315 Anxious Termiboros

What a coincidence? Lumian knew better than to consider it mere coincidence.

This wasn’t like the time he had rescued Jenna—Lumian had doggedly followed the trail.

Monette’s presence, monocle affixed, roused Lumian’s caution. He mustered a semblance of a smile and replied, “Indeed. What a coincidence.”

With one hand casually slipped into his pocket, Lumian played his role, pretending to secure the candles and materials on the stone surface. The intention was to convey that the ritual was complete and he could depart whenever he pleased. There was nothing of value to plunder or destroy.

Monette adjusted his monocle and with a wave of his hand, offered a departing smile.

“See you aboveground.”

And just like that, he withdrew, his footsteps fading into the depths.

Lumian was caught off guard.

He’s leaving just like that?

Could it really have been a coincidence?

Judging from Monette’s familiarity with Underground Trier, it is evident he has traversed these passages countless times. Yet, that level of familiarity should have taught him that barging into a well-lit spot amidst the darkness could easily trigger conflict…

Common sense dictates that a stranger’s presence in the quarry cave warrants cautious observation for any approach. The abrupt, nonchalant “appearance” seemed off…

Does he truly possess that much confidence in his prowess?

It can’t be just to scare me!

As Lumian’s thoughts raced, he shifted his gaze from the cave entrance to the candles and materials neatly arranged on the rocks.

The question arose whether to persist with the boon ritual.

In that instant, the voice of Termiboros reverberated within him: “You’d best relocate.”

Uh… Lumian’s senses tingled, catching a note of unease in Termiboros’s tone.

It was subtle, almost elusive, making Lumian doubt his judgment.

This was the first time Lumian had perceived emotional fluctuations in this Inevitability angel.

In previous interactions, no matter how much Lumian goaded and prodded, Termiboros merely maintained silence.

As his heart quickened, Lumian blurted out, “Is this person truly dangerous?”

This confirmed Lumian’s guess.

The angel had sensed a looming problem through the strings of fate, a predicament that could jeopardize His very essence.

“Why does a seemingly less formidable individual trigger such unease? What’s his motive?” Lumian pressed on.

Termiboros reverted to His usual depth as He intoned, “I’m sealed. I can only perceive the outside world through you, so I lack ample information. To uncover the answers to these queries, the seal must first be weakened.”

Do I look like an idiot to you? I even suspect that your anxiety and worry might be fabricated to exert pressure and intimidate… But given Termiboros’s previous conduct, even if progress hadn’t been made, such overt intentions should not have been revealed so swiftly… Monette’s appearance was indeed oddly coincidental, his actions shrouded in inexplicable bizarreness. If possible, I must evade him. It’s safer to assume he poses considerable danger rather than underestimate and expose myself… With a brisk pace, Lumian gathered his belongings, clutched the carbide lamp, and exited the quarry cave.

Drawing upon the subterranean map meticulously memorized from Gardner Martin’s records, Lumian navigated closer to Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative, discreetly delving a few meters below ground level to stumble upon another somber, soundless quarry cave. He incorporated no fewer than three evasive maneuvers along the way to evade potential trackers.

Phew… Exhaling a breath of relief, Lumian surveyed his surroundings and rested his carbide lamp upon the ground. On a moderately level rock, he arranged the candles and ritual components, ensuring their proper alignment.

Abruptly, a flicker of motion in the shadows at the quarry’s edge pricked his senses.

Hiss… Lumian’s heart skipped a beat. Clasping the carbide lamp cautiously, he directed its beam toward the source.

A bluish-yellow radiance pierced the obscurity, unveiling a black rat partially concealed by gravel.

The rat made no effort to evade the light; it stood still. After a few heartbeats, it pivoted languidly and vanished into a minuscule crevice at the rock wall’s base.

For some reason, Lumian sensed a disproportion between the rat’s right and left eyes.

Gripping the carbide lamp, tension once again coursed through Lumian. He hushed, “Temiboros, is there a problem here too?”

Termiboros’s voice resonated within Lumian’s being, emanating a regal aura.

“It’s best if you pray to The Fool immediately for angelic protection before moving elsewhere.”

Could the situation be that grave? Lumian’s pupils dilated. Swiftly producing an additional candle, he hastily constructed the altar.

Not a shred of concern lingered regarding Termiboros potentially manipulating him into a detrimental choice. After all, supplicating The Fool was Lumian’s last resort, and it undeniably served his interests.

