入室强性暴

At the stroke of six, Lumian sat upright and flung open the curtains, allowing a gentle light to stream into the room, breathing life into the once silent space. He rubbed his face, freshened up, and attended to his needs.

Once ready, he changed his clothes and departed from Auberge du Coq Doré. Making his way around Rue des Blouses Blanches, he entered the rented safe house.

With great anticipation, Lumian delved into Aurore’s grimoires, hoping to uncover some hidden gems that had eluded him in his previous search.

Aurore’s grimoires contained three distinct categories of knowledge.

Firstly, there were the common mystical understandings—the names of various pathways, the state of certain Sequences, the foundations of ritualistic magic, the significance of symbolic elements, and the pronunciation and meanings of several supernatural languages.

The second category focused on the practical application of mystical knowledge and personal abilities. It demanded deep contemplation, as it contained numerous recorded or purchased spells, as well as defenses against curses.

Lastly, there were fragments of peculiar and incomplete knowledge, along with intriguing anecdotes. Some were bestowed upon Aurore by the Hidden Sage, while others emerged from interactions within the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society.

These miscellaneous tidbits weren’t organized into separate grimoires but appeared sporadically as Aurore acquired them.

For Lumian, the second category posed the greatest challenge. Warlock spells like Illumination, Weed Removal, Exorcism, Soul Summoning, Lightning, Wind Creation, and Force Field Hand proved to be perplexing. After all, he lacked the fundamental understanding of mysticism and the support of Beyonder powers required to cast spells.

On the other hand, Lumian had made significant progress in comprehending, learning, and mastering ritualistic magic since becoming an Alms Monk.

Lumian also noticed that his sister had omitted certain basic rules, such as the Law of Beyonder Characteristics Conservation, from her grimoires.

However, this was to be expected. Such laws were scarce and easily remembered. They were ingrained in the mind and required no additional recording.

After an extensive morning of reading, Lumian found no signs of suspicion. Instead, he accumulated a myriad of questions that demanded consultation with others.

He let out a slow exhale, carefully folded the pages containing his inquiries, and tucked them into his pocket before departing the safe house.

On his way to Avenue du Marché, Lumian’s attention was caught by several voting booths. Uniformed police officers and heavily armed military police were working diligently to maintain order, allowing long queues of people to deposit their votes into wooden boxes.

Despite having acquired a new identification from Gardner Martin and assuming the persona of Ciel Dubois, a resident of the market district for nearly two years with the right to vote, Lumian chose not to register at all. He had no desire to partake in the parliamentary election.

After some time, a newsboy rushed by and tossed a stack of white papers into the air.

Lumian observed as many pedestrians eagerly collected the floating papers and began reading them with great seriousness. He bent down and retrieved a copy lying at his feet.

The white paper featured several lines of text in the Intis script, printed in a simple and easily comprehensible syntax.

“Hugues Artois is a traitor!

“In the war against the Loen Kingdom several years ago, he deserted his troops and fled. Countless fathers, brothers, husbands, and sons never returned!

“He is participating in the parliamentary election with clandestine support from the Loen Kingdom!”

He vividly remembered Hugo Artois’s campaign posters emphasizing his military service. He had only retired from the army upon reaching the rank of major and ventured into politics, starting as an assistant secretary at the National Convention.

Could this be a desperate move from a candidate facing unsatisfactory early poll results? As Lumian pondered over the situation, a group of men, suspected to be mobsters, approached and forcibly confiscated the fliers from the pedestrians, resorting to physical violence and vulgar insults. Curiously, the nearby police officers seemed oblivious to the scene unfolding before them.

Lumian raised his gaze and recognized one of the men.

They were members of the Poison Spur Mob, the very individuals who had previously followed Margot and Wilson to Auberge du Coq Doré.

“You dare read something like that, you wretch?”

“You leper, hand me the thing in your hand!”

“Son of a bitch, do you want me to rough you up?”

The Poison Spur Mob members closed in on Lumian. Just as they were about to snatch the flier from his hand, their eyes fell upon his short blond hair with dark roots.

A mischievous grin crept across Lumian’s face.

Ciel! The Poison Spur Mob members instinctively turned around, their intent to flee evident.

Lumian swiftly lifted his foot and delivered a forceful kick to one of the mobsters’ rear, causing him to lose his balance and tumble to the ground.

“What’s the matter? Can’t recognize your pépé?” Lumian taunted, watching the disoriented Poison Spur Mob members scramble away in a disheveled state. He had no inclination to pursue them any further.

Lumian tossed aside the flier he held and strolled back to Salle de Bal Brise.

Immediately upon entering, Louis approached with Sarkota by his side.

“Boss, Charlie quit his job as a waiter last night and only asked for a week’s worth of salary.”

“I’m aware,” Lumian responded calmly.

