入室强性暴

Guillaume Bénet, Pierre Berry, and Sybil Berry fought off the ‘midwife’ and her accomplices as they charged towards the tower.

A series of fragmented scenes flashed through Lumian’s mind.

In a tower filled with bird-clawed infants, the invisible Guillaume Bénet touched the midwife’s shoulder with the help of Shepherd Pierre Berry. The midwife exploded as if a bomb had been planted inside her.

Though Sybil Berry had been killed by the lady’s maid, she was reborn in the other woman’s body and took control of it.

Floating in the air, Louis Lund gave birth to a child in the room.

Unfazed, Louis Lund teamed up with Administrator Béost to subdue Shepherd Pierre Berry.

In the wilderness leading deep into the mountains, the padre, Guillaume Bénet, was surrounded by countless undead in linen garments…

Lumian’s face contorted in pain. These memories felt like a sharp weapon piercing his soul. Extracting them would do more harm, making him instinctively resist recalling them further.

Eventually, the scenes faded, and Lumian panted heavily.

“How was it? Did you find anything?” Susie’s voice was gentle, as if inquiring about today’s breakfast.

Lumian pondered and replied, “I remember the battle between the padre and Madame Pualis’s subordinates. The scene was chaotic and fragmented…

“Sometimes, I feel like I’m watching in person, and at times from afar via certain means…”

This left him deeply puzzled about his position and role in these events.

At times, he seemed to be part of the two groups, embroiled in the conflict. Other times, he appeared to be a mere bystander, unconnected to either side.

Susie asked, leading him on, “Besides that, is there anything else you don’t understand about the situation in your memory?”

Lumian said as he recalled, “I don’t think I saw Madame Pualis… She only appeared when the padre was surrounded by a horde of undead in the wilderness…

“The padre and his allies seemed drained after dealing with Louis Lund, Cathy, Béost, the midwife, and Madame Pualis’s subordinates. If Madame Pualis had joined, I don’t think they could have won…

“Why did Madame Pualis willingly give up and leave Cordu without stopping the padre and his allies…”

“Not willingly, but forcibly sent away,” Susie corrected him. “The ritual in your dream to send the Spring Elf away should be about sending Pualis away. The Spring Elf symbolizes a bountiful harvest, the end of a harsh winter, and the budding of new life. It’s very similar to the abilities displayed by Pualis’s group.”

“That’s even stranger…” Lumian’s voice grew pained as he clenched his fists, feeling unable to remember any more.

Susie said gently, “If you don’t want to recall, don’t. Recovering all your memories isn’t something that can be achieved in one session of therapy. Take your time. There’s no rush.”

Phew… Lumian slowly exhaled a sigh of relief, his body relaxing.

After he had calmed down for nearly a minute, Susie said, “You can sleep and see if you can find more answers in your dreams.”

At first, the Psychiatrist’s voice was gentle in Lumian’s ears, but then it became increasingly ethereal, as if it had receded and entered another world.

His eyelids grew heavier and heavier until they finally closed.

Lumian’s eyes snapped open to the familiar ceiling above him.

He bolted upright, taking in the reclining chair, the wooden table by the window, the small bookshelf, and the wardrobe with its full-length mirror.

This was his bedroom, his home in Cordu.

For a few seconds, Lumian stared blankly before leaping out of bed and sprinting from the room.

He flung open Aurore’s bedroom door and found the desk littered with manuscripts, papers, fountain pens, ink bottles, and other items, just as he remembered. He noticed the chair with the pillow was empty.

His gaze shifted to the vacant bed before slowly retracting.

Quietly, he closed the door and moved to the next room.

No familiar figure awaited him in the study either.

Lumian raced downstairs.

He dashed through Cordu Village, arriving at the entrance of the Eternal Blazing Sun cathedral.

Not a single villager crossed his path. Every house was eerily silent.

Gazing up at the onion-like dome, Lumian strode into the cathedral.

The altar had been altered, adorned with tulips, lilacs, and other flowers. A black thorn symbol was etched into it, seemingly with liquid flowing on its surface.

Still, nobody was here.

Lumian searched the padre’s room before heading to the basement.

Piles of bones and sheepskin lay around, just as in his previous dream, but the altar in the middle remained untouched.

He examined it cautiously but felt no burning sensation in his chest.

Realizing this was a dream, the power representing the past, present, and future seemed to have vanished.

Having gained nothing, Lumian stood by the underground altar, deep in thought. He then dashed up the stairs, out the side door, and into the nearby cemetery. Guided by the memories of his previous dream, he quickly located the tomb where the owl had flown in. Crouching down, he pushed open the stone slab sealing the entrance. Without hesitation, Lumian descended the stairs, traversed the passageway, and found the black coffin in the shadowy tomb.

No owl was present, nor was there another Lumian. Only the faint light seeping in from outside illuminated the scene.

