174 Reward
At half past ten in the morning on the following day, Baron Brignais rendezvoused with Lumian on the second floor of Salle de Bal Brise.
Lumian had chosen a simple attire for the day, donning a linen shirt, a black waistcoat, and brown trousers. His cuffs were rolled up to his elbows, and he sported a wide-brimmed, brown hat.
This ensemble lent him an air of casualness, almost uncouth.
Baron Brignais observed it for a few moments but refrained from commenting. Instead, he merely reminded Lumian,
“Once we meet the Boss, it’s best to keep your words to a minimum.”
“Understood,” Lumian replied, tipping his wide-brimmed hat.
Accompanied by Lumian alone, Baron Brignais did not bring Louis and the others. He led Lumian downstairs and directed him towards a four-seater carriage awaiting them at the entrance.
Within half an hour, the carriage navigated through Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative and halted on a comparably tranquil street.
The terrain in this area stood higher than its surroundings. Detached villas, predominantly white, beige, and grayish-blue, dotted the landscape. Each boasted a front lawn and a rear garden enclosed by barbed iron fences.
Lumian’s gaze scanned the street signs, revealing the name Rue des Fontaines.
Following Baron Brignais, Lumian arrived at 11 Rue des Fontaines and watched as the baron pulled on the rope hanging beside the gated entrance.
Before long, a valet of Southern Continent origin approached and opened the iron gates.
“Monsieur Martin awaits you in his study,” the dark-skinned valet remarked, his tone laced with arrogance.
Without waiting for Baron Brignais and Lumian’s response, the valet turned on his heel and strolled along a cement path flanked by two green lawns spacious enough for three carriages.
After crossing the lawns, Lumian and Baron Brignais reached the grayish-white three-story villa.
The villa’s door swung open, revealing a man in a black suit and a dark bow tie—typical butler attire—standing in the doorway.
Baron Brignais hastened his steps and greeted the man with a smile.
“Good morning, Faustino.”
“Good morning, Brignais,” Faustino, a man in his fifties, replied with a smile.
Baron Brignais introduced him to Lumian, saying, “This is Monsieur Martin’s butler, Monsieur Faustino.”
Lumian greeted Faustino in the usual manner, maintaining proper decorum.
Faustino nodded and offered no further words. Leading them through a hallway adorned with a resplendent crystal chandelier, resembling a dance floor, he guided them into a room lined with bookshelves.
Along the way, Lumian surveyed his surroundings, noting an array of oil paintings and an assortment of weapons adorning the walls—single-handed swords, broadswords, hammers, spears, and short bows. The half-tall wooden platform that ought to have showcased vases and sculptures was instead occupied by silver-white suits of armor, stirrups, breastplates, and other items.
Behind the desk, positioned beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, stood a man who measured nearly 1.8 meters in height.
His hair, typical black as found in Intis, exhibited a few silver strands near his temples. He appeared to be in his early forties, possessed strong facial features, and his slightly reddened eyes contrasted with his otherwise brown irises.
The man possessed full cheeks that contrasted with his sharply defined features. Wrinkles were conspicuously absent from his countenance, and he exuded a relatively amiable temperament. He resembled a businessman who would effortlessly flash a smile before uttering a single word.
In that moment, he wore a white shirt and a formal black suit, devoid of a bow tie or necktie.
“Good morning, Monsieur Martin,” Baron Brignais’s expression turned respectful.
After Lumian offered his greetings, Gardner Martin smiled and let out a sigh.
“So young, aren’t you?
“I’m beginning to understand Emperor Roselle’s words: Heroes often exhibit a different demeanor from others when they are young. Should I address you as Lumian or Ciel?”
“Ciel,” Lumian replied respectfully.
As Gardner Martin strolled away from the floor-to-ceiling windows, he offered warm praise,
“In just a week, you’ve slain two Sequence 8 Beyonders and gravely injured a Sequence 9. I couldn’t have achieved such feats at your age. What’s your Sequence?”
“Sequence 8, Provoker,” Lumian responded candidly.
Gardner Martin expressed great satisfaction with Lumian’s frankness. He nodded and remarked, “What I said earlier wasn’t quite comprehensive. When I was a Sequence 8, I couldn’t have accomplished what you did. Very well. Our Savoie Mob could use an exceptional lad like you.”
Without waiting for Lumian’s reply, he proceeded to ask, “Did you find anything noteworthy on ‘Hammer’ Ait?”
This person is aware of the Law of Beyonder Characteristics Conservation? Judging by his demeanor, even if he isn’t aware of conservation, he believes that human Beyonders are akin to Beyonder creatures. They manifest Beyonder characteristics upon death, or some residual parts or ingredients that can be employed in potion brewing… Lumian contemplated for a moment and withheld nothing. From his pocket, he produced a fist-sized sphere resembling the morning clouds and the evening sun.
“I found this.”
Gardner Martin regarded it with approval.
“Excellent. Sell it to me. It holds no value for you. How about 18,000 verl d’or?”
That’s considerably higher than the 15,000 verl d’or at Mr. K’s Gathering… Lumian pretended to be unaware of the exact price of the Beyonder characteristics.
