Chapter 147 - 147 Reaction

147 Reaction

Lumian had just returned to the second floor when he spotted Charlie lingering outside his door.

“Hey, don’t tell me you had another dream? You make me nervous, just popping up at my door like that,” Lumian teased with a hint of mockery.

He couldn’t shake the fact that Charlie had sought him out rather than heading directly to the Eternal Blazing Sun cathedral.

Charlie glanced at the stairs and lowered his voice.

“Something happened on the fourth floor?”

“You’ve got good ears,” Lumian commended. “There was an incident. I tossed Wilson down the block.”

“Huh?” Charlie appeared bewildered once more.

It took him a moment to process.

“Which Wilson? The one from the Poison Spur Mob who collects money from Miss Ethans?”

“Yes.” Lumian nodded candidly.

At first, Charlie’s expression read, “I see.” Then, he blurted out in shock, “You threw him down the block? From which floor?”

“Fourth floor,” Lumian replied, grinning.

Charlie’s mouth fell open, forgetting to close it.

“You’re not joking, are you?” he asked nervously after a few seconds.

Lumian gestured toward the room across the hall.

“If you don’t believe me, take a look at the alley behind. That guy’s like a cockroach; he didn’t die from the fall.”

“…” Charlie assessed Lumian anew, as though seeing him for the first time. He realized that his mischievous, audacious, and clever friend possessed a side he didn’t grasp at all.

In Lumian’s eyes, there seemed to be no law, and a chilling coldness ran deep within him. Fear was absent from his mind, and he had genuinely thrown a living person from the fourth floor. Moreover, he was a leader of the Poison Spur Mob!

Wasn’t he afraid of dying?

Wasn’t he afraid of the Poison Spur Mob’s retaliation?

This brought to mind how Ciel had held a dirk to his throat when Susanna Mattise threatened him.

Of course, his weapon wouldn’t have been some Cursed Blade.

The next second, Charlie glanced around and lowered his voice again.

“A-are you out of your mind? The Poison Spur Mob isn’t to be trifled with!

“Why don’t you move away? You should be safe once you leave the market district.”

He felt that no matter how reckless Ciel was or how little he respected the law, he was someone who had genuinely helped him. He had to warn him of the danger so he could escape swiftly.

Lumian smirked and shot back, “Our Savoie Mob isn’t to be trifled with either.”

“Uh…” Charlie suddenly sensed that the situation might not be as he’d imagined.

Lumian opened the door to Room 207 and declared as he entered,

“From now on, Auberge du Coq Doré is our Savoie Mob’s turf. I’ll throw out anyone from the Poison Spur Mob who shows up.”

Had the Savoie Mob enlisted Ciel to handle Wilson? Charlie came to a realization and felt a mixture of relief.

Since the Savoie Mob had instigated the confrontation, they surely had a plan to counter the Poison Spur Mob’s retaliation. A broke, jobless guy like him needn’t worry.

Lumian snapped the suitcase shut, concealing a few sets of clothes and Aurore’s grimoire within. He slid it under the bed and draped a blanket over it. Straightening up, he instructed Charlie,

“If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I went to the Salle de Bal Brise.”

“A-alright.” Charlie watched as Lumian vanished down the stairs, a sudden realization hitting him.

What would become of Miss Ethans after this?

Would she be claimed by the Savoie Mob, or was there still a chance for her to redeem herself?

…

Avenue du Marché, Salle de Bal Brise.

Lumian perched at the bar counter, tapping his fingers on the surface.

“One glass of Lover, a serving of mashed potatoes, veal slices in lard, a pork sausage, and a croissant.”

Lover referred to a sugar alcohol brewed from sugarcane syrup, served with ice and water. It was common slang in Intis bars.

Soon enough, Lumian sipped the amber-hued, sweet alcohol and savored the aromatic veal slices.

As he relished the delicacies and listened to the music from the dance floor, his body swayed rhythmically.

Just then, one of Baron Brignais’ gang members sidled up beside him.

Lumian turned to the man, noticing the blood clots on his forehead. He smiled and said, “This is our third encounter, right? What should I call you?”

The thug replied cautiously, “Just call me Louis.”

Another Louis… Lumian mused.

In the Intis Republic, Louis was as common a name as Pierre and Guillaume. The last Louis Lumian had met had given birth to a child, despite being a man.

Louis watched Lumian take a bite of the croissant and offered casually, as if trying to build rapport, “This one’s on me. It’s your first time at our Salle de Bal Brise.”

“Alright.” Lumian didn’t bother with pretenses.

Louis ordered a syrupy lemon soda alcohol dubbed Demon and took a sip.

“You live at Auberge du Coq Doré, right?”

“Yeah.” Lumian grabbed a piece of sausage and popped it into his mouth.

