Chapter 462 Critical Interference

What happened? Mr. Fool’s seal has been activated… Did Termiboros attempt to escape? Lumian’s thoughts raced. However, as he pondered, he began to sense that something was amiss.

Sunlight filtered through the drawn curtains, casting a semi-darkness over Room 207.

At first glance, there was nothing unusual, as if someone had overslept until the sun was high in the sky.

But Lumian was different. He reset his body and mental state every morning, waking up naturally at 6 a.m. It was already autumn, and Trier didn’t see the first light until 7 a.m.

Lumian recalled an earthquake that had occurred not long ago, and he suspected that the official Beyonders might have taken action. However, after carefully listening to his surroundings and confirming the safety of the market district, he had gone back to sleep.

It was still late at night!

Either Termiboros has escaped, and I’m no longer affected by the Circle Inhabitant’s power, or there’s been an anomaly in the market district… Lumian shrank into a gentle crouch, leaning against the desk beside the bed. He cautiously raised a corner of the curtain.

What he saw was a familiar daily scene, but soon, Lumian noticed blurry figures floating in the air, emitting a faint, eerie glow.

These figures had different faces, but they all shared an unsettling stiffness, emptiness, coldness, and detachment. They bore a certain resemblance to the corrupted Bouvard’s corpse and Gabriel, who had transformed into a monster. It was as if they could disappear into the crevices of space at any moment, gazing coldly and dispassionately at reality.

The monsters of the Hostel pathway have invaded Trier? But where are Trier’s protective powers? This doesn’t feel very strong; it’s more like a product of corruption… He observed carefully and noticed that the street vendors and pedestrians also appeared somewhat empty, as if they too had been affected.

Combined with the anomaly in time and the westering sun, Lumian quickly surmised the situation.

I’m not in the real market district!

I’ve been drawn into a strange world suspected to be the Hostel. This is the reason why Mr. Fool’s seal was activated!

Lumian released his right hand’s grip, allowing the curtains to gently fall back against the wall, sealing off the interior from the exterior once more.

With a sense of purpose, he got out of bed and checked his belongings to ensure they were all intact.

Without wasting any time, Lumian set up the altar and erected a wall of spirituality, readying himself to perform ritualistic magic to seek Mr. Fool’s assistance.

One by one, he used his spirituality to light the three candles and incinerate the herbal powder and essential oil. Stepping back twice, he began to solemnly recite The Fool’s honorific name.

“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…”

Lumian’s thoughts slowed down once more, and an uncomfortable sensation coursed through his flesh. It was as if an army of countless worms were wriggling beneath his skin.

This malevolence would briefly fade, only to surge back. It didn’t fully dissipate, nor did it manifest into tangible reality.

The cycle of vanishing and resurfacing was akin to a monstrous entity in the water extending its tentacles to the shore, only to be pulled back into the deep sea by an unseen force.

Lumian struggled to complete the ritual, waiting in vain for the angel’s protection or any revelations to come.

The influence of the gray fog intensified, leaving him with no choice but to prematurely end the ritual and extinguish the candle flames.

As the wall of spirituality disintegrated, Lumian’s thoughts finally returned to their normal pace.

Sometimes malice, sometimes no issues… Is The Celestial Worthy of Heaven and Earth for Blessings interfering with Mr. Fool’s response?

He usually can’t do it. Has He gathered enough strength to take a risk at a critical moment?

This implies that the situation has reached a critical turning point…

…

In Quartier éraste, outside the Sacred Heart Cloister with its numerous golden steeples, the Major Arcana card holders, Magician—clad in a white knotted shirt and a beige dress—and the elegant and pristine Justice, stared at the magnificent building.

A golden retriever accompanied them, doing the same as well.

Rumble. The ground quaked, as if a brief earthquake had struck Trier.

Magician smiled and said, “It’s beginning.”

They understood that this commotion was likely stemming from the Deep Valley Cloister and the quarry. Their aim was to initiate a series of changes and set off a chain reaction, with the hope that Lady Moon, hidden within the Sacred Heart Cloister, would step out on her own and trigger their plan ahead of schedule.

By doing so, they could avoid forcefully entering the Sacred Heart Cloister and provoking the Eternal Blazing Sun Church. Their target was Lady Moon, the evil god’s bestowed who nurtured a deity.

Assuming there were very few Angel-level heretics Blessed within the barrier, Lady Moon represented the Great Mother and the most potent power among all of Trier’s heretics. It was highly likely that she was at the center of the problem. By controlling her, they could disregard the intricate web woven by fate and grasp the heart of the issue, possibly resolving it on the spot.

