Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability - Chapter 339
339 Purpose of Visit
Hela continued in her cold voice, “Don’t worry, there’s no reason to fret. Our Research Society operates rather informally. Except for a handful of members who maintain close private communication, the rest only convene two to four times a year, all while in disguise.
“Your sister behaves quite relaxed at these gatherings. Her interactions would resemble her usual demeanor with you. However, she’ll take care to guard her genuine information. You can certainly play the part.
“And many of the coded terms and expressions we employ for communication are familiar to you. Given your relationship with your sister, she won’t intentionally keep them from you or abstain from using them.”
“Understood.” Lumian’s mood suddenly soured. “She’ll also explain the exact significance to me and attribute it to a philosopher from back home or even Emperor Roselle.”
Upon hearing this, Hela responded, “If you truly possess the potential to masquerade as Muggle and engage with the Research Society members, there’s no need to forcibly cite philosophers from back home. Simply allude to the latter portion of the content.”
“Then, should I incorporate ‘Emperor Roselle once said’?” Lumian deliberated the specifics earnestly.
He lacked a key item and couldn’t authentically impersonate Aurore. And even though the Niese Face was primarily an illusion, it could be instantly deciphered by Beyonders equipped with the corresponding abilities—whether the other party held a rank as low as Sequence 9 Mystery Pryer, they’d discern his non-female identity at a glance. Yet, he remained determined to give his utmost. Who knew if a chance for Transfiguration with diminished negative effects would arise in the future?
Regarding mystic makeup achieved through the use of the Mystery Prying Glasses, it wouldn’t provide psychological suggestions, given that attendees concealed their faces at the gathering. Furthermore, it couldn’t alter his gender.
Hela lapsed into silence, her facial muscles twitching subtly.
“In the event that you’re presented with an opportunity to enact such a role, make sure to avoid these mentions. You might not possess precise discernment about when such references are suitable.
“Just keep in mind, other members frequently employ the phrase ‘Emperor Roselle once said’ to liven the mood or offer amusement.”
Why does it feel like Emperor Roselle’s image in the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society isn’t too favorable… It’s not that it’s unfavorable. Instead, it assumes a comedic quality… Speaking of which, Aurore appears to do the same. Whenever her spirits dip, as long as I deliberately reference Emperor Roselle’s words, she tends to loosen up and finds herself chuckling involuntarily… Lumian struggled to fully grasp the rationale of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society members, but he refrained from further probing, recognizing the necessity to feign ignorance concerning their most profound secret.
If the opportunity arose, he intended to seek Franca’s insights on the matter.
Hela continued, “While participating in the gathering, keep in mind to listen more than you speak. If you lack confidence, avoid delving into profound discussions. Should others delve into the past, if possible, shift the focus and maintain a patronizing tone. Emulating Muggle’s traits and characteristics will aid in effectively acting as her.”
Lumian pondered for a moment.
“This guise, however, remains merely a surface-level ruse. Your Research Society houses Beyonders adept in divination and possessing keen intuition. They could readily discern that I’m not my sister.”
“No, quite the contrary. They might prove you to be the genuine Muggle,” Hela furnished an unforeseen response to Lumian’s expectation.
In the midst of his unveiled astonishment, Hela expounded, “To begin with, most of us remain unaware of the realities of our fellow members, impeding our capacity for efficacious divination or prophecy.
“Additionally, with my understanding of your sister, I employed an artifact to divine her state. Yet, I couldn’t ascertain her life or death status. It was akin to confronting a formidable anti-divination barrier.”
Wh— Lumian was caught off guard before grasping the underlying rationale.
As per Madam Magician, Aurore hadn’t entirely died. A possibility of revival persisted, her soul shard sealed by Mr. Fool, thereby rendering conventional divination unable to circumvent the seal and ascertain Aurore’s genuine condition. A potent anti-divination effect was at play.
Hela took another sip of her triple shot Reem espresso.
“Most crucially, subsequent to our meeting today, my spiritual intuition tells me that when I confront you, divination or prophecy regarding Aurore will point toward you.”
What? Lumian nearly blurted out the question.
Before long, he cast his gaze downwards to his left chest and offered a wry smile.
“Perhaps this stems from the fact that a fragment of my sister’s soul has been specially preserved within me.”
Lumian let out a long sigh.
“What a pity…”
Post Hela’s analysis, he harbored the conviction that he could seamlessly stand in for his sister within the folds of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society without incurring exposure.
He yearned to do so. This way, he could not only aid Franca in her operation but also safeguard her from solitary risks. Together, they could operate—one in plain sight, the other in the shadows—ensnaring their adversary in a carefully orchestrated trap.
Simultaneously, Lumian recognized the potential of utilizing the society’s gatherings to gather invaluable information about Aurore.
