149 Five Ritualistic Spells
Lumian wasn’t eager to perform the ritual just yet. For one, he had been swamped all day and was far from his peak condition. He needed rest, or at least to wait until he reset at six in the morning. Secondly, the ritual involved two hidden entities and a corruption that had trapped a village in a time loop. If something went awry, it wasn’t just the Auberge du Coq Doré that could be in jeopardy—the entire Rue Anarchie might face destruction. Who knew how many lives would be lost?
Thus, Lumian planned to head underground after daybreak, seeking a secluded quarry cave to serve as the ritual site.
As for the materials, he had already brought them from Cordu.
Rue Anarchie’s nights were seldom peaceful, but Lumian managed to sleep well, practically dreamless. He awoke early to the sound of cathedral bells.
Rising slowly, he washed up and headed to a café on Rue des Blouses Blanches. His breakfast consisted of plum pie, savarin, and a café au lait with plenty of milk.
Delicacies always lifted one’s spirits, and the Auberge du Coq Doré was no longer under the Poison Spur Mob’s thumb. Lumian gradually adjusted to his optimal state.
With renewed purpose, he returned to Room 207, intending to gather the necessary materials and carbide lamp for his venture into Underground Trier.
Just as Lumian finished preparing and was about to leave, he heard a soft knock on the door.
Confused, he opened it to find Anthony Reid standing outside, clad in military-green attire and strapless leather boots.
The forty-something information broker stroked his short blond hair and said to Lumian, “I got something.”
The padre or Madame Pualis and her underlings? Lumian stepped aside, allowing Anthony Reid to enter the room.
Anthony scanned the surroundings, Lumian’s reflection caught in his dark brown eyes.
Simultaneously, Lumian felt an all-too-familiar unease.
Suppressing his thoughts, he inquired, “What are they?”
Anthony Reid gave a slight nod before replying, “Someone spotted a man suspected to be Louis Lund on Avenue du Marché, the one you believe to be Madame Pualis’ butler.”
On Avenue du Marché? Lumian’s excitement surged.
Louis Lund, Madame Pualis, and I are so close?
“Are you sure?” he asked urgently.
Anthony Reid shook his head.
“I’m not sure. I’m just here to let you know that I haven’t forgotten your task. When I’m certain it’s really Louis Lund, I’ll collect the balance from you.”
“My money can’t wait to part with me.” Lumian made no effort to conceal his eagerness.
After seeing Anthony Reid off, his resolve to obtain the Alms Monk’s boon only intensified.
…
A chilly wind whispered through the tunnels, leaving faint traces of moisture on the stone walls above.
Navigating the subterranean streets and alleys, Lumian discovered a passage that led even deeper.
Utilizing a Hunter’s innate ability to memorize environments, he descended until he finally reached a quarry hollow, roughly the size of two or three Auberge du Coq Dorés.
Sparse white mushrooms grew in the rock crevices.
Charlie had mentioned that many people in Rue Anarchie and the surrounding areas scoured these underground quarries for mushrooms to bolster their income and meals. Trier mushrooms had become synonymous with these fungi, but the specimens here were clearly natural.
Lumian circled the cave twice, inspecting it thoroughly.
Satisfied that there were no issues, he found a half-meter-tall stone and placed the blood-infused musk candle on it. The other candle was positioned closer to him.
Having tidied the area, Lumian lit the two grayish-white candles in the order of top to bottom—divine before mortal—by channeling his spirituality.
Next, he drew the ritual silver dagger and swiftly sanctified it, erecting a barrier of spirituality.
Unlike the last time he had prayed for the Dancer’s power, Lumian’s spirituality remained plentiful after completing these tasks. He effortlessly entered a somewhat ethereal state, enabling him to perform rituals without the aid of incense.
He exhaled slowly, picked up the gray amber perfume on the altar, and dripped it into the deity-representing candle.
As the scent sizzled, a sweet, elegant fragrance filled the air, calming his nerves.
After the gray amber perfume came tulip powder. As a strange aroma permeated the spiritual barrier, Lumian took two steps back, gazed at the flickering candle flame, and bellowed in ancient Hermes,
“Power of Inevitability!”
A howling gust swept through the chamber, causing the deity-representing candle’s orange flame to quiver. It hung by a thread, threatening to go out at any moment.
In the dimming light, Lumian’s left chest seared with pain, accompanied by a wave of dizziness.
Once again, he heard the enigmatic sound that seemed to originate from an infinite distance, yet felt close at hand. However, it wasn’t loud enough to engulf him in agony.
Lumian continued chanting the subsequent incantations in ancient Hermes.
“You are the past, the present, and the future;
“You are the cause, the effect, and the process.”
