Chapter 123 Organizer

Lumian initially planned to scope out Mason Café before noon to ensure he’d know where to escape after his treatment the following day. However, the incident with Baron Brignais had significantly delayed him. He had no choice but to find Osta Trier first and visit the Quartier du Jardin Botanique later in the afternoon.

Osta was in his usual spot, by the entrance to the catacombs, a bonfire flickering against a stone pillar.

The sound of footsteps approaching caught Osta’s attention, and he looked up from under his black hooded robe.

Expecting to make a quick buck, he instead froze in place.

Quickly recovering, he stood up and forced a smile. Before Lumian could speak, Osta preempted him, saying, “I contacted the organizer this morning, told him I have a friend who’s into mysticism and wants to attend the gathering. He hasn’t replied yet.”

Lumian nodded, not questioning how Osta had reached out to the organizer. He walked over to the bonfire, found a rock, and sat down. Casually, he asked, “You’ve duped plenty of people, but you’re always in the same spot. Aren’t you scared they’ll track you down?”

Osta laughed and replied, “Most of the time, it’s not really deception. As a true Beyonder and Secrets Suppliant, using my spirituality to perform divination for them isn’t a scam.

“My predictions are far more accurate than most in the mysticism club!

“Sometimes, different folks need different strokes. If I’m ever exposed, I can always talk my way out.”

“How?” Lumian inquired with a smile.

Osta coughed.

“The key is to not be too clear or absolute from the start. That way, you can accuse them of misunderstanding your intentions.”

Lumian’s smile deepened.

“When it came to the Samaritan Women’s Spring, you agreed too easily and made your promise too definite.”

Osta’s expression fell.

“Yeah, I was cornered by Baron Brignais. I just wanted the money right away.

“The right approach would’ve been to say I had a solution, but it was difficult to achieve. After you begged me repeatedly, I’d reluctantly accept your cash, warning I couldn’t guarantee success…”

Evidently, Osta had pondered his mistakes the previous night, considering how to avoid risks if he had to start over. He grew more animated as he spoke, only stopping when he noticed Lumian’s subtle grin.

How could he openly tell this dangerous man how to swindle him? Osta awkwardly smiled and said, “But I doubt this would’ve fooled you either. You’re the most cautious person I’ve ever met.”

Lumian smiled and shook his head. “You really picked the wrong pathway.”

Osta didn’t dare to carry on. Instead, he asked, “I thought about it last night. I never mentioned gatherings when we talked. I just said I bought the potion’s main ingredient. How’d you know it was a mysticism gathering?”

Lumian chuckled.

“It was just a gut feeling.”

Internally, he criticized, Aren’t there only two possibilities? Either a one-on-one deal or a gathering. There was at least a 50% chance of guessing right! It was just a casual comment.

No harm done if I was wrong!

Osta stared at Lumian, increasingly fearful.

It was becoming harder to guess this dangerous man’s Sequence. He appeared skilled in combat, possessed strong spirituality, and had an intuition bordering on precognition.

Lumian savored the warmth of the bonfire and offhandedly asked, “How did you get involved with the mysticism gathering?”

Osta’s face took on a nostalgic expression.

“Everyone comes to Trier with hope. Painters dream of having their works chosen by the World’s Artists Exhibition, but most fail. Every year, some succumb to madness or suicide. “Poor authors living in cheap apartments hope to replicate the success of best-sellers like Aurore and Meniere, but they end up selling their stories to small newspapers. They’re forced to bear scathing reviews like ‘trite,’ ‘mediocre,’ and ‘cliché.’ Many of them have even stooped to writing smut for underground booksellers, risking arrest by detectives.

“Over a decade ago, I came to Trier from Cécilis Province, eager to make a fortune. I lived in a leaky attic, climbed scaffolding, worked in factories, smuggled illegal books, and sold soda. I made some money, but with each passing year, I realized I’d never be rich. Owning a home and enjoying leisurely mornings before work were impossible dreams.

“Eventually, I discovered mysticism magazines like Psychic and Mysteries. Perhaps I still fantasized about gaining superpowers overnight and changing my fate, so I started attending gatherings with fellow enthusiasts. Those magazines would publish the relevant information.

