165 Meeting Jenna Again
Louis exclaimed in surprise, “What if Ciel fails and gets done in by the Poison Spur Mob?”
Baron Brignais chuckled and replied, “When has our Savoie Mob ever kept all its members?”
…
On the way back to Auberge du Coq Doré, Lumian found himself in quite a good mood.
Initially, he had intended to apprehend a significant member of the Poison Spur Mob, probing into their source of power and their affiliation with the wicked deity Madame Pualis worshiped. But now, the Savoie Mob had assigned him a similar task. It aligned perfectly with his desires.
This way, he not only swiftly gained detailed information about multiple targets, saving valuable time, but he could also fully utilize the Savoie Mob’s resources, such as weaponry, manpower, and connections.
A moment ago, Lumian contemplated requesting explosives from Baron Brignais, mulling over the possibility of setting a trap to blow up one of the leaders of the Poison Spur Mob.
In the end, he decided against it. Firstly, he felt it was too brazen and would attract unwanted attention from the police. Secondly, being a wanted criminal, he couldn’t afford to be investigated. Thirdly, if he obliterated his target entirely, how could he gather any information?
Of course, he could employ the Summoning Dance and the wall of spirituality to allow the deceased spirit to cling to him and enhance the memories that left the deepest imprints. However, this method was entirely unpredictable. Who knew if those individuals’ minds would be as deranged as the previous pervert’s? Moreover, each Summoning Dance could only amplify a single memory. If luck wasn’t on his side, it could take a significant amount of time to find useful information. This contradicted his intention of swiftly departing from the scene of the assassination.
Initially, Lumian planned to deal with “Hammer” Ait, but upon hearing Baron Brignais’s description, he considered “Baldy” Harman as a viable candidate as well.
Compared to Ait, Harman had notable “weaknesses” that Hunters could exploit to set traps!
His power granted him exceptional body resilience. On numerous occasions, he sustained only minor injuries despite being slashed with knives.
Lumian recalled Aurore’s words: “Those skilled in swimming are prone to drowning.”
In Harman’s case, one could interpret it as, “Those adept at blocking weapons with their bodies are more susceptible to perishing by weapons.” As for Lumian, he possessed Fallen Mercury, the Cursed Blade.
Furthermore, in comparison to “Hammer” Ait, who frequently traveled with a large entourage and resided within the Poison Spur Mob’s settlement, “Baldy” Harman ventured out alone occasionally, seeking street girls and dancers. Consequently, he proved to be a simpler target for assassination. Moreover, he was closer to the core power of the Poison Spur Mob and held more secrets.
However, the conundrum arose. If Lumian were to set a trap and employ Fallen Mercury to deal with “Baldy” Harman, capturing him alive and extracting information would be impossible.
If Lumian could overpower “Baldy” Harman after stabbing him and dragging him to a secluded corner in Underground Trier, why bother stabbing him initially?
If he couldn’t, his only recourse would be to stab the enemy and allow him to flee. Alternatively, after his escape, Lumian could await the intervention of the Montsouris ghost to “assist” in the target’s demise.
Whether this would implicate the target’s family wasn’t his concern.
Hence, the pursuit of “Baldy” Harman and “Hammer” Ait presented their respective pros and cons. Lumian was not yet able to reach a decision.
He intended to contemplate his target selection after receiving more detailed information, weapons, and ammunition from Baron Brignais the following morning.
“What’s all this?” Lumian inquired curiously as he traversed the lobby.
Weren’t these the same elderly folks peddling counterfeit street ma?tresse d’atelier photos at Suhit steam locomotive station? Why were they bringing back such a sizable bag?
Ruhr ceased pulling at the cloth bag, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He forced a smile and replied, “Don’t you know, Monsieur Ciel? We moonlight as scavengers by night. We salvage discarded items that might still hold value.”
Informed by Charlie’s “advertisement,” the couple was aware of Ciel’s newfound leadership role in the Savoie Mob. Consequently, they saw no issue with Ciel seeking answers from them since Auberge du Coq Doré was his turf.
From their perspective, as the guardian of Auberge du Coq Doré, Monsieur Ciel needed to stay informed about the establishment to prevent any mishaps.
Juggling two occupations, one of which involves deception… It certainly reeks of all sorts of rubbish… Lumian pinched his nose and silently muttered. He pondered and asked thoughtfully, “Do you hoard all this trash in your room?”
Ruhr wore an ingratiating smile and confirmed, “Indeed. We visit the waste disposal site every few days. People drop off various items there. Heh heh, while scavengers are filthy, without us, Trier would be overwhelmed by foul odors. Every nook and cranny would be brimming with refuse.”
