193 Luck Enhancement
Lumian waited patiently until midnight drew near. As the clock struck 11:30 p.m., the light in Ive’s room went out, yet no one emerged from the apartment. It seemed the miser had decided to save on gas bills and retired for the night. The final act of the y at Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons concluded as midnight approached. The audience trickled out one by one, but no one entered the theater.
Lumian muttered to himself, his thoughts racing: Could it be that the Prophecy Spell’s answer isn’t precise enough? After all, the ritualistic magic was cast by me. It’s understandable that its effect isn’t perfect. Yes, that’s a possibility. But what if the Prophecy Spell is urate?
rmed amidst his thoughts, Lumian’s head snapped in the direction of the door adorned with theater posters.
If the Prophecy Spell was correct, it meant that Monsieur Ive had indeed been at Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons between 11 p.m. and midnight.
And if Monsieur Ive truly had been there, who was the identical figure who had entered the apartment and never left?
There was a strong chance it was a decoy!
A decoy!
No way… Lumian couldn’t fathom his own suspicion.
How could he be deceived by such a trick, especially after meeting and conversing with Monsieur Ive before?
He was more inclined to believe that the Prophecy Spell was wed.
Perhaps there’s a tunnel beneath the apartment leading to Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons? Lumian pondered, searching for a usible exnation.
Trier was a city where establishing a tunnel was easier than in other ces. It only required a short excavation to connect to underground passageways and sewers. However, such tunnels were also prone to discovery. The Underground Trier teemed with people—quarry police patrolled the area, smugglers traveled through, and nters passed by. Unless the tunnel went deeper or had a cleverly hidden entrance, it wouldn’t take long for it to be found.
If Monsieur Ive’s apartment did have a simr tunnel, he wouldn’t have needed to venture out to the nearby Underground Trier entrance at night.
In the midst of these thoughts, Lumian recalled two important details.
Firstly, he had “witnessed” a change in Monsieur Ive’s luck when they first met. The next day, he realized that luck had inexplicably altered.
Secondly, Monsieur Ive possessed Beyonder powers and had a high likelihood of being a believer in the evil god, the Mother Tree of Desire. Despite having a low Sequence, when the official Beyonders brought him in for questioning, they found nothing amiss.
Combining these perplexing facts with the disparity between the Prophecy Spell and reality, Lumian’s pupils contracted as he muttered to himself:
A decoy, could it be real?
Was the person residing in the opposite apartment all this time after the robbery a mere decoy?
Is that why his luck changed and the official Beyonders failed to detect anything wrong?
How is it possible for him to resemble Monsieur Ive so perfectly? Did he employ a mystical item akin to the Mystery Prying sses or some other method? And where is the real Monsieur Ive hiding in Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons? The more Lumian pondered, the more unnerved he became.
No one had discovered the substitution that took ce.
At the very least, Christo’s men showed signs of mirror-like reversal.
From the assortment of the pervert’s abilities, Lumian had already deduced that Monsieur Ive had sensed something awry after being “robbed.” After all, even a single verl d’or held value as money. No robber would willingly discard it. And if it had truly been discarded, it meant that the robbery was not the true objective. It was understandable, then, that Monsieur Ive had prepared himself to conceal his secrets from the official Beyonders. Lumian simply hadn’t anticipated such a bizarre method.
He had actually fashioned a doppelg?nger identical to Monsieur Ive!
For a moment, Lumian couldn’t ascertain whether the decoy in the apartment was an ordinary person adorned with Beyonder cosmetics or a devotee of the evil god with extraordinary powers.
If it was the former, Lumian desired to seize the opportunity in the dead of night, apprehend the decoy, administer a thorough thrashing, and extract the truth. Then, he would deliver the decoy to the police headquarters or a cathedral, leaving the official Beyonders to conclude matters.
If it was thetter, he dared not act impulsively. No one knew the decoy’s Sequence level or the breadth of its abilities.
Lumian turned his head once more, casting a nce at the brick-red, three-story building housing Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons. He noted that no more patrons emerged from its entrance, dispelling his idea of venturing inside for another look.
The final performance of the day had concluded!
After contemting for a while, Lumian resolved to make some preparations.
He rose slowly to his feet and proceeded toward Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman, skulking in the shadows untouched by the glow of the gas streetmps.
Along the way, he scrutinized the vagabonds slumbering in the corners of the roadside, his gaze deep and earnest.
Finally, he found a suitable target.
Huddled beneath a makeshift barricade in the alley, the vagabond’s clothing was tattered and stained with mud. His legs bore the marks of dog bites, festering wounds oozing yellow pus.
In Lumian’s eyes, this individual was gued by misfortune. He would face a series of cmities in the next two or three days, with his very life potentially at stake.
This made him the ideal “material” for the Luck Enhancement Spell!
Yes, Lumian intended to employ the ritualistic magic of the Alms Monk—the Luck Enhancement Spell—to fashion an item capable of transmitting ill fortune.
If the fake Monsieur Ive were to be gued by misfortune, continually beset by various predicaments, there was a high likelihood that he would reveal his predicament to the official Beyonders!
With this in mind, Lumian had been on the lookout for the most hapless vagabonds. This particr group belonged to the realm of ill-fated individuals.
