598 Confrontation and Reconciliation
598 Confrontation and Reconciliation

The night draped the land in darkness, and stars adorned the sky above Port Santa. The festive crowd had dispersed, leaving behind the remnants of celebration—discarded litter and the lingering scent of alcohol.

With the official end of the holiday, the city would soon buzz with work again.

Lumian lingered at the bar until closing time. As he stepped out, the deserted streets welcomed him, illuminated only by sporadic gas lamps.

The late-night air hinted at the approaching winter’s chill. Lumian breathed it in, feeling the crisp freshness entering his lungs. The rhythmic crash of waves against the shore added to the night’s serenity.

In seemingly high spirits, Lumian, slightly tipsy, walked past the aftermath of the celebration with hands in his pockets, unnoticed in the silent surroundings.

He made his way back to the room rented under a false identity.

Upon opening the door, he found Lugano pacing anxiously in the living room.

“Still up?” Lumian raised an eyebrow.

Lugano, looking like he’d recovered from a serious injury, spoke with a complex expression,

“An hour ago, Captain Noelia of the combat nuns paid you a visit. Not in armor, but a stunning dress. She has quite the figure…”

“And then?” Lumian inquired, a smirk on his face.

Lugano replied with envy, “She left disappointed when I told her you weren’t around.”

Lumian chuckled, “What’s it got to do with you? Why are you still awake after an hour?”

Lugano coughed awkwardly, “I had a sudden contemplation about my future. Should I return to Trier and pursue a medical career, or should I opt for a different path?”

Ignoring the Doctor’s musings, Lumian, with a smile, washed up briefly and retired to his room, succumbing to sleep.

In his dreams, recent events blended into a chaotic tapestry, weaving stranger and more bizarre stories.

At precisely 6 a.m., Lumian awoke and promptly sat up.

His thoughts sharpened as he recalled the dream. Suddenly, a detail struck him:

Disregarding the possibility of the Aurora Order having covertly observed the situation, the crucial aspect of the sea prayer ritual was Amon’s utilization of the altar in Milo Village to discreetly imbue Lie with a “Steal” ability.

Without this intervention, the opening of the spaceship’s energy passageway would have led to a reversal. Deprived of the sea’s power, he couldn’t have ensnared Mad Lady with the authority of the Governor of the Sea, delaying her until Madam Magician’s arrival.

However, Celestial Worthy, positioned at the pinnacle of the Seer, Apprentice, and Marauder pathways, should possess an in-depth understanding of Marauder abilities. It seemed unlikely that He hadn’t considered the possibility of an Amon hiding at the altar, granting “Steal” powers.

It made sense that He hadn’t shared this knowledge with April Fool’s; they were expendable tools, and excessive information might weaken their resolve during the operation. But the overall plan shouldn’t have crumbled due to this.

Were Celestial Worthy’s intentions more intricate than they seemed? Had He secretly achieved a goal, or did Amon and His unseen ally orchestrate events in advance?

Had Amon truly kept watch over the altar in Milo Village without pause, last year’s sea prayer ritual might not have failed. There remains the prospect that He wanted to derive amusement from April Fool’s antics.

The chaos wrought by April Fool’s last year was perhaps understandable. Shouldn’t the most straightforward approach this year involve discreetly allowing the completion of the Ring of the Sea Queen during the ancestor honoring ritual? Subsequently, events could unfold with Ultraman assuming the guise of the incoming Governor of the Sea, only to be dumbfounded when the sea sacrifice ritual succeeded!

Why the convoluted path? What was the purpose behind these seemingly unnecessary steps?

There must be something I’m missing…

Lumian massaged his temples and rose from the bed.

The revelation didn’t surprise him. It would be abnormal if he quickly unraveled the true motives of every participant in such complex scenarios involving high-level entities.

Regardless, his goal was accomplished, and the perilous black hole in the spaceship remained sealed. The rest was not his concern. If he could decipher it, great. If not, he could always write to Madam Magician to provide a timely reminder.

After a jog around the still-slumbering Port Santa, Lumian penned a letter to Madam Magician, detailing his reflections.

As Lumian finished, Lugano, who had been out gathering breakfast for Ludwig, returned to his quarters.

Taking a moment to contemplate, Lumian handed over 1,000 gold risot to Lugano. With a composed tone, he stated, “I’ll be away for a few days. Take care of Ludwig. When I return, this commission will be completely over.”

