入室强性暴

Unintended slumber had overtaken him, but it also served to rejuvenate his spirituality. At the very least, the pounding in his head had ebbed away, and the searing fire coursing through his veins, organs, and flesh had altogether abated.

Lumian’s sight plunged into unadulterated darkness. His hands groped for the lantern that had been snuffed out, and after lighting it, he noticed Jenna. Clad in the guise of a female mercenary, she sat diagonally across from him. She reclined against the tunnel’s wall, her gaze affixed to the dark-green canvas backpack and the five ritualistic hides splayed before her.

Sensing the corresponding motion, Jenna looked up at Lumian.

After scrutinizing him for a few seconds, she playfully jested, “Finally, you’re no longer as annoying.”

Have the negative effects of the Decency brooch been lifted? Lumian instinctively exhaled a sigh of relief.

Jenna’s lips curled into a grin as she rose, hoisting the dark green canvas backpack onto her shoulder. She told Lumian, “Earlier, I entertained notions of beating you up and painting your face with dog poop while you slept. But I managed to restrain myself.”

“Much appreciated,” Lumian said, his gratitude tinged with sarcasm.

With the backpack slung casually over one shoulder, Jenna stooped to gather the five ritualistic hides. Her smile bore an air of leisure as she uttered, “You’re welcome.”

And with that, she strode toward the tunnel’s exit, a smile dancing on her lips.

“Chalk it up to me treating you as a friend?”

You’re mocking me again… Lumian grumbled under his breath, picking up the lantern before following suit.

…

Apartment 601, 3 Rue des Blouses Blanches.

Franca, now dressed in her usual attire—a blouse and light-colored breeches—awaited Lumian and Jenna’s return.

Her eyes traveled over Lumian’s scorched upper body, and a grin formed on her lips.

“Jenna didn’t take the opportunity to stab you a few times? Decency’s negative effects aren’t as potent as I’d imagined.”

Jenna interjected before Lumian could respond, “For the first half-hour, it was a real struggle. I had to hide outside the tunnel where he was resting. Every few minutes, I checked for potential threats from below ground, the ceiling, or behind the rock walls. But even then, I seriously contemplated collapsing the tunnel and burying him alive.”

That’s not what you said just now… Lumian couldn’t help but glance at Jenna.

For a moment, he couldn’t tell if the Instigator was telling the truth in the abandoned tunnel or if she was telling the truth now.

Franca chuckled and gave Jenna a thumbs-up.

“That couldn’t have been easy. You maintained your vigilance, even in a semi-enclosed, deserted tunnel. You anticipated attacks from below, the cave’s ceiling, and the very walls surrounding him.”

Jenna’s brows relaxed, and her smug smile was unmistakable.

“You’re always feeding me those horror tales, remember? Like hands emerging from the earth to grab ankles, bloody heads dangling from ceilings, or figures springing from walls to embrace the protagonist.”

Every night’s entertainment involves retelling horror stories to Jenna? Lumian glanced at Franca, sensing that her intentions might run deeper.

“See? Those stories have their uses!” Franca beamed.

Then she turned her attention to Lumian.

“Need a doctor?”

The burns appeared quite severe.

“No need. For a Pyromaniac, it’s merely a minor scrape.” Lumian refrained from mentioning that he would be fully recovered by 6 a.m. the following morning. “And if things worsen, I can always seek out Rat.”

His nurtured Planter hadn’t risen to the ranks of a Sequence 8 Doctor yet, so his assistance was rather limited at the moment.

Observing Lumian’s lack of visible discomfort, Franca’s concern lessened. She picked up the dark-green canvas backpack Jenna had left on the armchair and prepared to place it on the coffee table to meticulously tally their spoils.

Casually, Lumian pushed aside cups, plates, newspapers, and magazines that cluttered the table, creating enough space.

Glancing around, he noticed the magazine’s title: Women.

It was a widely read weekly among middle-class Intisien women, showcasing Trier’s latest fashion trends, lifestyle advice, and beauty tips. The Loen Kingdom had its own bootleg version, Ladies Aesthetic.

Lumian raised his head with a smile, and his gaze shifted to Franca, a playful question in his eyes:”Oh, you read such magazines?”

Franca pursed her lips and puffed out her chest in response: “What’s wrong with me reading Women?”

After their brief exchange, Franca unzipped the backpack and removed banknotes, coins, and gold bars.

“Roughly 60,000 verl d’or,” she assessed after a moment’s calculation.

In a little over two months, the padre had managed to deplete 40,000 verl d’or of Aurore’s savings. And all that without acquiring Beyonder characteristics or obtaining any mystical items… The more Lumian pondered, the more vexed he grew.

It wasn’t that the padre lacked options for mystical items; rather, suitable ones were proving elusive. On the one hand, his status as a heretic warranted caution, limiting his exposure. He didn’t frequent many mysticism gatherings, and thus remained ignorant about numerous aspects. On the other hand, his slew of contracted creatures came with many negative repercussions. Several mystical items would be counterproductive or perilous for him. Some might even bring about abrupt, fatal consequences.

