551 Coming One After Another
Nevertheless, Noelia’s kindness served as a reminder that delving into the sea prayer ritual wasn’t a straightforward endeavor. The associated risks demanded the Church of Earth Mother’s serious consideration.
Despite this, Lumian believed that many dangers could be sidestepped, and he wasn’t inclined to actively confront them.
His primary objective wasn’t to unveil the truth behind the sea prayer ritual and eradicate the influence of folklore on Port Santa, preventing its inhabitants from transforming into monsters. His true goal lay in unraveling the details of the April Fool’s prank to track down Ultraman and Bard, executing them one by one. With Port Santa plagued by numerous problems and abscesses, Lumian saw no need to expose them; he could withdraw in a timely manner.
Concealing his true motives was a fundamental principle of acting as a Conspirer!
This could lead others to misinterpret his decisions and react incorrectly during critical moments.
After shutting the door, Lumian grabbed the golden straw hat and settled into the recliner. Smirking at the corridor, he muttered to himself with interest, Who will be the next to provide information?
Rubió Paco, who clearly dislikes the Maidens of the Sea and detests such matters, or the families who have lost their positions as committee members of the Fisheries Guild for many years?
Beneath the bright sunlight outside the window, Lumian swiftly flipped through the textbooks he had purchased, hoping to memorize and grasp more relevant knowledge. He couldn’t wait until the charms’ effects wore off, leaving nothing in his mind.
About an hour later, unfamiliar footsteps echoed through the corridor.
Knock, knock, knock. Another knock resonated on his door.
“Who is it?” Lumian inquired in simple Highlander.
“The book you bought has arrived,” the motel owner, Otta Guillaume, replied in Intisian.
The book I bought? When have I ever bought a book? Lumian pondered, standing up thoughtfully. He opened the door and received a cheaply packaged but colorful book from the old man.
The title of the book was “Travel around Feynapotter.”
Lumian pretended not to get the title written in Highlander and chuckled at himself.
“I’ll have to wait for my interpreter to swing back and decode it for me. Might not even wrap my head around it before I bid Feynapotter farewell by flipping through a dictionary.”
Otta Sr. expressed his understanding.
“When I first landed in Port Santa, seven or eight mates shared an Intisian-
Highlander dictionary. None of us dared to venture out solo. But after hanging around a bit and pushing ourselves to chat with the locals, we gradually got the hang of it. Truth be told, Highlander’s quite similar to Intisian.”
He turned the book over, gripping its spine and giving it a shake.
Lumian caught it and flicked it open with a swift motion.
Written on it was Intisian:
“The Maidens of the Sea are also not allowed to leave Port Santa or tie the knot with outsiders. But exceptions have cropped up over the years.
“Feynapotter’s women dig romance before tying the knot and chase after love. The ladies of Port Santa are no different. Throughout the past millennium, plenty of Maidens of the Sea have bolted to preserve their love or freedom. Around 30 to 40 have made it out. The most recent case dates back over 20 years. A Maiden of the Sea married an Intisian and had a kid. We’re unsure if she’s still alive because the Fisheries Guild has been hunting her down.
“Her child’s name is Nolfi. You might know her. She’s already back in Port Santa.”
Nolfi? Batna Comté’s lover? She’s actually a child of a Maiden of the Sea. She even dragged her “partner” to Port Santa to witness the sea prayer ceremony… Lumian sometimes felt something was off with Nolfi while on the Flying Bird, but he never guessed she was so tied up with the sea prayer ritual.
This made him wonder about Nolfi’s real reasons for returning to Port Santa. Batna Comté might find himself in a mind-boggling mess over this romantic fling.
Lumian’s eyes shifted down as he read the last line.
“Once you’re out of these waters and Port Santa, the mystical powers from the sea prayer ritual weakens significantly. Against folks from other regions, the Fisheries Guild mostly wrangles them using adventurers, bounty hunters, and professional assassins.”
Is this a go ahead to meddle with the sea prayer ritual and dig into it? As long as I could slip out of Port Santa and these waters, the Fisheries Guild’s committee members would be powerless against me? Lumian had no clue about the identity of the person who delivered the paper and the intel. After all, he hadn’t seen many folks’ handwriting in Port Santa, but he could unmistakably sense their eagerness and anticipation.
Crimson flames roared to life, consuming the white paper laden with information. Lumian reclined, sipping on Feynapotter Kingdom’s famed Manzan, the top-tier white wine produced in specific regions without dilution. He absentmindedly flipped through the book “Travel around Feynapotter” penned in Highlander.
