528 Treasure Legend
The crash of azure waves echoed against the cliff’s base, creating a cascade of white flowers in their wake.
Approaching the lighthouse, Lumian pondered its rumored history, a relic left behind by the Intisians upon their arrival at Saint Tick Island, his gaze fixating on the distant sea.
The night’s crimson moonlight, still hours away, refrained from casting its dreamy glow, rendering the scene quiet and undisturbed by tourists.
Circling the lighthouse reminiscent of Roselle’s era, Lumian observed for nearly fifteen minutes, fruitlessly searching for any sign of the Demon Warlock.
He didn’t anticipate a direct encounter with Burman; it wasn’t yet the time to admire the moon. Lumian simply sought to discern if Burman would visit to reminisce about the past and his wife after waking up last night—a moment of solace to steady his heart and find the strength to persevere.
The lighthouse guardian, with a pipe emitting the aroma of roasted tobacco leaves, offered a friendly reminder, “Kid, there’s nothing much to see here during the day. It’s a whole different story at night.”
Lumian smiled and inquired, “Do people come in the middle of the night?”
“Indeed,” the 50-year-old guardian boasted. “Those Trier playboys love bringing their dates here to bask in the moonlight.”
“Any mysterious figures, perhaps someone donning a hood and pretending to be a Warlock?” Lumian pressed on.
The lighthouse guardian’s face betrayed a nostalgic expression.
“Sometimes. Thought it was a ghostly silhouette a few times.”
“Did such a figure visit late last night?” Lumian queried, a subtle curl forming on his lips.
There was nothing wrong with his speculation from his immersion!
Perhaps his similar experiences allowed him to better understand Burman’s mental state and paranoid thoughts.
The guardian replied, “Can’t say for sure. I didn’t see anything.”
Lumian didn’t press further. He decided to return in the early morning hours, the enchanting few hours beneath the moonlight.
Over the next three hours, he explored the truly renowned gourmet restaurants in Port Farim. Despite asking similar questions, Lumian obtained no valuable information.
It became apparent that Demon Warlock Burman exercised restraint under normal circumstances, avoiding impulsive actions. He seldom frequented crowded places, and when he did, his disguise was impeccable.
By 4 p.m., Lumian reached Port Farim’s modest steam locomotive station. He spent 3 verl d’or for a ticket bound for the Andatna volcano mine.
If he aimed to witness the sunset there, the journey had to commence now.
Woosh! Clunk! Clunk! Clunk! The iron-black carriage belched thick smoke as it lumbered along the railway sleepers.
Gradually, it gained momentum, akin to a colossal giant overcoming inertia and mobilizing its components.
Seated by the window, Lumian held a golden straw hat, quietly admiring the vanishing plantations.
Shortly before 6 p.m., the train halted outside Andatna’s volcanic mine.
Adorning his straw hat, Lumian bypassed the mine entrance, opting for a nearby trail leading to the volcano’s summit.
As the greenery dwindled, grayish-black hues prevailed. Occasional red rocks punctuated the landscape.
Approaching the mountaintop, desolation intensified. Grayish-black gravel lay dormant in the hushed wind.
Without the shelter of foliage, Lumian’s vision expanded. The peculiar grandeur of this place seemed to embody the vastness of desolation and silence.
Following the tourist-worn grayish-black path, Lumian advanced step by step toward the volcano’s mouth, revealing coal-black surfaces with reddish depressions.
The temperature inside was notably warmer.
Unbridled winds stirred, sending grayish-black gravel airborne, causing human forms to sway.
In this spectacle, the nearly setting sun bathed the desolate surroundings in a golden-red glow, intensifying the sunken redness.
Pressing down on his straw hat, Lumian ventured two to three hundred meters along the volcano’s crater.
Abruptly, the mountaintop wind subsided, and the suspended gravel settled in eerie silence.
Lumian immediately spotted a figure standing silently on the grayish-black diagonal wall outside the volcano’s crater, bathed in the last radiant sunlight.
Cloaked in black robes and a deep hood, the figure attentively watched the gradual descent of the golden-red sun.
Lumian’s expression remained unchanged as he advanced step by step, refraining from initiating an attack.
Sensing Lumian’s approach, the hooded figure turned around, unveiling a pale-white face marked by decaying wounds and a wide swath of fur.
It was none other than Demon Warlock Burman!
Perhaps influenced by the serene scenery and haunting memories, Burman, known for his madness, spoke wearily, “You’ve actually found this place.”
Lumian, who had been securing his golden straw hat against the strong wind, chuckled self-deprecatingly and responded,
“If not for my illusions and hope, and if I didn’t have numerous enemies awaiting my discovery, I would frequently return to Cordu and the nearest high mountain pasture. The grass there is vividly green, vast and expansive, with pale-yellow flowers in full bloom. Countless sheep roam about. The sky mirrors the brilliance of gems, and the occasional drifting white clouds resemble sheep grazing on the ground. At night, the stars emerge, densely packed like diamond gravel at the bottom of a clear river…”
Standing amidst the blazing sunlight and the vast, silent grayish-black surroundings, Lumian couldn’t help but reminisce about Cordu Village and the alpine pasture.
