327 The Real Guillaume Bénet
The memories of the false Guillaume Bénet surged, and Lumian found himself immersed in the familiar confines of 50 Rue Vincent’s cozy parlor.
Draped in an air of regal poise, the counterfeit Guillaume Bénet stood before the armchair, addressing the recipient of these memories with calculated words, “Take this money and venture to Rue de la Muraille. There, seek out the renowned courtesan of utmost repute. But you must assume my looks, veiled by a mask.”
With humility and deference, the memory’s owner bowed. “Understood, Archbishop.”
And thus, this memory concluded. Lumian held a steadfast conviction that the Inevitability bestowed before him was a meticulously crafted proxy, a construct devised by none other than Guillaume Bénet himself.
It appeared that he had likely garnered a cohort of adherents to Inevitability. From among them, he had singled out a candidate from southern Intis, one who swiftly reaped three successive boons. This candidate was meticulously endowed with the same abilities as him: the summoning of the Abyss Demon Flower and the shroud of Invisibility. This granted him an impeccable guise, perfectly mirroring the true him thanks to the contracts’ negative effects.
Of course, Transfiguration remained an integral, indispensable ability.
From this vantage, it became evident that Guillaume Bénet hadn’t neglected the adverse ramifications of the specialized covenant. He might have contemplated this from inception or perhaps gained insight subsequent to a dire prophecy, reviewing his recent undertakings. Regardless, this counterfeit Guillaume Bénet—proficient in Transfiguration—appeared to be a deliberate ruse.
Lumian suspected the presence of other Inevitability devotees who clandestinely monitored the Dill brothel. They clandestinely shadowed the sham Guillaume Bénet, primed to relay swift notification to the authentic padre should danger befall his double.
In such a scenario, Guillaume Bénet enjoyed a distinct advantage—whether he elected to abscond, leaving the product of this Substitution Spell to grapple with looming peril, or opted to ensnare his antagonists using the doppelganger as bait.
Synthesized with the fragments of the fake Guillaume Bénet’s recollections, Lumian surmised that the genuine Guillaume Bénet primarily resided at 50 Rue Vincent. Yet, he permitted the substitute to operate overtly, effectively obfuscating his true whereabouts.
Upon this realization, Lumian harbored a pang of vexation.
Had Albus not unearthed the sham Guillaume Bénet within the confines of the Dill brothel, Lumian wouldn’t have been lured away from the decoy; he would have been affixed on the Guillaume at 50 Rue Vincent. This would have spared him the frenzied teleportation prompted after the incapacitation of the Substitution Spell’s byproduct. Lumian would have gravitated towards scouring the building, conceivably unearthing the genuine Guillaume Bénet.
Granted, absent the synchronous “appearance” of Guillaume Bénet, Lumian wouldn’t have entertained notions of a Substitution Spell. He’d have likely fallen prey to deception, swerving far from the path leading to the authentic padre.
With this epiphany at the forefront, Lumian cast aside his intention to scout for lurking Inevitability adherents. Recognizing that the bona fide Guillaume Bénet had been alerted, Lumian terminated his Summoning Dance and dissolved the wall of spirituality. Turning to Franca and Jenna, shrouded in separate shadows, he intoned, “Let’s head to 50 Rue Vincent now.”
Presently, Lumian clung to the hope that vestiges of clues lingered or that Anthony Reid, entrusted with overseeing the locale, had gleaned pertinent insights…
Franca and Jenna emerged from the shadows one after another, wasting no time to inquire about the current situation. Lumian grabbed their shoulders and activated spirit world traversal once more.
In the blink of an eye, their forms solidified within the modest confines of 50 Rue Vincent’s parlor.
Absent were the butler, valets, and maids, leaving an unattended figure—unconscious, the result of the Substitution Spell—laid out on the carpet.
A meticulous scan of the surroundings concluded with Lumian’s approach. He knelt beside the proxy, employing a variety of techniques to rouse him from his stupor.
