346 Follow-Up Visit
“How did you know I was here?” Madam Justice’s voice held a smile.
Lumian gazed at the chair across from him and responded, a grin tugging at his lips, “Can’t hurt to extend a greeting.”
Susie steered the conversation forward, “Congratulations on completing the initial phase of your vendetta. Care for a brief discussion?”
“No problem.” Lumian’s composure remained unshaken, not even flinching at the mention of “vendetta.”
Of course, part of his calm demeanor stemmed from the fact that he hadn’t brought along the Flog boxing gloves. This was a psychological evaluation, after all. He couldn’t allow external influences to taint his thoughts and skew the doctor’s judgment.
From the point of seeking assistance and crafting a strategy, he recounted his experiences of the past two days. He glossed over the secret of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society but provided a concise account of everything else.
Following a momentary silence, Susie’s soothing voice resumed its course.
“Your mental state has held up admirably. A certain degree of overreaction in specific scenarios is par for the course. Psychiatric therapy doesn’t strip a person of their emotions or feelings. Instead, it aids in unburdening oneself, fostering reconciliation, and discovering inner resilience. Nightmares won’t deal a devastating blow to you any longer. Otherwise, according to the more dubious therapists who advocate severing the frontal lobe for eternal tranquility, you’ll forever be at peace.”
“Removing the frontal lobe?” Lumian’s ears caught wind of this concept for the first time.
Susie’s tone tinged with revulsion.
“It’s a notion that has cropped up in the last couple of years. It doesn’t yield the intended outcomes; rather, it inflicts grave harm upon the patient. There’s an evident malevolence behind this treatment proposal. It’s as if some callous individual propagated it with the sole intention of making a mockery out of medical professionals and those seeking solace.”
A prank that toys with the lives of others? Lumian shifted gears, steering the conversation onto a different course.
“Madam Susie, you haven’t even delved into my emotions or analyzed my thoughts, yet you’ve already deduced that I’ve made some strides towards recovery, and a follow-up might not be necessary?”
Susie’s demeanor lifted rapidly, and she replied with a grin, “At times, a person’s actions can be more telling of their psychological state than their thoughts. Understand that humans excel at deceiving themselves. They concoct a slew of rationales for their actions, which often stand less grounded in reality than their deeds. To decipher an accurate psychological portrait from this labyrinth of complex and contradictory thoughts requires meticulous analysis. But such scrutiny can easily unearth problems. Hence, I chose to commence with an examination of your actions.
“Evidently, whether you’re willing to admit it or not, you’ve successfully reestablished social connections and fostered a level of trust in others. You’ve also exhibited a willingness to extend your trust to others.
“Prior to your ambush of Guillaume Bénet, you demonstrated the capacity for calm contemplation and thorough preparation. While there were impulsive undertones and hints of macabre inclinations in your operation, they were inevitable. Their absence would only have hinted at more severe psychological turmoil. And once the affair concluded, you swiftly reverted to your norm and dived right back into life, embarking on another investigation.
“Grounded in the sequence of actions you’ve undertaken, I extend my congratulations. The pronounced self-destructive tendencies have lost their grip, and you’ve truly extricated yourself from the abyss of agony.
“Naturally, the pain won’t dissipate entirely. It will wane and recede. Perhaps it might resurge abruptly in the future, once again occupying your mind. Yet, there’s no need to succumb to panic. Armed with this period of experience, I trust you’re equipped to navigate it adeptly. Psychologically speaking, this signals a path to recovery.
“In similar fashion, the past invariably leaves its imprints upon us. Your self-destructive propensities, your extremities, your pathological behaviors—no doubt they’re more potent than in most individuals, but they all abide by the bounds of reason and normalcy.”
In response, Lumian let out a slow exhale and murmured, “I sense it myself, honestly. The present me is an entirely different person from the one who initially set foot in Trier.
“Thank you, Madam Susie. Thank you, Madam Justice.”
He realized that his transformation from an initial state of apathy was thanks to the efforts of these two psychiatrists and his escapades in the market district. The prospect of death itself had lost its sting. He had shifted from a vindictive malevolent specter to an individual fueled by an ardent thirst for retribution, driven by a potent desire for action.
“In essence, this is your own redemption.” Susie’s tone brimmed with a delight not present before. “The primary contributors to this turnaround are none other than yourself and your sister, Aurore. Were it not for the tiniest ember of hope that you harbored, coupled with your will to persist, and were it not for Miss Aurore gifting you nearly six years of cherished moments to savor and to mold your thoughts, we might not have been able to reel you back in.”
As Lumian processed these words, a montage of scenes flickered across his mind: Aurore inhaling deeply, using the breaths to temper the vexation derived from instructing him. The tempestuous storms of combat training, coupled with her impromptu “attacks.” The two of them ensconced in the study, each absorbed in their respective books, relishing the tranquility of the night. And, as the number one experimental subject, he was obligated to consume the culinary reproductions of food back home that his sister conjured, be they successes or failures…
Lumian’s expression softened as he recollected a line from his sister’s novel: The joy and pain of days past are equal to the me of the present.
After a pause lasting more than ten seconds, he straightened in his seat and queried, “Were last night’s nightmares all rooted in the King’s Pie game?”
