146 Turf

Charlie was dumbstruck and answered subconsciously, “No problem.”

Only when Lumian laid out the 50 verl d’or notes did he snap back to reality. He cautiously peeked out the door.

The evening light was fading, and unlike the second floor, the fifth floor had large balconies on both sides, casting deep shadows. It was as if night had already descended.

Seeing the corridor empty, Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. He lowered his voice and asked Lumian, “You conned someone into buying the fake necklace for 1,000 verl d’or?”

“You’ve got two things wrong.” Lumian grinned and handed the stack of 50 verl d’or notes to Charlie. “First, I didn’t con just any person.”

“Then who?” Charlie questioned, puzzled as he instinctively took the mix of 1 and 5 verl d’or notes.

Lumian’s grin broadened.

“The Savoie Mob.”

Hearing this, Charlie nearly dropped the banknotes in his hand.

He stared at Lumian in terror and blurted, “Are you insane?

“They kill people. Folks go missing all the time on Rue Anarchie!”

Lumian smirked and replied, “Second, it wasn’t a con.”

“What?” Charlie couldn’t follow Lumian’s logic.

Lumian clarified, still smiling, “They knew the necklace was a fake, yet they still forked over 1,000 verl d’or.”

Impossible, Charlie thought, certain it was a joke.

The Savoie Mob might be ruthless, but they weren’t idiots. Why would they pay 1,000 verl d’or for a fake necklace worth only 50 verl d’or?

Then, a wild thought crossed Charlie’s mind.

“You didn’t steal the leadership from the Savoie Mob, did you?”

That would be even more insane!

Lumian smirked again.

“Relax. Baron Brignais and I reached an agreement through a friendly conversation.

“Don’t worry. There won’t be any trouble in the future.

“So, do you want the 50 verl d’or or not?”

Considering his own financial situation, he took the 50 verl d’or and muttered,

“Thank you.”

Lumian nodded with a smile and turned to go.

In that instant, Charlie grasped the whole picture and blurted out, “Did you join the Savoie Mob?”

Lumian didn’t turn around. He waved his hand and replied, “That’s right.”

Charlie opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He watched Lumian’s silhouette vanish into the darkness outside and disappear down the shadowy staircase.

…

Upon returning to Room 207, Lumian, fresh out of his disguise and ready to hunt for a tasty meal, caught a familiar curse coming from the fourth floor.

“If you think this money is easy, you can lie down and earn it yourself!”

“Useless coward. A dickless wretch; all you dare to do is bully women!”

“Send your mother to me if you dare!”

“…”

Lumian listened for a few seconds and quickly deduced that Wilson from the Poison Spur Mob had come to Ethans with his crew to collect “protection money.”

A grin spread across his face.

In the next instant, Lumian donned a dark-blue cap, left Room 207, and made his way to the fourth floor.

Before he could reach Room 408, he heard the sharp crack of a slap followed by Ethans’s even more vehement cursing and struggle.

The tenants on this floor shut their wooden doors tight, not daring to step out.

With one hand in his pocket, Lumian arrived outside Room 408. The first thing he noticed was the presence of two goons.

They were clad in dark jackets, blocking the doorway.

At this moment, Ethans’s curses blended with sobs and screams.

“You sons of bitches!

“I curse you!

“I’ll rip off your dicks!”

Lumian raised an eyebrow and approached the two thugs at the door.

“What do you want?” one of them barked.

Lumian didn’t reply. Instead, he took a sudden step forward, reaching out to grab them.

His movements were so swift that he had the two thugs by the back of their heads before they could react.

Lumian applied force, slamming their skulls together.

With a sickening thud, their foreheads bulged, eyes rolled back, and they crumpled to the ground.

As they “cleared the way,” Lumian glimpsed the scene inside the room.

Ethans, her flaxen hair and delicate features in disarray, lay on the bed. Her dress was torn, her face visibly bruised and swollen. Wilson, his curly brown hair and deeply creased face sneering, was pocketing a stack of banknotes. His belt unbuckled, another thug was holding Ethans down.

Sensing the disturbance at the door, the Poison Spur Mob leader swiftly reached for his belt and glanced outside.

There he saw Lumian, casually wiping his hands and stepping over his two fallen comrades.

Not giving Wilson a chance to speak, Lumian grinned and said, “Didn’t anyone tell you that Auberge du Coq Doré is now under the Savoie Mob’s protection…”

Mid-sentence, he lunged forward, throwing a punch before Wilson could fasten his belt.

Wilson hastily dodged and buckled his belt.

Simultaneously, his eyes narrowed as they locked onto Lumian.

Lumian suddenly felt a wave of fear.