“Is it truly worth 18,000 verl d’or?”
Baron Brignais, standing beside Lumian, couldn’t fathom what peculiar object had prompted his boss to offer such a sum.
Something from ‘Hammer’ Ait? An ingredient employed for advancement? Or do Beyonders resemble Beyonder creatures? Baron Brignais entertained numerous speculations in an instant.
He suddenly regretted agreeing to surrender all of ‘Hammer’ Ait’s possessions to Ciel the previous night in order to preserve his dignity.
“Haha,” Gardner Martin boisterously chuckled. “It is indeed precious, but I’m offering a premium. Consider it your reward.”
He then turned to Butler Faustino and instructed, “Go and fetch 18,000 in cash. Avoid denominations that are too large.”
Lumian harbored no objections to selling the Pugilist Beyonder characteristic to Martin. He had intended to sell it at Mr. K’s gathering.
His hope was to amass funds to acquire a mystical item capable of countering adverse effects, compensating for his lack of mysticism means or serving as a disguise.
Taking the Pugilist Beyonder characteristic from Ciel and toying with it for a few seconds, Gardner Martin addressed Baron Brignais, “Despite Ciel’s tender age, he has already rendered significant services to our Savoie Mob and possesses remarkable strength. It is time for him to assume more substantial responsibilities.”
“Yes… You are already burdened with the usury business and the other shops on Avenue du Marché. It is no easy task. Get Ciel to assist you in managing Salle de Bal Brise. Allocate some personnel to support him, so he doesn’t have to rely solely on himself.”
Baron Brignais’s facial muscles twitched ever so slightly. He suppressed his discontent and disappointment and replied, “Very well, Monsieur Martin.”
Salle de Bal Brise was a veritable goldmine, and he was reluctant to let go of it.
If not for Monsieur Martin’s direct order, he would have chosen to hand over the Avenue du Marché business to Ciel and suggested transferring some of the henchmen from “Giant” Simon and “Blood Palm” Black.
Lumian sensed the strain in his relationship with Baron Brignais. He couldn’t deceive him as effortlessly as before.
There might even be clashes and conflicts in the future!
Gardner Martin turned to Lumian and instructed, “Take good care of Salle de Bal Brise. If you perform well, I will entrust you with more significant ventures.”
“Thank you, Monsieur Martin,” Lumian replied, lowering his head and feigning delight.
On the way back to Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman, Baron Brignais seemed to regain his composure. He engaged in occasional conversations with Lumian regarding the Savoie Mob, displaying politeness, courtesy, and refinement.
Lumian was more preoccupied with the small cloth bag brimming with 18,000 verl d’or.
With that sum, he could acquire a modest apartment in Quartier de l’Observatoire!
In the Dariège region, it was akin to owning a villa in a decent neighborhood.
Upon entering Salle de Bal Brise, Louis and the others approached Lumian.
Before they could speak, Baron Brignais drew from his mahogany pipe and announced,
“Louis, Sarkota, from this day forth, follow Ciel. He is now in charge of Salle de Bal Brise.”
Louis, whose forehead bruises had mostly faded, and Sarkota, whose brownish-red hair exhibited slight natural curls, revealed expressions of shock and confusion.
They were aware that Ciel would be rewarded, but they never anticipated him taking over Salle de Bal Brise and themselves being assigned to him.
He was now a true leader of the Savoie Mob!
Ignoring his subordinates’ reactions, Baron Brignais smiled at Lumian and stated, “Leave me an office on the second floor. I require it for the usury business.”
“Very well,” Lumian responded without objection.
After a brief handover, Baron Brignais led two thugs to address some trouble concerning the usury business. Lumian ascended to the second floor, intending to inquire about Salle de Bal Brise’s operations.
Louis leaned in, speaking in a hushed tone. “Ciel, I mean, Boss, Red Boots is in your office. I wonder if she’s here for you or the baron. Would you like to meet her?”
“Red Boots” Franca? Lumian nodded subtly.
“Where is my office?”
Louis hurriedly guided his new boss through the café and into the corridor on the second floor, reaching a room at the end.
“Right here.” He indicated, pointing to the dark red wooden door.
Lumian nodded, grasped the handle, and pushed the door open.
The first thing that greeted his eyes were a pair of vibrant red boots, elegantly placed on a brown wooden desk.
Adorning the boots were a pair of off-white breeches, and higher still, a white blouse for ladies adorned with a multitude of embroidered flowers and vine-like patterns on the cuffs and collar. Over it, she wore a slender black and white checkered vest.
Continuing upward, Lumian’s gaze fell upon a graceful, smooth neck, followed by lips painted a delicate shade of red. A sharp, refined nose, eyebrows that arched toward the temples, and eyes sparkling with a vibrant, cheerful lake-like hue completed the picture. Her long flaxen hair was artfully tied up in a high ponytail.
Seated upon a swivel chair that had once belonged to Baron Brignais, “Red Boots” Franca nonchalantly rested her feet on the edge of the desk, as if it were her own personal territory.