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As Lumian strode down Rue Lombar toward the nearest public carriage stop, a sense of unease settled over him. Observing the deserted street, he dropped his voice to a hushed tone as he muttered, “Temiboros, why did you make me choose the King’s Pie slice without the broad bean?”
What if he had consumed that fateful broad bean and ascended to the role of the “king”?
But Termiboros remained silent, withholding any response.
Lumian pondered for a moment, then rephrased his question.
“Though the entire incident held a few unsettling details, the outcome appeared unremarkable. It’s hard to discern whether it’s tied to mysticism or Beyonder powers.”
After a brief pause, Termiboros’s deep voice echoed in Lumian’s ears.
“Next time, you could consider defying the king’s orders.”
What if I chose to disregard the king’s commands? What if I indulged in my King’s Pie instead of placing it in the room of wax figurines or even walking away with the paper? Lumian’s mind plunged into contemplation.
Rather than heading directly back to the market district, he hailed a public carriage bound for Rue Scheer on Avenue du Boulevard.
As an official member of the Aurora Order, he bore the responsibility of promptly reporting his execution of Guillaume Bénet and the latest developments within the Iron and Blood Cross Order to Mr. K. Simultaneously, he hoped to fleece something out of them.
Participating in three secret organizations came with the potential of receiving triple rewards, but it also entailed making three reports per mission.
19 Rue Scheer, underground of Psychic’s headquarters.
Mr. K, perpetually unchanging, sat in the red armchair, attentively listening as Lumian recounted his strategic utilization of the Iron and Blood Cross Order’s resources to pinpoint and eliminate Guillaume Bénet, the heretic.
When Lumian mentioned how the former padre of the Eternal Blazing Sun Church had embraced the entity known as Inevitability in pursuit of power and strength, Mr. K lowered his head and traced a cross upon his chest in a deliberate up-and-down, left-to-right motion. His voice, hoarse and subdued, chanted a prayer, “Merciful Father, forgive the world’s transgressions.”
Lumian’s lips twitched, mirroring Mr. K’s penance, although he couldn’t fathom the necessity of such repentance.
Post-repentance, he succinctly recounted Aurore’s dual nature and the sinister Sinners organization that underpinned Roche Louise Sanson. Finally, he said, “Mr. K, I request your aid in locating the original family of Aurore—or rather, Roche Louise Sanson. They may well be tied to the Sinners, a heretical group devoted to Inevitability.”
Mr. K’s face, obscured beneath a voluminous hood, remained shrouded in shadow. His words, tinged with satisfaction, hoarsely resonated. “I understand your desire to avenge Aurore. There is no problem in that. The benevolent Father and the omnipotent God do not bar believers from securing their own futures. If they can intertwine personal matters with the sacred crusade against heresy, all the better.
“In this endeavor, leveraging your assets and harnessing the resources of the Iron and Blood Cross Order to fulfill your objective is a strategy I admire. Strive for more of such feats.
“I’ll investigate the Sinners.”
He agreed to Lumian’s request as it aligned perfectly with his own aspirations.
By unearthing Roche Louise Sanson’s family, he could deal with the Sinners, a faction devoted to the evil god, Inevitability!
“Thank you, Mr. K,” Lumian said sincerely.
He pondered for a moment before proceeding, “The death of Guillaume Bénet might trigger an intensified pursuit from the official Beyonders. I’m wondering if there exists a mystical item that would suit my needs, enabling me to alter my appearance and stature at will?”
He was seeking a means to assume Aurore’s identity, infiltrating the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society as Muggle.
Mr. K’s tone shifted abruptly, infused with zeal.
“Only the Lifeblood I possess can accomplish what you seek. So long as you can master your flesh and blood, altering your height and appearance becomes attainable. While it may not provide an exact replica of your desires, it suffices to veil your true identity. The caveat lies in the necessity for early injection and its limited duration. You won’t possess the liberty to transform at your whim.”
Precision isn’t required; members of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society assume disguises, masking their true selves during gatherings… Yet, that falls short. A perceptive Spectator might notice something from Aurore’s eyes or the contour of the chin. To fully pass off as Muggle and dupe everyone, the masked face must mirror Aurore’s flawlessly… Plus, the adverse effects of Lifeblood are beyond my tolerance… Lumian’s thoughts coalesced, and he articulated his response.
“I’m concerned that administering Lifeblood could revert me to the most primordial human archetype. Despite the Lord’s protection mitigating severe physical and mental consequences, the Iron and Blood Cross Order could easily detect the anomaly and discern my true allegiance.”
Mr. K sighed in disappointment.
“That’s a problem. Though I believe the Lord will safeguard you, preserving your devout persona from exposure, your concerns bear merit.”
Having declined the offer of Lifeblood, Lumian continued, “Recently, the Iron and Blood Cross Order tasked me with an interaction…”
He detailed Gardner Martin’s summons, narrating until the culmination of the King’s Pie game.
The sole omission was Termiboros’s warning, the reason subtly placed on his intricate grasp of mysticism. A niggling suspicion prodded him to sidestep the matter, avoiding any potential anomalies.
