227 Agent
Did the finger serve as a signal? How did Mr. K manage to arrive so swiftly? Or was he perhaps observing me from nearby? Lumian felt a surge of tension, his weariness from the battle fading considerably.
This revelation granted him a fresh understanding of Mr. K’s power, fueling his fear.
Lumian averted his gaze and retrieved Fallen Mercury,
its blade tarnished by the scorching and decay. He couldn’t help but wonder if it would endure until the year’s end.
After securing Fallen Mercury, Lumian proceeded to examine the two corpses that had mostly disintegrated under the deluge of blood.
The victims displayed clear signs of petrification, rendering them motionless on the ground, and their ghastly appearance would haunt anyone who laid eyes on them for years to come.
The clothing and personal effects of the deceased suffered extensive corrosion, including Harman’s poisoned dirk and Castina’s cherished axe.
Among the few items that remained relatively unscathed were several specially crafted canisters with an iron hue, emitting a flickering metallic sheen. Although they bore noticeable signs of corrosion on their surfaces, the liquid contents remained unaffected.
Lumian scrutinized the canisters and discerned four distinct types, distinguished by etched patterns: a tree, a bear-like face, a spring fountain, and a scorpion.
Harman and Castina had each carried one, leaving a total of eight canisters.
Gathering them up, Lumian approached the peculiar scythe recently wielded by “Black Scorpion” Roger. It exuded an ominous aura, its pitch-black blade sharp and menacing. It wasn’t as compact as a wheat-harvesting scythe, nor as colossal as a giant weapon. It lacked the capacity to shock onlookers and measured only half the height of an average person.
The moment Lumian’s black-gloved hand touched the scythe, he sensed an ethereal spike extending from it, piercing into his flesh and gradually siphoning his life force. It felt chilling and merciless.
Swiftly retracting his hand, Lumian realized that his life was no longer ebbing away slowly.
Is it a mystical artifact or a Beyonder weapon akin to Fallen Mercury… How can I remove it safely? Lumian delved into deep contemplation.
Just then, Franca finished her preparations and commenced spirit channeling.
Lumian returned to “Black Scorpion” Roger’s corpse, carrying the eight canisters, and communicated with Franca through the wall of spirituality, saying, “Inquire about the purpose of these objects and how to transport the scythe.”
Franca nodded and directed her gaze toward Roger’s face, which materialized on the mirrored surface.
“What effects do these canisters on Harman and Castina have? How can I identify them?”
Roger, his face pale and bewildered, replied, “The tree-patterned one is Bark Agent. It toughens your skin and muscles, rendering them as resilient as trees.
“The bear-faced pattern is Berserk Agent. It grants you extraordinary strength when unleashed.
“The spring fountain pattern represents Healing Agent. It mends most external wounds, alleviates severe injuries, and eliminates minor ailments.
“The scorpion pattern is ‘Scorpion Poison.’ It is primarily used on weapons and induces arrhythmia and respiratory paralysis, ultimately leading to death.”
Quite useful indeed… Franca silently praised.
Her Hidden Blade would greatly benefit from a canister of Scorpion Poison.
Franca persisted with her questioning.
“How do you usually transport that scythe?”
“In my study, there’s a large wooden box. Put it inside quickly, and you can take it away,” replied Roger, his face pale and devoid of emotion.
Franca pressed further, “Is the scythe a mystical object or a Beyonder weapon? What are its abilities?”
“It’s called Harvest Sacrifice. It’s a weapon infused with a blessed aura and possesses the quality of sharpness. Once it inflicts a wound on the target, and that wound becomes tainted with the corresponding blood, it can continuously drain the life force of the other party,” Roger described the scythe in a dazed manner.
Seizing the opportunity, Franca redirected the conversation to more crucial matters.
“Have you encountered Madame Moon? How do you maintain contact with her?”
Roger’s pale face contorted with pain.
“I met Madame Moon in the wilderness. Well, now she’s Lady Moon. She sat in a peculiar carriage pulled by two demons, wearing a veil that made her appear holy and maternal to me.
“Usually, she seeks me out and commands me to venture into the wilderness abruptly.
“She gave me a green seed to place inside the statue’s abdominal cavity. If I face danger, I can use it to urgently contact her.
“But there’s no need for the seed now. By reciting her full honorific name, I can elicit her response.”
She can respond to an honorific name? That’s quite advanced… Franca refrained from inquiring about Lady Moon’s honorific name, fearing that the other party might detect her intention.
Although she could already surmise the answer, she asked out of curiosity, “Why didn’t you seek Lady Moon’s assistance earlier?”
Roger replied, his gaze vacant, “I can win.”
You clung to your delusion until the very end, didn’t you? Franca clicked her tongue and remarked, “Why are you supporting Hugues Artois?”
“Lady Moon instructed us to aid in his election,” Roger replied with a blank expression. “She claimed that Hugues Artois is an open-minded individual.”
Open-minded… What does that mean? Franca struggled to comprehend this assessment.
As Franca channeled “Black Scorpion” Roger, Lumian didn’t linger by her side. Instead, he ventured into the study, assuming Alsai’s appearance, and began sifting through valuable items.
