Chapter 398 - 398 Human Blood Bread

398 Human Blood Bread

Some of the citizens of Trier were curious and began asking around for the reason behind the commotion, while others watched with excitement. Lumian couldn’t discern who was genuinely enjoying the prank’s results and who was simply caught up in the fun.

This was a part of Trier’s folklore. Lumian believed that even a formidable, higher-Sequence psychiatrist like Madam Susie wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the source of the commotion, identify the prankster, or distinguish the intentional misguidance from the innocent bystanders.

Although Lumian had anticipated this, he couldn’t help but let out a sigh.

“You Trierians…”

No wonder the April Fool’s team held their private gatherings here. It was like a homecoming.

Lumian abandoned his observations and casually singled out a middle-aged man who was using rye bread to soak up the blood left behind by the death row inmates. He waited until the man made a dash for an exit of the Rois Comprehensive Execution Ground before quietly following behind.

In a secluded alley devoid of barricades, Lumian took a few steps forward, blocking the path of the middle-aged man in a tattered linen shirt.

Raising his bandaged left palm, Lumian inquired, as if he were a mobster giving a condescending glance to an ordinary citizen.

“What have you got there?”

The gaunt middle-aged man with short black hair replied timidly, “It’s bread stained with the blood of death row inmates.”

“And what’s the purpose of this?” Lumian adopted the tone of a curious monster with a touch of intrigue.

The middle-aged man’s fear was palpable.

“I-It can treat illnesses.”

“Who told you it could treat illnesses?” This was Lumian’s main question.

The middle-aged man answered in a daze, “I heard it from Guillaume, who lives across the street. He said that his coworker’s child got better after eating this kind of human blood bread.”

The child of a coworker’s neighbor… Lumian regarded it as nothing more than a rumor. Tracing its origin would be challenging.

He studied the middle-aged man clutching the blood-stained bread and asked with contemplation, “Is someone in your family sick too?”

“Yes.” The middle-aged man instantly looked downtrodden and filled with despair.

He glanced at the blood-stained bread in his hand, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Lumian remained silent for a moment before responding, “What did the doctor say?”

The middle-aged man lowered his head slightly, his gaze fixed on the blood bread.

“He said there’s no cure, and I don’t have the money to…”

Lumian didn’t press further. He turned silently, allowing the middle-aged man to pass through the barricade with his blood-soaked bread and continue down the secluded alley.

He moved slowly, retracing his steps back to the Rois Comprehensive Execution Ground, and noticed that the “market” was still in full swing. Many citizens had taken advantage of the situation to have picnics, sing, and dance, turning it into an impromptu gathering.

Lumian took cover behind the trees on the edge of the square, sitting in the shadows, and continued to silently observe the people coming and going.

As time passed, the bustling “market” in the execution ground gradually quieted down. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the surroundings into darkness.

Lumian remained hidden, keeping an eye on the departing citizens and vendors. However, he didn’t identify any suspicious individuals.

With the arrival of the dark night, the Rois Comprehensive Execution Ground was deserted, bathed in the eerie light of the crimson moon. Lumian slowly rose to his feet, preparing to depart.

Suddenly, he caught sight of a dark figure leaping over the side fence and swiftly infiltrating the execution ground.

Lumian froze and pressed further into the shadows of the tree.

The slender figure, adorned with a top hat, made his way to the area where the death row inmates had met their end. He knelt down, reached out, and collected the soil stained with their blood.

Could this person also believe in the healing properties of death row inmates’ blood? His actions and agility suggest he might be a Beyonder… Lumian silently watched the mysterious figure.

Before long, the tall, thin figure in the top hat straightened up, holding a mound of blood-soaked soil.

Rather than immediately leaving the Rois execution grounds, he ventured deeper, heading towards the gallows.

Under the crimson moonlight, the figure buried the blood-stained soil beneath the gallows. He seemed to scrutinize the plants growing there, as if searching for something.

…

In Trocadéro Town, inside the Red House Café with its vibrant mushroom-like roof,

Franca, sporting black hair, brown eyes, and hunting attire, placed her dinner order: beef seasoned with coarse salt, red wine, fries, Feysac omelet, quail bisque with a few slices of ham.

Earlier that afternoon, she had engaged in a lively conversation with a group of ladies and could sense the longing and desire in their eyes.

Simultaneously, she felt someone secretly observing her, prompting her to stay until nightfall.

As Franca neared the end of her dinner, a woman descended from the second floor.

It was the Demoness who had tailed Franca previously. Today, her long orange-red hair cascaded down her back, and she wore a white man’s shirt, brown dungarees, and dark brown boots that accentuated her perfect figure. Her appearance was exquisite and clean, with an aura that was both pure and slightly wild.

