Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability

Outside the police headquarters in the bustling market district, Lumian, donning the enigmatic Prying Glasses, climbed aboard the carriage adorned with painted irises.

Two ordinary constables, clad in black uniforms, occupied the seats opposite, their feet resting beside three somber urns. The names of the departed flickered in fluorescent ink.

Taking his place across from them before the carriage slowly steered forward, Lumian caught the older constable’s inquisitive gaze.

“What brings you here? What’s your connection to these departed souls?”

He remembered that two of the deceased had neither kin nor friends, and the remaining one had distant relatives who trembled at the mere mention of the name Flameng. Not only were they unwilling to come and collect the ashes and relics, but they also reluctantly admitted that they were related by blood or marriage.

Lumian responded calmly.

“I’m their landlord, in a manner of speaking.”

“Just the landlord?” The older constable appeared skeptical.

“Officer, a landlord is a person too. They can feel for others!” Lumian chuckled. “I’ve shared a drink or had a chat with them. Accompanying their remains into the catacombs isn’t a big deal.”

The younger constable feigned disinterest, gazing out the window, while the older constable exuded an air of familiarity.

“Youth suits you well. But in the motel or apartment business in the market district, you must guard against developing attachments to tenants. Otherwise, you’ll either be deceived or heartbroken. After a few more such experiences, your enthusiasm for others will wane.”

Lumian offered a perfunctory reply, and the constable broached another subject.

“We still have Flameng’s belongings. His kin refuse to collect them. Would you like them? If not, we’ll handle it ourselves.”

“I’ll take a look when I return from the catacombs,” Lumian replied nonchalantly.

During the journey from the market district to the Place du Purgatoire in Quartier de l’Observatoire, the older constable chatted away, alternating between engaging Lumian and attempting to draw his colleague into conversation. His chatter seemed ceaseless.

Finally reaching their destination, Lumian disembarked from the carriage, cradling Ruhr’s ashes in his arms. Despite his outgoing nature, Lumian felt a newfound relief, as if his ears had been granted respite.

The catacomb administrator, whom Lumian had encountered before, awaited their arrival.

In his mid-thirties, of average build, with curly brown hair, a thick beard, and slightly upturned eyes, he sported yellow pants, a white shirt, and a blue vest.

“Kendall, why is it you again?” the older constable greeted him warmly.

Kendall held an unlit carbide lamp and smiled.

“Robert, I heard you were coming, so I made sure to delay my other duties and be here for you.”

As Kendall spoke, he scrutinized Lumian and emphasized, “You didn’t forget to bring the white candles, did you?”

“That will be the last thing I forget!” Robert, clutching Flameng’s urn, fumbled in his pocket and retrieved three white candles. He tossed one to his colleague and another to Lumian.

With everything in order, Kendall ignited the carbide lamp and turned around, leading them deeper into the darkness, down the stone staircase comprising 138 steps.

Along the way, they passed a heavy wooden door engraved with two imposing Sacred Emblems and traversed a hushed corridor where even the sound of their breaths seemed amplified.

Lumian was no stranger to such a foreboding atmosphere, but the young constable displayed signs of nervousness. He clutched Madame Michel’s urn tightly, seeking solace.

After traversing a broad avenue, illuminated by gas street lamps, the quartet arrived at the catacombs’ entrance.

The natural cavern, subsequently modified, stood silently in the dim yellow glow. Skulls, skeletal arms, sunflowers, and reliefs depicting steam elements adorned both sides. Beyond them, an impenetrable darkness loomed.

Etched on the lintel were two inscriptions in Intisian:

“Halt!

“The Death Empire lies ahead!”

Although Lumian had witnessed this sight before, he still felt a profound sense of reverence.

Unlike his previous curiosity and confusion, he now keenly grasped the gravity conveyed by these warnings and the surrounding environment.

Beneath Trier’s surface lurked countless perils capable of obliterating the entire city and even Intis itself. These dangers included, but were not limited to, Trier, the Tree of Shadow, and invisible flames from the Fourth Epoch. The catacombs, situated here, were unlikely to be innocuous.

According to Osta Trul, a Secrets Suppliant, visitors who descended into the catacombs with lit white candles invoked the protection of a concealed entity, akin to a ritual.

Lumian couldn’t help but suspect that opening such a place to the public served to suppress some subterranean peril, much like the new city erected upon Trier in the Fourth Epoch.

Kendall turned to Lumian and the others.

“It’s time to light the candles. We must ensure they don’t go out before we leave the catacombs.

“If we happen to get separated, don’t panic. Look for a road sign. If you can’t find one, follow the black line above you until you reach the exit.”

With Kendall holding the carbide lamp, Lumian and the two others ignited their white candles, casting a soft yellowish glow.

