Chapter 310 - 310 Encounter

310 Encounter

“How did he go missing?” Lumian asked, puzzled.

Baron Brignais wasn’t just a mob leader; he was a Beyonder, too. As long as he was attentive, how could he allow his child to disappear?

Moreover, who in the market district would dare to snatch his child?

Sarkota shook his head. “He didn’t provide details.”

Could it be the machinations of the Rose School of Thought, striving to expose the truth about the Savoie Mob from Baron Brignais? With recent events woven into the mix, Lumian had some unconfirmed theories.

After a brief pause of thought, he inquired, “Do you know what Brignais’s illegitimate son looks like?”

Sarkota nodded. “The baron’s underlings came by with a portrait that resembles a photograph.”

A portrait that resembles a photograph… Had he invoked ritualistic magic? Lumian’s memory recalled the contents of Aurore’s grimoires.

Gazing at the brilliant sunlight streaming through the window, he turned to Sarkota.

“Gather some men and aid Brignais.”

Regardless of whether the child was ensnared by the Rose School of Thought or had truly gone missing, if they couldn’t locate him soon, the outcome would be grim.

At his age, even without additional complications, his fate as a street urchin wouldn’t be kind.

“Understood.” Sarkota refrained from inquiring why his boss had decided to lend a hand to Baron Brignais.

After all, it wasn’t yet noon, and Salle de Bal Brise had just commenced operations. The real hustle and bustle didn’t kick in until three or four in the afternoon. Apart from the janitors and kitchen staff, most folks had time aplenty.

Lumian ordered a glass of ice water topped with sugar-infused alcohol and stood on the café’s balcony, observing the mobsters interrogating vagrants along Avenue du Marché.

After a while, “Rat” Christo appeared. The diminutive smuggling chief emerged from an alley, trailed by seven or eight dogs of varying hues and breeds, and entered the diagonally opposite alley.

Before long, he drew nearer to Salle de Bal Brise.

At this sight, Lumian finished the remaining alcohol, placed the glass on the railing, and leaped from the second floor to the street.

Christo, his two rat-like whiskers wiggling, approached with a sycophantic grin.

“Good morning, Ciel.”

“Are you aiding Brignais in locating his illegitimate son?” Lumian inquired directly.

Christo nodded gently. “Indeed. He personally reached out to me for assistance. Coincidentally, these kids excel at tracking down people.”

As the “Rat” spoke, he affectionately patted the dogs’ heads.

They alternated between gathering and dispersing, following a distinct scent.

Baron Brignais truly cares for that illegitimate son… Lumian advised “Rat” Christo with a pensive air, “There might be something peculiar about this situation. Stay vigilant. I don’t want you to go missing before finding the boy.”

The Rose School of Thought being responsible for abducting the boy was always one of the possibilities.

Christo was taken aback, pondered for a moment, and remarked, “There’s indeed something amiss. In recent years, we’ve never heard of Brignais having such a son. Moreover, he holds him in high regard. Why would the boy vanish?”

A sudden appearance of an illegitimate child? Lumian’s intuition suggested this might be more intricate than he presumed.

After contemplating briefly, Christo gratefully said, “Ciel, your intellect surpasses mine.”

“Don’t you possess medicine to enhance your mind?” Lumian inquired, half jesting and half curious.

As Christo allowed the dogs to nuzzle his trousers, he sheepishly smiled and replied, “Indeed, but they’re short-term solutions. Their effects are middling, nowhere near the potency of a potion. Damn it, excessive consumption can lead to complications.”

Lumian shifted the conversation, asking, “Do you possess authentic mummy ashes?”

Christo assumed an enigmatic expression.

“How much do you require? I can provide you with the best version. That ‘Little Minx’ Jenna often frequents Franca. She’s a tricky one. Just days ago, Franca inquired if I had genuine mummy ashes. Tsk, even the Boss is having trouble.”

Ciel also had numerous dancers and actresses as mistresses. Despite his youth, he still relied on medicine.

“I mean true mummy ashes.” Lumian stroked his chin.

“I don’t.” Christo shook his head. “That stuff is ineffective, and I don’t know who propagated the falsehood, but I do have a concoction that can satisfy all your paramours. It’s composed of various herbs; I merely claim mummy ashes as the primary ingredient.”

“Did Franca buy it?” Lumian inquired with a grin.

“She did.” Christo cooperatively chuckled. “Probably because the Boss is too embarrassed to approach me.”

Her facade was impeccable. She concealed her true desires from the “Rat,” seeking the so-called “ineffective” mummy ashes… Lumian sighed and confessed openly, “I need genuine mummy ashes. They possess mystical uses. Keep an eye out since you often engage with merchants trading in alchemical materials.”

