666 New Information

Lumian had rarely seen Penitent Baynfel act so abnormally. He asked with anticipation and curiosity, “What have you discovered?”

Baynfel, clad in a clergyman’s black robe, his charred body partially tainted by black flames, averted his gaze and replied in a deep voice, “The night conceals the flowing sin.”

With that, the Penitent stepped into the void and vanished from the room.

The night conceals the flowing sin… It’s emphasizing the night because that allows entry into the special dream? What does the ‘flowing sin’ refer to? Can’t you mysterious types speak plainly? Lumian criticized, then opened Franca’s letter and quickly read it.

To be honest, after such a long time, his desire to understand the humanoid Sealed Artifact’s past had significantly diminished. After all, he had mainly felt the other party’s state was similar to his own, triggering his emotions back then. That was why he had suggested it. Now, those emotions had long settled.

Of course, they had only settled, not disappeared. Lumian tore open the letter and jotted down the entire incident, planning to send it to Madam Magician at noon the next day.

As for whether the Major Arcana card holder would agree to such an unequal trade, Lumian wasn’t too confident. However, he intuitively felt that the Tarot Club’s Major Arcana holders wouldn’t simply take possession of important artifacts from the orthodox Churches. Using this opportunity to make a deal was more likely.

After leaving the Brieu Motel, Lumian calmly observed Camus, donned in a yellow vest, emerge from a dimly lit street corner. Beside him was Rhea, a member of the local patrol wearing leather armor and carrying a hunting bow.

“Why two people today?” Lumian chuckled and strode towards Hisoka’s house.

Camus took a deep breath to calm his sudden surge of emotions. As he followed Louis Berry’s left hand, he replied in a deep voice, “There are only a few days left until the 17th. An accident might happen at any moment. We can’t act alone anymore.”

Having consciously gathered various information, the patrol team had already noticed some abnormalities. This made Camus feel that staying in Tizamo was unwise. He was constantly on edge.

He felt a growing sense of being a middle-aged man burdened with heavy responsibilities.

Raising an eyebrow, Lumian queried, “Hey, you figuring out the 17th is a key date was pretty fast.”

“We’re not fools,” Camus finally couldn’t help but reply. “It’s an obvious issue. Last year, Tizamo was attacked on December 17th, and in previous years…”

At this point, he fell silent.

He realized that when around Louis Berry, he constantly switched between his heavy middle-aged state and uncontrollable teenage emotions.

Lumian asked with interest, “What happened in previous years?”

Camus fell silent for a few seconds before saying, “We obtained the funeral registrations for nearly three decades in Tizamo from the Saint-Sien Cathedral and discovered a peculiar phenomenon. 80% of the annual deaths are recorded within the first three months starting mid-December.

“This place isn’t like many Northern Continent places. Winters are bitterly cold there. It’s difficult for the elderly and weak to survive. Even if they do, it’s summer from late December to late March.

“This phenomenon is abnormal.”

Lumian advanced slowly and nodded slightly.

“Is the mortality rate in Tizamo higher than elsewhere?”

“Significantly higher, but that’s mainly due to attacks from the primitive forest tribe. Also, we discovered the tribe’s attacks concentrated in the three months beginning mid-December. There have been two to three attacks annually, and since the one on December 17th last year, not a single one has occurred. The situation doesn’t seem right.” Camus was a little worried a major attack would occur in the next few days.

“Heh heh, it’s understandable the tribe’s attacks concentrated in those first three months. Any other abnormalities?” Lumian asked casually.

Rhea, who had been silently following, responded.

The brown-skinned, brown-haired woman, exuding a wild beauty, spoke in a raspy voice,

“In the first half of this year, many women in town and the plantations experienced symptoms of nausea, soreness, bloating—pregnancy symptoms. They believed they’d been victimized by a ghost and might birth evil fetuses, but they weren’t actually pregnant. Just illusions. After Padre Cali held Mass and briefly purified them, they received psychological comfort and quickly returned to normal.”

“We’ve also noticed similar incidents of perceived possession and attacks by evil spirits in Tizamo over the years, concentrated in that first half. It’s not just pregnancy symptoms,” Camus added.

Lumian halted in his tracks.

“Don’t the townsfolk and the people in the surrounding plantations find it strange that mass hysteria occurs every year?”

As a member of the local patrol team, Rhea explained simply, “Everyone believes it’s caused by the primitive tribe in the forest.”

“Why?” Lumian resumed his nocturnal “stroll.”

Rhea’s vocal cords seemed damaged, and her voice was always a little hoarse.