Louis pondered for a moment before asking, “That’s Poison Spur Mob territory. Want to move to Rue des Blouses Blanches?”

“No need.” Lumian sipped his ice-cold Lover, its caramel scent wafting through the air, and grinned. “It’s now our Savoie Mob’s turf.”

“What?” Louis nearly choked on his drink.

Lumian swiveled his head and smirked.

“I tossed Wilson from the Poison Spur Mob off the fourth floor. Auberge du Coq Doré is now Savoie Mob turf.”

Hearing Lumian’s account, Louis’s face gradually stiffened.

After a few seconds, he forced a smile and stood up.

“I need to report this to the baron.”

Why is this guy even more brutal and unhinged than the baron?

“Alright.” Lumian didn’t care.

Louis took a few brisk steps before turning back, leaning in to whisper, “Is Wilson dead?”

“No.” Lumian feigned regret.

What are you regretting? Louis studied Lumian’s face, suddenly wondering: Did we gain a weapon or a massive problem?

…

Avenue du Marché, Unit 126, inside Roger’s three-story building with a modest garden.

As the injured Wilson was carried past him, Roger’s icy blue eyes scanned the three trembling thugs and he demanded, “Who did this?”

“Someone from the Savoie Mob!” A thug answered hastily, slightly hunched. “He calls himself Ciel and says that the Auberge du Coq Doré now belongs to the Savoie Mob!”

Ciel… Black Scorpion Roger’s somewhat plump face registered a mix of confusion and wariness.

He murmured to himself, “There’s no Ciel among the top brass of the Savoie Mob… How did he manage to thrash Wilson like this?”

It was worth noting that Wilson was a Villain, equivalent to a Sequence 9 Beyonder—a master of combat!

At that moment, another thug spoke up speculatively, “Boss, I remember something. We went to Auberge du Coq Doré the night Margot was killed.”

Roger’s expression darkened, a fierce hatred seeping in.

“Was that also Ciel’s doing? How did he pull it off?

“Did the Savoie Mob secretly recruit such a formidable figure to drive us out of the market district?”

A man standing beside Black Scorpion Roger spat hatefully, “First, an assassination; now, an open taunt. If we don’t retaliate, who knows what’ll come next!”

The man had a shaved head but boasted striking features. His lake-blue eyes, high nose bridge, thick brown eyebrows, and curved lips rendered him handsome despite his baldness.

Dressed in a black shirt, dark breeches, and strapless leather boots, he forewent a coat and stood nearly 1.8 meters tall.

Roger pondered for a few seconds before instructing the man beside him,

“Haman, go to Baron Brignais and find out what’s going on. Ask if the Savoie Mob intends to wage an all-out war against our Poison Spur Mob.”

“If they’re open to reconciliation, we can make appropriate concessions.

“Remember, learn to endure—the time isn’t right yet.”

…

On the balcony of a third-floor room in Salle de Bal Brise.

Baron Brignais leisurely puffed on his peach-colored pipe, observing the guests entering and exiting the dance hall.

Suddenly, he turned his gaze towards the door.

Two seconds later, Louis pushed open the door, entering the balcony and stepping past the other thugs.

“Your footsteps are a bit heavy and hurried. Something happen?” Baron Brignais inquired with a smile.

Louis replied anxiously, “Baron, Ciel threw Wilson off the fourth floor of the Auberge du Coq Doré!”

“Wilson from the Poison Spur Mob?” Baron Brignais recalled, seeking confirmation.

“Yes, he’s severely injured but not dead,” Louis quickly added.

Baron Brignais held his pipe, pondering for a moment before asking, “Did Ciel mention why he did that?”

“He said that the Auberge du Coq Doré is now our Savoie Mob’s turf,” Louis repeated Lumian’s words.

Baron Brignais couldn’t help but chuckle.

Taking a drag from his pipe, he spoke with a hint of meaning, “If you don’t handle a sharp weapon properly, it’s easy to hurt yourself. I’ll have to find an opportunity to give him some ‘guidance.’

“What should we do about the Poison Spur Mob? Should we inform the Boss?” Louis asked, concerned.

Baron Brignais considered for a moment and responded, “Not for now.

“Ciel actually performed well this time. I’m curious to see how the Poison Spur Mob reacts.”

Noticing his subordinate’s puzzled expression, Baron Brignais—always fond of ‘educating’ them to showcase his intelligence—smiled and explained, “Since the Poison Spur Mob’s inception, their number of Beyonders has swelled, nearly matching ours in just under two years. They’ve seized a significant amount of territory. Don’t you see a major issue here?

“Give them another two years, and we might be completely driven out of the market district.

“If they want to escalate this matter, I’m more than willing. It’s a prime opportunity for the authorities to take notice and uncover who’s backing them.”