It was the unbridled fear of an ordinary person facing a villain or a thug. Wilson had manifested such emotions!

Yet, even as an ordinary person, Lumian wasn’t cowed by villains who wouldn’t dare to fight back. As a vagrant, he had always believed in fleeing and surrendering if possible. If not, he’d drag the other party down with him. Now, as a Sequence 8 Beyonder, he was even more fearless.

Another Beyonder? Lumian harnessed the intensity of his fear to grapple with Wilson and unleash his close-quarters combat skills.

His hands, elbows, knees, and feet transformed into weapons, overpowering Wilson, who had barely buckled his belt.

As the sounds of their struggle filled the air, another thug sprang into action. He grabbed a chair in the room, poised to smash it into Lumian’s back.

But Lumian twisted his upper body like a serpent, circling behind Wilson.

Bang! The chair struck Wilson’s head, sending him reeling.

With a crash, the already unstable chair splintered.

Lumian coiled his body like a spring and lifted his right leg.

His heel struck the thug’s lower abdomen with pinpoint accuracy, eliciting a muffled groan.

The thug’s eyes bulged as he clutched his crotch and crumpled to the floor. He writhed in pain but couldn’t make a sound, like a rooster with its neck throttled.

As Lumian’s right foot swung back, his arm lashed forward, whipping Wilson’s chest.

Unable to dodge, Wilson heard the crack of his ribs breaking.

Before he could recover from the pain, Lumian seized his arms and yanked him closer.

Pfft!

A knee to the chest greeted him.

Wilson’s face paled, and his body doubled over.

Lumian clenched his fists and hammered Wilson’s back.

Plop! Wilson collapsed to the ground.

Lumian capitalized on the opportunity, pouncing on him. He pinned Wilson’s arms behind his back and pressed his knees into his spine.

“I thought you were quite the tough guy,” Lumian taunted. “Turns out, you couldn’t even last ten seconds.”

Based on his assessment, Wilson was only at Sequence 9, a Sequence that focused more on combat and physical enhancement. However, he wasn’t sure which pathway he belonged to.

Wilson, provoked and enraged, struggled with all his might but couldn’t break free from Lumian’s grip.

Lumian glanced up at the dumbstruck Ethans and chuckled at Wilson and the incapacitated thugs.

“Go back and tell your bosses that this is Ciel’s turf. If you’ve got any business, feel free to look for our Savoie Mob!”

“You’re a dead man!” Wilson snarled.

Lumian smirked, retorting, “I’m not sure if I’ll die, but you’re the one dying now.”

“You dare to kill me in front of so many witnesses?” Wilson mocked.

Lumian said nothing. He tightened his grip, and a sickening crack echoed in the room.

Wilson let out a spine-chilling scream, beads of cold sweat the size of beans breaking out on his forehead.

His arm was broken!

Lumian hoisted him up and leaped onto Ethans’s wooden table. He pushed open the window and dangled Wilson over the outer wall.

Glancing down at the deserted alley, Lumian smiled at Wilson and taunted, “Try guessing. Do you think I dare to throw you down?”

Wilson stared at the cobblestones more than ten meters below and recalled how resolute the other party had been when he said he’d break his arm. For a moment, he didn’t dare answer.

Just then, Lumian released his grip.

I haven’t answered yet! Wilson’s body plunged downward in sheer terror.

With no other option, he desperately tried to adjust his posture to protect his vitals.

Crash!

He hit the ground with a sickening thud, his flesh instantly mangled in multiple places.

Lumian observed for a couple of seconds before chuckling.

“Quite a tough one. You’re still alive. Is your nickname Rue Anarchie Cockroach?”

Ignoring Wilson, he jumped off the wooden table and addressed the three thugs struggling to their feet, “Did you hear what I just said?”

The three thugs nodded fearfully and turned to flee.

“Wait,” Lumian called out to them.

The three thugs froze on the spot, their bodies trembling slightly.

Lumian gestured at the shattered chair and grinned.

“Aren’t you going to compensate for the damage?”

The three thugs hastily pulled out all the banknotes they had and tossed them on the floor.

With Lumian’s nod of approval, they stumbled out of Room 408.

Ethans stared blankly the entire time, only recalling the words that this place had been taken over by the Savoie Mob.

Then, she realized that Ciel from the Savoie Mob hadn’t informed her about how much she should pay or how often she should pay in the future. He didn’t even glance at her as he walked straight to the door.

Ethans instinctively opened her mouth, wanting to ask something, but she hesitated, fearing the Poison Spur Mob might retaliate. She watched Lumian’s figure vanish into the darkness beyond the door.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by Madara Web Novel