505 Departure

Having apprehended everyone deserving of it in the market district and putting those who hadn’t been arrested on the wanted list, Angoulême found a rare moment of leisure. He shifted his focus to selecting members for the Trier diocese team.

Choosing from the Inquisition in the market district was impossible. Armed with information from Saint Viève Cathedral, he casually visited the Inquisition in Quartier de l’Observatoire, the prison district, and other locations where he engaged in detailed conversations with the target Purifiers.

He swiftly concluded his work and returned to his rented apartment in Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative, promptly falling asleep.

Angoulême slept until the early hours of the morning, awakened by the growling of his stomach. He nibbled on a piece of white bread, complemented by his stockpiled jerky, butter, and red wine.

Observing the unwashed cutlery on the coffee table, he contentedly seated himself in front of the miniaturized analyzer and switched on the radio transceiver.

During this time, the telegraph group was most active.

After sending a telegram to announce his presence, Angoulême pulled over a pillow, placing it behind him as he leaned comfortably against the wall.

Soon, amidst the clicking sounds, the analyzer, powered by numerous components, spat out a telegram.

Angoulême’s forehead twitched at the sight of the telegram’s signature: Hidden Blade.

He picked up the telegram and quickly scanned its contents.

“007, you’re finally here. I have something to tell you!

“I’ve just received news that the Mirror People we mentioned have been infiltrating Trier over the past decade, replacing the original ones. Countless Trier citizens are already Mirror People, and no one knows their ultimate goals, but it can’t be anything good.

“I’m investigating these Mirror People. I’ll give you new clues at any moment. Keep an eye out for such matters in advance.”

After reading it, Angoulême took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

…

The following morning, Lumian sat in a four-wheeled, four-seater rental carriage. Ludwig, clad in a caramel coat and carrying a red school bag, occupied the seat beside him. On the opposite side sat Lugano Toscano, with thick eyebrows and large eyes, emanating a distinct protagonist aura.

Glancing out the window at Avenue du Marché, Lumian noticed little deviation from the usual scene.

Street vendors, public carriages, and rental carriages bustled about. The Suhit steam locomotive station welcomed numerous foreigners, waiters actively seeking customers, cafés doubling as beer houses, inexpensive restaurants, and card rooms, along with clerks and workers in a hurry.

While seemingly unchanged, subtle shifts had occurred. “Rat” Christo had fled, “Giant” Simon was apprehended, and Baron Brignais was nowhere to be found. He didn’t even commission information brokers to seek out his smuggled godson.

The Savoie Mob, once dominant, faced total annihilation, setting the market district on the brink of new mob conflicts.

The dark-brown rental carriage, marked with a yellow plate, gradually departed from the lively and somewhat chaotic surroundings.

Observing Lumian divert his attention, Lugano inquired ingratiatingly,

“Should we travel by boat to Feynapotter, or perhaps get false identities and take the southbound steam locomotive to explore Riston Province first?”

He initially considered mentioning Cordu but refrained, sensing it might unsettle Lumian. Instead, he referred to their shared hometown, Riston Province, in a broader context.

“It’s in the hands of fate,” Lumian replied with a smile.

Producing three post-it notes, he scribbled various options with the black fountain pen he carried: “Boat,” “steam locomotive,” and “direct travel.”

Crumpling the notes into balls, he deftly shuffled their positions, presenting a dazzling display of sleight of hand.

“Your turn. Let’s see what fate has in store.” Lumian extended his right hand to Lugano.

Isn’t this too arbitrary? Lugano pondered, surprised by the randomness of selecting their travel method to the Feynapotter Kingdom through drawing lots. Despite the absurdity, he dutifully picked up a paper ball.

In any case, he had already received the 5,000 verl d’or advance payment!

Lugano unfolded the paper and read the word “ship.”

Lumian nodded and smiled.

“Very good. Then let’s take the steam locomotive.”

“…” Lugano’s expression became uncertain as he instinctively glanced at the wanted criminal worth 60,000 verl d’or sitting across from him. He wondered if Lumian was manipulating him to eliminate the wrong option or simply playing a prank.

Forcing another smile, Lugano suggested, “Shall we head back to the Suhit steam locomotive station?”

“No, to the Northern Train Station,” Lumian replied, turning to Ludwig, who had been quietly eating without uttering a word.

Northern Train Station? Lugano felt increasingly puzzled by his employer’s decision.

Trier had two main steam locomotive stations: Suhit, connecting the southern and central regions, and the Northern Train Station, responsible for the northern provinces. If their destination was the Feynapotter Kingdom and Riston Province, the logical choice would be Suhit. Why, then, were they going north?

Recognizing that it wasn’t his place to question his employer’s decisions, Lugano instructed the carriage driver to alter their course.

