Circle of Inevitability

792 Judgment

Inside the slow-moving carriage, Lumian, handcuffed and shackled, stared at the window with iron bars welded and covered with thick cloth.

His belief in his own judgment grew stronger.

When the clergy from the Church of Knowledge accused him of being a wanted criminal, his first reaction wasn't to be on guard but to feel a wave of confusion.

He sensed that those performing the routine exit check were there specifically for him. But apart from Ludwig and the 0-01 incident, he had no interaction with the Church of Knowledge and hadn't harmed their interests.

Why are you Lenburgers so enthusiastic about catching an Intisian criminal? Did you even verify the details and the target's current abilities?

As thoughts raced through his mind, Lumian, noticing Sallent's surprised, fearful yet relieved gaze, thought of a possibility, Is this the hint from the Church of Knowledge?

No, this isn't just a hint. They're directly escorting me to the destination!

The City of Exiles, as the name suggests, is a place for exiling criminals.

Isn't this method a bit too straightforward?

How did they know I was coming? Although I didn't disguise myself, I kept a low profile the entire way...

Are High-Sequence Beyonders of the Reader pathway adept at prophecy or divination?

Lumian glanced at his waist, looking at the Traveler's Bag that hadn't been confiscated. He couldn't help but silently grumble, They didn't confiscate a wanted criminal's belongings or take measures against potential dangerous criminals to restrict the use of Beyonder powers...

This performance is too unconvincing. Are they afraid I won't notice and might resist, causing losses?

Lumian silently took the Traveler's Bag from his belt and tucked it into the inner pocket of his thick jacket.

He didn't want to make things difficult for the clergy of the Church of Knowledge.

Their poor acting doesn't matter, but I can't be equally patronizing. What if other serious offenders, nearby Azshara citizens, or assisting police officers see the Traveler's Bag?

They'd think the clergy of the Church of Knowledge are unprofessional!

After driving for a while, the vehicle finally stopped.

Under the strict guard of several clergy members in white robes trimmed with brass, Lumian was escorted to a massive white tower.

Before he could take a good look at the tower's full appearance or even see its spire to confirm its grandeur, he was "pushed" through a side door, down a stone staircase, through a dim corridor lit by several gas wall lamps, and into a cell made of black iron.

Lumian glanced around and saw about eight people already inside, all handcuffed and shackled. Some were even chained through their collarbones, fixed in place.

Such restraints would be effective even against Beyonders, but they couldn't suppress those with more mystical abilities... If it were me, being locked up like this would render my Hunter combat skills useless, but it wouldn't stop me from starting fires, provoking, scouting for weaknesses, swapping fates, or teleporting to escape. Come on, can't you be more professional? This performance is too fake... Lumian thought as he watched the elder who had arrested him open the iron cell door.

The slightly aged clergyman stepped aside and said to Lumian, "Stay here and await your judgment."

Judgment? You haven't even done the judgment yet? Have you given up on pretending? Lumian cooperatively shuffled into the cell.

Clang! The iron cell door was closed and locked.

Lumian looked around, found a metal chair fixed to the ground, and sat down, casting his gaze at the serious offenders who were sizing him up.

A young man with glasses, sitting opposite him, raised his chin and said, "Didn't expect someone younger than me to arrive. Brother, what crime did you commit?"

Without answering, Lumian asked in return, "What about you?"

The young man with glasses smiled and said, "Murder. Most people here are murderers."

"How many did you kill?" a middle-aged man with a sturdy build and chains through his collarbones asked curiously.

"Seven or eight. I'm not sure if one of them died in the end," the young man replied with a reminiscent look. "Ending a human life with my own hands, feeling their pain, struggle, and despair, having their warm blood splatter on my face, is intoxicating. At that moment, I felt like their god, their lord."

A Serial Killer? Lumian silently watched, not interrupting the exchange among these serious offenders.

The young man sighed in the end.

"Unfortunately, Azshara has too many detectives. They eventually found me. What about you? How many did you kill, and why?" he asked the middle-aged man with chained collarbones.

The man replied indifferently, as if describing his breakfast, "Don't know. Too many. Do you keep count of how many slices of bread you eat in a month?"

"That's a quote from Emperor Roselle of Intis, right? I read it in a biography," the young man replied with a smile. "I remember eating 123 slices last month."

The middle-aged man was silent for a few seconds and then said, "I kill because they deserve to die. And the more deserving they are, the tastier their flesh."

