Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability

“Of course,” came Susie’s gentle voice, reaching Lumian’s ears.

Almost simultaneously, Lumian felt a weight pulling at his consciousness, dragging him down swiftly into deeper depths.

Within a matter of seconds, his eyelids grew heavy, and he could not resist the urge to close them. His thoughts became muddled and indistinct.

In his dazed state, Lumian appeared to transform into a spectral figure, floating through the familiar village of Cordu in the cloak of night.

After an unknown duration, he caught sight of the onion-shaped cathedral, though his perception remained hazy. A concentrated beam of light emerged near its main entrance, while the rest of the darkness loomed like an ominous shadow.

Lumian meandered aimlessly toward the adjacent cemetery.

In the darkness, tombstones stood in silent formation, and trees assumed an eerie presence.

A group of men were hauling a lifeless body toward a deep pit, preparing to cast it down.

Beneath the faint glow of the crimson moon, one of the men lifted his head and surveyed his surroundings.

His face, with black hair and piercing blue eyes, bore deep creases, as if shrouded in shadows.

Pons Bénet!

Lumian snapped out of his reverie.

The distance between them diminished instantly. Lumian lowered his gaze and beheld the corpse.

The face of the lifeless body appeared swollen from water, drained of color. The brown hair clung damply to the head, while the brown eyes remained wide open, reflecting agony, indignation, and resentment.

Reimund!

A surge of intense hatred filled Lumian’s heart as he hurled accusations at Pons Bénet and his companions, giving vent to his emotions.

It felt as if he had unleashed a torrent of curses, as if he had pounced on Pons Bénet, the villain. It felt as if he was digging a profound pit with his bare hands.

Dirt pierced his nails, uncovering another corpse at the pit’s bottom.

The girl’s eyes, a shade of lake-blue, bulged fiercely. Her face bore a bluish-purple hue, her mouth agape, and her neck showed evident signs of strangulation. She wore an expression of excruciating pain.

Ava!

Lumian shot up from his seat, propelled by intense emotions, and his eyes flew open.

Huff. Puff. Lumian stared at the vacant sofa opposite him in the booth, gasping heavily.

The intense anger and hatred from his dream lingered, causing him to tremble uncontrollably.

Lumian’s face twisted slightly as he replied, his voice filled with pain.

“I saw them. I saw Reimund and Ava’s bodies. One of them drowned, and the other appeared to have been strangled to death… Pons Bénet and his gang were burying their bodies in the cemetery next to the cathedral… I shouted at them, wanted to do something… and then I woke up.”

Susie listened attentively and spoke calmly.

“This time, I didn’t allow you to have a lucid dream. Instead, I let you experience certain subconscious scenes in the form of a dream.

“While it may not present the complete truth, it combines fragments of what actually happened. There might be overlaps in time or space, but the essential details remain intact. It provides us with a basis for interpretation.”

Lumian asked, his voice filled with anguish, “So you’re saying that I really witnessed Pons Bénet and the others burying Reimund and Ava’s bodies in the cemetery?”

“I’m not entirely certain,” Susie analyzed. “What we can conclude so far is that Reimund was drowned by Pons Bénet and his companions, and Ava was strangled to death by them. Their bodies were eventually buried somewhere in the cemetery, and you may or may not have been present at the scene. It’s possible that you discovered it later and attempted to unearth their corpses as well as seek revenge on Pons Bénet and his gang, but the outcome wasn’t favorable. Otherwise, your recent dream would have reflected some of that content.”

Lumian fell silent for a moment before speaking again.

“So that’s what happened… I was wondering why Pons Bénet and the others didn’t kill me and toss me into the deep pit if I was truly there…”

Part of his anguish stemmed from a fear deep within him—a suspicion that he might have been in league with Pons and his gang.

“We cannot dismiss the possibility that you were present at the scene and witnessed the entire incident, but there are numerous explanations. It may not be as you imagine it to be. They spared your life because they needed a vessel with exceptional physical attributes.” Susie understood Lumian’s doubts and resistance. Her words aimed to soothe him gently. “What I can affirm is that the anger, hatred, and desire for revenge you experienced in your dream were genuine. Those were your true emotions at that time. In other words, regardless of the circumstances, the deaths of Ava and Reimund have nothing to do with you.”

Upon hearing Susie’s words, Lumian felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He slumped against the sofa, his strength draining away.

His mind was now much calmer than before, and he no longer needed to maintain a facade of bravery.

In the blink of an eye, an invisible warm breeze swept through his body and mind, soothing him completely.

Susie’s encouraging voice filled the air, her smile evident.

“Compared to our last session, you’re in a much better state now. You showed courage sooner than I anticipated, facing the doubts and questions you were reluctant to confront.

“In the realm of psychology, this is a crucial indication that you’re breaking free from the puzzle. Only by directly confronting the problem can you find a resolution.