In Trier, scavengers served as supplementary cleaners.
No wonder there’s a stench in the room. No wonder you perpetually reek and forgo bathing… As Lumian ascended the stairs at a leisurely pace, he stole a glance at the wrinkled faces and slightly stooped postures of Ruhr and Michel. He casually inquired, “You’re not young anymore. Why do you still toil so diligently for money?”
Ruhr and Michel were taken aback, their smiles faltering subtly.
After a brief pause, Ruhr mustered a pained and helpless smile.
“It is precisely because we are old that we must labor so strenuously.
“We arrived in Trier when we were very young and took up various occupations. We had a child, but he did not survive to adulthood. The monthly wages we received merely sustained our survival. As our health began to decline and our strength waned, fear gripped us. We were uncertain of what the future held.
“What if we grow too old to engage in our usual work someday? What would we do? Deplete our meager savings within a few months and rely on the charitable acts of the Church and the government to eke out a meager existence until we perish from hunger?
“I-I do not wish for such a fate…”
Lumian was suddenly reminded of something his sister had once uttered. “Intis is exceedingly harsh now. There is no protection for hardworking individuals in their twilight years.”
Stirred by his thoughts, Ruhr continued, “Thankfully, our appetites have diminished with age. We don’t eat or sleep much. That leaves us with more time to earn money. We don’t have to worry about anything else. We can save most of what we earn.
“In the coming years, we should be able to enjoy a few more good ones by relying on our savings…
“Heh heh, truth be told, compared to most people, we’re considered fortunate. None of them made it to our age.”
Madame Michel, standing beside him, wore a wistful expression.
“Once we’ve saved enough, we’ll return to Aurmir and purchase a plot of land to cultivate grapes. Even if we lack the strength in the future, we can hire assistance. We don’t have extravagant expenses anyway.”
Aurmir stood as the provincial capital of Champagne Province, renowned as the foremost hub of wine production in the Northern Continent.
Silently, Lumian nodded as he observed the elderly couple laboriously hauling the bag of trash upstairs.
After a brief respite, he put on simple makeup and changed his attire. Clad in a linen shirt, brown overalls, loafers, and a dark bowler hat, he made his way straight to Salle de Gristmill.
Since “Hammer” Ait remained one of his targets, he needed to personally observe him.
It was the late hours of the night, and Salle de Gristmill buzzed with activity. Amid the pulsating music, men and women gyrated on the dance floor, releasing their frustrations.
Concerned about being recognized by the Poison Spur Mob, Lumian approached the bar and ordered a glass of rye beer before making his way to the dance floor. As he swayed to the rhythm, he surveyed his surroundings.
Before long, he spotted “Little Minx” Jenna appearing on the raised wooden platform in front of him.
She wore a similar outfit to the one she had donned in the afternoon, a short white blouse and a flouncy skirt, showcasing her fair chest.
This time, she sported a mole on the bridge of her nose.
It signified audacity.
Impressive mental strength she possesses. Despite the afternoon’s events, she’s back at work in the evening… Lumian couldn’t help but marvel.
In his opinion, since Jenna was “Red Boots” Franca’s lover, there was no need for her to be so committed.
The rhythmic drumbeats halted, and all eyes on the dance floor turned to Jenna, panting.
Jenna began with a high-pitched tone.
“Ernest, stay away from my wife and pipe!”
Laughter erupted from the crowd as if a collective realization had struck them.
In sync with the cheerful and bawdy singing, they swayed their bodies gently.
As Jenna sang, she executed high kicks, shifting her position and winking at the audience from different angles, even performing an exaggerated split.
During this display, her gaze briefly crossed paths with Lumian. She appeared momentarily stunned before returning to her normal demeanor.
Once she finished her song, the intense drumbeats resumed. Jenna wasted no time resting. She leaped onto the dance floor, navigating through the sudden eruption of cheers, whistles, and men vying for proximity. She approached Lumian and shouted with a playful smile, “Handsome lion, dance!”
In Intis, the lion was often used to describe alluring men due to their radiant mane, akin to the sun.
Lumian sensed that Jenna had something important to share. He set aside his beer and joined her on the dance floor, engaging in a lively dance with the Showy Diva, face-to-face.
Just as they were about to embrace, Jenna threw herself into Lumian’s arms and whispered into his ear, “You’re quite the talented dancer. By the way, I’ve discovered the identity of that pervert. His name is Hedsey. He used to reside in Room 504 at Auberge du Coq Doré.”
Charlie’s room? The occupant of Room 504 who put up Susanna Mattise’s portrait? Lumian was taken aback.