Chapter 152 - 152 Entrustment

152 Entrustment

Charlies bones shook as Lumians words settled in his ears.

S-so youre saying, you dont want word getting around about you joining the Savoie Mob?

Charlie had seen the leaders of the Savoie Mob, Poison Spur Mob, and the rest; their names carried weight in the market district of Rue Anarchie. Yet, as notorious as they were, the law never seemed to touch them.

Lumian took a slow pull of his Whiskey Sour, his grin returning.

Thats fine. Just think twice before you speak, thats all.

Even though Lumian had infiltrated the Savoie Mob, he was far from claiming the t.i.tle of a leader. He hadnt been privy to the mobs deepest secrets, didnt have a crew of thugs at his disposal, and all he had to show for it was the rundown dump they called Auberge du Coq Dor.

So Lumian had his sights set on a fast-track to infamy, eager to climb the mobs ladder and fulfill Mr. Ks mission.

A mission that involved gaining the trust and favor of Mr. K, and eventually finding a place in the organization behind himall to complete the task given by Madam Magician.

There is something off about the whole thing Lumian thought, his left hand stroking his chin.

Charlie, standing by his side, asked hesitantly, What exactly should I keep quiet about?

He had his hunches, but he didnt want to risk annoying the lawless Lumian by not covering all bases.

Lumians smile didnt falter as he turned to Charlie.

Avoid discussing anything tied to Susanna Mattise. That includes any mention of threats I made to her, or that time I posed as a lawyer to get into the police station to talk to you.

He had meant to warn Charlie about this, but hadnt found the right moment.

Got it. Charlie visibly relaxed. You know, I was thinking about telling the guys at the bar about the time we chased Wilson out of that motel

Charlies number one hobby was regaling the crowd with his exploits.

But Lumians eyes turned stormy at his words.

His gut was telling him Charlie was about to walk into some minor trouble, but it wouldnt be anything life-threatening.

In theory, it has nothing to do with Susanna Mattise. If it did, it wouldnt be just trouble, it would be a disaster I suppose I can stop worrying about Susanna Mattise for a while, but how long is a while? Lumian mulled over the sense of bad luck.

Hed come to realize that unless someone was extremely unlucky or lucky, or if danger was about to strike, he needed to concentrate to perceive a persons general luck through his intuition.

It was unlike a Hunters danger sense. It wasnt always activated pa.s.sively.

Charlies voice began to fade as he talked. He turned to Lumian and asked, Why are you staring at me like that?

He was half expecting Ciel to jump out with a prank.

Lumian sneered.

You might want to swing by the nearest Eternal Blazing Sun cathedral and say a prayer. I have a feeling youre about to hit a rough patch.

His tone mirrored that of Osta Trul, the conman.

What kind of rough patch? Charlie asked, his voice sharp.

Then it hit him. How would you know?

I have a hunch, Lumian replied, a smirk playing on his lips.

Of course, its a joke Charlie let out a sigh of relief.

Im hoping your predictions off, then.

On the contrary, I couldnt be more certain. Lumians words were rock solid.

Charlie squinted at him, suspicion etched on his face.

Lumian let out a low chuckle.

And if Im wrong, Ill give you a thras.h.i.+ng. That way, even if something bad does happen, that just proves me more right.

Charlie was speechless.

Is that even allowed?

Regardless, this approach could come in handy for some practical jokes with some slight modification

Lumian was about to rise when he noticed a thin, mangy mutt creeping towards Auberge du Coq Dor from the shadowy street, eyeing the trash hed tossed from the fruit vendors cart.

The mutt moved with care, aware that many of the dest.i.tute locals would gladly turn him into dinner.

Just then, Lumian lunged forward, pressing the dogs neck to the ground.

Caught off guard, the mutt writhed helplessly, baring its teeth in a futile attempt to bite, but its head was immobile.

With his free hand, Lumian pulled out a small vial of tulip powder, emptying its contents into his pocket.

Then, he held the vial to the mutts frothing mouth, collecting the saliva as the dog squirmed.

Soon, he had five milliliters. He released his grip and stood up.

The mutt, ready to snap at him, whimpered and scampered off, tail tucked between its legs, when Lumian shot it a menacing glance.

Charlie, who had been standing by, was flabbergasted.

A story hed once heard came rus.h.i.+ng back to him.

The protagonist in the tale would often describe the villains cruelty with a line penned by best-selling author Aurore Lee: He would kick any dog that crossed his path!

Lumian downed the rest of his Whiskey Sour and made his way into the motel.

As he pa.s.sed the front desk, the perpetually grumpy Madame Fels, forced a smile.

Good morning, CielMonsieur Ciel.

Lumian gave the plump Madame Fels a sideways glance and asked nonchalantly, No sign of Monsieur Ive today either?

Monsieur Ive, the owner of Auberge du Coq Dor, was known far and wide in Rue Anarchie for his penny-pinching ways.