"You eat the people you kill?" the young man's expression changed slightly.

"Depending on how much they deserve it, there are different cooking methods," the middle-aged man replied seriously.

"You two are both freaks," a sullen man in his thirties snorted.

The young man didn't get angry and asked curiously, "Why did you kill?"

"I didn't kill for the sake of killing. I just wanted to rape them. Blame them on resisting too much," the sullen man answered with a look of disdain, as if saying he was different from these perverts.

The young man laughed and pointed to a woman with disheveled brown hair and collarbone chains, "She also rapes and kills, but that's incidental.

Her main purpose is collecting reproductive organs."

Sitting quietly on a metal chair, slightly leaning forward, Lumian couldn't help but shake his head.

Does Lenburg have too many murderers? On average, each has a few body counts...

The gentlemanly young man looked at Lumian again.

"What about you? What major crime did you commit?"

Lumian thought seriously for a moment and said, "Murder, blasphemy, arson, kidnapping, extortion, intimidation, deceit, causing explosions, inducing miscarriages, worshiping evil gods, attacking government officials, blackmailing the orthodox Churches..."

The young man was stunned for a few seconds and then laughed.

"Brother, haven't you committed too many crimes?"

"Why else would I be here?" Lumian replied casually.

"True." The young man and the other serious offenders looked at Lumian with more respect.

"How many did you kill exactly?" the young man asked, as if he could immerse himself in the details.

Lumian shook his head and said in a low voice, "I didn't count and don't want to answer. It's not something to boast about. It's like a farmer culling wheat-I'm just doing my job. Would you be happy doing your daily job well?"

The young man was silent for a moment and then said, "What's your name? I'm Guei. Maybe we'll meet again in the land of Death."

Lumian simply replied, "Louis."

He didn't want to use his real name among these people or in the City of Exiles. In mysticism, knowing someone's real name could lead to curses.

The Inevitability pathway had similar contract abilities.

"What about you guys?" Guei asked the others.

"Lez," the middle-aged man replied.

The sullen man hesitated but answered, "Vijepan."

"Julie," said the woman with disheveled brown hair, her gaze lingering greedily on Guei and the others' crotches.

After the serious offenders introduced themselves, Lumian smiled and said, "I didn't expect Lenburg's security to be so bad, with so many serial killers. Right, I'm from Intis. I haven't been in Lenburg long."

Guei, the most talkative, raised his handcuffed hands, adjusted his glasses, and said with a smile, "Actually, it's not bad, even quite good, because Lenburg has the most and best detectives in the world.

"But there are still many people like us-twisted personalities combined with a lot of knowledge easily create a batch of formidable criminals.

"And criminals from other countries come here, wanting to challenge Lenburg's detectives."

Detectives are Sequence 7 of the Reader pathway, which belongs to the Church of Knowledge. There are indeed many here... Could there be real Criminals and Serial Killers among these criminals, using the Detectives for their own role-play? But then again, if the detectives catch the Devil pathway criminals, they can better and faster digest their own potions...

Lumian thought, nodding slightly and replying with a smile, "Am I one of them?

"You have a clear understanding of your own personality. The more knowledge you have, the more dangerous you become."

Guei coughed and said, "Yes, I now regret not having more knowledge."

As the serious offenders alternated between silence and idle chatter, time seemed to pass without notice.

Finally, the clergy from before escorted a woman to the cell.

She wore a shirt with white lace flowers at the collar, a beige coat with brass trim, a dark knee-length skirt, and brown boots. Her face was oval, her light blue eyes like spring water, her nose high and straight, and her brown hair simply tied back with a bun-a very beautiful woman.

Seeing her, Vijepan's eyes lit up.

"You have been judged, and I will announce the verdict." The beautiful woman said before turning and walking toward the end of the dim corridor. The other clergy opened the cell and escorted Lumian, Guei, and the others behind her.

They descended stone stairs, going deeper and deeper underground, until they reached a large, double brass door.

The beautiful woman with the oval face stopped and turned to face Lumian and the others, her expression serious.

"Your verdict is:

"Exile, never to return!"

"Exile to where?" Guei asked, both surprised and confused.

Not a death sentence?

The woman pointed to the brass double doors behind her.

"Exile beyond these doors."

As soon as she finished speaking, a chilling, indistinct sound came from behind the doors.

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