Burman didn’t interrupt. After Lumian finished speaking, he wore a dazed expression and uttered with a smile more pained than joyful,
“Helen and I thought we could come here to watch the sunset whenever we pleased since it’s just a ticket away. But she never came again…”
And you don’t even need to take the steam locomotive… Lumian sighed slowly and said, “What happened back then?”
Burman’s face contorted in distortion, the agony evident in his expression.
“We were deceived. Something was wrong with the treasure map. We encountered real sea monsters!
“Damn the Islanders. Helen always believed they resorted to deceit and thuggery out of necessity. All the respectable positions were held by pure Intisians, but we treated them well and placed our trust in them. Yet, they colluded with others to betray us for money!
“I’ll kill him, those deceivers, and every Islander!”
Lumian chuckled and remarked, “Some of the self-proclaimed noble Trieriens are swindlers, while others sell their bodies. I don’t generalize against Islanders, but I remain cautious of specific individuals.”
Suddenly, Lumian felt inspired.
“Was the Islander who betrayed you from the Marauder pathway?”
“Yes.” Burman’s face twitched with unrestrained anger.
Was it a Swindler acting? Lumian asked cautiously, “Did he have a tendency to wear monocles or pinch his eye socket?”
He pointed at his right eye.
“No.” Burman seemed perplexed by Lumian’s question.
Lumian heaved a sigh of relief.
“What’s his name? Did you manage to kill him?”
Burman’s pale face suddenly flushed, and decaying liquid dripped down.
“His name is Mark Benito! After that incident, he vanished. I never found him!”
Lumian chose not to provoke Burman further and inquired, “Which treasure were you seeking back then?”
“In the depths of the Fog Sea, there’s an island. The inhabitants there don’t age or truly die,” Burman recalled the treasure rumors he had gathered. “There’s reason to believe that something incredibly precious is hidden on that island. We didn’t want to become enemies with the islanders. Our only hope was to infiltrate the island and steal some ageless medicine.”
His words were somewhat disorganized, skipping over details.
“It bears a striking resemblance to the legend of the Fountain of Unaging,” Lumian remarked after pondering. “The Adventurer series has already hinted that the Fountain of Unaging is a falsehood.”
Ignoring him, Burman continued, “We found some evidence and obtained a treasure map to the island. To our surprise, the map was a forgery!
“The sea monsters wrecked our ship. In order to allow me to utilize that special witchcraft, Helen stood in front of me… I witnessed her torn into two by the sea monsters. I saw despair in her eyes…”
Burman panted heavily, unable to continue.
“And then, you switched to the Death pathway?” Lumian changed the topic.
Burman’s icy flaxen-colored eyes gleamed.
“That’s correct. Only Death, who controls the Death domain, can bring Helen back!
“In the treasure legend, many details suggest that only Death can achieve eternal life. Understanding the mysteries of death is the key to true resurrection! It’s not that the islanders won’t die; they can be revived!”
“Do you genuinely believe in that treasure?” Lumian already had an answer in mind after posing the question.
The partially unhinged Burman clung to every lifeline, trusting every rumor that promised to bring Helen back to life.
“I do.” Burman nodded and spoke with a deep voice, “That’s because I encountered people from that island some time ago. There really is such an island. There are truly islanders who don’t age or truly die!”
“Really?” Lumian blurted out.
Burman’s eyes burned with fanaticism as he declared, “I wanted to capture him, but he defeated me. Instead of killing me, he sympathized with my plight and imparted some knowledge about the Death domain. There’s a way to bring Helen back to life!
“That cursed swindler. Fidel’s attendant is nothing but a swindler. I didn’t intend to rush the resurrection ritual. I wasn’t fully prepared, but since he’s a swindler, I’ll kill him! All Islanders are swindlers! They all deserve to die!”
Is he truly from that island? Or could he be another swindler? Lumian realized that the incident with the swindler, Roddy, had triggered Burman. There was also the influence of that islander… Lumian narrowed his eyes and inquired, “What’s the islander’s name, and what does he look like?”
Burman suddenly became cautious, scrutinizing Lumian.
“What brings you here?”
Observing Burman’s reaction, Lumian sighed and, with abnormal composure, said, “I’m here to kill you.”
Burman was taken aback before bursting into laughter.
“For what? A bounty?”
Discarding the golden straw hat in his hand, Lumian lowered his body slightly and replied in a deep voice, “Punish your sins and put an end to your suffering.”
Burman ceased his laughter and raised his hands with a cold expression.
“Bring it on, then.”
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