As noon approached, the rental carriage arrived at the Northern Trier Train Station.

I have to disguise myself and find a broker to fake my identity to buy a ticket… As Lugano directed the carriage driver to a more remote area, he turned to look at Lumian, preparing to make a suggestion.

He was met with an unfamiliar face.

The short flaxen-colored hair, brown eyes, and other facial features combined to create the appearance of a stranger.

If not for the silver earring on his right ear and the familiar clothes, Lugano might have believed they were ambushed by official Beyonders, having quietly dealt with Lumian.

“Purchase a ticket to Port Gati in Upper Coastal Province,” Lumian calmly instructed.

Upper Coastal Province, Port Gati… Lugano suddenly grasped Lumian’s strategy.

While his employer did intend to take a boat to the Feynapotter Kingdom, he chose a less obvious route. Instead of departing from the nearest Port LeSeur in Paz Province, he opted for Upper Coastal Province to the north.

For an ordinary person, it might seem wasteful, but for a wanted fugitive evading enemies, an unconventional approach could prove to be a prudent choice at avoiding potential dangers.

…

In the business carriage of the steam locomotive, divided into six cozy private rooms, Lumian’s gaze swept across the slightly ajar carved wooden door, the table adorned with a vibrant, multi-colored tablecloth interwoven with golden threads, the plush sofa that doubled as a bed, and the slender wooden wall adorned with oil paintings. A satisfied nod escaped him.

A private room like this commanded a hefty price of 400 verl d’or, accommodating no more than four individuals.

The steam locomotive promised a 12-hour journey with an eight-hour night stop, totaling 20 hours. Travel costs were 30 verl d’or for a third-class seat, 45 verl d’or for second class, and 60 verl d’or for first class. The exclusive small private rooms in business class demanded 100 verl d’or per person, sold only in packages to maintain the privacy of business companions.

For a wanted fugitive like Lumian, this setup was perfect.

Equipped with the Lie earring and the Niese Face, Lumian had no real need for the privacy or luxury of the business carriage, but there was a compelling reason for his choice:

The business carriage provided two complimentary meals—dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow.

A convenience that would spare Lumian from many hassles.

Sigh, a child has to eat something warm.

I just hope his appetite doesn’t startle the attendants…

After catering to Ludwig for over two days, Lumian recognized the importance of his Traveler’s Bag, capable of storing ample rations and desserts for long trips with the boy. The boy had to eat frequently!

Amidst the whistle, Lumian settled into his seat, absorbing the rhythmic clanging sounds as the scenery rapidly retreated on both sides.

In less than fifteen minutes, the colossal steam-spewing train departed from the bustling metropolis through the “cave door” carved into the high wall.

It left behind a metropolis pulsating with desires, immersed in both joy and pain.

Lumian half-closed his eyes, overhearing someone in the private room ahead sigh, as if reciting a poem.

“Goodbye, Trier!”

At 8 p.m., under the cover of complete darkness, the steam locomotive came to a halt at its scheduled stop—Dardel Station.

Situated on the outskirts of the Upper Coastal Province’s Faust region, in Darder Town, the platform was already bustling with 20 to 30 men and women eagerly rushing to different carriages. Devoid of luggage, their faces radiated enthusiasm.

Knock! Knock! Knock! A middle-aged man, sporting thick black hair and a slightly hooked chin, rapped on the glass window corresponding to Lumian’s private room.

With interest, Lumian pushed open the window and greeted with a smile, “What can I do for you?”

“Monsieur, would you like a drink? Perhaps a cozy bed instead of a sofa?” the middle-aged man inquired in Intisian, his accent heavy.

“A bar with its own motel?” Lumian was enlightened.

It seemed like local merchants were soliciting customers right on the platform.

“That’s right, that’s right. Our bar boasts some charming little frogs,” the middle-aged man winked suggestively.

“Little frogs?” Lugano, seated across from Lumian, asked, puzzled.

The middle-aged man pondered for a moment and explained, “That’s our slang here in Coastal. It means the same as your Trier pussies.”

In Trier, “pussies” often carried dual meanings, referring to both “female reproductive organs” and “prostitutes.”

Is that so… Lumian had suspected as much but wasn’t entirely certain.

Seated beside Lugano, Ludwig chimed in eagerly, “Anything good to eat?”

Without awaiting the middle-aged man’s response, Lumian teased Ludwig with a smile, “I thought you were going to ask if the meat was tender or chewy and if it tasted good.”

Initially unresponsive, Ludwig suddenly realized something and cursed, “Sick!”

Observing this, the middle-aged man swiftly introduced the local specialties.

Meanwhile, outside the station, dogs started barking in the town.

A lone bark triggered a chorus of canine voices, shattering the night’s silence.

The middle-aged man’s expression shifted, tainted with an indescribable sense of fear.

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