234 Sincerity
Gardner Martin’s brows lifted in surprise as he cast a curious glance at Lumian, taking a moment to ponder the situation.
“Let’s converse inside the carriage.”
Upon hearing this, Butler Faustino took the initiative to settle himself in the front of the carriage, right beside the driver.
Silently, Lumian trailed behind Gardner Martin and entered the carriage, taking a seat opposite him.
As the carriage slowly set in motion, Gardner Martin fixed his gaze upon Lumian and spoke up.
“Why did you advance such a hefty sum of cash?”
Lumian responded with candor.
“Given the opportunity to enhance my strength, I aspire to become a Sequence 7 Pyromaniac.”
Gardner Martin hadn’t anticipated Lumian’s straightforwardness. After a brief pause, he smiled and inquired, “Is 12,000 verl d’or sufficient?”
Lumian didn’t bat an eye as he replied, “In addition to the 18,000 verl d’or you provided last time and my previous savings.”
Gardner Martin nodded slowly.
“Did you come across anyone selling the main ingredient for the Pyromaniac potion elsewhere? And do you possess the formula for the potion?”
“Yes,” Lumian confessed without reservation.
Gardner Martin chuckled.
“You’ve divulged all of this to me. Shouldn’t these matters be kept secret?”
Lumian displayed an unusual sincerity as he responded, “I feel prepared to consume the Pyromaniac potion. It won’t be long before I advance to Sequence 7.
“When that happens, if a conflict arises, concealing the change in my strength would be impossible. Boss, you’ll soon discover it anyway. So why not tell you now?”
Furthermore, René, the manager of the dance hall, worked under Gardner Martin. He would undoubtedly report the 12,000 verl d’or advancement.
Lumian paused momentarily before continuing, “That’s one reason.
“Another reason is that I’ve lived on the streets, endured rural life, and faced persecution. Now, I adhere to a single principle: I treat those who treat me well.”
He wasn’t attempting to flaunt his loyalty. According to Jenna, such exaggerated loyalty would seem untrustworthy, especially when he had only met Gardner Martin once. His main goal was to convey his allegiance.
Similarly, Gardner Martin would definitely comprehend the underlying purpose behind Lumian’s frankness. It was a display of his astuteness.
Gardner Martin lifted his head and burst into laughter.
“Very good.
“Brignais, Christo, and the others have their own secrets. They assume I’m oblivious.
“The fact that you can accurately grasp your situation, your future progress, and my stance indicates that you’re more astute than them. Most times, sincerity proves to be the most effective approach.”
Sincerity? Lumian seized the opportunity to express himself with an extraordinary sincerity.
“Boss, I have leads on the main ingredient, but I’m unsure where to acquire the supplementary ingredients.
“Could you keep an eye out for Fire Salamander’s blood, Magma Pyroxene powder, and Redcrown Balsam?”
From Lumian’s perspective, Gardner Martin, suspected to be a Sequence 6 or perhaps even a Sequence 5 Beyonder of the Hunter pathway, would have an easier time finding the supplementary ingredients for the Pyromaniac potion compared to Franca.
Perhaps he still possessed leftover supplementary ingredients from advancing to Pyromaniac?
According to Aurore’s grimoire, spiritual supplementary ingredients could be preserved for an extended period if the method was correct.
Gardner Martin was taken aback. He hadn’t anticipated Ciel making such a direct request.
Initially, he had intended to inquire about a few matters of concern and understand Lumian’s needs before offering assistance to win him over.
After a brief pause, Gardner Martin nodded and responded, “No problem.”
Observing that Gardner Martin didn’t inquire about the quantities of the three supplementary ingredients, Lumian grew increasingly convinced that the Savoie Mob boss was a Mid-Sequence Beyonder of the Hunter pathway.
Gardner Martin peered out of the window and spoke inquisitively.
“While you were observing the parliament member’s office, did you notice anything suspicious?”
“No,” Lumian shook his head. “They’re just individuals whose pictures occasionally appear in the newspapers.”
Gardner Martin smiled nonchalantly.
“Indeed, there’s the president and vice-president of our Savoie Chamber of Commerce; Bono Goodville, the owner of Goodville Chemical Factory; Clement, the manager of Nova Mechanical Prosthetics; and Etienne from Saint-Ger Phlogiston Factory… I was invited as a shareholder of Rist Docks and the head of Rist Shipping Company and Savoie Construction Company, not as the boss of the Savoie Mob.”
Gardner Martin let out a soft sigh.
“However, we can barely squeeze into Trier’s high society. In the business world, the true heavyweights are the chairmen and proprietors of Trier Bank, Suchit Bank, and Asset Credit Bank. They are the shareholders of behemoths like Suhit Textile Group, Tilisi Coal and Steel Consortium, Anubi Steel Company, Southern Liquor Merchants Federation, Falgar Weapons Group, and Balam-Paz Import and Export Corporation.”
Lumian had come across these names in newspapers and magazines. The company that had left the deepest impression was Balam-Paz Import and Export Corporation.
To protect their interests in the West Balam and Paz Valley of the Southern Continent, they had even been allowed to finance a substantial private army and a fleet as mercenaries.
