144 Conditions

Fake? Lumian’s right eyebrow twitched, as if fate was mercilessly mocking Charlie.

Charlie had forsaken his fragile principles and bedded Madame Alice for days, only to get embroiled in a life-threatening lawsuit and lose his job as an apprentice attendant—all for a counterfeit diamond necklace?

For some reason, Lumian felt a sudden urge to defy fate.

This wasn’t his problem, but he couldn’t shake the feeling.

To hell with this inevitable destiny!

You mock me, so I’ll mock and provoke you in return!

In that moment, Lumian began to grasp another aspect of the Provoker’s acting principles, albeit crudely and imprecisely.

He eyed Charlie and asked thoughtfully, “Do you think Madam Alice lied to you, or did the pawnshop see your desperate situation, knowing you couldn’t determine the necklace’s authenticity, and use it as an excuse to offer the lowest possible price?”

“I-I don’t know.” Charlie was at a loss and in pain.

After a pause, he added with difficulty, “I suspect it’s Madame Alice. Look, there are so many people here pawning their items. Appraisers handle dozens or hundreds of items every day, most of them valuable. They can’t just lie to me, right?

“H-how could she…”

Charlie couldn’t go on.

Can’t pawnshops deceive everyone equally? Lowballing the offer as much as possible, especially for the pricey items? Lumian scoffed.

“Why not?

“Many wealthy people don’t amass fortunes through kindness and hard work. If they can trick you with a fake, why give you the real deal?

“Maybe Madame Alice is one of those people. She might not even be that rich. She relied on staying at the Hôtel du Cygne Blanc to dupe a gullible lad like you.”

Lumian didn’t distrust every rich person. Many had made their fortunes through talent, hard work, and opportunity—like Aurore.

Stung by Lumian’s words, Charlie’s face twisted with anger.

He muttered to himself bitterly, “That’s right. During this time, Madame Alice hasn’t even treated me to a big meal. She only calls me to her room at seven or eight at night for… service.”

You’re so naive. Are you really from Reem? Lumian couldn’t help but facepalm.

He stood up and said, “Get that necklace back. Let’s try another pawnshop. What if it’s real?”

Charlie was taken aback.

“Alright, alright!”

Lumian urged him, “Be vigilant. We can’t let them switch the necklace.”

“Yes.” Charlie tried his best to rally. “I’ve been studying that necklace daily recently and memorized every detail!”

After retrieving the diamond necklace, Lumian accompanied Charlie to two other pawnshops in Quartier de l’Observatoire.

The appraisal results were the same as before. The necklace was fake and worth only 11 to 15 verl d’or.

Charlie’s frustration mounted, and he crumbled.

Lumian glanced at him and consoled, “At least you can get a dozen verl d’or. It’ll last you more than a week. With the money, you can buy drinks for waiters at cafés on Rue des Blouses Blanches and ask them to help you find a new job.”

Including rent, Charlie spent about 1 verl d’or a day. If he skipped the underground bar, his expenses would be even less.

“Yeah…” Charlie sighed.

He was utterly disappointed. But after accepting reality, he found a glimmer of hope.

Lumian hesitated before suggesting, “We can’t dismiss other possibilities. For instance, the pawnshops around here might have secret ways of communicating. They could specifically target people like you—those who don’t dress well and pawn valuable items without proper documentation. How about taking the necklace to a specialized jewelry shop for appraisal?”

“We’d have to pay a fee.” Charlie’s face clouded with worry.

If the appraisal confirmed its authenticity, that would be great. But if it turned out to be fake, his already meager assets would be reduced by a third or even half.

Lumian sighed and offered, “Hand me the diamond necklace, and I’ll find a friend to appraise it for you—one who won’t charge.

“You’ve still got some cash to get you through the day, right?”

“I have 2.6 verl d’or left.” With hope in his eyes, Charlie handed the diamond necklace to Lumian.

As Lumian pocketed the necklace, he grinned and asked, “Are you not worried that the appraisal might prove it genuine, but I’ll return a fake one to you and claim there’s no issue with the pawnshops’ assessment?”

“…” Charlie’s face tensed once more.

After a moment, he exhaled and admitted, “I trust you. Besides, I’ve already written it off as a fake.”

Lumian waved goodbye to Charlie and strode toward Place du Purgatoire.

…

Near the catacombs, Osta Trul occupied his customary seat facing the bonfire, clad in a hooded black robe.

Lumian approached and asked with a hint of amusement, “Don’t you ever change areas?”

Osta chuckled and replied, “My divination and interpretation skills are fairly accurate. Many people have introduced their friends. If I switch locations, wouldn’t I lose my clientele? They’re all verl d’or!”