Mr. K listened attentively, refraining from interjection. As Lumian concluded, Mr. K stood and paced the room.
“Your next objective is to figure out the Iron and Blood Cross Order’s rationale for engaging the Sauron family. Are they coveting the Saurons’ inheritance or considering collaboration?”
“Yes, Mr. K.” Lumian recognized the need for him to remain well-informed, irrespective of Mr. K’s order.
Mr. K halted his pacing, fixing his gaze on Lumian.
“Your intuition is sound. Should any mishap occur within that game, it could set off a mystical catastrophe.
“The central figure of Poufer’s sacrifice, Vermonda Sauron, held significant standing within the Sauron royal family of that era. Born into the Champagne lineage, he was adopted into the main family by King Odo the 12th, who invested resources in his upbringing.
“Vermonda began auspiciously but met a negative end. His later years saw him vanish without a trace, dealing a heavy blow to the Sauron dynasty. In the ensuing two decades, several prominent Sauron family members met untimely and mysterious deaths, or succumbed to sudden insanity. The family’s power dwindled, paving the way for Roselle’s eventual overthrow.”
Emperor Roselle’s successful usurpation of the Sauron Dynasty was partly facilitated by the apparent decline of the ancient royal line? Vermonda’s inexplicable disappearance spanned two to three centuries. How could today’s sacrifice catalyze a dangerous mystical shift? Lumian’s thoughts raced, absorbing the details recounted by Mr. K.
…
Apartment 601, 3 Rue des Blouses Blanches.
Jenna, having gleaned some insights from the Purifiers, sought out Franca in hopes of sharing her findings.
As her gaze roamed the room, Jenna’s attention was drawn to the slightly ajar master bedroom door, from which emanated a rhythmic tapping sound.
“Franca?” she called.
Franca’s clear voice resounded.
“I’m here! Come inside.”
Jenna, who had never entered Franca’s bedroom, hesitated for a moment before walking over and pushing open the door.
A burst of amazement brightened her blue eyes as they fell upon an intricate apparatus nestled against the wall, distant from the window.
The contraption consisted of a myriad of interlocking gears encircling brass cylinders, interconnected through levers, crankshafts, and screws.
In awe, Jenna regarded the towering device and inquired, “What is this?”
Seated before the elaborate mechanism, Franca’s fingers danced across a state-of-the-art mechanical typewriter as she proudly introduced it to her companion, “This is a third-generation difference engine, cleverly modified—a sort of analyzer. It’s a truncated version, simplified and miniaturized. The complete model wouldn’t fit in my room.”
“Are you really a believer of the God of Steam and Machinery?” Jenna blurted out.
Franca chuckled and explained, “Sometimes.”
Jenna’s scrutiny lingered on the so-called analyzer, revealing the connection of a telegraph machine and two metallic mechanical typewriters at its lower end.
It wasn’t long before Franca ceased her typing, and the analyzer’s mechanical appendage set the second typewriter into motion, producing letters upon pristine paper. The energy and information seemed to flow from the radio transceiver.
“What… what are you doing?” Jenna felt illiterate.
Franca happily pointed at the analyzer and said, “When the coding remains consistent, this contraption can automatically decode telegrams and codes for me. Through the metallic fingers linked to the mechanical typewriter’s keypad, it types the corresponding letters, shaping the intended words.
“In essence, I can directly read the content of telegrams. No need to laboriously decode the encrypted messages I receive. It saves me considerable time and effort.
“Likewise, I can draft telegrams in standard language. The machine will autonomously encode them and transmit them via a predetermined radio frequency.”
Studying the gears as they turned in their various states, Jenna struggled to grasp Franca’s intent.
“But what’s the purpose?” she asked, befuddled.
Franca was caught off guard.
“Purpose? Well, the purpose is to simplify telegram conversations. Make it something mundane and routine. Though admittedly, it does consume quite a bit of paper.”
“Telegram conversations?” Jenna felt a touch of perplexity.
Franca had constructed such an intricate apparatus and embarked on such an elaborate matter simply for conversation?
The late-night typewriter sounds were Franca engaged in casual chatting?
“Exactly,” Franca affirmed with a self-satisfied grin. “A friend of mine in the Loen military agreed to share the information Anthony Reid seeks during that timeframe. We just had a brief exchange.”
While Franca could easily request the pertinent information from Madam Judgment, she preferred not to burden her Major Arcana cardholder unless absolutely necessary.
As Franca finished speaking, the analyzer completed its task of typewriting, and the telegram materialized in Intisian.
Snatching the paper, Franca’s countenance darkened as she scanned its contents.
…
At night, in Apartment 601.
Lumian, Anthony Reid, Franca, and Jenna reassembled.
Waving the paper in her grip, Franca addressed Anthony Reid, stating, “I’ve received a response. The Loen military’s official report on the encounter states: No such battle occurred!”
“No such battle occurred?” Anthony Reid’s eyes widened as he jolted to his feet.
No battle at all? Lumian arched an eyebrow.
Such a response was undeniably unexpected.
Franca nodded gently, her gaze fixed on Anthony Reid.
“To put it simply, it’s highly probable that the assault against you and your companions was not executed by the Loen army!”
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