When the time came, Lumian planned on taking a boat to the Southern Continent. Lumian intended to conspire and make preparations along the way. His aim was to be ready for the final conspiracy and advance to Sequence 5 upon reaching his destination in the Southern Continent.

Without prying into his employer’s destination, Lugano nervously asked, “W-
will there be any danger in the next few days?”

“It’s done,” Lumian replied with a smile. “If any other danger arises, go to the Fertility Order and seek protection. Isn’t that what you’ve been anticipating?”

Lugano grinned sheepishly, reassured by Lumian’s demeanor.

Under the shining sun of Port Santa, with delicious food and passionate women, staying a few more days seemed like a pleasant prospect!

…

A two-story relay carriage raced through the village towns scattered across turquoise pastures, making its way towards the base of the Pyraez mountain range.

Maintaining his disguise as the adventurer Louis Berry, Lumian occupied a window seat in the carriage, silently observing the passing scenery.

Each turquoise pasture was adorned with flocks of sheep, resembling scattered clouds. Shepherds, clad in practical and mobile robes, strolled amidst the grazing animals.

Some had their own shacks, while others utilized small, wheeled shepherd’s huts for mobility.

Occasionally, local villagers attempted to drive away the incoming shepherds, only to be met with sly smiles or placated with money and supplies.

Faced with determined locals, the shepherds, arriving from the mountain pass, reluctantly moved to more desolate areas, contending with the watchful eyes of wild wolves and other creatures…

The scenes spoken of by the Cordu shepherds presented themselves vividly to Lumian, searing a memory in his mind.

Two days later, the relay carriage halted at the foot of the Pyraez mountain range, pausing in a small town outside the mountain pass.

Lumian changed into a black tweed coat, preparing to venture into the mountain alone.

As he ascended the mountain ridge, the cold wind intensified, rendering the wilderness almost devoid of life.

Navigating the sparsely vegetated mountainous terrain, Lumian followed the trails left by shepherds and merchants. Under the birdless gray sky, the desolate landscape featured withered trees and a meager stream. Winter’s solitude permeated the air.

In the cold solitude, it took him nearly three days to traverse the Dariège mountain range and reach the river outside Cordu.

Circling the towering forest, Lumian promptly spotted the blood-colored pillar, emanating the aura of a mountain peak despite its modest height.

As Lumian gazed, footsteps approached from ahead.

A middle-aged man, clad in a leather coat and clasping his hands together, appeared.

Trembling in the cold wind, the forest ranger shouted, “Don’t go any further. That village is gone!”

Lumian’s eyes moved beyond the ranger to the collapsed and burned structures in the distance.

After a brief pause, he inquired in a deep voice, “What happened to that village?”

The forest ranger glanced around and lowered his voice, “They said they believed in demons. The villagers went crazy, burned down their houses, and walked into the abyss.

“Look, would a normal village be like this?”

Lumian fell silent for a long time.

Seeing this, the forest ranger sincerely said, “In any case, those old men instructed me to prevent anyone from entering this village. They said that it’s bad luck; it would provoke the demons.”

Lumian remained silent, refraining from further inquiry.

Staring at the unfamiliar yet oddly familiar ruins, he turned away from the village entrance. Step by step, he approached the nearest alpine pasture, the wind howling around him.

The grass here had completely withered, blown away by the wind, leaving behind barren patches of brown soil.

Lumian surveyed the ruins of Cordu, then located a shack abandoned by the shepherds. Inside, he lay down, closing his eyes and remaining motionless.

If only everything that had transpired before could be dismissed as a dream.

When he woke, the alpine pasture was vibrant green once more, birds returned to the sky, and Ol’ Tavern bustled with farmers and herdsmen. His sister persistently urged him to study, while Reimund, Ava, and the others pondered uncertain futures, unaware of the life awaiting them…

…

The sun shone brightly, yet the air in Port Santa had begun to carry a chill.

Abruptly, Lumian stood before Lugano and Ludwig.

“You’re finally back!” Lugano exclaimed, relief evident in his voice, as if he had encountered a savior.

Ludwig’s appetite had surged once more, and the 1,000 risot had disappeared faster than anticipated.

Another week, and Lugano would have to contemplate using his own funds.

He couldn’t allow the child to go hungry; he might resort to eating him!

Lumian chuckled in response, saying, “The commission is over. I’ll pay the balance now. Do you want my help to teleport back to Trier, or do you prefer taking a boat yourself or crossing the Dariège mountain range?”

Lugano fell silent, seemingly grappling with a decision.