267 Remains
For a moment, Lumian thought he must be seeing things.
There was no sign of the couple, nor any attempt to put out the candle flames!
If Lumian hadn’t witnessed it himself and been well aware of the dangers lurking in Underground Trier, he might have questioned whether the problem was with his own mind rather than searching for any trace of the couple’s existence.
The people behind the couple hastened their steps and caught up to the person in front, closing the sudden gap in the procession.
They showed no surprise, fear, or confusion.
Everything appeared normal.
Lumian, already aware of the countless unseen gazes fixed upon him, felt the goosebumps on his skin intensify.
Subconsciously, he glanced at Kendall, the tomb administrator, who led the way with two police officers, to gauge his reaction to the recent events.
Clad in yellow trousers and a blue vest, Kendall held an extinguished carbide lamp in one hand and a quietly burning white candle in the other. He walked directly toward the exit of the catacombs, seemingly oblivious to the strange happenings surrounding the entourage.
Suddenly, Kendall turned around and met Lumian’s gaze.
“Is something the matter?” Kendall’s deep voice reverberated through the passageway, echoing in the nearby skull chambers.
Lumian maintained a composed demeanor and replied calmly, “I’m afraid I might get lost.”
Kendall nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Then I’ll slow down.”
He continued toward the exit, deliberately reducing his pace. He staggered slightly, remaining silent, resembling a zombie from a horror novel.
Lumian held the flickering yellow candle and passed by the laughing wedding party participants, who occasionally made eye contact with the white skulls. Thoughts raced through his mind.
They truly didn’t notice that someone was missing…
When they leave the catacombs, will the families of the man and woman discover their absence?
I’ve always wondered. The catacombs are open to the public, and university students often take risks and dance among the bones. Are there truly no issues?
Even visitors guided by the catacomb administrators disobey the warnings, let alone youngsters who venture in with a solitary white candle…
Initially, I believed there were safety measures or that accidents were infrequent enough not to deter those individuals. Now, it seems to be a different matter altogether…
Lumian suspected that not only would the body of the person “consumed” by the catacombs vanish, but even the memory of their existence would be erased from the minds of friends and relatives!
Why can I remember them? Could it be because Termiboros is sealed within me, connecting my fate to His to some extent?
Why do the government and the two Churches continue to open such a perilous place to the public? Do the catacombs require a constant flow of living people to keep something suppressed? Are those who disregard the warnings deemed necessary sacrifices? The more Lumian dwelled on it, the more his hair stood on end. He forced himself not to delve further into the analysis.
Without sufficient information, he couldn’t explore the matter any deeper.
Regardless, there was nothing worth investigating within the catacombs. Visiting occasionally posed no threat as long as he adhered to the rules!
Once they entered the catacombs, the “talkative” police officer, Robert, fell silent, clearly uncomfortable in the environment.
With his silence, the conversation ceased. In an indescribable silence, the quartet retraced their steps to the natural entrance adorned with intricate reliefs and emerged back into the open.
As soon as Lumian crossed the threshold, he sensed the countless invisible gazes vanish.
The chill in his body dissipated, and his skin quickly returned to normal.
“Phew…” Robert exhaled deeply. “I always feel uneasy whenever I’m in the catacombs. Kendall, how can you go in more than ten times a day and still be so cheerful?”
Kendall chuckled and replied, “Do you think we remain unaffected? If we’re not on night duty, those with families rush to find their wives. If not, they head to places like Rue de la Muraille and bask in the warmth of others.”
“To be honest, after spending so much time here, I feel as if I’m slowly turning into a corpse.”
As they conversed, Kendall lit the carbide lamp and extinguished the candle in his hand.
Returning to the surface, Robert glanced at the police headquarters carriage parked outside the entrance building and sheepishly smiled at his colleague and Lumian.
“That prolonged discomfort makes me need to use the loo. Wait for me. I’ll go to the restroom first.”
With that, he headed toward the two-story building, painted a muddy gray, which served as the ticket office for the catacombs.
Lumian gazed at the stone-engraved dome and positioned himself by a pillar at the edge, absentmindedly observing the pedestrians on Place du Purgatoire. The other police officer boarded the carriage and settled in to wait.
At that moment, Lumian felt a sudden chill.
It resembled the sensation he experienced upon entering the catacombs, though not as intense.
Instinctively, he warily turned around and saw Kendall, the tomb administrator, standing behind him, wearing an expressionless face.
“What’s the matter?” Lumian calmly inquired.
Kendall, with his thick brown beard, spoke in a deep voice, “What were you looking at?”
