105 That Person


    Pons B’s grip tightened relentlessly, his eyes bloodshot and bulging.


    If it hadn’t been for the fact that Lumian couldn’t speak or that his vision had started to fade to ck, he would have thanked him.


    Suddenly, a hand appeared from nowhere, grasping Pons B’s hair at the back of his head, trying to forcibly pry him off Lumian.


    “What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to kill him? Have you lost your damn mind?”


    Pierre Berry growled in a deep voice as he intervened, stopping Pons B.


    But Pons B wouldn’t listen. His crimson eyes locked onto Lumian, his mind consumed by fury and murderous intent. All he could think of was killing this bastard.


    Whack!


    Pierre Berry swung his right leg up, striking Pons B’s groin with his brand-new leather shoe.


    Pons B reflexively let go, clutching his crotch, squeezing his thighs together, and copsing to the ground.


    He whimpered involuntarily, his face contorted in agony, like a rooster being strangled by the neck.


    Pierre Berry nced at him coolly and said, “Once you’ve recovered, bring Lumian to the altar. The ritual is about to begin.”


    He shifted his gaze, bending down to assess Lumian’s condition.


    As Lumian’s senses returned and he slowly opened his eyes, he straightened up and nodded.


    His darkening vision restored to rity, the pain in his neck became more apparent. Lumian was disheartened to find that his view was not of the familiar ceiling of his bedroom but of Pierre Berry’s bloodied face.


    Am I still alive? He wondered subconsciously as he turned his head and spotted Pons B curled up on the ground.


    “Pathetic!” Lumian spat contemptuously. “If you can’t satisfy women and can’t even kill a man, what’s the point of living?”


    Pons B felt a wave of rage surge through his head. If it weren’t for the lingering pain in his groin and Pierre Berry’s watchful eye, he would have snapped once more.


    …


    Lumian and Aurore’s housey in ruins, more than half its roof missing.


    Ryan, Leah, and Valentine crept back under the moon and starlight.


    Once they confirmed the area was clear, Ryan turned to Leah and said, “Tonight’s situation is worse than we thought. Perform divination.”


    As they traveled from Cordu Vige to Lumian’s house, they noticed that every house was empty. They had no idea where everyone had gone.


    This was a shocking anomaly!


    “Alright.” Leah nodded.


    Before she could take out a pen and paper to write a divination statement, Ryan reminded her, “Be cautious. Choose the direction of the divination carefully. Don’t attempt it if it feels too risky.”


    “Understood.” Leah was well-versed in this area. She knew that Cordu was a ce filled with danger and abnormalities. A minor error in the divination direction could lead to severe injuries or loss of control.


    After a few moments of contemtion, she entered Aurore’s bedroom, which nowcked a wall along the corridor, and found a manuscript to use as a medium.


    As Leah wrote the divination statement, Ryan and Valentine entered Lumian’s room where they had been sleeping.


    Ryan’s brownish-yellow suitcase sat beside the desk near the window, concealed by the curtain.


    Seeing that the item was still there, Ryan breathed a sigh of relief and said to Valentine, “Make the preparations.”


    As he spoke, he pulled the suitcase out, ced it on the ground, and undid the brass-like metal buckle.


    Valentine opened his arms slightly, and illusory golden mes emerged from the void, illuminating the room.


    With Sunlight, Ryan finally dared to open his suitcase with a grave expression.


    Inside, there were no clothes, books, or coins—just a strange, folded scarecrow lying quietly.


    The scarecrow’s eyes were covered with thick ck cloth strips. Its face, neck, palms, feet, and calves were made of brownish-green straw, but its arms, chest, and thighs were covered in real, slightly pale-white skin.


    This was a mystical item that the joint investigation team had acquired from the Eternal zing Sun Church’s Riston diocese before their departure.


    Teams at their level could request Sealed Artifacts to handle abnormalities.


    Ryan closed his eyes, and information about the mystical item before him naturally surfaced in his mind.


    “Number: 2


    “Name: Tanago Scarecrow.


    “Danger Grade: 2. Dangerous. Use with care and moderation. It can only be applied for operations that require three or more people. Security clearance requires a diocesan bishop.


    “Security ssification: Bishop, Team Captain, or above.


    “Description: This scarecrow was first discovered in the Tanago region of Riston Province, near the remnants of a vige annihted by a cult’s worship ritual.


    “Two Purifiers, ten police officers, and 76 farmers vanished after passing by the farm where the scarecrow was ced, never to be seen again.


    “Research suggests that those who enter a 30-meter radius of the scarecrow and lock eyes with it will lose self-awareness and be drawn towards it uncontrobly. Within moments, they disappear, leaving behind only their possessions and garments.


    “At the zenith of sunlight, the scarecrow loses its power; touching it or meeting its gaze has no effect.


    “A farmer from a neighboring vige ims the scarecrow was once ordinary, indistinguishable from others until the vige farnd it protected was decimated.


    “With each disappearance, flesh and skin appear on a small portion of the scarecrow.


    “Its ultimate transformation remains a mystery, but revival seems a likely oue.


    “The scarecrow already disys signs of life, moving at night and attempting to break free from its containment.


    “Sealing Method: Blindfold it with a thick, ck cloth and enclose it in a confined, dark space.


    “Usage Process: Remove the scarecrow only under sunlight, and unbind the ck cloth from its eyes.


    “Appendix: 1. Avoid its gaze at all costs. Even under the protection of sunlight, you risk enduringsting nightmares and mental debilitation.


    “2. Limit interaction with the scarecrow to no more than two minutes per session. Excessive use intensifies its determination to escape and resist.