Armed with a short wire, he attempted to unlock the safe door, but his efforts proved futile.
Within the study, he discovered a suitable wooden box for housing the sinister scythe. Carrying it, he descended the stairs to the open-door basement.
The area appeared tidy, except for a stone platform suspected of holding the statue, devoid of any other objects.
Employing his keen observation skills as a Hunter, Lumian scoured the vicinity and uncovered a concealed door.
With a grating sound, he pushed open the secret passage and revealed a corridor beyond. On either side of the corridor stood prison cells enclosed by iron bars. Dozens, if not hundreds, of people were crammed inside. Most appeared destitute, but among them were well-dressed gentlemen, ladies, and seemingly lost children.
In that moment, nearly a third of the captives lay lifeless on the floor, their skin shriveled and lacking vitality. They resembled skeletons more than human beings.
They no longer drew breath, and they had lost control of their bodily functions. The stench permeated the private prison.
Lumian’s gaze swept over the trembling individuals, and he noticed numerous sinister and peculiar symbols etched upon the ground, the wall behind them, and the iron fence in front.
No wonder a Heretic Spellmaster wields such formidable power on their home turf… Lumian reached a realization.
Not only did they possess the backing of a “magic circle” teeming with deceased souls, but they could also extract the life force of others at will to replenish their own!
Balancing the wooden box with one arm, Lumian retrieved his revolver, pressed it against the door of a cell, and pulled the trigger.
With a resounding bang, the iron lock shattered and clattered to the ground.
After reloading, Lumian paid little attention to the captives. He progressed methodically, obliterating the iron locks of the remaining cells.
Then, with the revolver holstered under his armpit, he turned and departed, leaving behind a bewildered and numbed group of survivors.
When Lumian returned to the ground floor, Franca had just concluded the spirit channeling and dispelled the spiritual barrier.
“Did you discover anything?” Franca inquired casually.
Lumian gestured toward the wooden box nestled under his left arm.
“It should suffice for storing the scythe. I couldn’t access the safe. It’s possible that the servants fled to the second floor or the garden at the back. I didn’t encounter them.”
“Don’t concern yourself with them. As followers of an evil deity, they will meet a swift demise once their protection wanes. Furthermore, we have disguised ourselves adequately to avoid recognition,” Franca affirmed with a nod. “Pack up Harvest Sacrifice. We shall depart now. Oh, by the way, the scythe is called Harvest Sacrifice.”
Before long, Lumian returned to “Black Scorpion” Roger’s lifeless body with the scythe in hand, presenting the wooden box to Franca.
Then, he squatted down, tore off a section of his pajamas, crumpled it into a ball, and stained it with blood.
Curious, Franca inquired, “What are you doing?”
Lumian remained focused, his gaze fixed on the task at hand, and succinctly replied, “Providing a hint to the official Beyonders.”
With the blood-stained cloth in hand, Lumian made his way back to the living room. Beside the serene female statue, he messily inscribed words in Intisian: “Great Mother.”
Having completed the task, Lumian discarded the cloth bundle and headed towards the door.
Why does it seem so provocative… Franca sighed and turned around.
Behind her, dark flames materialized and ascended, consuming the traces left by both of them and the lingering Spirit Bodies of the deceased.
Shortly after, Franca scattered shimmering powder and recited the incantation of invisibility. She disappeared from the foyer, clutching the wooden box.
Lumian pushed open the door and confidently stepped out onto 126 Avenue du Marché.
He left the door ajar, allowing the scene within to be exposed to passersby.
Under the yellowish glow of the gas wall lamps, a lifeless body lay in the foyer, surrounded by blood.
Lumian crossed Avenue du Marché, constantly altering his course, until he reached the alley where he had changed his clothes and assumed his disguise.
He wiped his face clean and donned his original attire, no longer emanating the aura of Alsai.
In the next moment, Franca transformed into her hooded figure, draped in black robes. She retrieved the Ring of Punishment from Lumian and returned it to her coin bag.
The Witch glanced at the unconscious Poison Spur Mob member, Alsai, and said to Lumian, who was about to depart, “Aren’t you going to take care of him?
“He knows Ciel knocked him out, and the person who killed ‘Black Scorpion’ Roger posed as him.”
Lumian remained silent. He drew his revolver, partially turned, and fired at Alsai, clad in a blue-and-white striped shirt.
Two gunshots rang out as the Poison Spur Mob member, trusted by “Black Scorpion” Roger, was struck in the chest and met his demise.
Observing Lumian’s nonchalant demeanor, Franca shook her head inwardly and proceeded to deal with the remaining Spirit Body and traces in the alley.
Then, she concealed herself once more and departed alongside Lumian. He scaled the outer wall and returned to the second floor of Salle de Bal Brise.
After using a special lotion from Rentas to remove the excess black dye from his hair and transforming back into Ciel Dubois, Lumian, Franca smiled and inquired, “Do you want to keep this scythe? If not, I’ll sell it and we’ll split the proceeds evenly.
“Your Provoker potion should be almost fully digested. You’ll need to gather funds and ingredients for your advancement.”
Updat𝒆d fr𝒐m freew𝒆bnov𝒆l.c(o)m