228 Sudden Digestion
Upon Franca’s mention of advancement, Lumian felt a sudden urge to make preparations.
It wasn’t that he didn’t aspire to become a Sequence 7 Pyromaniac and master mysticism techniques, but the Hunter and Provoker potion formulas were bestowed upon him by Madam Magician, making them easily obtainable and reducing the sense of urgency. His plan was to wait until the Provoker potion had fully digested before writing a letter to Madam Magician, inquiring about the price for obtaining everything necessary for his advancement.
More importantly, Lumian knew that Madam Magician possessed a Pyromaniac Beyonder characteristic.
But now that he thought about it, he felt that he had to make additional preparations.
It occurred to him that Madam Magician might not be associated with the Hunter pathway, which meant she might not possess the Pyromaniac potion formula. Furthermore, she could have already given the Beyonder characteristic to someone else. Lumian couldn’t be the only one with the Minor Arcana card, and it was unlikely that they all belonged to different pathways.
While Madam Magician’s level and abilities made it relatively easy for her to acquire the Pyromaniac potion formula and its main ingredient, she might be unwilling or face unforeseen delays.
Lost in thought, Lumian glanced at the wooden box resting on Franca’s lap and hesitated before suggesting, “Let’s sell it.”
The evil scythe possessed an uncanny sharpness and the ability to drain an enemy’s life through blood, perfectly suited to Lumian’s close-quarters combat style. However, it proved highly inconvenient to carry and conceal due to its usage restrictions. Most of the time, Lumian could only store it at Salle de Bal Brise or Auberge du Coq Doré, relying on it when attacked. Alternatively, he could draw it in advance and hide it in the cover of night shadows for offensive purposes.
If Lumian wished to have it with him at all times, his only solution was to acquire a cello case and carry it on his back.
Yet, for a mobster leader, this would raise suspicions.
In fact, if Franca hadn’t brought up the topic of preparing for his advancement, Lumian would have deemed his current stash of 4,000 verl d’or far from sufficient. He needed to acquire more funds. Keeping the evil scythe, known as Harvest Sacrifice, wasn’t a problem as it could still prove useful in certain situations. If necessary, Lumian could use the Mystery Prying Glasses to disguise himself as a musician, carrying the cello on his back to assassinate his intended target.
Franca sighed in response.
“I suppose selling it is our only option. It’s actually quite good, but it doesn’t suit my combat style.”
She then gestured towards Lumian’s waist.
“How about we each get a canister?”
To be honest, Franca wasn’t particularly interested in the Berserk Agent and the Bark Agent. She only desired the Scorpion Poison and the Healing Agent. However, considering that Lumian also required poison for his weapons and healing capabilities, she opted for a fair solution.
“Alright,” Lumian agreed.
…
In the dead of the night, outside 126 Avenue du Marché:
A group of police officers, dressed in black uniforms, formed a barricade to keep pedestrians away from the building behind them.
Within the house, Angoulême de Fran?ois with his blond hair, eyebrows, and beard, stood before a delicate female sculpture. His gaze fixed upon the blood-red words adorning the wall.
Donning a row of golden buttons on his chest, he remained silent, emanating an overwhelming sense of oppression that affected both the surrounding Purifiers and police officers.
After a moment, the Purifier of Southern Continent descent emerged from the basement and approached Angoulême. In hushed tones, he spoke, “Deacon, we have found clear signs of sacrificial rituals to an evil god beneath us. There are deceased individuals who were used as living sacrifices.”
“The prison cells have been unlocked, and some of the abductees managed to escape. Those who remain informed me that ‘Black Scorpion’ Roger did indeed employ sorcery.”
Angoulême listened impassively, scanning his surroundings. He then addressed the nearby police officers, saying, “Did none of you notice the significant number of people who had gone missing?
“Who was it that claimed the market district housed only a handful of controllable Beyonders? Who suggested that arresting them would only pave the way for new criminal organizations, causing even greater chaos?”
His voice, filled with anger, reverberated through the living room of 126 Avenue du Marché, causing each police officer to lower their gaze.
At that moment, Angoulême abruptly turned his attention to the delicate female sculpture. He sensed a fleeting surge of anger emanating from it, quickly dissipating.
He had sensed a faint fluctuation of anger there, but it disappeared in a flash.
A golden light enveloped Angoulême’s body as he extended his right palm, opening the abdomen of the statue.
There, a cavity large enough to cradle a curled-up human revealed itself. Within it rested a brownish-green seed, silently crumbling into dust when stirred by the wind.
…
On the second floor of Salle de Bal Brise.
Lumian furrowed his brow abruptly.
“What’s wrong?” Franca asked.
Lumian found himself torn between elation and confusion.
“My Provoker potion has fully digested.
“Could it be that some important figure was provoked by our actions?”
Franca speculated, “Perhaps Lady Moon, or maybe an official Beyonder?”
“All possibilities,” Lumian conceded. If he couldn’t unravel the mystery, there was no use dwelling on it. After all, it was a positive development.
