316 “Invitation Letter”
In a repetition of events, the silver-black candle flame once again solidified into a beam of light, striking Lumian’s left chest, already wracked with agony and turmoil.
Amidst the pervading gray fog and the unsettling black wind, a silvery-black illusionary liquid began to trickle out.
At some elusive point in time, Lumian’s pain and vertigo faded into insignificance. He felt as though he had transformed into an entirely different entity.
Standing in the wilderness, he gripped a wooden bow in his hand and released an arrow that gleamed with a blue radiance toward his aerial target.
Lumian vaguely remembered who he was, but he felt that everything was extremely real and he was experiencing it.
The keen, spectral-blue arrow cut through the sky, finding its mark in the belly of a dusky vulture.
An acute agony surged into Lumian’s consciousness. He observed himself beating his wings, descending with an arrow lodged perilously close to his abdomen.
No, why have I become a vulture… Amidst the present experience, Lumian maintained a fragment of awareness about his own state and condition.
Bang!
He collided brutally with the ground, each bone fracturing with excruciating force. Agony pierced his core.
Lumian teetered on the brink of unconsciousness as a hyena lunged, its sights set on him.
Warm, repulsively scented flesh filled his mouth. He found himself ravaging the lifeless form of the grayish-black vulture. The bluish-tinged arrowhead had snapped within the avian creature.
This taste is nauseating… I’m no Ludwig, the monstrous child… Lumian’s internal complaint resounded.
He didn’t completely mistake himself for a hyena, but he continued to bite and devour his prey uncontrollably, not letting go of the poisoned parts.
Abruptly, a searing pain stabbed into his back, and he was thrust onto the ground by razor-sharp claws.
His attacker: an uncanny lion marred by decay, oozing blood-yellow pus from its wounds.
Lumian tore the hyena’s throat apart and retreated with it into the nearby underbrush.
As he witnessed the scene through an observer’s lens, he systematically dismantled the hyena.
Amidst a mix of satisfaction and revulsion, Lumian’s abdomen seethed. His Beyonder powers, teetering on the edge of control, were fully ignited by the venom, resulting in a chaotic anomaly.
His sanity waned, spiraling into insanity. All that remained was an insatiable urge to obliterate the beings before him, to unleash chaos.
No, I mustn’t succumb… The paramount objective remains incomplete… Lumian drew in the faint, sweet aroma of gray amber, resisting complete surrender to madness.
In the midst of his cathartic sprint, his attention fixed on a hunter, and he lunged at the figure.
With a wooden bow in his grasp, Lumian caught a whiff of a repugnant odor and sighted a decaying lion, two wart-like growths on its shoulders.
Its mouth, adorned with remnants of vibrant red flesh and blood, stretched to its limit.
A jolt of alarm coursed through Lumian as his full self-awareness returned. He discerned that the hunter’s “form” had turned ethereal, akin to the vulture, hyena, and lion, morphing into intricate silver-black words and bizarre symbols.
The words linked with the symbol, weaving a ring that abruptly contracted into his body.
Lumian’s eyes opened, and he confronted the flickering silver-black candle flame. A half-meter-tall stone, functioning as an altar, met his gaze.
The encounter felt tangibly authentic… As if I had been the vulture, the hyena, the lion, and another human… Lumian massaged his throbbing head and gradually rose to his feet. Reflecting on his prior experiences, he assimilated the newfound knowledge within his mind.
He couldn’t remember when he rolled on the ground in pain.
Phew… Exhaling deeply, Lumian affirmed that he had acquired a fresh boon and transformed into a Contractee.
He swiftly tidied up the altar, dismantled the wall of spirituality, and grabbed the carbide lamp, ready to leave the quarry cave at any moment.
Simultaneously, Lumian assessed his transformation and the Contractee’s abilities.
His spirituality had seen a marked increase.
His Dancer flexibility and the Alms Monk’s endurance in harsh environments had shown modest improvement, though not substantial.
His intuitive sense for luck had also seen a slight upgrade. However, upon recognizing that Termiboros could sway his fate and judgment, he refrained from frequently relying on this ability for protection.
Summoning Dance now exerted a broader sphere of influence, and his ability to forcefully possess the bizarre creatures had extended further.
The Contractee status bestowed upon him just a single fresh ability—the power to enter into a contract with a summoned creature, directly borrowing a distinctive characteristic skill.
Contrary to Lumian’s anticipations, this unique contract had merged with his body and soul during his advancement. Its transfer to others was impossible.
In essence, he had become an indivisible part of the contract, the most pivotal aspect. In time, he would need to rely on this element to compose the remaining sections of the contract and offer them to the target creature for “signing.”
After musing for a time, Lumian had a rudimentary understanding of the specifics of the Contract ability.
The agreement could solely be formed with the consent of the target creature.
Once the contract was sealed, he could handpick the traits he desired, guided by his volition.
With each ratified contract, not only would he acquire a skill, but he’d also assimilate a measure of influence from the contracted being. The higher its rank, the greater the adverse impact.