As the counterfeit Guillaume Bénet’s eyes fluttered open, they met an unfamiliar visage.
Startled, he jolted upright, fear tinting his tone. “Who are you? Why did you barge into my house? Get out! I’ll call the police! I’ll call the police!”
He recollected the recent attack—a curse-like assault!
Lumian drew his revolver and pressed it against the fake Guillaume Bénet’s forehead.
The substitute fell silent.
“Where is the true master of this residence?” Lumian’s voice resounded, deep and steady.
As if pierced by a sudden realization, the imposter Guillaume Bénet spat out, “I am the true master!
“I’m the master here!”
Lumian’s lips curled into a smile.
“In that case, I offer my sympathies. Your wife, it seems, ran off with the butler with your valuables. The valets and maids, meanwhile, seem to have embraced an opportunistic approach—essentially relieving you of anything tangible except this house.
“In a while, the police will arrest you, citing your involvement in the slaying of a vagrant and perpetrating cultic rituals and extensive deceit.”
A mosaic of fact and conjecture, Lumian’s words emerged with an intent to intimidate the substitute, dismantling any fantastical illusions.
Considering the retreat of the madame, butler, valets, maids, coachman, and gardener from 50 Rue Vincent, Lumian inferred their conversion into believers of Inevitability, orchestrated by the genuine padre. This intricate maneuver camouflaged a multitude of cultic practices and eccentric observances, all harmonized through the Substitution Spell.
The false Guillaume Bénet at Dill, having reached Sequence 7 Contractee status, was indicative of multiple instances of boon-request rituals in Trier. Innocents would undoubtedly become sacrifices, and the best candidates were undoubtedly tramps.
At Lumian’s declaration, the imitation Guillaume Bénet gazed about, bewildered and panic-stricken, his voice piercingly beseeching, “Paulina! Paulina!”
Paulina… It’s indeed the Condiment Beauty. Unfortunately, she’s now a heretic… Lumian watched as the fake Guillaume Bénet fell silent, his eyes filled with despair.
“Any final words?” Lumian inquired once more.
The fake Guillaume Bénet shuddered and said, “I’m real. I’m really the master of this place!
“However, that woman—that woman is a succubus. She surreptitiously lured someone and ensconced him within the cellar!
“Sh-she’s having an affair with a devil!”
Affair with a devil… In the basement… Was she secretly meeting the real padre in private? Yes, the negative effects of Guillaume Bénet’s desire for coitus will always exist. They won’t disappear just because he has two substitutes… Lumian scrutinized the mock Guillaume Bénet, who tenaciously clung to his fa?ade as the genuine master of 50 Rue Vincent. Left hand poised, he controlled his might, and with precision, delivered a calculated blow behind the imposter’s ear.
The fake Guillaume Bénet fainted again.
Lumian’s strategy entailed swift exploration of the residence, as allowing the imposter to run amok could inadvertently trigger calamity.
He rose to his feet, massaging his throbbing temples, and turned to Franca and Jenna for an update. “Any word from Anthony Reid?”
“No.” Franca shook her head gently. “It seems he followed your directive to trail Madame Paulina.”
Lumian tersely acknowledged.
“Then let’s search this place and await his feedback.”
Franca adjusted her black hood and emphasized, “One team of three. Don’t split up.”
This was the “territory” of the heretics. Even if they had already escaped, residual vestiges might still remain. Should they split their efforts and encounter mishaps, timely rescue would be jeopardized.
When the authorities carried out such operations, they had to be at least in groups of three or within sight of each other if they wanted to split up.
Lumian issued a pointed gesture toward the staircase adjacent to the parlor, “Let’s proceed to the basement.”
The trio descended, and as they did, Franca leaned to Jenna, her tone hushed,
“Ciel’s exchange with the counterfeit was textbook instigation. When you return, dissect the intent behind each phrase.”
“Okay.” Jenna absorbed the counsel like a parched sponge.