“Alright, that concludes today’s treatment. You’re ready to face Louis Lund, Madame Pualis, and the others.”

In that very instant, the composed Lumian pondered the words of Madam Magician, recalling her earnest advice.

“There is yet another matter.

“I may be compelled to believe in another entity at some point, but ordinarily, I am forbidden to recollect His honorific name. Do you—either of you—possess a means to prevent such recollection?”

The cheerful female voice responded, her words carrying a gentle smile, “That is quite simple. I shall provide you with a psychological trigger. When your spiritual intuition feels devoid of protection, your subconscious will replace the honorific name with ‘That Being’ to safeguard against its impact.

“While under protection, you may freely remember and speak His name in its entirety…”

Lumian’s mind turned adrift briefly upon hearing the other person declare, “The psychological cue has been planted.”

“Thank you, Madam. And thank you too, Madam Susie,” Lumian nodded toward the empty space across from the booth.

“You’re welcome. See you in two weeks,” the gentle female voice replied, and Susie added, “See you in two weeks.”

Lumian wasn’t sure when they departed, but the area around Booth D grew still. Only the chirping of birds in the botanical garden, the clopping of hooves on the road, and the distant hum of machinery resonated.

He lifted his cup, finishing the remainder of his Intis coffee in one gulp, adjusting his mental state.

Seizing the moment, he replayed the entire treatment process in his mind, and an inexplicable feeling settled upon him. Madam Susie’s last statement seemed somewhat peculiar.

She said I can face Louis Lund, Madame Pualis, and the others now… Does that imply that the answers I might receive from Madame Pualis could shatter me?

It’s understandable, but what if my condition doesn’t improve as expected? Will she advise me to give up the opportunity to meet Louis Lund? But what if Louis Lund emerged yesterday? Wouldn’t it be a major problem if I hadn’t had my follow up?

If that’s the case, shouldn’t Madam Susie have warned me against approaching Madame Pualis or confronting the padre before the follow-up session?

How can she be so certain that I won’t encounter Louis Lund in the past two weeks, or that he’ll elude capture if I do?

Spectator…

Lumian’s senses snapped back to full alertness. He exited Booth D and hailed a public carriage back to Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman.

Lumian didn’t rush to send a messenger to Auberge du Coq Doré or the safe house on Rue des Blouses Blanches to inform Madam Magician about Termiboros. Instead, he made his way straight to 126 Avenue du Marché to check if his subordinates, Anthony Reid, or Franca had discovered anything.

With a dark brown wide-brimmed hat atop his head, Lumian strolled to a spot diagonally across from “Black Scorpion” Roger’s house, roughly 20 meters away. He settled into a gap between two buildings, leaning against the wall.

Several vagrants occupied the area.

One of them shuffled closer to Lumian and whispered, “Nothing yet.”

Lumian nodded and directed his gaze toward the three-story building with a garden, keeping an eye on passersby.

As time ticked by, the sun descended on the horizon, casting a dwindling light. The lamplighters commenced their task, igniting the gas lamps one by one.

At that moment, Lumian spotted a man clad in a grayish-blue worker’s uniform.

Underneath his cap, light-yellow hair peeked out, and his slightly chubby face exuded an air of simplicity and honesty.

Anthony Reid? Why is he out and about? Lumian recognized the information broker, perplexed by his actions.

Resembling a worker finishing his shift, Anthony Reid hurried toward the end of Avenue du Marché.

Lumian’s pupils contracted when he realized that Anthony Reid wasn’t merely passing by; he was approaching someone.

The man sported a blue gown adorned with yellow buttons, a waxed hat, a white tie, and a red vest. He sat inside a rental carriage bearing a yellow plate, clearly a driver affiliated with the Empire Carriage Company. Carriage drivers from different companies donned distinct uniforms.

The carriage driver tipped his hat, keeping his head lowered as if waiting for a customer.

Lumian’s heart stirred. He rose to his feet, taking a few steps in that direction.

As Anthony Reid brushed past the carriage, he stumbled and collided with the horse pulling it.

Startled, the horse attempted to raise its forelegs, but the carriage driver swiftly tugged on the reins, firmly restraining the animal.

Yet, as the carriage driver lifted his head, his face was revealed.

In his forties, with black hair, Lumian couldn’t discern his features clearly due to the distance. Nonetheless, a faint sense of familiarity washed over him.

Lumian narrowed his eyes as he profusely apologized to Anthony Reid and left the carriage behind. A valet emerged from 126 Avenue du Marché.

Approaching the carriage, the valet addressed the driver,

“My master wishes to hire your carriage. Proceed inside and assist with moving some items.”

The carriage driver nodded, replying in a deep voice, “Okay.”

Following the valet, he entered the residence belonging to “Black Scorpion” Roger.

Lumian, who had witnessed the entire sequence of events without catching their conversation, smirked.

He was now utterly certain that the carriage driver was Louis Lund!

At long last, you’ve arrived!