With his cap pulled low, Lumian approached the vagabond, positioning himself so the gasmps on the street cast his face in shadows.
He crouched down, ck-gloved hands ready, and gently prodded the tramp.
“You…” The tramp stirred, his voice filled with pain and confusion.
“I need your assistance with something. Willing to lend a hand?” Lumian produced a silver coin, worth one verl d’or, adorned with cherubs and intricate lines.
The tramp’s eyes were immediately drawn to the gleaming coin. Without hesitation, he nodded and replied, “No problem!”
As he spoke, he extended his hand, already imagining the aroma of Apple Whiskey Sour and hearty meatloaf.
Once the silver coin was in his palm, the tramp’s eyes widened suddenly, fixated on something behind Lumian. He blurted out in shock, “That’s…”
Seizing the moment Lumian turned his head, the tramp swiftly pushed himself up, attempting to vault over the barricade and sprint down the alley.
It was evident that giving money to a vagabond and enlisting his cooperation in something posed a clear danger!
For an ordinary tramp, the logical choice was to ept the money and make a run for it!
Whack!
Lumian swiftly withdrew his right hand, calmly observing as the tramp slumped against the barricade, unconscious.
From the start, Lumian had no intention of allowing the tramp to witness everything while awake. Even if he were blindfolded and his ears blocked, there was still a risk of danger. Moreover, there was the potential for revealing Lumian’s identity and the sinister ritualistic magic known as the Luck Enhancement Spell.
Hence, his n had been to seek the tramp’s consent and then render him unconscious.
Lumian assisted the tramp to his feet, as if supporting a drunkenpanion, and guided him to the nearest entrance to Underground Trier. Finding a concealed spot nearby, he secured the tramp, binding his hands and feet, blindfolding him, and muffling his ears.
Once everything was in ce, he stealthily returned to Salle de Bal Brise, retrieving a carbidemp and the necessary tools.
Without dy, he went back to the entrance, carefully lifting the unconscious tramp and making his way to the quarry cave where he had previously performed the Prophecy Spell.
This time, however, the ritual had undergone a change. While it remained a dualistic ceremony, the orange candle representing a deity and other supplicants had been reced with one of a grayish-white hue.
It still contained Lumian’s blood.
To enhance his chances of sess, Lumian intended to utilize the ritualistic magic to “pray” to the corruption sealed within his chest, mobilizing a fragment of its power.
After constructing the altar and erecting a wall of spirituality, he plunged Hedsey’s tainted dagger into the tramp, allowing his blood to flow into a metal vial.
The tramp stirred, only to be swiftly rendered unconscious once again.
Lumian disinfected and bandaged the wound, blending the blood with ash from his own hair to create an ink-like substance. Using the thinnest paintbrush at his disposal, he meticulously outlined a series of intricate and enigmatic symbols on faux goatskin parchment.
The design consisted of interwoven ck thorns forming a ring, snakes with entwined heads and tails, a riverposed of these serpentine figures, distorted lines, a peculiar eye, and more.
By the time hepleted a fraction of the intricate work, Lumian’s forehead was drenched in a sheen of cold sweat.
He positioned the tramp and the faux goatskin adorned with symbols upon the boulder that served as the altar. Dripping perfume into the mes and sprinkling powder, Lumian took two steps back, fixing his gaze upon the gently flickering yellow candle me, and uttered ancient Hermes words:
“Power of Inevitability!
“You are the past, the present, and the future;
“You are the cause, the effect, and the process.”
As before, the me of the deity’s candlepressed to its utmost limits before expanding, swelling to the size of a clenched fist. Its hue transformed to a silvery-ck shade, distorting everything in its vicinity. Gray mist filled the air, and a tempest of darkness whirled about.
Lumian, his ears assailed by frenzied murmurs, endured the vertigo and switched to the Hermes tongue.
“I implore you,
“I implore you to alter this destitute man’s fate.
“I pray that you will take away his misfortune.”
At this juncture, Lumian took a step forward and ignited the faux goatskin adorned with mysterious symbols using the silver-ck candle me. cing it within a natural crevice on the altar’s surface, he observed as the parchment began to smolder.
In the next instant, he produced a gold coin worth five verl d’or, engraved with the Sunbird, and positioned it near the tramp’s outstretched hand.
To those gripped by greed, money was an irresistible lure. It served as the optimal conduit!
Lumian, burdened by a sensation akin to carrying a weight of over five hundred kilograms, retreated a step, awaiting the consumption of the smoldering faux goatskin beforemencing the final incantation.
“Gray amber, a herb that belongs to inevitability, please pass your powers to my incantation…”
The entire altar abruptly ignited, assuming an ethereal semnce. Before Lumian, an illusory, intricate, and chilling river of mercury silently coursed its way.
It enshrouded the tramp and the gold coin, amplifying the murmurs in Lumian’s ears and causing the cyan veins upon his face to bulge.
Instinctively, Lumian recoiled from the agony of supplicating for a boon. Suddenly, the illusory image shrank, descending upon the surface of the gold coin resting upon the altar.
Everything returned to its former state, except for the gold coin, which now appeared dimmer under the silver-ck illumination.