    ...


    “3. Warning: Permanently seal the scarecrow before it acquires enough flesh.”


    As Ryan and Valentine investigated the Sealed Artifact’s possible loss or escape, Leah entered a dream divination state.


    Whispering the divination incantation to locate Aurore, she sat at her desk, reclined in her chair, closed her eyes, and quickly drifted into slumber.


    Guided by her four silver bells, Leah glimpsed Aurore, d in a simple white robe, in a surreal, distorted world. She recognized an altar, nearby vigers, and the distant stained ss and golden walls of a cathedral…


    Leah’s eyes flew open, and she bolted from the room. Breathlessly, she informed Ryan and Valentine, “They’re all at the cathedral! Performing a ritual!”


    …


    Inside the cathedral of the Eternal zing Sun.


    Pons B carried the disappointed Lumian toward the altar adorned with lcs and tulips. Pierre Berry, keeping a watchful eye, apanied them.


    ncing at his sister Aurore, her eyes vacant, Lumian turned to Pierre Berry and sneered.


    “You’re nothing but a coward and a piece of trash!”


    The shepherd shot him a nce but remained silent, his expression unchanging.


    ...


    Undeterred, Lumian continued, grinning, “Your woman died of illness, yet you did nothing. You just put your faith in a malevolent god. Didn’t she die because the factory owner overworked her and paid her next to nothing? If I were you, I’d have hunted down that boss and hung his whole family from the factory chimney! But you didn’t! You were too scared. Scared you’d die too. Trash, coward!”


    As Lumian studied Pierre Berry’s subtle reactions, he slyly added Provocation to his final words.


    Pierre Berry’s expression contorted; his gentle gaze slowly morphed into a menacing re, as if a hidden seal had been broken, unleashing the demon within.


    Padre Guiume B, at the altar, barked sternly, “Control yourself!”


    Pierre Berry shuddered and came to his senses.


    In retaliation, he ripped a piece of cloth from his ragged attire, crumpled it into a ball, and shoved it into Lumian’s mouth.


    F*ck! Lumian struggled fiercely, but to no avail.


    He kept cursing and adding Provocation, but time was against him. His mouth was fully gagged by the cloth, and he could no longer speak.


    Panic and despair welled up in Lumian’s heart, threatening to overwhelm him.


    He desperately reined in his emotions, warding off any thoughts of surrender.


    Carried to the altar, Lumian’s mind raced, searching for alternative ways to end his life.


    Soon, he was presented before the padre, the massive ck thorn symbol separating him from Aurore.


    Guiume B motioned for Pierre Berry to help Lumian to his feet, then scrutinized the young man’s face and smiled.


    “You’re tougher than I thought, but you’re stillcking. The world is so hard a man must have two fathers to look after him, yet you have none. No one to teach you the ways of life.”


    “The world is so hard a man must have two fathers to look after him” was a popr saying in Intis. It referred to both a biological father and a societal father—often known as a godfather.


    This was why the people of Intis often acknowledged godfathers and godmothers.


    The padre taunted Lumian for being an orphan, with neither a godfather nor a father.


    In response, Lumian wished he could retort, mocking the padre about his own child having three, no, four fathers—the padre himself, his godfather, his mother’s lover… If the gag hadn’t held tight, Lumian would definitely have taunted the padre enough to make him lose his mind, killing him on the spot.


    Unfortunately, he couldn’t say anything.


    “Should we begin the ritual now?” Pierre Berry inquired of Guiume B.


    The padre shook his head.


    “Let’s wait a bit longer.”


    “What for?” Pierre Berry asked, puzzled.


    The padre offered no answer, but Lumian was already devising a new suicide n.


    Suddenly, inspiration struck.


    Enter a deep Cogitation state and submit to the scrutiny of the two entities. Eagerly, he sought the enigmatic and horrifying voice, hoping to provoke his own breakdown and loss of control.


    Lumian nced at Aurore, her face nk and her eyes empty, but otherwise unchanged. He closed his eyes.


    First, he envisioned the crimson sun. Once calm, he transformed it into the orb adorned with eyes and a cross.


    Silently, Lumian “saw” the faint gray fog once more. He “saw” the chaos of ovepping colors and indescribable, non-existent things.


    Yet this time, he didn’t sense the gaze of an entity lurking within the fog or looming high above.


    Why is it different? Lumian’s eyes snapped open in surprise.


    Just then, a figure entered through the cathedral doors.


    d in a ck robe and a wide hood, the man’s face was obscured by shadows. He stood tall, around 1.8 meters in height.


    As the mysterious figure approached the altar, the padre stepped aside deferentially, his demeanor humble and reverent.


    Who is that? The one behind the padre? Lumian puzzled, peering closer.


    The more he studied the man, the more familiar he seemed, as though Lumian had encountered him before.


    Suddenly, it clicked.


    This was the figure lurking in the corner of the Warlock’s tomb!


    The ck-robed man ascended the altar and stood before Lumian. Leaning forward slightly, he stifled a chuckle.


    “Did you realize that Cogitation is useless?”


    What? How does he know? Lumian stared at him, shocked and bewildered.


    At this proximity, even with the hood concealing his features, Lumian could discern the ck-robed man’s face.


    He was a young man in histe teens, his limbs long and lean, his hair short and jet-ck, his eyes a light blue, and his features sharply chiseled. He was strikingly handsome.


    What… Lumian’s gaze locked onto the man.


    He knew this face all too well. He saw it every day when he looked in the mirror.


    It was himself!