428 Incineration
Sacred Heart Cloister? The largest cloister in Trier’s Eternal Blazing Sun Church? Why did Albus Medici go there? Could he be an undercover agent sent by the Purifier into the Iron and Blood Cross Order? Or did Gardner Martin instruct him to keep an eye on the Sacred Heart Cloister? Lumian’s mind raced with questions and guesses.
As he advanced, clutching a carbide lamp, Iraeta hastily interjected with more information.
“I have a friend at the Sacred Heart Cloister. I often go there to drink with him.”
Lumian, momentarily diverting his focus from Albus Medici, jested, “Can the cloister monks drink?”
The two moved through the shadowy passageway, guided solely by the yellowish glow of the carbide lamp.
Iraeta rambled, “Of course they can, but they can’t partake in liquor or get inebriated. The wine brewed by the Sacred Heart Cloister is the finest I’ve ever tasted.”
“Is your friend a monk?” Lumian walked at a moderate pace, his footsteps echoing through the seemingly endless passageway.
Iraeta appeared content conversing with Ciel and didn’t hide anything.
“Yes, he’s a member of the Brotherhood Minor and served as my nephew’s baptism priest. Later, he could no longer tolerate the cathedral’s clergy indulging in pleasures and chose to become a monk. He joined the Sacred Heart Cloister and is currently overseeing the brewery.”
A member of the Brotherhood Minor, champions of temperance and asceticism… Lumian deduced this and redirected their conversation.
“How often have you and your friend seen Albus Medici? What was the reason for his visit to the Sacred Heart Cloister?”
“Just once,” Iraeta muttered. “I don’t concern myself with such matters. There are no nuns there. When I saw him, he was walking through the corridor with a monk and entered the rear of the cloister.”
It appears that Albus Medici had not entered covertly or with fear of discovery… Lumian deduced this from Iraeta’s account.
Amidst Poet Iraeta’s relentless search for topics, the two of them finally passed through the eerie wax statue room, leaving behind the hall with the enigmatic doors of Hope, Madness, and Death. They retraced their steps to the underground palace.
Iraeta let out a long sigh of relief and relaxed. He grumbled, “The underground palace is so dangerous, and there are creatures with supernatural abilities. Poufer truly led us into an adventure down here!
“Is he attempting to get us killed?”
You’ve all been corrupted by the King’s Pie game many times. I wonder if you’re truly alive… Lumian refrained from a direct response to Iraeta’s grievances, opting for a playful smile as he remarked,
“It seems that the more frightened and tense you are, the more you like to talk.”
“That’s what makes me feel alive,” Iraeta confessed. He extinguished the carbide lamp as they exited the underground palace via the spiral staircase.
Lumian turned back, retracing his steps to the Door of Madness.
He hadn’t closed the door when he left. Even though he hadn’t approached yet, the yellowish light from the carbide lamp made the wax statues appear faintly, as if they were waiting in the darkness.
Lumian stopped at the door, slowly bent down, and placed the carbide lamp on the ground in front of him.
Then, he straightened up and swept his gaze across the wax statues’ faces, their expressions frozen in agony and shrouded in shadows.
Crimson Fire Ravens began to materialize around him, one after another.
Since Count Poufer had shown ill intent by leading them into the perilous depths of the underground palace—any ordinary person would already have died—there was no reason to show any courtesy to a member of the Sauron family, the owner of Red Swan Castle!
Lumian’s plan was straightforward: to set the wax statues ablaze. This had several purposes. First, it might assist in digesting his potion. Second, it could preemptively eliminate potential threats, preventing the wax statues from coming to life and attacking at a critical moment. Lastly, it could create a chaotic situation that would disrupt Count Poufer’s secret plan, sowing doubt and confusion for their further exploration.
Chaos often created opportunities.
Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh! With a swift motion, he released a flurry of Crimson Fire Ravens that darted towards the wax statues.
After dispatching two batches of Fire Ravens, Lumian dropped to one knee, pressing his hands to the ground.
From his palms, fiery serpents slithered out, winding their way through the pile of wax statues and swiftly igniting them.
A cacophony of explosions followed as the wax statues’ heads burst, and their lower extremities were engulfed in flames, creating a cage of crimson fire.
The flesh-white wax that composed their bodies melted rapidly, turning into liquid droplets or softening and crumbling away, rendering them fragile under the dual onslaught of explosion and combustion.
Smack!
The “muscles” on one of the wax statues completely disintegrated, revealing a new face.
It was a human face!
It was a male human who had lost his eyes and died long ago, his face filled with pain!
Silently, more wax statues softened and crumbled.
Without exception, there was a human corpse inside every one of them.
Among the corpses encased in the wax statues were men and women, some with exposed flesh and skin, others with heads and bodies that appeared to have been crudely stitched together after death. Some had open stomachs, their intestines tangled and filled with white wax, creating a grotesque sight…
What all of them had in common was the haunting expression of pain etched across their faces, as if they had lived through unspeakable horrors or had been trapped in the darkest of nightmares.
As Lumian observed, the melted wax transformed into a viscous liquid that oozed from the faces of the deceased humans. It was as if these tortured souls were weeping tears of relief as they faced the purifying embrace of the flames.
Inside the statues are actually real people… Lumian, who had his fair share of horrifying scenes, couldn’t help but tense up, instinctively feeling repulsed and afraid.