“What do you mean by clientele? They’re clearly a bunch of fools,” Lumian half-jokingly and mockingly remarked.

Osta didn’t dare to argue.

Lumian inquired, “I need to discuss something with Mr. K. How can I reach him?”

So he’s not here for me… Osta sighed in relief and quickly answered, “Anyone who has attended the gathering can go straight to Psychic’s headquarters, located in the building where our gathering took place. At 19 Rue Scheer, knock on Room 103 with three long, two short, and one long beats. Someone will take you to see Mr. K.

“If you don’t want to go in person, you can send a letter. Address it to Room 103, 19 Rue Scheer, Avenue du Boulevard. The recipient is Guillaume Pierre.”

What a fake name… The knocking rhythm differs from the gathering’s… Mr. K never told me this. Did he think Osta would inform me? Lumian nodded, bid Osta farewell, and returned above ground.

At the catacombs’ entrance, he spotted a group of visitors carrying lit white candles, following the administrator through the naturally formed arch and into the Death Empire.

Withdrawing his gaze, Lumian took a public carriage to 19 Rue Scheer on Avenue du Boulevard.

He lowered his cap and knocked on Room 103.

The dark-red wooden door creaked open, revealing a handsome young man with shoulder-length brown hair, resembling an artist.

The lad scrutinized Lumian with his dark brown eyes for a couple of seconds.

“Who are you looking for?”

“I’m Ciel. I need to speak with Mr. K,” Lumian replied bluntly.

The young man cocked his head slightly, as if listening for a faint sound.

Soon, he instructed Lumian, “Follow me.”

The lad led him to a vintage-styled room and unveiled a secret door hidden within the dressing area.

A staircase descended underground, its walls on either side adorned with gas lamps encased in black grids.

Lumian entered the basement and traversed a short corridor before reaching a rather barren chamber.

He suspected other exits were present, some possibly connecting to areas in Underground Trier.

At that moment, Mr. K lounged in a red armchair, his face concealed by the shadow of his large hood.

The gathering’s organizer studied Lumian wordlessly, exuding an unnerving air of intimidation.

Lumian pressed down on his cap and smiled.

“Good morning, Mr. K. I require your assistance.

“The price I’ll have to pay is your call.”

Mr. K remained silent for a few seconds before inquiring in a deep, raspy tone, “Does the Poison Spur Mob know you killed Margot?”

As expected… Lumian wasn’t surprised that Mr. K had information on him.

When he attended the gathering, he deliberately wrapped his face in bandages to recreate his appearance when he killed Margot. He wanted Mr. K to be aware of it and display his worth and impulsive nature.

This could also help “earn” Mr. K’s trust.

Lumian shook his head.

“It’s another problem…”

Lumian recounted his encounter with Charlie and how he had helped him escape his predicament, only to be despised by Susanna Mattise and nearly killed by that peculiar creature. Fortunately, the official Beyonders had arrived in time. He didn’t lie, but he didn’t share too many details either.

This aligned with the information he sought at the gathering.

Mr. K listened intently and asked in a low voice, “You want divine protection?”

Divine protection? Aren’t you overestimating yourself? Just protection! Lumian thought silently and nodded solemnly.

“Yes.”

Mr. K rasped, “That creature is likely a soul-type being, akin to an evil spirit. Normally, it wouldn’t affect you as long as you leave the market district. However, the official Beyonders have clearly taken an interest in this matter. If you move now, you might arouse suspicion. Moreover, if Susanna Mattise remembers or even marks you, you could be attacked anywhere. Many abilities can surpass distance limitations. There’s no need for the creature to truly leave its territory.”

No wonder the two ladies didn’t suggest I leave… Lumian nodded thoughtfully.

“What should I do then?”

Mr. K spoke deliberately, “I can offer some protection, but you need to do something for me.”

“What is it?” Lumian inquired “eagerly.”

Mr. K clasped his hands together and said, “Join any gang in the market district and become a leader.”

So the organization behind Mr. K wants to control the market district indirectly? Lumian agreed without hesitation, “No problem!”

Mr. K nodded slowly and held his left index finger with his right hand.

Then, he yanked the finger off, exposing a bloody wound and ghostly white bones.

Lumian winced at the sight.

Surprisingly, no blood flowed from Mr. K’s wound or finger. Instead, it hovered at the edge, twisting and contracting as it gradually “healed.”

“Take this with you. It can help you in critical moments.” Mr. K tossed the severed finger to Lumian.

The flesh on his fingerless left hand writhed violently, as though a new digit was about to sprout.