As the four candles flickered gently, Kendall extinguished the carbide lamp and led the way through the boulder gate, entering the realm of the Death Empire.

Lumian followed closely behind, clutching the urn in one hand and the white candle in the other.

Suddenly, a chill swept over him, sending shivers down his spine.

But the cold didn’t originate from his surroundings; it emanated from deep within his heart, causing his hair to stand on end.

Simultaneously, Lumian felt eyes fixed upon him, their gazes piercing his soul.

Using the flame of his candle, he looked to his right and saw pits carved into the stone wall, each one containing a ghastly skeletal corpse.

The hollow-eyed skulls stared at him lifelessly, devoid of emotion.

Lumian didn’t avert his gaze as he carefully observed the corpses. He realized that the eerie sensation of being watched didn’t stem from them, yet the feeling remained.

An instinctive urge to activate his Spirit Vision surged within him, but he had changed since arriving in Trier. He had encountered enough to know that many warnings were inscribed with blood and tears by those who came before him.

I shouldn’t look at what I shouldn’t… Since it poses no danger to me, there’s no need to search for the source of this abnormality… Lumian silently muttered, turning his attention to the police officers beside him.

They seemed oblivious to any anomaly and continued following the tomb administrator, Kendall, as if everything was normal.

This made Lumian suspect that the experience was a result of the qualitative change in his spirituality after his advancement to Pyromaniac.

It’s good that you can’t feel it… Lumian couldn’t help but sigh.

Under the weight of countless gazes, his skin erupted in goosebumps.

He cautiously looked up and saw a thick black line painted on the top of the tomb, with an arrow pointing toward the exit.

As he advanced, Lumian noticed that both sides of the path were lined with bones. Some were nestled in pits along the stone walls, others were piled by the roadside, and some were covered by tattered garments. Some lay bare, stripped of all burial items, their skulls coated in a layer of dark green mold. The air carried a diluted scent of decay.

The catacombs were divided into multiple chambers, each designated by name, ensuring visitors could locate specific remains.

Lumian and his companions followed Kendall through the narrow passage between the tomb chapel and the tomb memorial pillar. Ahead, they saw dozens of yellowish candles.

At times, the flames clustered together like fireflies in the night, while other times they formed a river of dim starlight.

Lumian glanced around casually and spotted a bride, her face veiled in white, adorned in a sanctified gown. Beside her stood a groom in a black tailcoat, a floral handkerchief adorning his chest pocket. Surrounding them were 30 to 40 youths, holding lit white candles and laughing merrily.

“What’s happening?” Lumian couldn’t hide his confusion.

Kendall scoffed and explained, “It’s part of a wedding ceremony.

“Since last year, newlyweds have been bringing young guests into the catacombs, crossing paths with the deceased. It’s become a popular tradition in Trier. Young folks are always daring, taking pride in their courage and delighting in scaring others. I’ve seen guests purposely pick up skeletal hands and pat the bride and groom on the shoulder, nearly causing them to faint in fear.”

Oh, you Trierians… Lumian shook his head in amusement.

It didn’t take long for the four of them to reach their destination, the Tomb of Lights.

In the center stood a black pedestal, atop which an obelisk painted white bore the emblem of the Sun. At its peak rested an ancient, extinguished oil lamp. The walls and floor were filled with bones, urns, and countless tear bottles.

Upon entering, Lumian realized a problem.

“Where are Flameng’s relatives?”

He had wanted Flameng to rest alongside his children, wife, and parents.

After a brief moment of contemplation, Lumian suddenly understood why Flameng hadn’t specified the location of his kin’s remains.

He felt guilty and self-reproachful. Flameng desired to be with his family, yet he didn’t dare approach them. He intended to stay in the same chamber and watch over them from a distance.

An indescribable sorrow enveloped Lumian as he stood silently, choosing to honor Flameng’s final wish. He found an empty spot and gently placed the urn of the troubled soul.

Once Robert and the others had arranged the urns of the Ruhr couple, the four of them offered simultaneous prayer, either uttering “Praise the Sun” or “By Steam.”

On their way back, they encountered the newlyweds and their young entourage.

As Lumian brushed past them, he noticed a young couple in the group. Seizing the moment when the tomb administrator’s attention waned, they impulsively attempted to blow out the white candle in their hands, curious to see what would happen.

Whoosh!

They had indeed done it.

The two yellowish flames were extinguished.

In that instant, Lumian’s mind turned adrift.

Quickly regaining his composure, he realized the young couple had vanished without a trace.

They’re gone… Lumian’s eyes widened as he tried to comprehend the situation.

A few seconds later, he accepted the undeniable truth.

The young couple had truly vanished!

Lumian then shifted his gaze back to the entourage.

Whether it was the newlyweds leading the way, the attending guests, or those at the rear, no one seemed to notice anyone missing. They continued to smile, joke, and move forward.