Without hesitation, the woman, presumably a member of the Demoness Sect, walked straight toward Franca, pulled out a chair, and sat opposite her.

Franca deliberately assessed the Demoness’s appearance and figure with a masculine gaze. She smiled and watched as the woman sat down, waiting for her to speak.

“Why are you here again?” the orange-red-haired Demoness inquired, studying Franca closely.

Franca smiled and replied, “Trocadéro Wine is my favorite wine. The scenery and atmosphere here are quite appealing.”

Noticing the Demoness’s disbelief, Franca added with a sly smile, “Besides, I’ve heard…”

She lowered her voice and insinuated, “There are female orgies here.”

The eyes of the Demoness with long orange-red hair flickered.

“Who told you that?”

Franca looked at the Demoness’s face and said provocatively, “Once, I encountered a nymphomaniac who tried to ambush me, but I handled him. He claimed to be a peripheral member of an organization called the Bliss Society. The core members of this organization are lesbians, and they are trying to connect with participants in the female orgies at the Red House Café, looking to recruit new members.”

Franca wasn’t sure if the Demoness Sect had any ties to the Bliss Society. After all, it wasn’t inconceivable for organizations worshiping evil gods to form alliances to some extent, similar to how Hugues Artois had numerous heretics under his influence. Therefore, she “confessed” this information to gauge the reaction of the person sitting across from her.

As she spoke, she prepared herself for any potential surprise attacks.

The Demoness with long orange-red hair’s expression shifted slightly, becoming more serious.

The hostility and wariness in her eyes diminished, but there was a clear sense of repulsion.

Oh, does she view the participants of these female gatherings as her lovers and is unwilling to let me, possibly once a man, near them? Franca couldn’t help but mimic Lumian’s tone inwardly and playfully tease.

She was reasonably certain that the other party had never heard of the Bliss Society, but she had detected some signs.

The Demoness sitting across from Franca fell into deep thought, appearing to consider a potential issue.

After more than ten seconds, she unconsciously brushed back her long orange-red hair and asked cautiously, “Are you here to investigate the Bliss Society, or are you interested in joining the orgy?”

Franca’s laugh drew astonished looks from the surrounding customers, who were clearly taken aback by her stunning expression.

“Both,” Franca replied, meeting the orange-red eyes of the Demoness. “But if I had to choose, I’d prefer attending the orgy. How can people like us resist such a tempting party? Wouldn’t you agree?”

In this way, Franca subtly indicated that she had deduced that the other person was also a Demoness and likely a former male Assassin.

She also hinted at her own history as a man to deter any sudden attacks.

The Demoness, now dressed as a man, seemed to resist this notion but remained silent, clearly captivated by Franca’s presence and aura.

Leaning forward, Franca asked in a more masculine tone, “What should I call you?”

The Demoness hesitated briefly before responding somberly, “I’m Browns Sauron. And you?”

Sauron… Another member of the Sauron family? Franca suddenly recalled that Lumian’s recent mission under the Iron and Blood Cross Order involved interactions with members of the Sauron family.

She didn’t conceal her true name and smiled. “Franca Roland.”

Browns Sauron let out a silent sigh and continued, “Our party places great importance on the privacy and safety of all members. We can’t allow problematic individuals to join. If you’re truly interested, you’ll need to undergo an audit.”

Franca didn’t mind at all. She toyed with the buttons on her shirt and inquired with a grin,

“So, where should we start this audit?”

…

Prison district, Rois Comprehensive Execution Ground.

Under the crimson moonlight, the tall, slender figure in the top hat carefully unearthed a few handfuls of weeds from the ground beneath the gallows.

The roots of these weeds emitted an eerie, blood-red glow, appearing especially otherworldly in the moon’s dim light.

This tall, thin figure had a prominent nose bridge, fair skin, and impeccably groomed medium-length black hair. His eyes were a striking shade of red, and he possessed a certain androgynous allure.

Clad in a white shirt, a vibrant red bow tie, and a sleek black suit, he gazed with fascination at the peculiar weeds in his hand. He was on the verge of rising to leave the execution grounds.

However, at that very moment, a curious male voice broke the silence.

“What are you digging?”

The lanky figure, who had been crouched beneath the gallows, looked up in astonishment. To his surprise, he realized that, at some unnoticeable point in time, a figure had materialized before him, peering down with a penetrating gaze.

This new arrival had blond hair and eyes as blue as serene lakes. He wore a simple white shirt and a black vest, giving him a youthful and refreshing appearance.

How did he manage to approach me without detection? I didn’t pick up on any scent or movement! The lanky figure’s heart raced with alarm and trepidation.