Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability

194 Triggered

At the sight of this, Lumian hastily concluded the ritual and extinguished the candles in the proper sequence.

The frenzied ravings that had filled his ears vanished, and the searing pain abruptly ceased before it could overwhelm him.

Once he tidied up the altar in a rough manner, Lumian shifted his gaze to the 5 verl d’or coin.

It no longer appeared peculiar. Bathed in the glow of the carbide lamp, it shimmered with a captivating golden sheen, indistinguishable from any other coin.

Lumian’s eyes darkened suddenly, as if he were observing a living being, examining its fortune.

Normally, he couldn’t “see” an object’s fate, but this time was different. After focusing, he realized that the gold coin was enveloped in black vapor tinged with a hint of blood-red glow.

The former symbolized ill fortune, while the latter indicated a degree of impending catastrophe.

Phew… Lumian let out a sigh of relief.

This meant that the Luck Enhancement Spell had succeeded. The tramp’s streak of misfortune for the next few days had been transferred to the gold coin!

However, if Lumian didn’t find another person to bear this fate within three days, it would revert to the tramp, permanently untransferable.

Lumian continued to gaze at the tramp for a few more seconds, confirming that his luck had temporarily returned to normal, neither good nor bad.

Satisfied, Lumian, already positioned at the edge of the altar, reached out and picked up the 5 verl d’or, which served as the medium for luck transference. ????????????r????аd. ????????????

He wasn’t concerned that this act would transfer the misfortune attached to the item onto himself. That’s because activating the Luck Enhancement Spell required specific conditions:

Firstly, the recipient had to willingly accept the gold coin and subjectively desire to possess it.

Secondly, throughout the entire process, the recipient had to exploit a situation they shouldn’t have.

In other words, if Lumian used the gold coin to make a purchase, the shopkeeper wouldn’t suffer any ill luck merely because they accepted the item—unless they sold Lumian something counterfeit or dishonestly manipulated the transaction for illicit gain.

Likewise, if Lumian discreetly slipped the gold coin into Charlie’s pocket without his immediate awareness, Charlie wouldn’t encounter misfortune when he eventually used it.

As the original owner of the coin, Lumian naturally remained unaffected by the Luck Enhancement Spell when he retrieved it.

The two straightforward methods to trigger the Luck Enhancement Spell were to keep the coin in his pocket and allow the target to steal it. He could also feign leaving it behind so the target could pick it up.

Lumian believed that unless individuals like Monsieur Ive, who had acquired a miserly habit, underwent a significant transformation, they would still harbor an enduring fondness for money. Falling into such a trap would be easy for them.

After erasing various traces on the altar, he hoisted the tramp onto his back and ascended to the surface. He dumped him back into the alley where he had been found, removing the ropes binding his hands and feet, along with the cloth covering his eyes and ears.

The tramp stirred slowly, uttering pleas of desperate fear, “Please, let me go!”

He blinked his eyes open, instinctively scanning his surroundings. To his realization, there was no one in sight, and he found himself still slumbering in his usual spot.

“…” The tramp fell silent.

As his senses gradually returned, his initial reaction was to delve into his pocket.

A chill seeped into his mind, and with a gleeful expression, he retrieved a silver coin worth 1 verl d’or.

It’s still here!

It’s really still there!

It wasn’t a dream!

Under the faint crimson moonlight casting its glow from above and the street lamps illuminating the vicinity, the tramp fiddled with the silver coin repeatedly, assuring himself that it wasn’t a counterfeit.

Only then did he recall to examine his body.

Soon, he noticed that his arm was bandaged, and a sharp ache assaulted his mind.

Apart from that, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

The tramp stumbled to his feet, rubbing his backside as he muttered to himself, “It’s not that kind of pervert…”

Having witnessed the world prior to his bankruptcy, he was aware that Trier housed its fair share of peculiar individuals. Consequently, various private organizations had sprung up. Some advocated that men and women existed solely for reproduction, while others believed that true love only blossomed between men. Gatherings even catered to those who believed that women alone held the secret to loving their own kind.

The tramp had initially suspected he had fallen victim to men with a peculiar fixation on foul, unwashed men. However, it seemed that wasn’t the case.

After pondering for a moment, he conjectured that someone had taken an interest in his blood and extracted some. The 1 verl d’or was his reward.

He had heard tales before of influential figures relying on continual blood transfusions to sustain their lives.

“At least there’s 1 verl d’or.” The tramp instantly rejoiced, no longer dwelling on the loss of blood.

He even entertained the hope that the other party would seek him out once more. When the time came, he would willingly inquire about their desired price.

…

Lumian relied on a copper coin toss to decide that he would spend the night at Auberge du Coq Doré. Consequently, he returned to Room 207 and slept until 6 a.m.

After having breakfast and engaging in some outdoor exercises, then returning to the motel, changing his attire, and disguising himself, Lumian prepared to set off for Avenue du Marché to find the two cleaning ladies already hard at work.

