269 Islander
“Alright.” Lumian nodded at Manager René.
Lumian dabbed his mouth with a napkin and rose to his feet. He strolled towards one of the café’s balconies, casting his eyes over the nocturnal scenery of Avenue du Marché.
The gas street lamps cast a soft, golden glow, illuminating the carriages and pedestrians that traversed the road.
At that moment, people streamed into Salle de Bal Brise one after another, joining the revelry within.
To be honest, Lumian preferred the cozy atmosphere of the basement bar at Auberge du Coq Doré to this place. It allowed him to unwind and find enjoyment.
From his perspective, the patrons of Salle de Bal Brise were excessively self-indulgent. They cared little for their families or their futures. All they sought was a night of revelry, drowning themselves in alcohol, beauty, dance, and uproar. In contrast, the regulars at the basement bar were mostly tenants of Auberge du Coq Doré. They would return around 9 or 10 p.m. and had to be in bed by 1 a.m. They drank, sang, boasted, and frolicked, making the most of those fleeting two to three hours to find their own slice of joy.
Only then did they gather the courage to face the arduous tasks of the following day and embrace the promise of a new dawn.
It was akin to kerosene lamps that required regular refueling to continue casting their light.
Lumian surveyed Avenue du Marché for a few minutes before his attention was abruptly drawn to a familiar figure.
There stood Charlie, adorned in a white shirt and blue waistcoat, embroiled in a street brawl, his formal coat casually slung over his arm.
Now we’re talking… Lumian smiled, a touch of nostalgia and sentimentality washing over him as he used an expression that had recently gained popularity.
Pressing his right hand against the balcony, Lumian gracefully leaped from the second floor, landing nimbly at the edge of Avenue du Marché. With a few brisk strides, he reached the scene of Charlie’s altercation.
He made no move to intervene or assist Charlie. Instead, he observed the fight with keen interest.
The other party engaged in this scuffle with Charlie was a slender young man in his mid-twenties, possessed of dark skin and sunken eyes. His lips were thick, and his slightly curly black hair marked him as a descendant of the Fog Sea Islander lineage. However, compared to his fellow islanders, he appeared somewhat more presentable.
“Cheat! You damn cheat!” Charlie spat out, his curses interwoven with their tussle.
The Islander, donning a blue shirt with a fountain pen tucked in his breast pocket, deftly dodged Charlie’s onslaught while offering an explanation.
“I didn’t want this to happen either. I, too, fell victim to deceit!”
“Dogsh*t!” Charlie’s kick missed its mark.
The two engaged in their amateurish scuffle until their breath grew ragged. Simultaneously, they slowed their movements and eventually ceased their struggle.
Only then did Charlie notice Lumian standing beside him, observing the brawl with a smile.
“Ciel, it’s Monette! That swindler! The one who conned me out of 10 verl d’or, nearly leaving me to starve!” Charlie’s face lit up as he eagerly revealed the identity of his Islander adversary. “Praise the Sun for granting me this encounter!”
The Islander whom Charlie deemed deserving of a dire fate… Lumian chuckled to himself.
“You’re partly to blame as well. Haven’t you heard the saying? ‘Never trust an Islander.’”
“I thought we were friends,” Charlie muttered, his frustration evident.
How could you be so na?ve and easily swayed? You too possess a certain knack for mischief… People like you can be easily ensnared by scheming individuals, falling into their traps without gaining either the affection or the riches you desire. Ah, you’ve already fallen victim… Lumian chastised, shifting his gaze towards the Islander named Monette.
Monette responded with an obsequious smile.
“I genuinely intended to help Charlie find employment, but I, too, fell prey to a scam and lost all my money.
“I couldn’t face Charlie, so I secretly departed from Auberge du Coq Doré.”
As he spoke, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a stack of banknotes, counting three 5 verl d’or bills. He handed them over to Charlie.
“I returned to the market district to find you and return your money, along with interest.”
Charlie’s emotions eased considerably as he verified the authenticity of the three banknotes under the glow of the street lamps. He asked, still somewhat suspicious, “Are you someone who gets scammed easily?”
Ever since Charlie had encountered Monette until his departure, he had only witnessed him conning others. He had never seen him on the receiving end of such deals. True to his Islander identity.
Monette sheepishly smiled and replied, “Not only was I swindled once, but I fell for it a second time.
“The first instance, I encountered a group of people who claimed that Salle de Bal Unique in Quartier de l’Observatoire wanted to expand and were offering shares for sale. Each lot cost a mere 200 verl d’or.
“You all know how lucrative the dance hall is. I couldn’t resist dipping into my savings, but the share subscription certificate I received turned out to be counterfeit!
“I confronted them, only to be swindled once more.”
Salle de Bal Unique… Lumian’s eyelids twitched involuntarily.
The bankrupt merchant, Fitz, residing in Room 401 of Auberge du Coq Doré, had previously been duped out of 100,000 verl d’or by the owner of Salle de Bal Unique, Timmons. Fitz had sought Lumian’s aid in recovering the sum, but Lumian had investigated and consulted several sources. He found the dance hall’s practices dubious, possessing a formidable network. They appeared to wield considerable power, causing Lumian to abandon the commission.