As the new guardian of Auberge du Coq Dor, Lumian figured he ought to have a word with Monsieur Ive, just to make sure he didnt run crying to the cops, afraid the Savoie Mob would shake him down for more cash.

Madame Fels pursed her lips.

As stingy as he is, only paying for a weekly cleaning crew, hes a stickler for cleanliness and wouldnt be caught dead in the motel.

Who cleans his house? Lumian asked, a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice.

Hes a widower. He and his two kids take care of it. Madame Fels scoffed.

If she were the one with that kind of money and a motel to boot, she would hire someone to handle such ch.o.r.es. Shed just sit back and enjoy life.

Lumian nodded and chuckled.

Madame Fels replied, a hint of fear in her voice, I visit him thrice a week to deliver the motels earnings and various bills. Ill let him know you want to see him.

She mistook Lumians words as a veiled threat to Monsieur Ive. If he didnt meet with the new guardian of Auberge du Coq Dor soon, his survival might be at stake.

Lumian didnt bother to clarify. He climbed the stairs to his room on the second floor. Under his pillow, he found Mr. Ks finger and tucked it back into his pocket.

After dealing with the tulip powder, he planned to pick up some containers for the ingredients he needed to gather next. But then, a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

Lumian swung the door open, curiosity piquedhe didnt recognize the footsteps.

In the doorway stood a man in his forties, clad in a dark jacket, worn-out brown trousers, and a grubby cotton hat. He offered a smile, asking, Is this Monsieur Ciel?

Who else would it be? Madam? Lumian retorted, his eyes taking in the mans appearance, expression, and body language.

His brown hair, though slightly greasy, was neatly combed. His dark-brown eyes held a hint of sycophancy, and his lips were creased with lines of practiced smiles. He had an affable air, but there was an unmistakable slickness about him.

Yes, yes, yes, the man echoed Lumians words.

Lumians eyebrows twitched.

And who might you be?

Im Fitz from Room 401. Bankrupt businessman, the man introduced himself with a congenial smile.

Without waiting for Lumian to press further, he spilled his beans.

I went belly up cause of a con that cost me 100,000 verl dor. Ive been traveling between Trier and Suhit for over a decade, saving up. Wanted to settle down, start a family, but then this swindler tricked me out of everything, promising a joint venture.

If you help me recover that money, Im willing to part with 30%, no, 50%!

Lumian didnt invite Fitz into Room 207. Leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, he asked, Why didnt you go after that money with Margot or Wilson before?

It wasnt as if they required an upfront payment.

Fitz didnt beat around the bush.

I did go to Margot. He agreed initially, but then one day, he just said it wasnt possible to recover the money.

Even the Poison Spur Mob couldnt retrieve it? Was the con man bankrupt or backed by someone who made the Poison Spur Mob tread lightly? Lumian, who had been only half-interested till now, leaned in. Did Margot say why?

Fitz shook his head. No, but its certainly not because Timmons is broke. His dance hall in Quartier de lObservatoire is printing money!

Timmons Lumian suspected the con man had either powerful backing or was s.h.i.+elded by a high-ranking figure, which made the Poison Spur Mob wary of pressing him for repayment.

Or maybe, Timmons was a force unto himself.

So why do you think I can get your money back? Lumian asked Fitz, a smirk playing on his lips.

Fitz pondered for a moment before laying it all out.

Youre more ruthless than Margot. Plus, even if you decide not to pursue after your investigation, I have nothing to lose.

Without that money, I cant afford to pay a dime.

Honest to a fault. Lumian nodded, appreciating the candor. Ill look into it, but dont get your hopes up.

If Timmons was simply bluffing and managed to scare off the Poison Spur Mob, the prospect of pocketing an easy 50,000 verl dor was tempting to anyone.

Fitz, the bankrupt businessman, was playing a long shot. With a nod of a.s.surance from Lumian, he thanked him and made his exit from the second floor.

In that moment, Lumian realized that his spirituality had bounced back considerably. The recovered amount surpa.s.sed his original spirituality reserves.

The Alms Monk has boosted my spirituality significantly. At Sequence 8, I can rival the spirituality of other pathways Lumian mused quietly.

Simultaneously, he recalled an uncanny sensation he experienced while sipping the Whiskey Sour.

If he chose to live in poverty, practiced self-restraint, abstained from alcohol, shunned wastefulness, sought alms, and preached, all while adopting the demeanor of an ascetic monk, he would likely experience an enhancement in his intuitive sense of destiny and the likelihood of success of his five ritual spells.

Yet, Lumian had no intention of following that path. He believed it would morph him into a mirror image of the Bestower, gradually merging his ident.i.ty with His.

Shaking off his introspective thoughts, Lumian left the room, making a beeline for Salle de Bal Brise. His next move was to solicit the Savoie Mobs help to gather the remaining ingredients and the right containers required for the Prophecy Spell.

He had to seize every opportunity at his disposal!