This time, it was Madam Justice who responded, her voice soft with understanding, “Indeed. Considering the current situation, it’s likely that you were mentally corrupted during that time.”
“Mental corruption? Does it actually involve Beyonder powers?” Lumian asked with genuine curiosity.
Madam Justice replied, “Ordinarily, the simple act of sacrificing a King’s Pie wouldn’t have yielded any results. Otherwise, the game wouldn’t have remained a popular tradition in Intis for centuries, fading into obscurity only after the establishment of the Republic. Only a handful of families still recall it.”
“Yes, that’s what I assumed back then. Poufer didn’t employ any mystical language or invoke a complete honorific name. It’s implausible for the sacrifice to succeed,” Lumian concurred.
Madam Justice continued, “Nevertheless, exceptions exist—sacrificers who share blood ties with the subject of the sacrifice and exhibit numerous similarities.
“If you participate frequently in Poufer’s King’s Pie game and repeatedly endure the mental corruption it entails, the ramifications won’t dissolve with a mere spate of nightmares. Rather, before they fully dissipate, they’ll progressively warp your psyche and lead you into madness.”
“Could the content of these nightmares be symbolic?” Lumian inquired succinctly.
Madam Justice’s response flowed measuredly.
“It’s highly probable that they’re a fusion of specific deranged occurrences from your past, projected into your dreamscape through the taint of corruption.”
“So, that ancient castle and those deranged individuals could really exist…” Lumian mused, nodding in contemplation.
As Lumian engaged in a conversation with Justice and Susie for a while, he intuited that the day’s follow-up session was drawing to a close.
In that instance, Madam Justice took the lead, saying, “Didn’t I mention previously that I might require your assistance with something?”
“Of course, no problem,” Lumian swiftly agreed.
Consider it the cost of the psychiatric treatment!
Moreover, he held the belief that Madam Justice wouldn’t have entrusted him with the task without assessing his capabilities. The endeavor couldn’t be excessively dangerous.
Madam Justice chuckled and said, “Should you succeed, I shall bestow an additional reward upon you, one that will cater to your requirements in a specific manner.”
“Something capable of altering my appearance?” Lumian’s heart skipped a beat with excitement.
“Something along those lines.” Madam Justice’s initially gentle tone turned solemn. “I’m hoping you can venture to an ancient tomb situated on the fourth floor of Trier’s catacombs, specifically to retrieve a vial of the Samaritan Women’s Spring for me.”
Samaritan Women’s Spring? Lumian was taken aback.
Madame Hela had previously mentioned that she had journeyed to Trier in pursuit of an artifact hidden deep within the catacombs. Concurrently, she had inquired about the legend surrounding the Samaritan Women’s Spring!
Wasn’t this too much of a coincidence?
Almost as if she sensed his thoughts, Madam Justice chimed in with a smile, “Don’t you find it too coincidental?
“Yes, what I’m hoping for is that you can leverage Madame Hela’s exploration to assist me in securing some Samaritan Women’s Spring water. Doing so yourself might yield slim chances of success.
“In truth, I could ‘arrange’ for you to undertake this task in a more clandestine manner, but that approach contradicts my philosophy and principles. I still require face-to-face communication with you and your explicit consent for such matters. I’m disinclined to ensnare you passively through covert cues to fulfill my objectives.
“For me, indulging in the manipulation of others’ minds is a treacherous endeavor.
“Of course, honesty is also an effective way at influencing others’ thoughts.”
Lumian’s skepticism and doubts gradually ebbed away. He inquired, perplexed, “Madam Justice, given that you possess a general awareness of the Samaritan Women’s Spring’s approximate location, why wouldn’t you retrieve it yourself? Why involve a Sequence 7 Beyonder like me?”
The Tarot Club’s Major Arcana card was definitely a demigod, countless times stronger than him!
Madam Justice laughed.
“To put it succinctly, certain locales become progressively hazardous with an increase in Sequence.”
A location where higher Sequences meet with increased danger? Lumian found this notion confounding.
Madam Justice added, “As Sequences rise, proximity to the Oldest One increases, accumulating more madness along the way. Consequently, individuals in higher Sequences are more susceptible to particular forms of corruption.
“Hela is also beneficial in this matter. At the very least, this approach will save her time and permit her to narrow down her search to a designated area.”
After a brief contemplation, Lumian agreed to Madam Justice’s request. From her, he gleaned the approximate location of the Samaritan Women’s Spring—situated within the westernmost ancient tomb on the fourth floor of the catacombs.
…
Following the session, Lumian made his way back to Rue des Blouses Blanches in the market district, his objective being the retrieval of the Flog boxing gloves from the iron cabinet.
Upon his arrival at the safe house, an odd inkling settled upon him.
Intrusion!
Someone had infiltrated his safe house!
Lumian’s heart tightened as he advanced with purpose, unlatching the iron cabinet.
While observing that Aurore’s grimoires and the Flog boxing gloves remained, a sigh of relief escaped him involuntarily.
However, he proceeded to conduct a thorough inspection, and his scrutiny bore fruit. One article was conspicuously absent—the Earth Blood ore was gone!