263 Choice
Lumian had always believed that his dream self represented his darker side, a twisted persona born from the corruption of Inevitability.
But now, it seemed there was more to it.
There was no problem with his understanding of his own essence, but was he, along with the owl hidden in the Warlock’s tomb, also serving as a symbol?
A representation of the puppet master behind the scenes, the true orchestrator of the lizard-like creature and the grand ritual in Cordu?
And now, he was lurking in the shadows, attempting to collaborate with Termiboros in order to break free from the seal.
However, Termiboros’s attitude towards the lizard-like creature seemed to suggest otherwise…
Lumian fell silent for a few seconds before sharing his speculations in detail with Madam Magician.
The Magician listened attentively, pondering for a moment before speaking.
“I initially believed that by undergoing progressive psychiatric treatment and recalling forgotten events one by one, the truth of Cordu Village would become clear to you. It wouldn’t be any different from what I already know.”
“But hearing what you’ve just said, I suspect that some of the symbols and metaphors in your dreams hold deeper, hidden secrets.”
“But regardless, those symbols and metaphors are projections from my actual experiences. It’s impossible that I still can’t decipher them after regaining my memories, right?” Lumian objected.
Madam Magician smiled and replied, “That might not be the case.”
Seeing Lumian’s confusion, she explained simply, “On the one hand, you may not have directly experienced those events, but your spirit and subconscious sensed danger and abnormalities, projecting them into your dreams with symbolic elements.
“On the other hand, Termiboros is sealed within you. Your fate is intertwined with His. Your subconscious might have detected something unusual through this connection.”
Lumian grasped Madam Magician’s meaning to some extent and pondered for a moment.
“After completing the full psychiatric treatment, can Madam Susie directly awaken my subconscious and inquire about the meaning of the different symbols?”
“It’s extremely risky. When the time comes, we’ll have to rely on the joint opinion of the two Psychiatrists to decide if it’s worth attempting,” Madam Magician replied thoughtfully. “But that’s a long way off. Before then, I can assist you in finding Beyonders skilled in decrypting symbolism to see if we can accurately interpret it without relying solely on your subconscious. Would you like that?”
“Alright,” Lumian agreed eagerly.
Then, he asked with concern, “What about the potential Termiboros ally lurking nearby? Are we not going to do anything about them?”
Madam Magician remained calm as she answered, “Now that we have sensed this possibility, I don’t think they will risk staying close to you. Of course, I will continue to keep watch.”
She then inquired, “Do you plan to continue the mission assigned to you by the Aurora Order? Many people probably witnessed you charging toward the Tree of Shadow. This will raise Gardner Martin’s suspicions.
“If you don’t want to take the risk, inform Mr. K about it. He will likely be delighted that you’ve slain a Fallen Tree Spirit and thwarted the Bliss Society’s plan. He can assign you a new mission.
“If you wish to proceed, I can arrange for someone to blur the memories of those who saw you. In any case, it’s normal for your exact appearance and physical characteristics not to be clearly discerned in that environment.”
Without hesitation, Lumian declared, “I wish to proceed.”
Gardner Martin, a Sequence 6 or Sequence 5 of the Hunter pathway, commanded a formidable group of Hunters. If Lumian continued to interact with him and joined the Iron and Blood Cross Order, there was a high chance of acquiring the potion formulas and main ingredients after Pyromaniac.
Through these experiences, Lumian had gained a profound understanding of the disparities between Sequences, the terror of powerful individuals, and his own limitations. He felt an urgent need to enhance his strength. It was a sharp contrast to his initial nonchalance upon arriving in Trier, where he sought hope amidst confusion.
Only by becoming strong enough could he withstand misfortune and unveil the truth behind the catastrophe in the perilous world of mysticism. Only then could he discern whether various propositions using Resurrection as bait concealed sinister intentions!
Madam Magician nodded slightly, granting Lumian’s request.
Prompted by their previous conversation, Lumian inquired with curiosity, “Has the Tree of Shadow been dealt with?”