Regrettably, his one hindrance was his lack of Transfiguration abilities. The power to alter his gender, stature, or physique eluded him.
A brief silence hung in the air before Hela reiterated her commitment to investigating the April Fool’s predicament.
Following that, she spoke candidly, “I’ve come to Trier this time to delve deeper past the catacombs. Do you have any information about that place?”
Deeper into the catacombs? Lumian’s heart skipped a beat as he took the initiative to remind her, “It’s very dangerous there.”
Madame Hela’s guidance from her letters and prior suggestion had been invaluable. With deep appreciation, he recounted his grasp of the catacombs and the bizarre phenomena he had borne witness to. Finally, he said, “For some inexplicable reason, I alone retain memories of the ill-fated couple. The rest feign ignorance, as though they never existed. True, Kendall, the administrator of the tomb, ought to have sensed it as well, yet he feigned ignorance.”
Hela listened in quiet contemplation. Without astonishment or consternation, she inquired, “Have you heard of the Samaritan Women’s Spring?”
“I have, though from the mouth of a charlatan…” Lumian mused, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall Osta Trul’s narrative. “He claimed that the Samaritan Women’s Spring on the upper level of the catacombs is a sham. Just a puddle left behind due to a construction error back then. The administrators spun it into a legend. But deep in the underground world, within an ancient tomb, there lies the real Fountain of Oblivion.”
Hela refrained from commenting on Lumian’s account and simply nodded.
“Thank you.”
With her gratitude expressed, she downed the last of her three-shot espresso, rose from her seat, and made her way toward the café’s exit.
As she rose from her seat, the heavy silence was shattered, and the sunlight once again flooded the area with its radiance.
Lumian remained seated a while longer, savoring the last sips of his Macael coffee. Afterwards, he strode along Rue Ancienne, his destination being Place du Purgatoire. There, he planned to catch a public carriage back to the market district.
Passing by Salle de Bal Unique and the Alone bar, a sudden, crystalline tinkle reached Lumian’s ears.
His heart skipped a beat, and he swiftly turned around. He saw a figure he knew well, who had just entered the newly opened Alone bar.
Draped in a delicate, pale-white fishnet dress, the figure sported a small, circular hat adorned with silk flowers. Two dainty silver bells dangled from the intricate hair buns, complementing the similar accessories on the figure’s dark-hued boots.
Leah… Bureau 8’s Leah… Lumian recognized the person as Leah, the official investigator who had entered his dream.
Once affiliated with Bureau 8’s Riston Province branch, she had now appeared in Trier and entered the somewhat peculiar Alone bar.
Salle de Bal Unique is perilous. Could the Alone bar be used by Bureau 8 to monitor the opposing stronghold? After retracting his gaze, Lumian continued forward as if nothing had happened.
…
Returning to Salle de Bal Brise, Lumian found himself summoned to 11 Rue des Fontaines in Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative by Gardner Martin, just when he was hoping for some rest.
Inside a room adorned with bookshelves, Gardner Martin, donned in a light-colored shirt and dark trousers, greeted him with an energetic smile.
“Franca mentioned that your vengeance is complete?”
Lumian detected an odd thrill emanating from the Boss, as if he had indulged in immense pleasure and hadn’t fully calmed down.
He responded candidly, “Yes, I’ve already killed Guillaume Bénet. Thankfully, Red Boots, Jenna, and Anthony Reid, the information broker I hired, assisted me.”
He spared no details about the participants—there was no use concealing anything. They relied on “Rat” Christo and his pets to communicate, after all.
Gardner Martin nodded slightly and commented, “You’ve exceeded my expectations in terms of efficiency. Franca didn’t delve into the specifics. Can you give me an overview of the overall situation?”
Lumian held nothing back when it came to the Sinners organization. He elucidated Guillaume Bénet’s various abilities, detailing their specific impacts.
Gardner Martin listened intently and asked in thought, “What do you reckon is Guillaume Bénet’s strength equivalent to in Sequence?”
Lumian replied without hesitation, “Sequence 5.”
A brief pause ensued as Gardner Martin fell into contemplative silence before he uttered, “I’ve summoned you for a purpose, a mission.”
“What mission?” Lumian didn’t hide his curiosity.
Gardner Martin’s smile reappeared.
“It’s quite straightforward. Make your way to the Mechanical Café in Quartier de l’Opéra and establish contact with a literary and arts group named ‘Black Cat.’”
“I lack any artistic inclination,” Lumian honestly admitted.
Gardner Martin smiled and said, “No artistic inclination is necessary. Your primary role will involve sponsoring and befriending one of the members of Black Cat.
“His ancestor boasted an aristocratic title of a count, a fact he’s quite fond of calling himself that.
“Right, his name is Poufer Sauron.”