The count of contracts inked depended on his resilience. Perhaps he could endure just one high-level or exceedingly potent attribute. Several ordinary traits might be borne, keeping pace with his standing. Particularly feeble ones could be pursued more liberally.
Upon signing a contract, a cost was entailed. Part was a tribute to the contracted entity, and the remainder was a tribute to the witness. The cost could encompass life, limbs, kin, loved ones, offerings, one’s spirituality maximum, a fraction of reason, and so on. The precise demand hinged on the desires of the contracted creature.
Hence, much of the intelligence Lumian gleaned from this boon concerned the corresponding creature. This encompassed specific abilities and the “compensation” the counterpart sought.
Nevertheless, most of these odd creatures were sinister and uncanny, and the price he’d need to pay was consistent. Lumian didn’t wish to select from their ranks.
Of course, this wasn’t the prime rationale. Conceivably, these creatures harboring the mystical knowledge interwoven with the power of Inevitability had ties to the entity known as Inevitability. Lumian dreaded that forging a contract with them might covertly manipulate him, propelling his destiny into the abyss.
Consequently, Lumian had no intention of designating the entity as the object of prayer and witness while entering into a pact.
A superior choice was at hand: Mr. Fool!
According to the sermons in The Fool’s cathedral that Lumian had heard, this great entity reigned over the spirit world. The Angel of the Holy Spirit by His throne presided over the spirit world on His behalf.
Even if embellished, this testified to Mr. Fool’s considerable sway in the spirit world.
In such a situation, Lumian—marked by The Fool’s seal and enlisting The Fool as an intermediary and pact witness—could potentially yield substantial advantages and concealed benefits when attempting to forge a pact with a spirit world creature. It was just like other Contractees signing contracts with strange creatures that came with knowledge.
Lumian promptly sorted through the recently acquired knowledge and discerned that certain aspects remained quite ambiguous, as if they encompassed myriad possibilities.
For instance, the stipulation of obtaining the target creature’s consent before signing a contract did not specify the methodology of obtaining consent. Securing agreement through offerings as a bribe constituted consent, but so did beating them into unreserved submission. Similarly, the “compensation” demanded by the latter should be negotiable.
Additionally, the deleterious impacts that the acquired knowledge from contracted creatures brought along, along with the limits of one’s endurance, precluded the prospect of Lumian circumventing the system to forge a pact with a high-ranking creature and attaining godlike power at a reasonable price via Mr. Fool’s seal, the sovereign of the spirit world.
Nonetheless, the liberty to cherry-pick any amalgamation of skills within a defined spectrum imposed a considerable upper boundary on the potential of a Contractee. Naturally, the floor was equally low. Opting for an ill-suited skill and exacting an erroneous price could render one subpar even in comparison to an elite non-Beyonder individual’s aptitudes.
Lumian steadied himself and murmured with a sense of contentment, “Temiboros, do you have anything to add?”
To be candid, Lumian’s foremost apprehension upon descending into the underground was whether Termiboros would exploit the boon-seeking ritual to instigate harm. After all, the potency of the boon he was acquiring was escalating, posing a genuine threat to the angel of Inevitability. Even if securely sealed, He would unearth a method to stir up discord. It was improbable for Him to remain inert, permitting His strength to wane.
Furthermore, during the boon ritual, the seal would inevitably crack slightly, permitting the essence of Inevitability to trickle out. This would afford Termiboros a distinct opportunity.
Initially, Lumian had intended to solicit safeguards before officially beseeching a boon. Unexpectedly, Monette’s bizarre appearance and the angel backing him had expedited the need for a blessing. Termiboros had turned more tractable, abstaining from conspicuous interference.
Termiboros’s voice resounded with His response, “The mine entrance.”
The mine entrance… What does that imply? Lumian clutched the carbide lamp and advanced toward the entrance of the quarry cave, mired in bewilderment.
A bluish-yellow luminescence cast light over the debris-strewn expanse, revealing a meticulously trimmed piece of stiff paper.
It wasn’t present when I entered… Lumian tensed and cautiously drew closer. On the ebony paper, a monocle had been meticulously drawn, almost replicating reality. Four lines of bold, vibrant red Intisian words graced the page:
“Salle de Bal Unique
“Night of Lovers
“7 p.m. on the last night of every month
“You’re invited.”
Salle de Bal Unique… Monocle… Night of Lovers… Lumian’s thoughts instantly summoned an image of Monette donning a monocle in his right eye socket.
He had earnestly invoked The Fool’s angelic safeguard and expended considerable effort to elude detection, yet he had failed to shake off the enigmatic trickster?
No, Mr. Fool’s angelic blessing exudes a high-tier anti-divination and anti-prophecy influence. Unless Monette has been lurking in my vicinity without being thrown off, it’s implausible for him to regain proximity! Lumian’s heart skipped a beat as he instinctively surveyed the surroundings.
Silence reigned within the obscurity bordering the quarry cave. Yet, Lumian’s skin prickled, as though an abundance of eyes remained concealed within the air.
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