From a different vantage, the very fact that circumstances compelled an Inevitability angel to indirectly beseech The Fool’s protection implied that something far amiss was afoot. Unleashed, the peril would prove unfathomable!

Being both mentally and physically optimal, Lumian’s adept hands fashioned the candles, a process lasting just over ten seconds. He sanctified the dagger and forged a wall of spirituality that enshrouded solely him and the altar.

Methodically, he ignited the three candles sequentially, from deity to humanity, from left to right, punctuating with drops of essential oil and extract.

Amidst the haze and wisps of fog, Lumian exhaled, reciting gravely, “The Fool that doesn’t belong to this era, the mysterious ruler above the gray fog; the King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck.

“I implore you,

As the ritual unfolded, Lumian surrendered to the mist’s embrace, the prickle of his skin, the lassitude of his mind. Once more, he glimpsed the twelve-winged seraph, pure luminescence descending from infinite heights to envelop him.

As the radiant wings receded and dissolved, Lumian’s senses jolted back to him. Gauging his state, he hastened to pack up the altar items and hastily exited the mine’s confines.

Descending beneath the bustling market district, Lumian maintained his vigilant, practiced evasiveness, pushing forward with meticulous attention.

Almost twenty minutes elapsed before Lumian stumbled upon another concealed quarry cave, secured by its discreet location, courtesy of his map.

Stepping inside, he assessed the surroundings. His voice hushed, he inquired, “Temiboros, is there any issue here?”

“Presently, none,” Termiboros responded.

Lumian shut his eyes, a newfound calm settling over him.

He mulled over his options.

Should I surface and await the anomaly’s dissipation before seeking out a secluded haven for the boon-praying ritual? Or should I seize the moment, briefly escape the abnormality, and hasten my progression to Contractee, capitalizing on The Fool’s angelic protection?

In keeping with Lumian’s disposition, he leaned towards the risk. The scenario wouldn’t change later. He couldn’t ascertain if the anomaly had genuinely dissipated. He needed the counsel of someone higher in rank.

In that case, he might as well seek that counsel now!

The altar was reinstated. Yet, this time, he bypassed protection or boons, summoning instead Madam Magician’s messenger.

The “doll” messenger, clad in a gown of light gold, coalesced above the flickering candle flame.

Observing Lumian, it grumbled, “This isn’t a good place.”

With that, it retrieved the hastily inscribed letter from Lumian’s hand.

The letter briefly recounted Monette’s behavior and Termiboros’s response, querying the possibility of initiating the boon prayer ritual at present.

Lumian exercised some cunning here. He didn’t outright solicit Madam Magician’s protection, merely inquired about feasibility.

Hiring a demigod came at a steep price. Lumian deemed it currently unaffordable. Instead, he aimed to draw her attention by inquiring.

Of course, if push came to shove, he’d consider it. Debts could be repaid. Or if the person was deceased, repayment became moot.

This isn’t a good place… Does this pertain to the current quarry cave or the entirety of Underground Trier? Lumian contemplated the messenger’s words.

Swiftly, the messenger returned, bearing Madam Magician’s response: “That’s a big problem.”

Madam Magician’s opening remark twitched Lumian’s eyelids.

“Of course, the situation isn’t dire—at least, I haven’t discovered the gravest entity’s return to this world yet.

“What we must ascertain is His true intent. Termiboros’s reaction implies He’s the target, but this individual excels at concealing motives. This may well be a calculated illusion meant to deceive us or another party.

“For the time being and the foreseeable future, anomalies should be absent. Stabilize yourself and proceed with the boon prayer.

His? That’s an angel? The entity whose hostility Monette exhibited is an angel? Lumian hissed involuntarily, engulfed by a renewed surge of trepidation.

This brought to mind the uniqueness of Salle de Bal Unique. He suspected that confronting them to reclaim a debt might entangle him with a host of angelic Blessed!

Seeing Madam Magician’s assessment align with Termiboros’s, Lumian composed himself and reconfigured the altar.

Before long, he focused on the pair of gray-white candles symbolizing Inevitability’s power and himself. Amidst the intricate fragrance of gray amber perfume, he retreated slightly and intoned deeply, “Power of Inevitability!

“You are the past, the present, and the future;

“You are the cause, the effect, and the process.”

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