Lumian caught sight of a cleaning lady in her fifties, sporting a vibrant golden wig and makeup, as she diligently cleared the trash in the lobby. Lumian halted his steps and asked contemplatively, “You’re Elodie, aren’t you?”

He recalled Charlie mentioning her name.

“Yes, Monsieur Ciel.” Elodie straightened her posture.

She wore an old yet clean grayish-white dress and stood at an average height of 1.65 meters. From her facial features, it was evident that she had been quite attractive in her youth.

“You know me?” Lumian inquired nonchalantly.

Elodie answered truthfully, “Monsieur Charlie Collent spoke of you before. He mentioned that you’re the hotel’s guardian.”

Heh heh, just as expected of Charlie… That’s the right attitude. No trace of inferiority or fear… Lumian started to feel that Elodie, the cleaning lady, wasn’t a former street girl as Charlie had speculated.

He casually asked, “I heard from Charlie that you used to be a theater actress?”

“Yes.” A smile graced Elodie’s face. “I performed in two theaters, taking on supporting roles. However, one of them went bankrupt, and the other stopped hiring me for some reason. I was already quite old by then.”

As she reminisced about the past, a hint of melancholy appeared in her demeanor.

Lumian nodded and glanced towards the motel door.

“Have you heard of Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons?”

This was the question he was truly interested in.

This cleaning lady named Elodie was originally a theater actress, but she had been hired by Monsieur Ive, the motel landlord who had a close relationship with Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons. It was a little suspicious.

Elodie’s expression became animated.

“I know that their plays are splendid. The actors possess remarkable acting skills. It’s worth saving up for a month just to purchase tickets to their shows.

“When I attended a performance at Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons, I discovered that they were in need of a cleaning lady for half a day. That’s why I ended up here.”

I see… It seems unrelated to Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons or Monsieur Ive… Lumian refrained from further probing to avoid raising any suspicions. He smiled and remarked, “Seems like you have other jobs?”

Elodie believed that Monsieur Ciel sought to ascertain the cleaning lady’s background to protect the motel’s interests, so she responded honestly, “Every day from 2 p.m. to 10 p.m., I work at a factory south of the market district. It’s called the Goodville Chemical Factory, situated on Rue Saint-Hilaire.”

Rue Saint-Hilaire ran alongside Trier’s city walls and neighbored the factories in Quartier du Jardin Botanique.

Trier’s factories had preserved a practice from the era of Roselle. If production continued around the clock, the workers were divided into three shifts: one for the morning to noon, another for the afternoon to evening, and the final one for the night.

“That sounds demanding.” Lumian sighed.

Elodie smiled and spoke gently, “I have two children who are nearly grown. Once they secure their own jobs, I won’t have to toil so relentlessly.”

“What about your husband?” Lumian casually inquired.

Elodie’s expression darkened.

“He died in a factory accident a few years ago.”

Lumian didn’t pry further. Instead, he engaged in conversation with another cleaning lady, faithfully fulfilling his duties as the protector of Auberge du Coq Doré.

Exiting Rue Anarchie, Lumian stepped onto Avenue du Marché, making his way towards Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons.

He wasn’t intentionally waiting for Monsieur Ive, who was suspected of being a decoy. His intention was simply to observe. His primary objective was to keep a close watch on the individuals heading to 126 Avenue du Marché.

The Prophecy Spell had revealed to him that he would cross paths with Louis Lund on Avenue du Marché. “Hammer” Ait had mentioned that Louis Lund would once again seek out the boss of the Poison Spur Mob, “Black Scorpion” Roger, this Saturday or Sunday, and “Black Scorpion” Roger resided at 126 Avenue du Marché.

With this combination of information, Lumian had decided to become a “permanent resident” on Avenue du Marché on Monday and wander about in hopes of encountering his target.

As Lumian neared Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons and Monsieur Ive’s apartment, he slowed his pace. Sometimes, he sat among the tramps, while other times, he visited a nearby café for a drink.

Since he was already there, it was only natural for him to keep an eye out for Monsieur Ive. After all, this was Avenue du Marché as well.

After nearly 45 minutes, Lumian finally spotted the landlord of the motel.

Clad in a faded formal suit, a worn-out top hat, and a black cane that was on the verge of losing its paint, Monsieur Ive emerged from the apartment and made his way towards the Suhit steam locomotive station.

Lumian gradually stood up and glanced behind him. He feigned terror and jogged, as if he were being pursued by an enemy.

In his attempt to overtake Monsieur Ive from behind, he accidentally collided with him.

A clatter ensued as a golden coin fell to the ground, yet Lumian seemed oblivious to it. He lowered his head and fled in a panic.

Monsieur Ive grumbled, his gaze suddenly drawn to the golden coin on the pavement.

Subconsciously, he wanted to call out to the impolite individual, but as he extended his hand, no words escaped his lips.

Swiftly scanning his surroundings, he swiftly squatted down and retrieved the 5-verl d’or coin. Nonchalantly, he slipped it into his pocket, as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.