“How could that be?” Madam Magician scoffed. “Even if both Churches requested divine intervention, the Tree of Shadow would remain unresolved. Heh heh, it’s not impossible, but the price is exorbitant, deterring anyone from paying it.”
“What sort of price?” Lumian pressed further.
As if taking a leisurely stroll, Madam Magician moved two steps to the side of the hill.
“After being nourished and exerting influence for over a thousand years, the Tree of Shadow has become one with Trier. It’s akin to its shadow, its dark aspect. Unless we obliterate the entire city and exterminate every inhabitant, not even a true deity could fully eradicate it.
“Of course, we could relocate Trier elsewhere and resettle its entire population. Then, after five to six years, when the Tree of Shadow has weakened due to the loss of nourishment, we could uproot it. However, by doing so, the other perils lurking beneath Trier would become uncontrollable.”
There are other dangers? Lumian furrowed his brow.
Isn’t the underground of Trier too daunting?
Perplexed, he asked, “Why wasn’t the Tree of Shadow destroyed when it was first planted?”
Madam Magician chuckled.
“Well, wasn’t it due to the urgency of constructing the city and countering certain underground threats? They failed to notice someone secretly planting the Tree of Shadow.”
She didn’t divulge details about the dangers, implying that Lumian didn’t need to know them at present.
Lumian keenly sensed this and sealed his lips.
Madam Magician looked at him and let out a self-deprecating laugh.
“Are you unhappy that I sent you directly to Trier and involved you in a series of perilous affairs without providing corresponding assistance?”
“No,” Lumian replied, puzzled by Madam Magician’s question.
From his perspective, accepting missions, completing tasks, and reaping rewards seemed fair enough. And throughout this process, Madam Magician would offer guidance through letters.
Apart from the past few years of adoption, Lumian had long grown accustomed to not relying entirely on others and making full use of the various resources at his disposal to achieve his goals.
Madam Magician chuckled.
“Didn’t you see the Major Arcana card summoned by the Two of Cups? It happened because she was coincidentally in Trier. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been so effortless and effective.”
She paused for a moment before continuing, “If I were to treat you as an extension of my eyes and hands, a loyal subordinate devoid of your own will, I could allow you to recite my name and provide ample assistance to ensure your safety most of the time. However, you chose the Hunter pathway. It’s a path that demands combat and a strong sense of self.
“A flower nurtured in a greenhouse cannot become a qualified Hunter. It’s immensely challenging for a Hunter, who always fights within their comfort zones with a patron, to attain godhood and become a saint. In due time, they will have to invest more time and pay a higher price to compensate for their present deficiencies.
“What kind of person do you aspire to be?”
Lumian fell silent for a moment before responding, “I want to be the one who makes those scoundrels tremble.”
His answer was unequivocal.
Madam Magician nodded in satisfaction.
“Of course, that doesn’t mean I won’t care about you. I will still reply to your letters, provide my opinions, and even extend assistance upon request. However, I don’t want you to feel perpetually shielded.”
Lumian nodded, signifying his understanding.
He recalled Susanna Mattise’s swift recitation of certain words to seek high-level assistance. Combining that with the keywords mentioned by Madam Magician, he spoke thoughtfully,
“Can reciting the honorific name of a specific entity draw their attention and receive corresponding aid through prayer?”
“Yes,” The Magician nodded subtly. “However, it requires the sufficient goodwill of the other party. Once you reach a certain stage, I will also disclose my name to you. Yes, you are aware of Mr. Fool’s honorific name, but without a ritual, simply reciting it will be difficult to elicit an effective response. It may even have adverse consequences. This is because Mr. Fool is contending with an ancient deity. The outcome will determine the fate of us all and whether this world can survive the apocalypse.”
Mr. Fool? The abbreviation for that mighty existence is The Fool? Truly befitting of a secret organization that employs tarot cards as their codenames… When Lumian heard of The Fool, he instinctively connected it to the tarot cards he encountered daily, rather than associating it with the honorific name. It seemed more like a description.
Madam Magician changed the subject and glanced at the tree trunk in Lumian’s hand.
“This is a valuable item. Attacks without godhood cannot harm it, and upon striking a target, it may trigger a particular desire.