Louis recalled how the boss had taken Charlie away the previous night, returning without him. Shortly afterward, Charlie tendered his resignation and left. This sequence of events left Louis with a lingering suspicion that something secretive was at play, but he didn’t dare inquire further.

Lumian cast a brief glance at Louis and casually inquired as he made his way towards the café on the second floor, “How old are you?”

“27,” Louis answered, puzzled as to why the boss seemed interested in this particular detail.

Without much hesitation, Lumian continued, “Are you married? Do you have any children?”

“Not yet,” Louis replied with an awkward smile. “I plan to get married when I’m more mature.

Though he had managed to escape the life of a low-ranking mobster and now served as the leader’s bodyguard, eliminating the constant fear of being beaten to death on the streets, Louis recognized the inherent dangers that still lurked.

He didn’t wish to benefit another man shortly after entering married life and having a child.

Lumian nodded.

“It’s important to consider your future. The other Louis I know already has several children.”

Louis brushed off the remark, perceiving it as an attempt by the boss to force a conversation when there was little else to discuss, as if trying to prove a point.

…

Franca skipped her lunch with Gardner Martin and returned to 3 Rue des Blouses Blanches before noon.

Upon reaching the house, she noticed that the door to the guest bedroom was tightly shut. Perplexed, she turned the handle and pushed it open.

Inside, Jenna lay fast asleep in her pajamas, huddled under a blanket.

Stirred by the door’s movement, she rubbed her eyes and slowly sat up, her gaze fixed on Franca.

“Still snoozing?” Franca asked, her smile in place.

Just because you don’t have acting lessons at Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons, you’re letting yourself go like this?

Jenna combed through her tawny locks and grumbled, “It’s all Ciel’s fault; things went on late into the night.”

“…” Franca’s smile froze.

Jenna continued, “I don’t know what happened to him last night, but his mood and condition were off. I was worried something might happen, so I followed him. Only after he entered Auberge du Coq Doré and got into bed did I return to get some rest.”

Franca breathed a sigh of relief and inquired with concern, “Tell me everything.”

Jenna recounted the events starting from her performance at Salle de Bal Brise, seeing Lumian sitting by the road in the rain, all the way until he employed an unimaginable “method” to secure Gabriel’s script deal. Finally, she said,

“Dammit, it was almost three o’clock before he finally agreed to go back to his room and sleep. I was beyond exhausted!”

Franca listened attentively and expressed her worry, “It’s rare to see him in such a state…”

Franca paused, a realization dawning on her.

Lumian was still undergoing regular treatment from a psychiatrist, and perhaps this state she witnessed was his truest form.

“He must have experienced some sort of trauma last night. I’ll ask him about it later.” After Franca referred to him as a relative, she no longer concealed her close relationship with Lumian in front of Jenna.

Jenna nodded.

“Choose your words carefully. Don’t agitate him.”

…

On the second floor of Salle de Bal Brise, in Lumian’s office, he noticed Franca, who had turned invisible.

“I heard from Jenna that something happened to you last night,” Franca, dressed in a white blouse and black pants, asked casually. “Did you meet Madame Pualis?”

During her lunch with Jenna, she had managed to piece together what had triggered Lumian’s mental distress.

Lumian seemed to lose all his strength upon hearing Franca’s question and slumped into the swiveling armchair.

After a pause of more than ten seconds, he exhaled and said, “That’s right. I can’t accept the truth I learned, but I have no choice.”

Sensing his reluctance to share further, Franca didn’t press the matter. She nodded slightly and offered, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Lumian straightened up and spoke bluntly, “Two things. First, I have numerous questions about mysticism. Second, the issue with the Poison Spur Mob.

“As I mentioned before, once the election is over, Hugues Artois will become a member of parliament. ‘Black Scorpion’ Roger and his cohorts will gain a new boon. In due time, we’ll all be in danger. Should we launch a raid on 126 Avenue du Marché at night to eliminate any hidden threats before the election results are announced?”

Franca pondered for a moment and replied, “Based on your description, the Heretic Spellmaster holds a significant advantage on their home turf. Even if the two of us use our trump cards, our chances of successfully eliminating ‘Black Scorpion’ Roger and the others are uncertain, assuming there are no other surprises awaiting us.

“But if we don’t act now, they will become even more formidable after receiving their new boons…”

She hesitated, unsure of the best course of action.

…

At 126 Avenue du Marché, within the three-story building with a garden.

“Black Scorpion” Roger gazed at his subordinate who had infiltrated the market district’s parliamentary election commission and asked eagerly, “What’s the situation?”

The subordinate replied with excitement, “Monsieur Hugues Artois is leading by a wide margin!”

A smile crept across “Black Scorpion” Roger’s face. Once the subordinate left, he turned to “Baldy” Harman and “Short-legged Candlestick” Castina, saying,

“The election results will be announced tomorrow afternoon. Lady Moon will personally oversee the ritual and grant us a boon during the night.

“Afterward, we won’t hold back anymore. That wretched Ciel must meet his demise!”