Franca pondered for a moment before addressing Lumian and Jenna, “All the gold is Ciel’s share. I’ll take half of the remaining assets. Jenna, you and Anthony can divide the rest. Let’s decide on the distribution once Anthony returns and we see what he’s managed to acquire. Does that sound fair?”

This arrangement would allocate around 30,000 verl d’or to Lumian and 15,000 to Franca.

“I’m fine with that,” Jenna responded with a hint of concern. “But Anthony still hasn’t come back. Dammit, could something have happened to him?”

“If it were anyone else, I might suspect trouble, but Anthony is a Psychiatrist. He’s highly skilled in reading people, so falling into a trap is unlikely for him. Plus, he’s an experienced information broker. His tracking abilities are on par with mine or Ciel’s,” Franca explained with a smile. “Most importantly, while waiting for you two, I used Magic Mirror Divination to ensure his safety. Heh, it might actually be a good sign that he’s taking so long. It suggests he hasn’t lost his target and might have gained something.”

“Why do you have to explain so much instead of just saying you checked through divination?” Lumian quipped, finding amusement in the situation.

Franca made a tongue-clicking sound and chuckled.

“You don’t get it. This is about not solely relying on divination.”

She gestured toward the five ritualistic hides.

“Are those the components for the Animal Creation Spell? Can we use them?”

“At the moment, only I can utilize them,” Lumian replied, shaking his head. “And I haven’t obtained Guillaume Bénet’s preset incantation yet.”

Franca’s expression showed a tinge of disappointment as she settled into her recliner.

After a few seconds, her smile returned.

“By the way, I’ve discreetly informed the authorities using my contacts that a wanted criminal is hiding at 50 Rue Vincent. Once Guillaume Bénet’s death is confirmed, we should be eligible for a bounty of around 20,000. Should we stick to our initial plan for distributing that?”

Entrusting this task to Jenna wasn’t feasible. It could raise suspicions that Lumian Lee was among the people she associated with.

Anthony Reid, the information broker, was the most suitable choice, but his absence raised concerns. Franca worried that further delays might lead the police to uncover the situation at 50 Rue Vincent before they could claim the bounty.

Once Lumian and Jenna acknowledged the plan without objections, the trio settled in to await Anthony Reid’s return.

After a few minutes, the seated Lumian leaned forward, fixing his gaze on Franca and Jenna. In a measured tone, he said, “There’s a matter I need your analysis on.”

With Aurore’s affairs, he often found himself grappling with his emotions and straying from rationality. This was why he wanted to hear perspectives from Franca and Jenna.

One of them shared a connection with Aurore, yet their bond was markedly different from Lumian’s deep tie with Aurore. The other had no direct involvement, making their viewpoints invaluable in approaching the situation from diverse angles.

“Sure,” both Franca and Jenna responded in unison, adopting a professional demeanor by shifting their postures.

For the first time, Lumian recounted the events in Cordu. While he omitted certain details such as the Inevitability angel and anything related to the dreamscape, he provided an overview of the catastrophe. This encompassed Aurore’s unusual behavior, Louis Lund, Madame Pualis, Guillaume Bénet, and the rest.

Franca had some prior knowledge, but Jenna was largely unfamiliar with this narrative. As Lumian spoke, the underground singer of Salle de Bal Brise and apprentice actress at Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons found herself transported into a world that seemed both distant and strangely familiar.

While the notion of the Animal Creation Spell was already unnerving, they weren’t prepared for concepts like “men giving birth” and “babies scaling walls like birds.”

It was madness, utter madness!

Franca’s primary concern, however, revolved around Aurore’s transformation. She had harbored curiosity about Muggle’s death in Cordu but hadn’t dared to probe too deeply, fearing it might agitate Lumian.

Franca couldn’t believe it when she realized the source of the problem was Aurore. This didn’t match her impression of Muggle at all.

Aurore’s revelation that she wasn’t Aurore Lee in the presence of Guillaume Bénet caught Franca off guard. Her initial surprise morphed into a grave expression.

Soon, Lumian narrated the concluding sacrificial ritual. Aurore’s sudden awakening within the altar and her act of shoving him to safety allowed him to survive.

In response to this account, Franca abruptly rose from her seat.

Baffling Lumian and Jenna with her actions, she hurried to her bedroom, returning with a stack of papers in hand.

These were Aurore’s grimoires, transcribed by Lumian who harbored a suspicion that something might be awry. He had hoped Franca could offer insights.

The papers were spread across the coffee table, and Franca extracted one sheet, her expression morphing into a blend of trepidation and seriousness. She began, “I think I know what’s wrong.”

Lumian looked over in surprise and saw that the notebook had a copy of the Warlock spell known as Soul Summoning.

A supplementary spell designed to aid spirits in separating from the flesh or to help Astral Projections find their spirits when adrift in the spirit realm.

Having previously studied the spell structure, Lumian had discerned no problematic elements. It wasn’t associated with any evil god.

However, Franca’s words carried a weight that demanded attention. Lumian directed his gaze to the spell once more, focusing on the date and its origin.

“April 1, 1357, purchased from the April Fool’s Gathering.”