If Lady Moon didn’t emerge, Magician intended to capitalize on the chaos in Trier, attempting to conceal the grand complex of buildings blessed by the Eternal Blazing Sun, and forcibly locate her target.

Justice nodded gently.

“In fact, I’ve always had a sense that something is amiss with Lady Moon. The problem may not be what we’ve suspected and might have lured us here.

“However, regardless of the situation, we have many dependable companions. Even if something occurs elsewhere, I believe they can handle it.”

Magician concurred tersely.

“The two of us can’t do everything. Believing in our companions is both hopeful and necessary.”

Justice asked calmly, “What’s the matter?”

Magician frowned and replied, “The seal experienced a fluctuation… Mr. Fool has also sent a revelation, but I’m not certain if it’s authentic…”

…

After tidying up the altar, Lumian was just about to settle down and consider the current situation and ways to contact the outside world when he heard two sets of footsteps approaching from upstairs.

Are they heading for Room 207? Had the dissolution of the wall of spirituality alerted someone here? Lumian surveyed the area, his fingers finding the gaps in the newspaper-covered wall as he climbed up to the ceiling.

Like a colossal spider, he relied on a Dancer’s flexibility and a Hunter’s physique to silently cling closely to the wall, waiting for the two people in the corridor to approach.

If they didn’t spot anything unusual, he would consider it a successful deception and let them pass. If they sensed anything was amiss, he would strike without hesitation.

At that moment, Lumian felt a deep sense of gratitude for Auberge du Coq Doré’s aged appearance. It was filled with damage and signs of repair. This was why he could grasp certain protrusions, secure his grip in certain crevices, and anchor his body safely to the ceiling.

In just over ten seconds, the door to Room 207 creaked open.

Lumian’s eyes focused on Gabriel’s hairline and forehead, as well as the black-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

Behind the playwright stood Séraphine, a model clad in a lake-blue dress, exuding an aura of detachment.

It’s indeed the Hostel… Although Lumian couldn’t fathom why he had inexplicably ended up at the Hostel, he still felt a surge of excitement despite his taut nerves.

From this point onward, as long as he could deceive Séraphine and the others, establish a connection with the outside world, and seek help, there was hope for resolving the problem!

Gabriel took two steps inside and halted. He scanned the room and said to Séraphine, “No issues here.”

Séraphine tersely acknowledged his words and proceeded to inspect the other rooms.

Gabriel followed the model closely, making sure to close the door of Room 207 behind him.

After they ascended from the second floor, Lumian released his grip on the ceiling and gently landed on the floor.

He pulled up a chair, turned it around, and sat down, leaning back as he kept his gaze locked on the door.

After a few minutes, footsteps approached from the third floor.

Lumian remained motionless, unsurprised as he watched the wooden door gently open.

Gabriel’s figure appeared.

“Why did you come in?” the playwright, now a monster with a slightly vacant expression, asked with a note of rational concern.

Lumian chuckled.

“I’d like to know that too.”

Gabriel entered the room quietly, shutting the door behind him.

He was dressed in a white shirt, a dark jacket, black pants, and strapless leather shoes, his face showing signs of pain.

“Leave this place as soon as possible. I’m losing control. I don’t know when I’ll betray you. By the way, Jenna has also entered. I don’t know where she’s hiding.”

Jenna is here too? Lumian raised his eyebrows and asked the most critical question, “How do I leave?”

Gabriel began to respond, but the door to Room 207 creaked open once more.

Only then did Lumian sense the intrusion and turned his gaze towards the door.

Séraphine stood there, with her plump face, naturally disheveled brown hair, and brown eyes exuding a unique ethereal aura.

Lumian didn’t panic. He put on a calm demeanor and said, “You seem to know Gabriel so well.”

Despite his outward composure, every muscle in his body tensed.

“He’s not good at hiding his thoughts,” Séraphine replied in an empty voice.

Communicable… Lumian suppressed his urge to use the Spell of Harrumph and sighed.

“I thought you had already become a pure monster.”

Séraphine’s lips formed a self-deprecating smile.

“The difference between me and them is that before I turned into a pure monster, I realized there was still someone who truly loved me.”

Gabriel smiled.

Lumian sighed and inquired, “Is this the Hostel?”

“Yes,” Gabriel confirmed before anyone else could.

Lumian glanced at the dimly lit corridor.

“But the room here isn’t Room 7, Room 12. It’s still Room 207, 309.”

Séraphine gazed at Lumian, her expression becoming increasingly ethereal, and her voice even more illusory.

“Here, they call me: Room 12.”

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