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In Quartier des Thermes, at 55 Rue Chestnut, stood a three-story building tinged with a grayish-blue hue. It boasted a delightful garden, a well-kept lawn, and even stables.
Within the establishment, a band played a melodic tune from a corner. Bono Goodville, the owner of this fine establishment, gracefully navigated through the guests with a glass of golden champagne in hand. Engaging in conversations about the aftermath of the chemical plant explosion, he cunningly aimed to evade his responsibilities while securing a substantial compensation from the insurance company.
Between his interactions, he chatted with the wife of a government official, conferred with his lawyer, and sought out influential figures relevant to the matter at hand.
Like a natural social butterfly, he effortlessly flitted from one person to another, exhibiting wit and vigor amidst the elegant setting. The light from the crystal chandelier illuminated his dark-blue eyes and thick brown beard, lending them a captivating sparkle.
As he gracefully maneuvered around an unassuming guest, Bono Goodville unexpectedly encountered Travis Everett.
The superintendent of Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman was not in uniform that evening. Clad in a sleek black suit paired with a stylish blue bow tie, he held a glass of light golden champagne in his hand.
“Superintendent Everett, it is imperative that you ensure my protection during this trying time!” Bono Goodville smiled at Travis Everett, expressing his concerns. “The explosion claimed many lives, and I fear their bereaved relatives might resort to drastic measures.”
Everett adjusted his black-framed glasses and returned the smile.
“Ah, you see, Quartier des Thermes falls beyond my jurisdiction. Moreover, once I stepped onto this street, it became evident that the frequency and intensity of police patrols have notably increased.”
“Indeed, but didn’t you hire numerous bodyguards? What is there to worry about? Those who perished were ordinary workers. They pose no threat to you. Furthermore, they are unaware of your place of residence.”
Everett jestingly remarked, his tone lighthearted.
“But if the injured and their families discover that you continue to host a lavish banquet, serving fine wine while being serenaded by a small accompanying symphony band, their anguish might drive them to madness. They could drag you and your family into the depths of despair.”
Bono Goodville sheepishly smiled and replied, “The banquet is unrelated to compensation. I must adhere to the law and await judgment.”
“Superintendent Everett, if I were to return to the market district to handle matters, I humbly request your assistance in assigning two or three police officers to protect me.”
Everett gently nodded.
“That is my duty, but I must remind you that several police officers’ families are employed at your chemical plant.”
Implicitly, he emphasized the urgency of compensating his subordinates, hoping for a swift resolution.
Bono Goodville nodded silently, seemingly unaffected.
The banquet continued into the early hours of the morning. Amidst the lingering fragrance, Bono Goodville bid farewell to his three children, embracing each one before ascending to the third floor.
Untying his bow tie, he entered the bedroom with his wife, ready to retire for the night.
With a flick, the gas wall lamp ignited, casting a soft glow that reflected in Bono Goodville’s wide eyes.
There, in his cherished recliner, sat an unexpected guest.
Although seated, the man leaned forward, exuding an air of superiority that made Bono Goodville feel small and insignificant.
Clad in a worker’s uniform of muted grayish-blue, complete with a dark-blue cap, his face concealed behind swaths of white bandages, leaving only his piercing blue eyes and a glimpse of his nostrils visible.
Bono Goodville’s heart raced, his instinct urging him to scream for help.
However, before a sound could escape his lips, a phantom-like crimson flaming raven materialized behind the “surprise” visitor. With a swift swoop, it crashed into Bono Goodville’s teeth.
A soft bang resonated as Bono Goodville’s mouth seared with pain, and two teeth clattered to the ground. Agony distorted his features, stifling his cry.
At that precise moment, a pair of sharp daggers pressed against the backs of both Bono Goodville and his wife.
Emerging from the shadows of the doorway, Franca and Jenna closed the bedroom door behind them, effectively trapping their captives.
One of them donned a black robe with a concealed hood and leather armor, her face veiled by darkness. The other sported a man’s linen shirt, a brown jacket, dark brown trousers, and laceless leather boots. A silver-white metal mask adorned her upper face, leaving only her eyes exposed.
Franca used her free hand to steady Bono Goodville, preventing him from collapsing in agony.
Maintaining his seated posture, Lumian grinned.
“Monsieur Goodville, consider that a warning. It could have been much worse. Those two missing teeth and minor injuries are nothing compared to what could have transpired.”
Bono Goodville’s wife snapped out of her daze, her voice trembling with fear as she asked, “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Who am I?” Lumian chuckled, a hint of mischief in his tone. “You may consider me your father.”
With a glance toward Franca, she retrieved the truth serum Lumian had provided earlier and administered it to Bono Goodville.
As Lumian awaited the serum’s effects, he maintained his smile and continued, “Monsieur Goodville, I had hoped for a more challenging encounter, but instead, here we are, having a pleasant conversation. You disappoint me.”
He hadn’t received a boon!
