140 Painting
The situation bears a resemblance to Charlie’s case, but with a crucial difference: these victims are all women, while Charlie is a man…
Could it be that the strange entity believed to be Susanna Mattise isn’t constrained by gender? Or is there another, male counterpart to the creature?
The latter seems more probable, given that all three victims in Aunett were female and no males had been targeted.
Yes, there are distinctions between the three women and Charlie. None of them had a partner, either openly or secretly, and Charlie had become Madame Alice’s lover not long after invoking Susanna Mattise. If that hadn’t happened, would he have met the same fate as the three victims, drained of life by overindulgence?
Had Madame Alice been a sacrificial substitute? Or had that been merely the beginning?
Lumian pieced together a theory based on the information provided by the man with the painted face.
He hoped the authorities would take this case seriously and not rest until Susanna Mattise had been utterly vanquished.
As for whether the authorities would suspect Beyonders hiding among Charlie’s friends due to the letter, Lumian wasn’t too concerned. He had intentionally obscured Charlie’s information and circumstances in the letter, even inserting a small mistake in a seemingly insignificant detail. The writer appeared to harbor a deep grudge against Susanna Mattise, having tracked her for an extended period, and sought to use Charlie’s situation to enlist the help of the authorities for revenge. As a result, the focus was more on Susanna Mattise’s issue, with a limited understanding of Charlie.
After the assembled participants discussed the strange case in Aunett, Mr. K’s attendant unveiled an object shrouded in a black cloth.
Another attendant introduced, “This is a painting from a friend of one of our participants.
“He was a fellow Beyonder who met an untimely and bizarre end two months ago. Before his death, he created this painting.”
With a swift motion, the attendant removed the black cloth, revealing the deceased Beyonder’s final masterpiece.
The oil painting was a riot of vivid colors, weaving a surreal and mesmerizing scene.
Towering green weeds reached for the heavens, a golden sun lay hidden in a well, a blood-red river cascaded from the sky, a shadowy figure danced, and white skulls coalesced into clouds…
Merely glancing at the painting left Lumian feeling disoriented.
The attendant who had introduced the painting elaborated, “This artwork bears a potent psychic imprint. It affects the minds of all who view it, inducing confusion and vertigo to varying degrees. Prolonged exposure could even result in mental illness.
“According to the letters and diary entries left by the painting’s creator, it may hold clues to the essence of reality and the origins of mysticism.
“This could also be the key to understanding the true nature of his strange demise.
“Any participant interested in studying the painting can negotiate a price.”
You want to sell something like this for money? I wouldn’t take it even if you offered it for free! Lumian grumbled internally, tearing his gaze away.
He wanted nothing to do with anything that concealed the truth, essence, or origin of the world. As Aurore had once said, one shouldn’t look at or study things one shouldn’t see or understand.
It was apparent that most of the gathering’s participants were reluctant to spend money on such a foreboding painting shrouded in mystery. Ultimately, Mr. K’s attendant put it away, once again veiling it with the black cloth.
Following that, the gathering transitioned into an open discussion stage. Attendees engaged in casual conversation about rumors and legends, careful to hide any details of their true identities.
At 10:15, Mr. K declared the gathering over, and the participants dispersed in groups.
As he departed, Lumian detected the organizer sizing him up, scrutinizing his every move.
Will he send someone to follow and investigate me? Lumian couldn’t help but wonder.
Rather than being concerned, he was eager for it to happen.
Aside from occasionally summoning a messenger, his behavior was unremarkable. He could withstand any scrutiny!
As long as he refrained from contacting Madam Magician, Lumian believed Mr. K would soon receive an almost entirely truthful report—Ciel, a wild Beyonder lacking common sense in many areas, was suspected to hail from Cordu and sought Guillaume Bénet and his associates. He was also a wanted man.
In this scenario, if Lumian demonstrated his skills and extreme attitude, it wouldn’t be long before he received an invitation from Mr. K to join his ranks and become a part of the organization behind him.
Sometimes, “inadvertently” revealing one’s vulnerabilities and true circumstances was an effective means of gaining trust.
With that, Lumian and Osta found a concealed corner at 19 Rue Scheer, where they removed their disguises before returning to Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman.
As he made his way towards Rue Anarchie, Lumian’s brow furrowed in confusion.
He hadn’t noticed anyone tailing him.