Now, he had encountered another victim of Salle de Bal Unique.
“You were swindled by them once before. How did you fall for it a second time?” Charlie couldn’t fathom such foolishness.
Monette cleared his throat twice.
“They openly confessed to being a group of swindlers and refused to return the money. They even said that reporting them to the authorities would be futile. Impressed by my skills, they asked if I was willing to learn the art of deception from them, allowing me to recoup my losses.
“In the end, they merely taught me what I already knew. They only gave me something else.”
“What was it?” Charlie was always a curious one.
In the blink of an eye, Monette retrieved a transparent monocle from his pocket.
He smoothly placed it into his right eye socket.
For some reason, Lumian sensed an inexplicable change in Monette as soon as he wore the monocle. It was as if he had transformed into a different character altogether.
The corners of Monette’s mouth curled slightly as he positioned the monocle over his right eye. He glanced at Charlie first, then turned his gaze towards Lumian. His eyes shifted from Lumian’s face to his chest and hands.
Lumian felt a subtle unease, but he detected no immediate danger.
Monette smiled and said, “Are you Ciel, the mastermind behind the Idiot Instrument?”
“Yes.” Lumian did not deny it and remained silently cautious.
Monette adjusted the monocle on his right eye.
“Quite adept at pulling pranks, I must say.
“Would you like this monocle? It’s of no use to me. I could exchange it for some cash. With it, you can disguise yourself as a member of Salle de Bal Unique and earn a good amount of money there.”
Do I look like a fool to you? Lumian promptly rejected Monette’s suggestion without hesitation.
“I have no interest in donning monocles.”
He had always been skeptical of the peculiar rules of Salle de Bal Unique, keeping his guard up.
Disappointed, Monette redirected his gaze, removed the monocle, and turned to Charlie.
“I’ve given you the money and the interest. If you ever need anything in the future, come find me at Salle de Bal Unique.”
Charlie scoffed dismissively.
He still harbored suspicions that Monette had intended to scam him in the past.
After the Islander left Avenue du Marché, Lumian turned to Charlie.
“Remember to keep your distance from that fellow. Otherwise, you might end up encountering the same situation with Susanna Mattise.”
The latter part of his statement was a fabrication, primarily to instill fear in Charlie and ensure he took the advice seriously.
Charlie was instantly alarmed. Without questioning further, he hastily nodded and replied, “Alright, alright!”
…
At midnight, Lumian and Jenna, the latter wearing a sparkling red dress, exited Salle de Bal Brise and made their way towards Rue des Blouses Blanches.
Jenna did not inquire about the reason for their route. After a moment of silence, she spoke up.
“Have you ever felt like nothing matters? Lost and devoid of motivation?”
“Definitely,” Lumian replied casually, his gaze fixed on the street ahead. “In such moments, you must rediscover the meaning of life and determine what truly matters to you.”
Jenna fell silent once more. After a while, she asked, “Have you ever experienced something akin to an illusion shattering within you? A mysterious cosmos materializing, adorned with stars of varying sizes?”
“No,” Lumian replied after a brief pause.
He had experienced the sensation of illusory objects abruptly disintegrating. It occurred every time the potion was completely digested. However, he knew nothing of the mysterious cosmos or the glimmering stars of different magnitudes.
Jenna remained silent, deep in thought about the implications of this phenomenon or contemplating other matters.
Soon enough, they arrived at Apartment 601, 3 Rue des Blouses Blanches.
Franca was already back and regarded them warily as they entered side by side.
Before she could inquire, Jenna brought up the topic of the shattered illusions and the appearance of the mysterious cosmos.
Franca was taken aback but spoke joyfully, “Your Assassin potion has been fully digested! Assassinating a parliament member in public and under heavy security certainly facilitated the digestion process.”
Is this a sign of potion digestion? Lumian couldn’t hide his surprise and perplexity.
Why do I experience only the first half and not the second?
Franca scrutinized him suspiciously.
“You’ve never experienced it before? How did you advance then?”
Not only is the seal on me restraining Termiboros, but it also restricts some of my mystical senses? That’s right. The seal resides within me. It’s impossible for it to have zero impact… Lumian formed a vague hypothesis and casually brushed it off.
“It wasn’t as pronounced.”
Franca, more concerned about her female companion, did not press the matter further and curiously asked Jenna, “So, have you managed to summarize the principles of acting?”
“Acting principles?” Jenna pondered for a moment. “After the assassination, I learned many principles. Yes, assassination is a matter of risking one’s life. It is the ultimate form of punishment, a calamity for those criminals…”
Enthusiastically delving into the “acting method” and discussing acting principles with Jenna, Franca suddenly remembered Lumian’s presence.
“What—what’s the matter?” She glanced at her male companion, who had settled onto the sofa.
Lumian met her gaze and indicated that they needed to speak privately.
Jenna instantly understood, excused herself to change clothes, and retreated into the guest bedroom.
Lumian lowered his voice and addressed Franca, “What do you make of Hela? What kind of person do you think she is?”
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