In due course, they reached the basement door. Lumian turned toward his companions,
“Preparations before we venture inside.”
To thwart lingering echoes of Inevitability’s powers or unconventional creatures, precaution was paramount.
Promptly, Lumian, now adorned with altered visage and partially lengthened hair, pushed the door open, revealing the basement’s dim recesses.
Within, an unremarkable array of miscellaneous items cluttered the space. No conspicuous anomalies were apparent.
Just as Franca readied for Magic Mirror Divination, Lumian, with his Hunter’s acumen, discerned subtle traces.
With metallic clinks, he unveiled a concealed door.
Beyond lay a stairwell descending further into the subterranean depths.
The trio descended cautiously, arriving after moments at a vast yet rudimentary chamber, bathed in gas lamp radiance.
It was unknown if Guillaume Bénet had created it himself or if he had sealed off a portion of Underground Trier and modified it into a private “territory.”
In the center of the stone-floored hall stood an altar, surrounded by ghastly white human bones, complete sheepskin, cowhide, and giant canine skin.
Upon seeing this, Lumian was taken aback as he recalled one of the five special ritualistic magics that Alms Monk had:
Animal Creation Spell!
Simultaneously, remembrances of the felines, avians, and canines inhabiting the floor above, and the brown-furred dog nestled beside the mock Guillaume Bénet, surged forth.
Dog… Dog… Animal Creation Spell… With an epiphanic rush, Lumian pieced together the genuine Guillaume Bénet’s concealment.
He had invoked the Animal Creation Spell to transmute himself into the hulking, brown-furred canine. In this form, he paraded brazenly before his counterfeit and the surrounding onlookers.
With a recitation of the preordained incantation, the true Guillaume Bénet could rapidly molt his canine facade, resuming his human guise.
…
In the confines of the parlor, the counterfeit Guillaume Bénet remained enshrouded in an unconscious reverie, utterly oblivious to the stark duality between reality and illusion.
Cautiously, he inched the guest room door ajar, greeted by a jarring tableau. Before him sprawled his beautiful wife, Paulina, ensconced upon the sumptuous bed, unclothed, whilst a hulking brown-furred canine loomed beside her. At the bedside, a plate bearing a medium-cooked steak was positioned…
…
Amidst clenched teeth, Lumian communicated the enigma of the Animal Creation Spell and his speculative hypothesis to Franca and Jenna, his words resounding, “I hope we find that damned dog. No, he should have shed his dog skin by now.”
Animal Creation Spell… Humans turning into dogs… Jenna was alarmed.
The world of mysticism is so bizarre and terrifying!
The three of them worked together and swiftly searched for traces.
Before long, Jenna picked up something from a crevice in the stone slab and exclaimed in surprise, “I’ve found something!”
Franca ran over and realized it was brown dog fur.
Both approached Lumian, who continued his investigative fervor, presenting their find.
Lumian’s elation was palpable. He postulated Guillaume Bénet’s evasion via an underground covert route, disentangling him from Paulina and the rest.
Then, they discovered a few strands of brown dog fur. Following the fur, they found another hidden door.
After opening the hidden door in the rock wall, Franca performed a simple Magic Mirror Divination and received a revelation that nothing was amiss. Then, she followed Lumian and Jenna in.
At that moment, Jenna, who was in the middle of the group, lost sight of Lumian. Franca was still following behind her.
Without waiting for Jenna to speak, Franca surveyed the room and frowned.
“We’ve circled back to the sacrificial hall.”
…
Emerging through the secret door, Lumian entered an expanse echoing a quarry’s cavern.
With gas lamps conspicuously absent, Lumian summoned forth a crimson blaze to pierce the shadows.
Almost simultaneously, he sensed that Jenna and Franca hadn’t followed him.
We got separated just like that? Puzzlement swirled within Lumian’s mind, overridden by a low voice that echoed from the abandoned mine’s depths: “Lumian Lee!”
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