Is it because Mr. K has no plans to investigate me, or had the person shadowing me been so skilled and uniquely gifted that I had failed to detect their presence? Lumian pondered the possibilities but ultimately pushed them to the back of his mind.
In any case, he wouldn’t fear an investigation, unless Mr. K was in league with the Poison Spur Mob.
Upon entering Auberge du Coq Doré, Lumian noted that he was still early. He crossed the now pristine lobby and descended into the basement bar.
Before he could take in the scene, Charlie’s exuberant voice reached his ears.
“Can you believe it? Just three hours ago, I was at police headquarters, accused of murder. Now, here I am, drinking and singing with all of you!
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve had an incredible experience like no other. I bet none of you can top it…”
The apprentice attendant leaped onto a small round table, beer bottle in hand, and addressed the surrounding patrons.
His short brown hair was disheveled, as if it hadn’t been tended to in days, and stubble was evident around his mouth.
Already? Lumian had anticipated it would take Charlie another two or three days to be released.
Spotting Lumian from the table, Charlie waved his short arm and called out to the crowd, “I’ll share that even stranger encounter with you all later!”
Donning a linen shirt and black pants, he hopped off the table and jogged to the bar counter, beer bottle in hand. He took a seat beside Lumian and said to the ponytailed bartender, Pavard Neeson, “A glass of absinthe! Thank you.”
Turning to Lumian, he said, “This one’s on me.”
Lumian accepted the offer with a calm smile.
“You’re looking pretty good.”
“Of course. At least I don’t have to worry about being hanged. I’d hate for thousands to gather around me as I die, considering how nobody cares about me when I’m alive,” Charlie said, relief evident on his face.
Trier’s citizens reveled in witnessing the execution of death row inmates.
Whenever someone faced the gallows or a firing squad, the streets would overflow with onlookers.
In the classical era before Emperor Roselle, there even existed a custom centered around this fascination: En route from the prison to the gallows, if any bystander agreed to marry the condemned, their sentence would be commuted, reduced, or even entirely absolved.
“Are you completely fine?” Lumian inquired further.
Charlie took a swig of beer and scanned the room. Lowering his voice, he said, “I can’t divulge the specifics. I signed a pledge, a notarized pledge. You can’t imagine how powerful that is…”
Charlie caught himself and continued, “The only downside is that I’ve lost my job again. That blasted foreman thinks I’ve tarnished the hotel’s image. No matter. I’ll pawn the diamond necklace tomorrow. The officers have already returned it to me. That money will tide me over for quite some time. I can treat the café waiters on Rue des Blouses Blanches to drinks. I’ll surely find a better job!”
He wanted to add, “Let’s go together when the time comes,” but recalling Ciel’s nerve and capabilities, he quietly discarded the idea.
Lumian sipped the absinthe the bartender had slid his way and gestured for Charlie to join him in an empty corner.
Once certain that the noise around them was sufficient to drown out their conversation and that no one was eavesdropping, Lumian asked, “Has the situation with Susanna Matisse been resolved?”
“I don’t know.” Charlie shook his head. “They did a lot of things, but I can’t tell you.”
“Did they promise to provide protection for a period of time?” Lumian asked thoughtfully.
Charlie replied awkwardly, “I can’t tell you.”
Lumian grinned, retorting, “Seems like there is.”
If they hadn’t promised protection, the corresponding words wouldn’t exist and wouldn’t be restricted by the confidentiality pledge.
“Uh…” Charlie hadn’t expected Ciel to guess so accurately.
Lumian inquired, “Did they tell you anything? Share what you can.”
Charlie pondered for a moment and said, “They told me not to panic if I had that dream again. I’m to head to the nearest cathedral after dawn. You don’t know about the Eternal Blazing Sun’s cathedral, do you? I’m now a true believer of the Eternal Blazing Sun!”
Lumian expressionlessly raised his right hand and traced a triangle on his chest.
“…” Charlie fell silent.
After drinking with Charlie, Lumian returned to Room 207 and continued studying Aurore’s grimoire.
He washed up before midnight, lay on the bed, and drifted off to sleep.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Lumian was jolted awake by an insistent knocking on the door.
Who could it be? Frowning, he gripped Fallen Mercury and cautiously approached the door, cracking it open.
Charlie stood outside.
Still clad in a linen shirt, black pants, and strapless leather shoes, his face was ashen and fear-stricken.
Upon seeing Lumian, he appeared to regain his composure. Nearly losing control of his voice, he stammered in terror, “I dreamed of that woman again!”