This meant that he could now advance to become a Sequence 7 Pyromaniac!
This realization struck him with a newfound understanding.
He didn’t need to meticulously summarize all the principles of acting to fully digest the corresponding potion.
By summarizing a portion of his acting principles and consistently receiving feedback while performing appropriately, he could rely on quantity or the accumulation of time to digest the potion.
Hence, most Beyonders can rely on time and fortunate encounters to digest the potion without being familiar with the acting method… Lumian pondered silently, feeling enlightened.
After distributing the agents and deciding to sell the remaining spoils for money, Lumian bid Franca farewell. Deliberately, he circled Salle de Bal Brise before departing Avenue du Marché and returning to Auberge du Coq Doré.
As he reached the second floor, he noticed that the door to Room 206 stood ajar, allowing the light from a carbide lamp to spill into the dim corridor.
Curiosity piqued, Lumian glanced inside as he passed by, spotting Gabriel seated by the bed in his preferred black dungarees, observing the hallway outside.
“You’re finally back!” the playwright exclaimed with delight upon seeing Lumian.
Raising an eyebrow, Lumian queried, “You haven’t been arrested by the police yet?”
“…” Gabriel found himself momentarily speechless.
After a few seconds, his joy overcame him, and he replied, “Monsieur Nathan Lopp didn’t report me to the police. In fact, he signed a contract with me and purchased my script.
“He intended to make a down payment of 1,500 verl d’or, but considering how we frightened him, he deducted 500. Once the play commences, I’ll receive 2.5% of the ticket revenue for each show.”
A soft chuckle escaped Lumian’s lips.
“I thought the revolver had coerced him into agreement, fully expecting him to go back on his word. I never imagined that your script would genuinely move him.”
If you thought so, why did you still do it? Gabriel grumbled instinctively.
He elaborated, “Monsieur Lopp understands the idiosyncrasies of artists and doesn’t mind such matters. He mentioned that his previous mistress was a female painter. She not only kept a sheep on his balcony but also attempted to flirt with men. She even prepared fake props to try and convince him, which ultimately led to their breakup.”
“You Trieriens…” Lumian sighed, even as the Prankster King of Cordu.
Gabriel, hailing from a different province and not being a Trierien himself, took Ciel’s teasing in stride, unfazed by the remark.
He expressed his gratitude sincerely. “Thank you very much. Although I don’t agree with your approach, Monsieur Lopp would have never laid eyes on my script without your help.”
Gabriel, perplexed, questioned, “Monsieur Lopp mentioned that we authors weren’t cautious enough. We only covered our faces once we reached his doorstep. After conversing with the guard at the lobby, he knew what we looked like. Once he calls the police, there’s no escape for any of us.
“Why didn’t you mask up earlier when we tied up the guard?”
Gabriel believed that Ciel, being a mob leader, should have been more cautious.
Lumian responded calmly, “Why should I have masked myself?”
“…” Confusion filled Gabriel’s face as he asked, “Then why did you eventually mask yourself?”
Lumian replied calmly, “Because Jenna masked up.”
What kind of logic is this… Even as a playwright himself, he found it difficult to comprehend Ciel’s thoughts.
He could sense that Ciel’s state last night was abnormal, but he didn’t know the exact reason. It was difficult to determine his mental state and the motives behind his actions.
Gabriel let out a sigh and remarked, “Fortunately, things turned out well. Otherwise, we would have been apprehended by the police…”
He paused for a moment, realizing that Ciel was a leader of the Savoie Mob. The crimes he had committed in the past were more serious than what happened last night. There was no need to fear. Even if the police came looking for him, he could hide for a day or two, and the matter would pass. No one would pursue him for such a trivial case.
Lumian chuckled and gave Gabriel’s shoulder a friendly pat.
“Even if you get caught, you’re just an accomplice. You didn’t carry a weapon. You can secure your release by posting bail.”
With that, Lumian walked towards his room and opened the door to Room 207.
Gabriel watched Ciel’s retreating figure, feeling a mixture of confusion and relief.
…
In Room 207, Lumian carefully examined Fallen Mercury.
He felt that if the dirk wasn’t repaired, it could last a maximum of three months.
Perhaps I should consult Franca. She might know a few individuals skilled in the mending of mystical artifacts and Beyonder weapons… Lumian half-closed his eyes and established a connection with Fallen Mercury, seeking communication.
After a while, he discerned the swapped fate that had taken place.
The destiny of “Black Scorpion” Roger gulping down alcohol.
Lumian carefully stored Fallen Mercury, stood up, and exited the room, making his way to the third floor.
Approaching the door of Room 310, he overheard the lunatic’s frantic cries, still filled with fear.
“I’m dying, I’m dying!”
Lumian pulled out the short wire, unlocking the door. He then beheld the lunatic crouched on the moonlit floor, clutching his head and trembling uncontrollably.
Leaning against the door frame, Lumian couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.
“You’re rather fortunate. The Montsouris ghost hasn’t come to claim your life just yet. I wonder if it’s preoccupied or slacking off.”
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