Under the influence of the truth serum, Bono Goodville wore a bitter expression as he mustered the courage to ask, “What do you want? I have a considerable sum of money in my safe. I can give it to you!”
Jenna’s anger flared up, surging from her chest to her head.
In a sudden motion, she raised her left foot and delivered a swift kick to Bono Goodville’s calf.
Oh, how she longed to strike him where it truly hurt, but circumstances prevented her from doing so!
Dammit, take your money to the catacombs!
Bono Goodville’s body leaned, and the sound of bones cracking reached his ears.
Before his instinctual scream could escape, frost materialized, sealing his voice.
Lumian nodded in approval, acknowledging Jenna’s actions. Once Bono Goodville had regained composure, Lumian spoke, “I want to know why you orchestrated the detonation at your own chemical plant.”
Bono Goodville’s expression transformed, and he blurted out, “How did you find out?”
Before he could finish his sentence, he wished to raise his right hand and slap himself.
Shouldn’t he have denied the accusation first? Why did he utter his thoughts so recklessly?
“Well, well, you are quite forthcoming. I was merely testing you, and you readily confessed,” Lumian remarked, his tone almost causing Bono Goodville’s brain to seize.
Jenna felt as if her soul had vacated her body.
Though Lumian’s analysis had mentally prepared her, hearing the admission still left her in disbelief.
Could there truly exist such a wicked individual?
Hundreds of families were devastated!
Snapping out of her stupor, Jenna clenched her teeth tightly,
fearing that any relaxation might ignite her anger, prompting her to stab Bono Goodville.
No, it would be hundreds of stabs!
Goodville’s wife also stared at her husband in a state of shock and fear.
She had believed the explosion at the chemical plant to be a mere accident.
Lumian cast a cold gaze upon Bono Goodville and questioned, “Why did you do it? Does it have any connection to someone within Hugues Artois’ office?”
Upon hearing the latter inquiry, Bono Goodville could not contain his astonishment and dread.
After consuming the peculiar liquid and “confessing” to orchestrating the chemical plant explosion, Bono Goodville’s psychological defenses crumbled. In that moment, an overwhelming urge consumed him—to drag someone down with him and share the burden of his sins.
“It’s Rh?ne and Tybalt! They are Secretary and Assistant Secretary to Member of Parliament Hugues Artois.
“They have been dropping hints that the chemical plant has been deteriorating for years and could explode at any given moment. I thought I might as well find a way to cash in on the insurance compensation I had purchased in the past. And when the time came, Member of Parliament Hugues Artois would use the excuse of setting up a factory to boost the economy and protect the interests of the factory owner, thereby securing funds for reconstruction and compensation.
“They kept saying that everything decays. My chemical plant was no exception, so I anticipated various problems. Instead of waiting for it to explode naturally, I decided to exchange it for greater benefits.
“I visited them again yesterday morning. For some reason, I was foolish enough to be convinced by their words. When the explosion actually occurred, I grew fearful and went to the member of parliament’s office thrice.
“They assured me everything would be fine.”
What an idiot. He’s not even a heretic… Could superpowers have influenced him? Tybalt had also mentioned decay when he saw me disguised as Bono Goodville. What is their true agenda? Lumian pondered for a moment, about to inquire further about the conversation, when the sound of a doorbell being pulled suddenly resonated from the iron gate outside the lawn.
Lumian and Franca exchanged swift glances, both coming up with guesses.
To arrive at such an hour, ringing the doorbell politely, it could only be either a friend or an official investigator seeking Bono Goodville!
Without uttering a word, Lumian rose to his feet, and Franca sheathed her dagger in silence.
Jenna reacted instantly, comprehending their intentions.
Taking a diagonal step, she raised her dagger high and thrust it into Bono Goodville’s shoulder.
Blood spurted forth as Bono Goodville let out a pained grunt.
Jenna didn’t linger. She dashed towards the window opposite the main entrance.
On her dagger, black flames ignited and swiftly extinguished in several spots within the room.
The trio leaped out of the building, vaulted over the iron fence bordering the garden, and vanished into the encompassing night.
…
Inside the bedroom, a three-person team consisting of Angoulême, Valentine, and the mixed-blood Imre confronted Bono Goodville, who had just finished bandaging his scorched mouth.
The factory owner seethed with anger as he addressed them, “Officer, I was nearly abducted by three criminals!”
Angoulême surveyed the scene, a smile playing on his lips.
“We will investigate that matter later. For now, the primary problem lies with you.”
“My problem?” Bono Goodville grew alarmed.
Angoulême nodded slightly.
“Let us first confirm your faith before delving into your visit to the member of parliament’s office on the morning of the chemical plant explosion.”
With insufficient evidence to take drastic measures against the member of parliament and his staff, the Purifiers redirected their investigation towards Bono Goodville.
Upon hearing these words, Bono Goodville, his psychological defenses shattered, paled in apprehension.
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