“In the repeated attacks and conflicts, the primitive tribe displayed the ability to control corpses, ghosts, and shadows. Furthermore, some warriors seemed to continue protecting their tribe in their spirit form after their deaths.”

Death domain… Heh, the entire matter seems logical on the surface. No wonder the Tizamons who left town didn’t find anything amiss and didn’t raise the issue… Lumian had seen records of the primitive tribe, but they weren’t as specific as Rhea’s description.

After inquiring about the recent information the patrol team had gathered, Lumian stopped in front of Hisoka’s house and turned to glance at Rhea, who was carrying a hunting bow and arrows.

“You’re from the Southern Continent, but not from Tizamo?”

Rhea nodded and calmly said, “I’m from the forest. I’m from one of the primitive tribes called Paca. We mainly live near the Paz Valley.”

The rainforest of the Southern Continent spanned a vast expanse, encompassing numerous territories. From the area near the Paz Valley to the vicinity of Matani, the distance might be even greater than that between Cordu and Trier.

“Paca” meant “wind” in Dutanese.

“How did you come to Matani?” Lumian asked curiously.

Rhea let out a chuckle.

“I was sold here.”

She paused for a moment before continuing, “Ten years ago, my tribe was attacked by the Loen Kingdom’s army. I was captured and sold repeatedly before arriving in the Northern state. Later, I found a chance to escape and fled to Port Pylos. I received help from the Church and found work. Eventually, I was lucky enough to become a Beyonder.”

The patrol team member calmly recounted her past, not dwelling on any pain or torture from those experiences, nor deliberately avoiding details.

No wonder you believe so devoutly in the Eternal Blazing Sun… Lumian ascended the stairs to the second floor and said in an even tone,

“Did you keep using a bow instead of firearms out of habit?”

“Yes. Tribes named for the wind excel at archery.” Rhea’s light-

brown face softened.

Lumian glanced back at her.

“Did you ever go back to take a look?”

Rhea fell silent for a few seconds.

“They’re all dead…”

Lumian and Camus retreated their gazes in silence as they climbed the final stairs and entered the second floor of the house.

Lumian surveyed the spacious yet rudimentary surroundings, listening to the wild roars from the primitive forest. He sat cross-legged.

He had intended to tell Rhea, “It’s impossible for your entire tribe to be wiped out. Some must have been captured and sold like you. They could still be alive on plantations, in mines, or seedy bars.” But he held back.

He could tell Rhea had accepted her current life and gained the ability to live better. It seemed inappropriate to encourage her to risk traversing both continents seeking potential remaining clansmen.

Just the thought of such an endeavor was daunting. With so few clues and them likely scattered far, it could prove quite dangerous. Even spending a lifetime, one might never complete it. Not everyone with a similar experience would sacrifice a normal life for vengeance or seeking others.

Rhea likely realized some clansmen survived, but perhaps those most important to her had perished. She chose to stay in Port Pylos.

Everyone makes their own choices. I can’t ask the same of others just because of my own obsessions… Lumian composed himself and smiled at Camus and Rhea, who were still standing.

“Would you like to explore the potential venue for the Dream Festival?”

“Where?” Rhea blurted out.

Camus furrowed his brow.

“Here?”

Quickly making a guess, he asked, “Do you come here every night to sleep and access the Dream Festival’s location? Is it in a special dream?”

Quite smart… Lumian praised Camus inwardly for his quick thinking, but his smile remained unwavering.

“Care to experience it?”

Camus and Rhea exchanged glances and agreed, “I’ll experience it. Rhea, keep an eye on the surroundings.”

“I can set some traps,” Lumian offered. He stood up and spent a few minutes setting up warning traps nearby.

Afterward, he lit a mosquito repellent candle, placing it in the middle of the spacious second floor.

Mosquitoes that hadn’t flown away landed on the ground, emitting flames and smoke amidst crackling sounds.

“Sleep here,” Lumian instructed Camus and Rhea as he sat cross-legged again.

He had confirmed that sleeping anywhere in Hisoka’s house at night allowed him to enter the special dream. Sleeping outside or sleeping two hours earlier didn’t have the same effect.

Perplexed, Camus and Rhea found seats and leaned against different wooden pillars, attempting to enter a deep slumber.

After an unknown period of time, Camus suddenly woke up.

Before him was the night and the crimson moonlight outside the window. Louis Berry stood behind the flickering mosquito repellent candle, wearing a golden straw hat. The adventurer playfully remarked, “Welcome to the Dream Festival.”

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