In a daze, Lumian turned his attention to the black coffin.

The lid had already slid to the side, revealing its contents.

Hesitating for a moment, Lumian recalled Aurore nearly losing control in his dream when she spied on the dead Warlock’s corpse in the coffin.

Two or three seconds later, his expressionless steps carried him forward, approaching the black coffin. He cast his gaze inside.

A corpse quickly appeared before his eyes.

With golden hair cascading down its sides and eyes tightly shut, the corpse’s pale-white face was adorned with a light blue dress.

It was Aurore!

Aurore lay in the coffin of the dead Warlock!

...

Lumian’s pupils dilated, his face contorting with horror.

The scene before him fractured, crumbling inch by inch.

Lumian’s eyes snapped open, his expression a mix of bewilderment and dread.

“What did you see?” Susie’s voice echoed in his ears.

Lumian replied in a distant tone, “I saw Aurore lying in the coffin of the deceased Warlock… “How can this be…”

Susie reassured him, “This is more symbolic.

“Consider this: there’s no real Warlock legend, and in the dream, the story you subconsciously created transformed your and Aurore’s home into the Warlock’s former residence. Aurore knows nothing about this or the legend. “Her loss of control was because she wanted to see the Warlock’s corpse in the coffin clearly.”

“So, the Warlock who died in the legend represents Aurore. What does the owl symbolize? What does the entire story signify?”

Questions flooded Lumian’s mind, each like a sharp blade tearing at his head. Lumian instinctively raised his hands to clutch his head.

“You might need to recover more memories before you can analyze it. Moreover, sometimes, multiple layers of symbolism exist in a mixed state,” Susie said gently. “That’s enough for today’s treatment. Your subconscious is already resisting. Continuing may backfire and harm your mental state.

Would you like the second treatment in two weeks or a month?” Lumian didn’t hesitate.

...

“Two weeks from now.” Susie paused for a few seconds before adding, “Lastly, I must remind you that you have a strong tendency for self-destruction.”

“Self-destruction…” Lumian repeated the words, his expression unchanged. Susie’s voice carried warmth again. “I understand why this happened, and I don’t want to forcibly eliminate it. Unless you’re willing to let me erase all memories at the root of the problem, every treatment will only alleviate, not eradicate it.

“I just want to remind you that Aurore loves living and life.

“She has many unfulfilled wishes. She wants to see you attend university. She wants to travel to Trier as an ordinary person for a while. She wants to find clues about her home. She wants to resolve her issues with her parents. She wants to savor all of Trier’s delicacies, every concert, and experience every art exhibition.

attend “She’s one step away from complete death. If she’s conscious, I don’t think she’d give up. She’s like someone who’s fallen into an abyss, clinging to the cliff edge with one hand. If even you give up, no one will pull her up again.” Lumian’s expression shifted, but he couldn’t show any defined emotions.

It seemed he had forgotten how to smile or cry.

Susie didn’t pressure him to respond. She sighed softly and said, “Many times, suppressing pain and despair isn’t helpful. Humans need to vent and relieve stress. “Alright, that’s it for today. We’ll meet again for the second treatment, same time in two weeks.”

Lumian closed his eyes.

“Thank you, Madame Susie.”

Susie didn’t reply, as if she had already left.

After more than ten seconds, Lumian slowly exhaled and opened his eyes.

He instinctively glanced outside Mason’s Café and saw a golden retriever with a small brown bag vanishing around the corner.

A female figure appeared to be beside the dog.

Lumian lingered for another ten minutes before finishing the remaining ambergris lemonade. He stepped out of Mason’s Café and made his way to the nearest public carriage stop.

A green double-decker carriage pulled up, inviting passengers to board.

Lumian paid 30 coppets and found a window seat, his gaze distant.

“Read all about it! Only 11 coppets each!” A child in old clothes approached the window, hoisting a stack of newspapers in his hand. Self-destruct… live… self-destruct… live… Lumian’s mind replayed the psychiatrist’s words. He felt like a walking corpse, oblivious to the newsboy.

Suddenly, he noticed the newspaper’s title— Novel Weekly.

That’s right, it’s Sunday… Lumian snapped back to reality. He handed the child two 5-coppet copper coins and one 1-coppet copper coin, opened the window, and grabbed a copy of Novel Weekly.

Unfolding the newspaper, Lumian began to read, illuminated by the bright sunlight streaming through the window.

As the carriage slowly rolled forward, a message caught Lumian’s eye: “Obituary: “Our eternal friend, the renowned bestselling author, Aurore Lee, has been confirmed by our editorial team to have passed away in an accident in April…”

Lumian’s gaze froze, his hands trembling.

Abruptly, he lowered his head, raised the newspaper, and shielded his face with it. A wet mark materialized on the newspaper’s surface in the afternoon sun.

More and more wet marks emerged, merging into one splatter.