Lumian’s heart sank as he responded with a mixture of sincerity and pretense,
“Which aspect are you referring to?”
“When we passed by that group of people on our way back.” Kendall’s tone remained neutral.
Lumian acted as though a light bulb had switched on.
“I find the concept of a wedding among the dead quite intriguing. They seemed unafraid and were enjoying themselves.”
Kendall scrutinized him for a couple of seconds before nodding.
“Don’t imitate them.”
With that, the tomb administrator carried the unlit carbide lamp and made his way toward the muddy gray building that housed them.
Before long, police officer Robert jogged back, and the carriage departed for Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman.
…
In the Evidence Room deep within the corridor on the first floor of the market district’s police headquarters, Robert led Lumian to a wooden frame divided into multiple compartments and pointed to one of them.
“Here, Flameng’s belongings.”
Among the items, there was a dark suitcase, a fountain pen, paper, an ink bottle, and several large books crammed inside.
Lumian pulled out one of the books and quickly skimmed through its pages. He realized it was a mineralogy textbook focusing on Trier’s underground rock formations. As an unschooled youth, the content proved challenging, with numerous unfamiliar words that were exclusive to mineralogy.
The other books were also mineralogy texts, some containing basic teaching materials while others comprised complex collections of papers.
Confirming this, Lumian retrieved the suitcase, placed it on the floor, and opened it.
Inside, along with two sets of clothes and daily essentials, the suitcase was filled with small grayish-white cloth bags. Each bag had a different name written on it with a fountain pen:
Flower, Sedge, Sheep…
These are the names Flameng mentioned, referring to the various rock strata beneath Trier… Could these bags contain corresponding mineral specimens? Lumian briefly recollected Flameng’s words and formed a rough idea of what the cloth bags contained.
Despite his madness, Flameng hadn’t forgotten to bring along his research subjects!
But all of this held little significance for Lumian, and he began contemplating letting the police headquarters handle them.
Just then, Termiboros’s magnificent voice resonated in his ears.
“The cloth bag on the far right.”
Oh, so a loser like you is finally speaking up again? Lumian’s initial reaction was to mock Termiboros. However, he turned his gaze toward the cloth bag hinted at by the Inevitability angel, feeling a mix of surprise and suspicion.
The cloth bag rested on the far right side of the suitcase, sandwiched between Flameng’s socks and his razor. Dark blue ink formed a combination of terms on its surface:
“Earth Blood.”
Earth… Blood… Lumian, crouching beside the suitcase, silently muttered as he calmly picked up the cloth bag in front of the police officer, Robert, and opened it.
Inside the bag was a brown rock pockmarked with potholes. Each depression contained dark-red speckles, resembling blood seeping from the earth.
For some reason, just looking at it filled Lumian with a sense of frustration.
He refrained from touching the mineral specimen with his bare hands. Instead, he securely tied the cloth bag and placed it back in the suitcase.
He swiftly skimmed through the book detailing the materials found in Trier’s underground rock formations, searching for answers.
With a clear target in mind, he quickly discovered the answer.
“Earth Blood rock stratum lies between 55 and 56 meters underground in Trier and has a thickness of approximately 0.76 meters… This is the deepest mineral we can gather. Beyond lies the forbidden Ancient Ruins Reserve…”
Beside this textbook description, Flameng’s familiar handwriting jotted a few words:
“A small number of ores within the Earth Blood rock stratum are more peculiar than the others. They are suspected to contain volatile toxins that can induce irritability and lead to a mental illness known as mania.
“A researcher suddenly went berserk and slashed his colleague.
“To handle specific mineral specimens from the Earth Blood rock stratum, one must wear corresponding protective gear.”
Earth Blood is a rock stratum near Fourth Epoch Trier? It’s undeniably peculiar… No wonder Termiboros made me pay attention… As Lumian pondered, Robert urged, “Do you want them or not? Make a decision quickly!”
“Yes,” Lumian responded, rising to his feet.
Even though he only desired the mineral specimen from the Earth Blood rock stratum and the mineralogy textbook detailing Trier’s underground rocks, he signed and took possession of all of Flameng’s belongings to avoid arousing suspicion.
Upon returning to Room 207 of Auberge du Coq Doré, Lumian neglected to wash off his enigmatic makeup. He whispered to Termiboros, “What makes this mineral specimen so special?”
Termiboros’s voice echoed in Lumian’s ears once more.
“Don’t tell me you think it’s normal for the Montsouris ghost to spare Flameng?”
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