you come across anyone using poker cards as a weapon recently?"
According to Anthony Reid's analysis of Hisoka, a key member of April Fool's, Hisoka had a strong inclination towards self-expression. After successfully creating the poker card with the ability to change its face, possessing Frost and Cut characteristics, it was clear he wouldn't limit its use to mere April Fool's pranks. When engaged in combat or carrying out acts of violence, he wouldn't hesitate to employ the mystical item to end his target's life.
This information presented a promising lead for investigation.
Regarding the two pranks orchestrated by Hisoka, they revolved around Matani and were linked to relatively confidential or significant local affairs. Individuals who weren't locals or lacked prolonged residence wouldn't spontaneously choose this area unless they also possessed ample information to support their actions.
Lumian reasonably suspected that Hisoka's original sphere of activity centered on Matani and its neighboring regions.
This rationale prompted his journey to Matani, despite believing that Hisoka had likely heeded Loki's warning and evaded capture, concealing himself.
Understanding Hisoka's past was crucial to deciphering his present and ending his future!
The native bartender scoffed at Lumian's inquiry.
"Do you think I'd have that information?
"Consult the patrol team. Whether they choose to answer is another matter."
Patrol team… Lumian didn't mind and nodded slightly.
Established by Admiral Querarill, the ruler of Matani, the among Beyonders.
In this state, following the withdrawal of most Intis colonial forces, the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun, the Church of God of Steam and Machinery, and the new Cathedral of the Church of Earth Mother lacked official authority to enforce the law.
While these churches maintained Beyonder teams in their cathedrals across different cities, their jurisdiction was limited to self-defense and safeguarding believers within the cathedral. They couldn't address matters akin to their usual spheres of influence or eliminate potential hidden dangers.
Admiral Querarill entrusted the corresponding authority to the newly formed patrol team.
Some of the patrol team's Beyonders were veterans from Admiral Querarill's army, while others were remnants of the former Balam Empire or former adventurers and bounty hunters.
What a simple name… Lumian pondered for a moment as he glanced at the few wanted posters on the wall.
"Admiral Querarill doesn't want adventurers turning Matani into a hunting paradise? He doesn't want them brawling on the streets under the guise of pursuing targets on wanted posters?"
The bartender shot Lumian a surprised look.
"You're quite sharp for an adventurer.
"In Matani, the wanted status is earned through crimes committed here. No one cares about your actions elsewhere."
As expected of one of the adventure paradises… Lumian lifted the kilju and finished it.
Just as he was about to switch to a glass of West Balam-
specific liquor to savor its distinct flavors, he felt a gaze upon him.
It was the owner of the Man-Eating Flower bar, the woman in the black dress with exquisite makeup.
Lumian nodded calmly and shifted his focus back to the bartender.
While this Man-Eating Flower was undoubtedly attractive, she couldn't match a Demoness in terms of feminine allure. Additionally, Lumian wasn't fond of heavy makeup.
At that moment, the woman rose from her seat and sauntered over to Lumian. She curled her lips and remarked, "I can sense that you're like me, a living volcano, but it hasn't erupted yet. You're still enduring and waiting in pain.
"Tonight, are you willing to feel my passion?"
Lumian raised his right hand and stroked his face.
You're taken with me just like that?
Come to think of it, I've been a hit with the ladies since my youth. Being a Hunter, I've often found myself surrounded by all sorts of beauties… Could this be the subtle influence of the True Men pathway? It doesn't add up. According to The Adventurer series and recent sea rumors, Mr. Fool's Oracle, Danitz, is also from the Hunter pathway, yet his romantic endeavors were fruitless, and he doesn't boast any notable female companions…
Lumian muttered internally and stood up. He offered a smile and inquired, "How should I address you?"
"Bellotia." The woman's smile relaxed, making Lumian feel that she might appear even more stunning without her heavy makeup.
Lumian took off his golden straw hat, pressed it to his chest, and bowed slightly.
"Madam Bellotia, I appreciate your invitation, but there's someone else I hold dear."
As he spoke, he disregarded Bellotia's slightly stiffened expression and made his way past the Man-Eating Flower, heading for the bar's entrance with composed demeanor.
Bellotia didn't stop him. Like numerous patrons in the bar, she observed as he swung open the sturdy wooden door and stepped out.
As the wooden door thudded shut behind him, Lumian sneered and muttered to himself, I can resist even the charm of a Demoness of Pleasure. Why take the risk with a woman of unknown origins?
Using someone I like as an excuse is already preserving your dignity. If you still seek revenge, I won't hold back…
Having left the bar early, Lumian wandered through the nearby streets, exploring secluded alleys in hopes of stumbling upon incidents or criminals to gather information.