The author raved about Feynapotter Kingdom’s diverse culinary delights, praising beef, mutton, and pork while expressing disdain for the local tobacco, likening it to smoking chili.
After a stretch, Lugano returned to the suite with Ludwig, bearing a stack of street snacks—roasted baby octopuses, lamb loin, fried fish, potatoes, corn omelet, and pork rolls.
Lumian had long set aside “Travel around Feynapotter.” He rose and addressed Lugano,
“Don’t forget to change your appearance tomorrow to fetch our new IDs. Also, figure out where Batna Comté will be in the next two days. I want to share a drink with him.”
“Alright, alright.” Lugano couldn’t fathom why his employer suddenly wanted to locate the finely dressed adventurer, but he sensed it wasn’t as simple as a casual drink.
After assigning the task, Lumian grabbed the sun straw hat and casually mentioned as he sauntered toward the door, “I’m stepping out for a bit. I’ll be back before dinner.”
“D-do you need any translations?” Lugano asked instinctively.
Lumian chuckled in response.
“I’m just taking a stroll, getting a feel for the terrain. No need to chat with anyone. Don’t worry, I won’t lose my way.”
Lugano tersely acknowledged and refrained from probing further.
He trusted that his employer’s adept body language skills would make simple communication a breeze.
Once out of Solow Motel, Lumian ambled down the street.
…
Solow Motel, fifth-floor suite.
As Ludwig polished off the fermented grape juice, he leaped from the chair and headed briskly to the washroom.
Lugano slouched on the sofa, reluctant to budge.
After tending to the child for nearly two hours, fatigue had settled in. Lugano yearned for a break. His plan was to gather intel on Batna Comté and rendezvous with the spirited Feynapotter ladies at the bar later in the night.
Ludwig entered the washroom, lifted the toilet lid, and half-closed his eyes.
As he relieved himself with determination, a slim silhouette emerged from the shadows in the corner.
The black shadow took the form of an insect, about the thickness of a finger, with long bristles on its surface resembling spoiled food.
Its bristles fluttered, extending like tentacles, reaching out to touch everything in its path.
As it twisted, the black shadow silently crept up behind Ludwig. It abruptly stood up and plunged its head into Ludwig’s cervical spine.
At that moment, it caught sight of the boy’s brown eyes.
Abruptly, it froze, holding its shape like a snake rearing its upper body.
Ludwig, at some point, had ceased urinating and half-turned around.
He extended his right palm and seized the black shadow.
The shadow didn’t put up a fight.
In the next instant, the chubby boy, Ludwig, shoved the black shadow into his mouth.
Amidst distinct chewing sounds, the lower half of the shadow’s body twisted upward, melding with the blurry flesh in front of it.
In the blink of an eye, Ludwig consumed the black shadow as if it were a bowl of Feynapotter noodles.
He licked his lips, appearing as though he wanted another serving.
…
Outside Aquina Street, in the café adorned with flowers on every table.
Along the way, Lumian stumbled upon two street brawls. He snagged a skewer of Port Santa’s roasted octopuses for a quick bite, yet no one approached him discreetly, attempted to stuff him with something, or whispered secret messages. There were no covert attacks.
Under the radiant sky and brilliant sun, he chose a quiet corner in a café, ordering a glass of Torres coffee with milk, relishing its rich bitterness with patience.
As time drifted by, a woman donned in a blue veil and an exquisite dress suddenly took a seat across from Lumian.
She scanned the surroundings and swiftly raised the blue fishnet hanging from the brim of her hat.
It wasn’t a woman—it was a man.
A man dressed in women’s attire, with distinctive features and grayish-blue eyes that couldn’t conceal the anxiety on his face.
Lumian’s pupils widened.
He recognized the man in the feminine garb.
It was the current Governor of the Sea!
The same Governor of the Sea whom Martha had bowed to in the cathedral-
like building, served by numerous maids!
He sought me out? The one coming to me is actually him? Lumian was both astonished and oddly convinced that this made sense.
Noticing that the adventurer Louis Berry had identified him, the Governor of the Sea lowered the blue veil, shrouding his face once more.
Then, he hushed his voice and spoke in Highlander, filled with desire and concern, “Save me! Save me!”
Visit freewe𝑏n(o)vel.𝑐𝘰𝑚 for the best novel reading experience