“Earlier this year, a friend from the group asked if I wanted to join a gathering with real Beyonder powers. I couldn’t refuse. You know the rest.”

Lumian listened without interrupting Osta’s account.

When Osta finished, Lumian asked, “Is that friend the gathering’s organizer?”

“No,” Osta shook his head. “The organizer goes by ‘Mr. K.’ He always wears a massive hood, practically covering his entire face.”

“Mr. K…” Lumian committed the codename to memory and pondered for a moment. “What abilities has he shown?”

Osta shook his head again.

“I’ve never seen any. But after becoming a Secrets Suppliant, I sensed I was facing shadows and deep darkness when meeting him. I think he’s very powerful.” He seems powerful. I wonder who’s stronger— him, the padre, or Madame Pualis… Lumian mused before asking curiously, “Did you sense anything special around me?”

Osta hesitated before admitting, “No, but your dangerous aura frightens me more than even Baron Brignais.’ Lumian glanced at his left chest and smiled.

“That’s good.”

Osta was taken aback, not understanding Lumian’s meaning.

Lumian changed the subject. “Have you heard of the Montsouris ghost?”

“Of course.” As a con artist posing as a warlock, Osta knew many stories about Underground Trier. “Legend has it that an evil spirit lurks in this dark, vast underground. It always travels alone, never seeming to reach its destination. Those who encounter the ghost either die instantly or suffer mysterious deaths along with their families within the year.

“Those who’ve claimed to see the Montsouris ghost went mad and died within a year. I’ve heard both Church factions sent experts to search for the spirit, but they found nothing.” It sounds plausible… Lumian didn’t inquire further. Standing, he told Osta, “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow night or the following morning.”

“Alright.” Though Osta didn’t believe Lumian would harm him now, he couldn’t help but sigh with relief at the departure of the dangerous man.

No ordinary human could feel at ease around a tiger!

On his way back to the surface, Lumian carried the carbide lamp and passed by the entrance to the catacombs. Once again, he saw the arch adorned with white bones, sunflowers, and steam symbols.

Looking at the words “Stop! The Death Empire lies ahead!” Lumian cautiously approached the natural doorway separating the inner and outer chambers.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from behind the stone arch and bellowed, “Halt!” The figure donned a blue vest and yellow pants. He was an elderly man with gray hair and wrinkled skin.

His light-yellow eyes, slightly clouded, locked onto Lumian.

“Can’t I go in?” Lumian feigned the innocence of a foreigner.

The old man scrutinized him. “You need to purchase a ticket upstairs and bring a white candle with you.”

“I have a friend buried inside. Do I need to buy a ticket to pay my respects?” Lumian fabricated a friend on the spot.

The old man eyed him suspiciously, “Don’t tell me you’re one of those Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative college students? Those troublemakers always concoct lies to sneak into the tomb. They sing, dance, and feast in the ossuary! Fine, go in. Just remember to bring lit white candles like them. That’s my only demand!”

Lumian once worried that if he attended university, he’d be too different from his classmates. Now, it seemed his concerns were unfounded.

Those students were even wilder than he was! “Alright,” Lumian feigned disappointment. “I’ll bring a white candle next time.”

The old man nodded, relieved. Lumian turned and followed the restored path to the stairs leading to the surface. Over a hundred meters away, he suddenly spotted a black shadow from the corner of his eye.

The shadow hunched slightly, shuffling behind a row of stone pillars on the left. Lumian glanced over and noticed its intangibility, as if it were almost illusory.

Instinctively, he raised the carbide lamp, casting a bluish-yellow glow. The shadow disappeared, as though it had never existed.

Lumian quickly scanned the surroundings but found nothing.

Is it an illusion or an underground ghost? As Lumian pondered, he suddenly wondered: Could it be the Montsouris ghost? Did I encounter the Montsouris ghost?

His pupils widened, and his expression grew unusually grave.

Moments later, Lumian erupted into laughter, nearly doubling over. He laughed until tears threatened to spill from his eyes. “Haha, come on, come at me! I want to see how you’ll kill my entire family and how you’ll cause my mysterious death!”