“No problem.” Christo suspected that Ciel aimed to preserve his dignity and wouldn’t acknowledge his quest for such a remedy. He insisted on mysticism as a pretext for seeking mummy ashes but didn’t expose him. After all, it was a minor matter.

Observing Christo’s persistent search for Baron Brignais’s missing illegitimate son with his dogs, Lumian turned on his heel and made his way back to the dance hall.

As he was about to approach the bar counter, Termiboros’s commanding voice reverberated in his ears: “To the cellar.”

To the cellar… Lumian’s initial thought was that the Inevitability angel had something planned.

“Which cellar?” he inquired.

“The one used to store ingredients,” replied Termiboros.

So proactive, so eager… What’s He plotting? Lumian began to wonder if there was an underlying scheme at play.

Termiboros continued, “It’s a stroke of fate for you. Even if you don’t go, it will find its way to you. It’s destined.”

You’re giving me chills… Termiboros won’t likely put me in immediate danger right now… What could be in that cellar… Lumian contemplated briefly and reckoned that the ingredient storage cellar was usually bustling around noon. In theory, there shouldn’t be anything unusual or perilous.

After careful consideration, he decided to head to the cellar, listen at the door, and take a look. If he sensed anything awry, he would write to Madam Magician and inquire if he should heed Termiboros’s advice and enter.

Amidst the greetings of the chefs, kitchen helpers, handymen, and dishwashing maids, Lumian crossed through the kitchen and descended the stairs to the ingredient storage cellar.

The cellar’s dark-brown wooden door was securely shut, as usual.

Lumian strained his ears, intently listening for any signs of activity.

A faint chewing sound reached his ears.

It wasn’t a dramatic sound, devoid of the horrifying notion of a creature devouring flesh. Rather, it resembled a tramp gnawing on food after a long bout of hunger.

Something’s definitely amiss… Lumian cautiously pushed open the cellar door.

The light from the stairs seeped in, revealing a figure.

It was a boy of seven or eight, his back to Lumian. He had short yellow hair, a caramel coat, white stockings, and black strapless leather shoes. Behind him lay a dark red school bag that seemed somewhat weighty and sturdy.

Lumian found the attire oddly familiar.

Suddenly, he recalled where he’d seen it before.

Baron Brignais’s illegitimate son!

So, his disappearance led him to hiding in the ingredient cellar of Salle de Bal Brise? Lumian had intended to take a quick glance before shutting the door and leaving to pen a letter to Madam Magician at Auberge du Coq Doré. Yet, upon realizing that the person in the cellar was likely Baron Brignais’s illegitimate son, he furrowed his brow slightly and swung open the dark brown wooden door a bit more.

Additional light streamed in, causing the boy to instinctively turn and face the door.

Lumian caught sight of the brass buttons on his clothes, a black-and-white checkered shirt, and a linen coat. He saw a face with evident baby fat, unperturbed but vacant brown eyes, and a mouth smeared with blood.

The boy clutched a few raw steaks tinged with a dark red hue in his hand. His mouth kept opening and closing as he chewed on a vague mass of flesh resembling a rat. Its thin black tail gently swayed near his lips.

Lumian narrowed his eyes and slipped his left hand into his pocket.

The boy remained unperturbed, his gaze vacant as he continued staring at Lumian. He chewed a few more times before swallowing the bloody rat, tail and all.

Lumian arched an eyebrow and asked, “Are you Brignais’s illegitimate son?”

“No,” the boy mumbled, nibbling at a piece of raw steak.

“Then what’s your connection?” Lumian queried in a “peaceful” manner.

After a while of eating raw steak, the boy answered, “He’s my godfather and guardian in Trier.”

Remarkably precise Intisian, hardly any accent… Lumian regarded the peculiar boy with puzzlement and probed, “Are you running away from home?”

“Yes,” the boy replied, blood staining his mouth as he continued nibbling on the raw steak.

Behind him stretched a thick darkness, enveloped by the dim light from the corridor.

“Why did you flee from your godfather? Do you need me to help you return?” Lumian asked, offering a friendly smile, noticing that the other party was more amicable in conversation.

The boy shook his head vigorously.

“No! I don’t want to go back to attending classes, studying, doing homework, taking practice tests, and sitting for exams!”

Wh— The boy’s reasoning left Lumian oddly bewildered, as if he had glimpsed his own past.

He was intelligent and had no trouble attending classes, reading, or taking exams. He absorbed knowledge swiftly, but he disliked homework or practice tests. He relied on Aurore’s “heartfelt education” to barely persevere. He often wished he could rope in Reimund, Ava, and his friends to do those tasks for him.

Is this rat-chewing enigma the fateful encounter Termiboros alluded to? Lumian pondered and inquired, “You don’t seem to be from Intis?”

With an honest demeanor and a bloodied mouth, the boy responded, “I’m from Lenburg.”