He finally knew where the ordinary people from Red Swan Castle who had gone mad and mutilated themselves in his nightmares had gone.
Lumian rose to his feet, clutching the carbide lamp. Crimson flames erupted from his body, transforming into blazing meteors that streaked to every corner of the wax statue-filled chamber, turning it into an inferno.
The flesh-white wax began to burn fervently, feeding upon itself until there was no space left for the fire to consume.
Lumian’s eyes reflected the crimson conflagration and the viscous wax tears on his pale face.
He didn’t avert his gaze but watched intently.
At that moment, he gained a newfound understanding of his pyromaniac abilities. The once-vague third acting principle became clear.
The Pyromaniac wreaked havoc and caused utter catastrophe!
As for Pyromaniacs, they could willingly unleash disaster and destruction upon anyone.
Lumian fervently wished that the heretics and those who had gone “mad” and could only harm others would be engulfed by the flames!
Having amalgamated his various acts into this principle, Lumian had an uncommonly clear sense that his Pyromaniac potion had been entirely digested. He could even hear an imaginary shattering sound.
With a series of thuds, the lifeless bodies, stripped of their wax support, fell one by one to the ground. They piled up and burned even more fiercely.
All of a sudden, the wooden door creaked open from the exit opposite the wax statue’s chamber.
The wax statue artisan, his thick beard and hair resembling a humanoid lion, stood before Lumian.
His iron-black eyes were tinged crimson by the flames that surged toward the ceiling. His voice sounded ethereal as he inquired, “Why… did you… set my wax statues ablaze?”
Lumian didn’t answer; instead, he activated the black mark on his right shoulder.
Spirit World Traversal!
A spectral light flickered within his clothing, and his form swiftly materialized next to the wax statue artisan.
Almost simultaneously, Lumian parted his lips.
“Ha!”
A pale-yellow, gaseous light shot out of his mouth and struck the wax statue artisan’s head.
The wax statue artisan, clad in a grayish-black robe, swayed visibly, as if momentarily losing his balance. He didn’t lose consciousness completely; it was more like he had undergone a Psychic Piercing and was in a state of shock induced by the pain.
Lumian didn’t rely solely on the Spell of Harrumph. He raised his prepared left palm and hurled a crimson fireball, tightly compressed in layers, into the wax statue artisan’s mouth and nose with Fire Infusion.
The fireball, gradually turning white in color, whooshed into the target’s mouth and nostrils, invading his brain.
Boom!
The blazing white fireball exploded from the inside out while Lumian watched as the wax statue artisan’s head expanded rapidly before exploding.
Flaming flesh and blood spurted out. Lumian, already prepared, shielded his face with the carbide lamp in his right hand, leaving the back of his hand stained with blood.
With a thud, the wax statue artisan, with only a small half of his head remaining, swayed and collapsed to the ground.
Lumian, who had meticulously prepared a sequence of attacks, found himself momentarily taken aback. He hadn’t expected the situation to resolve so effortlessly.
He had foreseen that the enigmatic wax statue artisan might pose a formidable challenge, and he had readied himself to “teleport” instantly if things took a turn for the worse.
It was worth noting that the wax statue that had reanimated previously had been more formidable than the wax statue artisan himself. Merely being in its presence had weighed heavily on Lumian’s body and mind, almost rendering him incapable of resistance.
Did he possess the unique ability to create these wax statues, but lacked inherent power? Or did he need to draw strength from the Sauron family’s underground palace to bring these menacing wax figures to life? Perhaps my attack was too swift, leaving him no time to react. He perished on the spot before he could tap into any external strength? Lumian gazed down at the wax statue artisan and assessed the situation.
…
In the depths of the underground palace, within a hall adorned with white candles,
Poufer Sauron, seated in a corner, abruptly opened his eyes and fixed his gaze upon the bronze coffin situated in the center of the chamber.
Around the coffin, numerous candles strangely extinguished without warning.
Wh— Poufer rose to his feet, his expression slightly twisted in consternation.
…
At the exit of the wax statue chamber, Lumian witnessed a crimson radiance emanating from the wax statue artisan’s body.
Initially, the luminescence surged towards the head, but only a small fragment of the wax statue artisan’s head remained. Consequently, it shifted to his chest, yet it couldn’t dissipate.
Lumian felt a tinge of surprise. He tore open the grayish-black robe of the wax statue master, unveiling his chest.
There lay a sinister, pitch-black wound, and the space where his heart should have resided was hollow!
The heart is missing… Elros had mentioned that the Sauron family members’ hearts had to be sent deep into the underground palace… Lumian vaguely grasped the reason behind the wax statue artisan’s formidable yet fragile nature.
Ultimately, the crimson light coalesced into an ethereal entity with myriad gullies, resembling a shrunken blood-colored brain.
Unsure of its significance, Lumian stashed it away and made his exit.
The flames in the room continued to burn, but for some unknown reason, they failed to spread.
…
In the stone pillar hall where the confrontation with the black spider had transpired.
Albus and Elros observed as Lumian returned, carrying a carbide lamp that emitted a faint yellowish glow.
Almost simultaneously, they noticed the specks of blood on Lumian’s body.
“Did you kill the poet?” Albus asked, amused.
Lumian shook his head and replied calmly, “I killed the one making the wax statues.”