Chapter 469 “Reinforcements”

Quartier éraste, Trier’s garrison encampment.

Under the dim moonlight, a significant number of soldiers poured out of various buildings. They organized into teams with remarkable precision, either firing cannons at the distant roadblocks or shouldering rifles as they advanced toward Avenue du Boulevard in coordinated squads.

Among them were combatants equipped with steam-powered backpacks and massive firearms, strategically positioning themselves on elevated vantage points and in concealed spots.

Inside a building within the camp, Albus, his hair appearing to be dyed red, sat confidently in an officer’s chair, his legs casually crossed at the edge of the table before him.

In his field of vision, disembodied heads dangled by bloody spines, almost like they had extended tails.

These severed heads soared toward headless bodies clad in blue soldier coats adorned with golden threads. They aimed for the vacant necks, inserting their bloodstained spines with precision.

Crack! They completed their “integration” simultaneously, twisting left and right to acclimate themselves to their new hosts.

The freshly created soldiers promptly retrieved their weapons and charged out in an orderly formation, following mysterious directives.

Albus Medici clicked his tongue and remarked, “This is quite the reminiscent sight. Will this night turn into a bloodbath?”

…

Beyond the multitude of towering steeples and the golden-hued buildings, Magician and Justice were alerted by the distant rumble of cannons.

“An early uprising?” Magician, dressed in a crisp white collared shirt and a beige dress, gazed with starlight in her eyes, as if she had glimpsed through the veils of the spirit world and witnessed the turmoil at the military encampment.

Her prior astromancy predictions had suggested that the catastrophe was still some time away. However, when Jenna caught the cyborg monk and discovered their ties to the heretics and job of transporting paints and brushes, it was evident that destiny had shifted, setting the illusory gears into motion prematurely.

The catastrophe had begun without proper preparation.

Justice, garbed in a light-blue dress, listened to the booming cannons and responded with a composed tone, “Given the scale, it’s clear that this won’t topple Intis’s current government. It can only incite a certain degree of temporary chaos…

“Could there be strikes, protests, marches, riots, and other forms of civil unrest colliding?”

“These are the strengths of the Iron and Blood Cross Order and the Carbonari. Perhaps Gardner Martin and some of his associates went into hiding to spark the flames, but it appears their coordination isn’t strong enough. Without effective collaboration, they can’t establish a connection.” Magician’s gaze shifted toward the southeastern region, where Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative, the market district, and Quartier du Jardin Botanique were situated.

Justice nodded in agreement and added, “This means that our efforts have yielded results. They were compelled to accelerate their plans. It’s impressive they accomplished such a feat given these circumstances.”

As soon as she finished speaking, the “doll” messenger, dressed in a light-gold gown, materialized from the void and handed the letter from Judgment to Magician.

“Good evening, Miss Justice. A good day to you,” the messenger cheerfully greeted Justice.

She was a mysophobic, obsessive-compulsive creature from the spirit world with a penchant for beauty, and Miss Justice was the embodiment of her preferences.

On the other hand, her employer had many shortcomings that she found intolerable. Therefore, she often took on additional tasks herself. This, however, had built a strong bond of closeness and trust between them.

Magician unfolded the letter and quickly scanned its contents. Her expression underwent a subtle change.

“A world in a painting.”

“Did Arrodes use the lucky gold coin and The Fool’s seal on Lumian to gain a vague glimpse of the scenes within the painting world?

“Partial glimpses of Avenue du Marché…”

After murmuring to herself, Magician turned to Justice and said, “I have a rough understanding of what those heretics are after and why they are utilizing the Hostel’s form and the essence of its rooms.

“We can’t afford to waste any more time. Let’s take action now. Control or eliminate Lady Moon before we search for the painting world.”

Justice nodded. “Agreed.”

She then smiled and added, “We should place our trust in our comrades and collaborators.”

“Very well.” Magician took a step toward the Sacred Heart Cloister, her beige dress hem billowing in the breeze.

She raised her hands, and a constellation of resplendent stars materialized around her.

They appeared both distant and densely packed, converging to create a night sky over the highlands.

The countless stars cast their radiance upon the surface of the Sacred Heart Cloister.

With a determined effort, Magician lifted the void in front of her, as if bearing a heavy burden.

Amidst the tumultuous yet silent vibrations, the Sacred Heart Cloister, along with its myriad steeples and the ground beneath it, was “projected” into a pitch-black void. Fierce hurricanes and layers of darkness encircled them.

Almost simultaneously, brilliant sunbeams illuminated the interconnected buildings, as if conjuring thousands of miniature suns.

They resisted the encroaching darkness, striving to reveal the concealed void.