Noticing that the carriage was about to depart from Avenue du Marché, Gardner Martin signaled the driver to halt and nodded at Lumian.
“Before consuming the potion, ensure your condition is favorable. It’s better to delay than to take unnecessary risks.”
After acknowledging Gardner Martin’s advice, Lumian left the carriage and headed towards Rue des Blouses Blanches.
He intended to conceal all his cash within the confines of the safe house.
After walking a certain distance, Lumian hesitated.
Safe houses didn’t guarantee absolute safety, especially in lower-class areas like the market district and Quartier du Jardin Botanique, where the population was denser. Thieves ran rampant in such places.
If a burglar were to stumble upon Aurore’s grimoires, they would be of little value to them. At most, they would search through them in the hopes of finding hidden banknotes, but the sum of over 26,000 cash would undoubtedly be taken.
Should I set up a few traps in the safe house to deter thieves? Lumian’s thoughts raced, and suddenly, a better idea struck him.
That idea was to provide Madam Magician with an advance payment of 26,000 verl d’or!
This way, there would be no risk of losing such a large sum of cash.
Furthermore, a lofty individual like Madam Magician would not deny accepting the advance payment.
Phew… With his mind made up, Lumian arrived at the safe house on Rue des Blouses Blanches and retrieved pen and paper to write a letter.
“Esteemed Madam Magician,
“I have already procured 26,000 verl d’or. I will offer this as an advance payment. Once I gather the remaining 4,000, you may send me the Pyromaniac Beyonder characteristic.
“Looking forward to your reply.”
Lumian refrained from requesting Madam Magician to grant him the Pyromaniac Beyonder characteristic immediately, as he had yet to acquire the corresponding supplementary ingredients. Preserving Beyonder characteristics proved to be quite troublesome, and there was a risk of losing them.
After summoning the puppet messenger and entrusting it with the cloth bag containing cash and coins, along with the letter, Lumian felt a significant sense of relief. However, he couldn’t help but worry that the messenger might fall victim to robbery in the spirit world.
Before long, the puppet messenger adorned in a golden dress returned with a reply from Madam Magician.
“26,000 verl d’or has been received.
“Magician.”
It’s akin to receiving a receipt… Lumian murmured to himself, expressing gratitude to the puppet messenger.
He then departed Rue des Blouses Blanches and made his way back to Auberge du Coq Doré.
As was his routine, Lumian used a short wire to open the door, quietly traversed the dimly lit lobby with only the basement bar’s glow, and ascended the stairs.
Reaching the second floor, he pursed his lips and continued upwards to the third floor, arriving at Room 310, where Flameng had once resided.
The wooden door to the room stood ajar, and the curtains remained undrawn, allowing the crimson moonlight to filter through the glass.
It was an unwritten folklore often believed by the lower-class citizens of Trier:
In a room where someone had met their demise, the door had to be left open and the curtains undrawn for three days.
This was done out of concern that the ghost of the deceased might be reluctant to depart.
Lumian stood at the doorway, gazing into the empty room, as if he could see the madman clutching his head and whispering, “I’m dying.”
After a while, he silently averted his gaze and proceeded towards the stairs.
As he approached the staircase, he overheard a conversation emanating from Room 302, despite their attempts to suppress their voices.
The room belonged to Ruhr and Michel, the sellers of counterfeit photographs who worked as part-time scavengers.
There was no sign of a kerosene or carbide lamp being lit within the room. No light seeped through the crack in the door.
Lumian’s acute hearing allowed him to instinctively tune in to the discussion between the elderly couple.
“Old Woman, look at these. They’re worth a fortune! Those gentlemen and ladies simply discarded them!”
“I reckon this bag alone could fetch 5 verl d’or…”
“5 verl d’or? It’s worth at least 15!”
“Old Man, if only we could stumble upon such valuable rubbish every day.”
“Then we’d have to vote for a member of parliament every day.”
“Praise the Sun. Let that member of parliament host a banquet every day. In that case, we could return to Aurmir and purchase 10 acres of fields to cultivate grapes within a year.”
“You’re quite the dreamer, Old Woman.
“What’s wrong with dreaming? Don’t you dream? Even without the banquet, we’ve managed to save up a significant sum. Another four or five years should suffice.”
“True. When the time comes, we won’t have to toil as hard as we do now, and we won’t need to worry about being unable to work…”
Lumian ceased eavesdropping and silently chuckled. Descending the stairs, he returned to Room 207, briefly freshened up, and climbed into bed.
In the midst of the night, half-asleep, he was suddenly startled by hurried footsteps.
As he sat up and glanced towards the corridor, there came a knock on his door.
Lumian, feeling a mix of wariness and confusion, approached the wooden door and opened it.
Standing outside was Madame Michel, the short, gray-haired woman adorned in a yellow cloth dress.
She spoke with fear and panic, “Ruhr has taken ill suddenly! Ciel—Monsieur Ciel, can you assist me in carrying him to the clinic on Rue des Blouses Blanches?
“I-I have the money for his treatment!”
Monsieur Ruhr is unwell? He was perfectly fine when I fell asleep… Lumian was taken aback.