“If you acquire Beyonder characteristics that align with it, you can find a way to employ a saint-level Artisan to combine them, turning it into a mystical item.
“You shouldn’t carry it with you at all times, though. Otherwise, your desires will gradually spiral out of control. It poses great danger for Beyonders who consume potions.”
Just as she finished speaking, Madam Magician turned her head slightly, as if listening to something. Then, she addressed Lumian, “That will be all for today.”
In the blink of an eye, Lumian’s vision filled with a blend of vibrant colors and ethereal, indescribable creatures.
In the next moment, Rue Anarchie appeared before him, riddled with cracks.
Madam Magician had vanished,
leaving Lumian bewildered as he hastily donned the clothes and pants he held in his hands.
His attention was then drawn to Franca, standing not far away.
Simultaneously, the two of them exchanged smiles.
Before they could convey their shared sense of being part of the same secret organization, Jenna emerged from the alley shadows, dressed in a grayish-blue gown.
Lumian and Franca instinctively went on guard.
Jenna winced, gripping her wounded ribs, yet expressed joy, “Dammit! You guys are alright!”
She appears genuine… Franca mumbled and approached her, concern etched on her face. “What happened to you? Why are you injured?”
Jenna cast nervous glances around and lowered her voice.
“I assassinated Hugues Artois and ended up getting shot.”
“Dammit! You succeeded? And you managed to escape?” Franca exclaimed, taken aback.
Even she didn’t believe she could pull off such a feat.
What was this called? This was the embodiment of a true assassin!
Lumian noticed a few passersby on Rue Anarchie, so he interrupted Jenna.
“We can discuss it once we reach Auberge du Coq Doré. I’ll extract the bullet and treat your wounds.”
“I still have half a vial of Healing Agent,” Franca chimed in happily.
She supported Jenna and, following the shadows along the roadside, they made their way back to Auberge du Coq Doré.
As they neared their destination, they encountered Anthony Reid, the information broker.
Lumian chuckled derisively.
“I thought you’d have escaped.”
“I still have some unfinished business in the market district,” Anthony Reid replied vaguely.
The four of them took a few more steps and laid their eyes upon the beige five-story building.
Auberge du Coq Doré leaned a little more than before. Cracks marred its walls, intertwined with withering vines and branches.
As the remaining tenants had yet to return, it exuded an indescribable dilapidation and silence.
…
It had been some time since the catastrophe.
Amidst the crowd, a young man dressed plainly disembarked from the steam locomotive, carrying an old suitcase. He left the platform behind and strolled all the way to Rue Anarchie.
There, he laid eyes upon the beige five-story building, its surface adorned with streaks of vibrant red paint.
“Auberge du Coq Doré,” he murmured, reciting the name of the establishment. He reached into his pocket, feeling the banknotes and coins, realizing it was likely within his means.
To his surprise, Auberge du Coq Doré was much cleaner than he had envisioned. While certain areas were plastered with outdated newspapers and cheap pink paper, there were no signs of the ubiquitous bedbugs, repugnant phlegm, or various types of rubbish.
After renting Room 302 for 15 verl d’or, the young man climbed the stairs with his suitcase, feeling content.
It’s even more affordable than I thought. A clean motel like this costs only 15 verl d’or per month…
Once he had stowed away his suitcase in the cramped room, he decided to treat himself to a drink using the money he had saved.
In the Capital of Joy, one had to play the part!
He made his way to the underground bar, immediately engulfed by the lively clamor as he stepped inside.
A man in a shirt and bow tie, beer in hand, flailed his short arms, energetically expounding to the people around him. Others reveled, singing and dancing, refusing to be subdued.
At the bar counter, a few patrons sat with an intriguing contraption.
Curiosity piqued, the young man approached, examining the rubber hose and glass canister of the device. He asked with fascination, “What is this?”
A handsome customer with blond hair streaked with black turned his body and responded with a bright smile,
“It’s called the Idiot Instrument that tests an individual’s intelligence. Or you could say that it measures a person’s foolishness.”
(End of Volume Two—Lightseeker)
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