Within the spiritual barrier, an invisible wind turned pitch black as a faint gray fog filled the space.
Rocks and bottles warped and twisted, appearing as malleable objects.
Silently, the deity-representing candle’s flame swelled to the size of a fist, shimmering silver-white with a hint of black.
Granules emerged on Lumian’s skin and on the rocks, writhing and stretching, poised to burst forth at any moment.
The terrifying sound filled his ears, drowning out all else. His head spun, threatening to make him vomit.
His thoughts wavered between disarray and chaos as he barely finished reciting the incantation.
As Lumian spoke the final words, the silver-black candle flame contracted into a beam of light that struck his left chest.
Silver-black phantasmal liquid flowed out, enveloping Lumian’s body as though it possessed its own life and will.
Lumian had already steeled himself for the onslaught. In his uncontrollable frustration, he felt a prickling pain erupting all over his body. As the piercing ravings seemed to saw through his skull, a burning sensation flared within him.
He collapsed, curling up and enduring the agony with gritted teeth.
All he could do was struggle to maintain the “boat” of rationality amidst the tempestuous waves of pain.
Throughout the ordeal, he was tempted several times to surrender to the malevolent thoughts gnawing at his heart. He longed to merge with the pain, to escape the torture. However, the lingering elegant and sweet fragrance in his nostrils caused his ruthlessness and frustration to ebb and flow repeatedly.
Ultimately, Lumian felt as if his body and mind ceased to exist, leaving only a sense of rational spirituality.
As the pain and ravings began to subside, he realized he had endured.
Lumian lay motionless on the cold ground, not willing to move for an extended period.
After what felt like an eternity, he mustered enough strength to hastily end the ritual and clean up the altar, warding off any potential mishaps.
Having dealt with these matters, Lumian sat on the stone that had served as the altar and scrutinized the changes within himself.
Soon, he muttered, My tolerance for extreme environments has increased a bit… Heh, guess I won’t need to buy winter and summer clothes anymore?
Beyond this, Lumian discovered another newfound intuition.
An intuition for luck!
He could roughly sense the recent fortunes of others—good luck, bad luck, potential for disaster, romantic opportunities, and so on—but he couldn’t discern the precise details.
In other words, Lumian could detect that someone was experiencing bad luck, but had no way of knowing how unlucky they would be or how long their misfortune would last.
“Truly worthy of a monk with the power of inevitability,” Lumian couldn’t help but sigh, feeling he could entirely replace Osta Trul as a diviner for others.
Although ignorant about divination, wouldn’t he be able to fabricate the corresponding words when he could glimpse the rough strokes of someone’s fortune?
Moreover, Lumian acquired an abundance of sacrificial knowledge and five ritualistic spells in his mind.
The former compensated for his many shortcomings in the realm of mysticism, while the latter augmented his repertoire of mystical techniques.
The five ritualistic spells were Animal Creation Spell, Prophecy Spell, Luck Enhancement Spell, Substitution Spell, and Exorcism Spell.
Through ritualistic magic, the Animal Creation Spell utilized sheepskin, cowhide, and other animal hides to morph the target on the altar into the corresponding creature. This could also be applied to Lumian himself. As long as he mastered the incantation to break the curse or waited for the ritual to end, he could revert to human form. While transformed into an animal, he would be unable to speak or wield most of his Beyonder powers.
The Prophecy Spell was entirely different from what Lumian had envisioned. The process involved gathering ingredients such as a snake’s venom sac and a rock from an eagle’s nest. Using ritualistic magic, one could concoct an unusual concoction. Next, one had to find a corpse dead for less than seven days and not yet cremated or purified. Pouring the concoction into the corpse’s mouth would momentarily revive it, allowing the caster to ask three questions about the future.
The Luck Enhancement Spell employed ritualistic magic to create an object linked to one’s misfortune. By sending the object away and having others open, consume, step on, or wear it, the caster could transfer their bad luck onto them, thus enhancing their own luck.
The Substitution Spell was even more intricate, and Lumian suspected it was a lower-tier reflection of a Fate Appropriator’s abilities. For example, if he wished to evade Susanna Mattise, he would need to find a vagrant and make them live as Ciel for a while. During this period, the vagrant would have to stay in Room 207, use all of Lumian’s money, and gain recognition from Charlie and other acquaintances to establish sufficient mystical connections before performing the ritual to complete the substitution.
Upon the ritual’s completion, Susanna Mattise would seek vengeance on the vagrant rather than Lumian.
Of course, Lumian wasn’t certain he could deceive Susanna Mattise, who was on the verge of becoming a demigod, with a Sequence 8 Substitution Spell. He even doubted whether the ritualistic magic would succeed at all.