Magician and Justice vanished, reappearing in a space that seemed to bend and contract, forming a dark sphere.

Close by, a crouching golden retriever activated Psychological Invisibility, carefully observing her surroundings and maintaining the highest level of vigilance.

…

Painting world, Avenue du Marché.

From the darkness that corresponded to Salle de Bal Brise, dark-red and rust-stained yellow skeletons emerged.

They exuded a palpable aura of death, and the strong scent of rust and blood hung heavy in the air. When gathered together, they created and intensified a frenzied and violent atmosphere.

This sensation was tangible, immediately shaking the crystal barrier enveloping the darkness. It produced numerous cracks before silently collapsing.

Witnessing this horrifying scene, the woman in the white halter dress who had brought the Sansons to Avenue du Marché and the various rooms with similar auras to Séraphine’s brought over, certain words spoken by the “doll” messenger flashed through Lumian’s mind.

Those old bones!

With a swift thought, he seized Jenna’s arm with his left hand and immersed his consciousness into his right palm.

Bright red scars reappeared, and an exceptionally violent, maddening, and domineering aura surged from his body, causing the blue sky, white clouds, and the setting sun to visibly quiver.

Even Séraphine and the other “rooms,” despite their experience, were taken aback and couldn’t help but shudder.

The two pixies outside were even more terrified, convinced that a formidable presence had descended and that the painting world was on the brink of collapse.

The yellowish, ragged, and incomplete old bones creaked and turned, bowing their heads in unison to Lumian. They refrained from instinctively attacking the nearest humans.

Lumian raised his chin slightly and pointed his right hand with an icy determination at the “rooms” and the two pixies.

The old bones, clad in tattered armor and brandishing rusty weapons, transformed into dangerous incandescent fireballs that exploded towards every genuine target.

The blue-beret-wearing pixie’s pupils dilated, and she abruptly extended her palm into the void.

Her form turned ethereal once more, suffused with even greater emptiness and indifference, as if she had hidden herself in another realm.

Boom!

The white-hot fireball merged with her form, resulting in a powerful explosion, but it couldn’t reach the distant fantasy world and harm its intended target.

The Painter, donned in red pants, had suffered a severe fall, with fractured bones and a lingering sense of dizziness. There was no time to change his condition. His only option was to attempt a rapid repositioning, employing the maximum speed a Sequence 8 could muster. Yet, just as he sprang to his feet, he was struck by a blazing white fireball.

Boom!

The Pixie was left in a gory state from the explosion. His abdomen was torn open, internal organs spilled out, and his left arm severed. Severe burn marks covered his body.

He lost consciousness, his life ebbing away.

The incandescent white fireball hurtling toward Séraphine and Gabriel suddenly veered into the wilderness, distancing itself from the indifferent and vacant human models by several hundred meters.

The farther it flew, the weaker it became. After enduring for a hundred to two hundred meters, it eventually touched the ground and exploded.

Perhaps the most dangerous factor was the woman in the white halter dress, with curly black hair and a beautiful face. She appeared soulless as multiple blazing white fireballs were aimed at her.

However, the hazardous fireballs either bypassed the raised palms of the human model or exploded prematurely in a strange manner. Some even ascended into the air and transmuted into fireworks.

It was akin to Room 7 being impervious to attack.

Not far from Séraphine, there stood a stunning woman in a bright red dress. Her eyes held a vacant quality, and her aura appeared somewhat detached.

At that moment, she watched a blazing white fireball hurtling toward her like a meteor, remaining utterly motionless.

The blazing white fireball grew fainter and smaller. Just as it was about to collide with its target, it completely extinguished and reverted to a yellowish skeleton holding a rusty spear.

The skeleton swayed a few times before disintegrating, the withering sensation becoming more pronounced.

In the café diagonally opposite, an elegant plump lady in a black dress materialized. On one hand, she seemed to have lost her vitality and appeared unusually ethereal. On the other hand, she displayed a yearning expression and gaze. She opened her mouth as the incandescent white fireball approached and raised her hands, clutching a silver knife and fork.

With a whoosh, she sliced the blazing white fireball in half.

An illusory vortex filled with fanged phantoms formed in her mouth, devouring a portion of the fireball, “neutralizing” the threat.

Boom!

Most of the fireballs lost their course and veered off, shattering the café’s glass and toppling tables, chairs, and nearby outer walls.

Beside the darkness of Salle de Bal Brise, Lumian watched the old bones transform into blazing white fireballs, attacking the various “rooms” and the two pixies. He didn’t wait to see the final outcome or seize an opportunity to launch a surprise attack. He grabbed Jenna’s arm, kicked with his right foot, and lunged towards Salle de Bal Brise’s original location, where the old bones had emerged.

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