290 Lavigny Docks
“Er…” Franca deliberated briefly before telling Jenna, “When it comes to losing control and madness, orthodox or wild Beyonder—all are equal. Those monks can become monsters too, or have mental problems and walk the abyss.”
Jenna grew grave as she listened.
It wasn’t the first time Franca had said something similar, but without personal experience, the full cruelty and horror of those words never quite sunk in. Seeing the limbs in the dark cave had driven home the visceral reality of losing control and madness.
Lumian added meaningfully, “That’s why the acting method is so important.”
“But never forget you’re only acting. You should know very well being a theater actress—you mustn’t lose yourself in a role. Even without being a Beyonder, that path leads to mental issues.” Franca and Lumian educated the newcomer one after another.
Jenna nodded solemnly.
Franca returned to the missing gatekeeper. “My plan is this—reveal the cave anonymously to the Eternal Blazing Sun Church via my sources. How they handle it is their affair. Even if they suppress it, they’ll be vigilant against trouble now. I’ll also inform the client and see his reaction. We might get paid for our work.”
She chose the Eternal Blazing Sun Church over the God of Steam and Machinery Church Beyonders, unsure which side was trustworthy in this internal conflict.
“No objections here,” Jenna conceded after hearing their advice, shelving her longing for the 20,000 verl d’or reward.
Franca turned to Lumian. “I’ve found a buyer for Harvest Sacrifice, but the deal isn’t finalized yet. Offer is 10,000 verl d’or. I gave you 4,000 already, and can give you another 1,000 in two days.”
“Very efficient.” Lumian smiled approvingly.
“Can’t tell if that’s praise or mockery,” Franca muttered.
Jenna listened enviously. 10,000 verl d’or was casual business for them, while her family struggled to pay 7,000-8,000 for the treatment of her mother.
This is what it means to be a Beyonder… Her understanding grew clearer.
Glancing at the curtains, Lumian didn’t get Jenna to leave. “Last night, I completed the test and officially joined the Boss’s inner circle.”
“What kind of test?” Still aggrieved, Franca had already vented her anger once, leaving mostly curiosity.
Lumian described Gardner’s late visit to Salle de Bal Brise, how he was requested to stay the night at 13 Avenue du Marché, and him overcoming the abnormal corruption until sunrise.
He concealed Termiboros, portraying himself as intelligent, decisive, perceptive and steadfast—grasping the crux with just a few details and adhering to the principle of no response despite the influences.
Lumian excelled at fabrication.
Franca still felt lingering fear and suspicion. “You really didn’t waver at all?”
Jenna agreed—she would have responded the moment the door opened. Franca might have lasted until her face bled.
Lumian chuckled. “I definitely felt some uncertainty, but I trusted my judgment more.”
Franca sized him up doubtfully. “You really thought of not responding by yourself?”
“No.” Lumian ended the fiction honestly.
“…” The ladies were stunned.
Lumian seized the chance to divert attention, smiling. “Don’t be daft. A recently graduated mysticism novice like me could never think of that. I got intelligence beforehand of course. If you do the vigil, remember—do not respond, and take the mirror that provides entry into the underground mirror world. 13 Avenue du Marché’s abnormalities may differ by pathway.”
Enlightened, Franca grasped his source. She muttered, “No girlfriend for you with that attitude!”
She had almost been provoked just now, let alone a real woman. Relieved, Franca thought the rascal Ciel had no romantic prospects currently.
While still irked by the mockery, Jenna also regained confidence.
She had thought her intelligence irredeemably inferior to Ciel’s.
Admirably, he had firmly trusted the intelligence and not wavered.
She pursed her lips and said, “I’m seeing more of the mysticism world’s horrors.”
The 13 Avenue du Marché abnormality was even more terrifying than the Deep Valley Quarry’s secret cave scene. By comparison, her underground ordeal with Hedsey seemed just a criminal case.
“There will be more such occurrences in the coming years.” Franca seized every chance to motivate Jenna’s advancement.
Lumian then mentioned his guess that Avenue du Marché 13 only affected Beyonders of the Hunter and Demoness pathways at specific times.
Discussing a while longer, the ladies left with a stack of mysticism magazines, returning to Rue des Blouses Blanches.
…
At 3 p.m. the next day, Lumian, who had been playing the part at Salle de Bal Brise all day, arrived at Lavigny Docks in the square district by taking multiple public carriages, ready to hear The Fool bishop’s sermon.
It was a lively inland river port, teeming with steam ships emitting white fog. Countless dockworkers used various tools and their strength to move crates of goods and stack them on flat surfaces along the tracks.
Massive machines towered over the docks, some standing more than ten to twenty meters tall, made entirely of steel components. Operated by massive steam engines and controlled by technicians, they effortlessly lifted steel crates that would be impossible for humans to move.
Lumian observed the chaotic and bustling scene, a mix of spectacular sights and grimy realities.
He strolled around the dock, acting like a carefree tourist rather than inquiring about The Fool cathedral’s location from suspicious foreigners.
Buildings surrounded the harbor, housing bars, motels, warehouses, beer houses, cafés, restaurants, and dance halls. Street vendors loudly peddled their goods along the paths.
Lumian also noticed frosted glass windows with green shutters, indicating licensed brothels.
After taking a long detour, Lumian finally arrived at Mr. Fool’s cathedral.
It looked like an ordinary four-story house with a bell tower and pointed roof, completely black. Engraved on the outer wall was the familiar mystical symbol: Mr. Fool’s symbol, a silvery-white symbol composed of an incomplete Pupil-less Eye and a portion of Contorted Lines.
Before entering, Lumian took his time, continuing to explore the area as if he were casually shopping.
As a Hunter, it was second nature for him to assess his surroundings when he had the chance.
After walking for a while, Lumian chose a bar called Sea Breeze to gather information about The Fool cathedral from merchants, sailors, and locals.
The interior of Sea Breeze was decorated like a cabin, with taxidermied fish, rudders, and sail fragments adorning the walls. The air was thick with the scent of liquor and cheap cosmetics.
Some sailors sat together, engrossed in a card game, while others were seen in the company of street girls. At the bar counter, a few were enjoying drinks and boasting.
Lumian scanned the area and noticed a man who immediately caught his attention.
This man sat in an armchair near the bar, exuding an air of arrogance as he casually rested his hands on the chair’s back. He occasionally sipped his wheat beer, propping his legs up on the small round table.
It wasn’t just the man’s demeanor that intrigued Lumian, but the way the other sailors behaved around him.
They either kept their distance, giving the area a wide berth, or approached with deferential expressions. Even if they were teased by the man, they seemed honored to be in his presence.
A significant figure from the sea, perhaps? Lumian speculated silently as he subtly studied the man.
The man appeared to be in his thirties, dressed in a linen shirt, a brown vest, dark brown pants, and sturdy black leather boots. His eyebrows and hair were charred yellow, like they had been kissed by flames. His bright, dark blue eyes and facial features hinted at a southern Intis heritage.
Feeling Lumian’s gaze on him, the man smiled and lifted his wheat beer in a toast.
Returning the smile, Lumian made his way to the bar counter, ordering a glass of Lanti Proof, a favorite among pirates and sailors.
Taking a sip of the flavorful and potent malt liquor, Lumian couldn’t contain his curiosity. He nodded towards the nearby armchair and asked the bartender in a hushed tone,
“Who is that?”
The bartender’s expression turned serious as he responded in a deep voice, “You don’t know him?”
To him, not recognizing that individual was rather surprising.
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