After turning a few corners, he suddenly heard a clanging sound emanating from a dark and deserted alley.
Silently, Lumian approached and delved into the alley. There, he witnessed an intense battle between two men.
One, with evident native characteristics, appeared in his twenties. His face was pallid, and he wielded a sharp but hefty dagger in his right hand. His left palm was slightly open, and a dark shadow hovered in it, creating a chilling atmosphere.
The other, in his early thirties, had ordinary facial features and an expressionless demeanor. Short, black hair framed his face, and his dark-green eyes were encircled by white.
Clad in a plain white shirt and black pants, he wielded longer, sharper weapons resembling scalpels in each hand.
At this moment, the two engaged in a fierce battle, their weapons clashing rapidly, resonating with metallic clangs.
Observing the skirmish, Lumian recognized that these weren't ordinary individuals. They both bore Beyonder characteristics.
Halting his advance, Lumian nonchalantly stood with his hands in his pockets, his right foot propped up against the wall. He unabashedly observed the close-quarters combat between these Beyonders.
-x-X-x-
In just over ten seconds, the two Beyonders locked in combat sensed an observer and instinctively distanced themselves, fixing their gaze on Lumian.
Casually leaning against the alley wall, Lumian chuckled and remarked, "Go on, keep fighting. Don't mind me."
With a heavy dagger in hand, the young native, his left palm slightly open, eyed the black-haired, green-eyed, handsome, golden straw hat-donning Lumian with vigilance.
Who is this?
What is he up to?
The short-haired man, armed with two odd-shaped scalpels, was equally vigilant.
He, too, eyed Lumian and the vigilant young native. Suddenly, he crouched, arms hanging loose, and black, sulfurous smoke enveloped him completely.
Lumian's smile didn't waver; his right eyebrow arched in mild interest.
Unfazed, the young native extended his slightly open left hand, releasing a shadow that expanded into a distorted "black cloud."
This "black cloud" merged with the sulfurous smoke, swiftly clearing the alley. The crimson moon once again illuminated the scene.
However, the short-haired man, with dark-green eyes and an emotionless expression, had vanished.
Ran off? The young native was shocked, angry, and vexed.
As he sought clues, he instinctively turned his head to where Lumian had been.
No one stood before the wall.
When did he leave? Why didn't I sense it at all? the young native, holding the heavy dagger, pondered in bewilderment, uncertain whether to pursue his target.
…
Relying on his spell-like abilities, Bram skillfully escaped the alley, stowing away the two odd-shaped scalpels. He navigated the dark, unlit paths, frequently changing directions in an attempt to lose his imaginary pursuer.
In the process, he pried open a shoemaker's shop on the street, donned a pair of ill-fitting leather shoes, and discreetly handled any signs of his intrusion.
After circling three times, Bram returned to the alley, entering a simple apartment nearby, constructed from black stones and brown wood.
Bram opened his room and entered, closing the wooden door behind him.
He finally breathed a sigh of relief.
Then, he withdrew a transparent glass bottle from the grayish-white cloth bag hanging from his waist. The bottle held a nearly colorless liquid, faintly tinged with red. Suspended within, a blood-colored, well-defined mouth hung open, frozen in intense pain and fear.
As if admiring a masterpiece, Bram stared entranced at the glass bottle in his grasp.
After a moment, he averted his gaze, moved to the side of the room, and opened a cupboard.
Within the cupboard, seven or eight similar glass bottles awaited, each containing a unique lip. The hues varied, some slightly upturned, others in a pouting stance.
Bram positioned his newly acquired spoils in an empty spot, then used sticky blood-colored paint to draw an ominous symbol.
With the task complete, his fingers gently explored different lips through the glass bottles, as if assessing each piece in an art exhibition.
"How twisted."
A mocking sigh suddenly resonated in Bram's ears.
Startled, he whirled around, focusing on the source of the voice. A golden straw hat-donning young man with black hair and green eyes sat in an armchair by the table, the top two buttons of his white shirt now casually undone.
Him?
Bram's pupils dilated as he recognized the man who had witnessed his clash with the Numinous Episcopate member.
The person who had witnessed his battle with the Numinous Episcopate member!
When did he tail me?
How did he pinpoint my location without detection…
Lumian smiled and cordially responded to the other's unspoken queries,
"Hasn't anyone informed you that the preservative in those glass bottles is quite noticeable?
"Moreover, you reek of blood after killing someone."
Bram's heart tightened.
"Are you a Hunter?"
As he spoke, he moved slowly and quietly.
"You seem to know a lot," Lumian replied calmly. "So, why collect those lips, preserve them, and carry them with you? That doesn't sound like the work of a seasoned Serial Killer. I get it. You have the urge and the necessity to gather trophies. Is it for your own satisfaction or part of a ritual? Heh heh, desire can be destructive. Even the most Coldblooded are prone to errors, despite their calculated demeanor, often wagering that they won't be caught if they overlook the details."
Observing the twisted murderer summon black, sulfurous smoke, Lumian deduced that he was a Sequence 7 Serial Killer following the Criminal pathway.
In the Devilology book of the New City of Silver, it was noted that upon reaching Sequence 8 Coldblooded, also known as the Unwinged Angel, individuals underwent inhuman changes, acquiring two or three Devil spell-like abilities, varying from person to person. Some wielded poisonous flames, while others inflicted damaging curses. The creation of black smoke was one such ability.
Combining the target's actions in battle, Lumian concluded he was merely a Sequence 7 Serial Killer.
Bram's brow twitched at Lumian's mockery and sarcasm.
Maintaining his cool, he advanced and murmured, "Did you come here just to converse? What is it you seek from me?"
As soon as he finished speaking, dense black smoke billowed from the Serial Killer, carrying a pungent sulfuric aroma.
Within the shroud of the dark smoke, Bram's eyes deepened as he unleashed another Devil spell.
His body morphed, adopting the color of a chameleon, seamlessly blending with the spreading smoke.
Swift and silent, he approached the door, opened it with precision, and lunged outside.
Bram's vision distorted, and amidst the lingering black smoke, he glimpsed the green-eyed man in the armchair, grinning at him.
Suddenly, he found himself back in the room.
Contrary to his previous orientation, he now faced away from the door.
Bottle of Fiction!
Upon infiltrating the room, Lumian's initial action wasn't a pose but the creation of a Bottle of Fiction, one that prevented Beyonders from exiting!
Unfazed by the sudden wave of disappointment and frustration, Bram darted to the side within the obscurity of the black smoke obscuring his vision. Rolling to the bedside, he retrieved a six-barrel machine gun.
Raising the machine gun, he aimed it at Lumian and unleashed a barrage of bullets.
Amidst the rapid gunfire, Lumian disappeared from the armchair, the furniture torn apart by the storm of metal projectiles.
Gone? As this realization hit Bram, he instinctively glanced upward and witnessed the man in the golden straw hat descending from the ceiling. Surrounding him were numerous crimson, almost white, flaming ravens.
Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh! Fire Ravens assailed Bram before Lumian's arrival.
Caught within the encirclement, Bram reluctantly abandoned the six-barrel machine gun. Attempting to evade the impending explosion, he sought refuge under the bed.
However, the crimson, nearly white Fire Ravens dissipated on their own. Lumian landed before him, adorned with a grayish-
white lightning brooch. He smiled and said, "Didn't you just ask me what I wanted? What I want is simple. I haven't vented for too long. I'm in dire need of a humanoid sandbag."
As he finished speaking, Lumian swung his fist at the retreating Bram.
Instinctively, Bram raised his right arm to block.
With a resounding bang, a silver-white bolt of lightning surged from Lumian's fist into Bram's arm, coursing through his entire body.
Bram shuddered. Despite his inhuman transformation, a momentary paralysis gripped him.
Lumian's other fist followed suit, crashing into Bram's side profile.
Bang!
The Serial Killer's head tilted, and a spray of teeth accompanied by blood scattered.
Once more, silver-white lightning enveloped Bram's head.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Lumian unleashed a barrage of punches, turning the encounter into a tempest, making Bram feel like he was caught in a thunderstorm. The electric shocks made any form of retaliation or defense nearly impossible.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Lumian's expression remained icy as he relentlessly struck Bram's face, chest, arms, and head. The Criminal Pathway Beyonder's chest caved, ribs cracked, face swelled, and skull fractured. Charred marks covered his upper body after the brutal assault.
After the relentless beating, Lumian clenched his fists and raised his arm.
He crashed into Bram's left shoulder.
Bang!
Bram's left shoulder crumpled entirely.
Collapsed on the ground, twisted and gasping, Bram's breath weakened.
"That's it? It's fine. I can get my servant to treat you before continuing," Lumian remarked, wearing a devilish smile that Bram recognized all too well.
Without awaiting Bram's fearful response, Lumian removed the Fury of the Sea brooch, stowing it back into his Traveler's Bag. In a gentle tone, he inquired, "Tell me, which family are you from?"
Bram, undergoing the initial stages of dehumanization with a robust physique, realized Lumian had purposely avoided vital points in his attacks, leaving him far from unconsciousness. His mind still functioned, and thoughts raced before settling on Lumian's smile.
After a momentary silence, Bram weakly replied, "I'm a member of the Andariel family."