入室强性暴

He stood by the carriage, his gaze naturally surveying the surroundings of the Governor of the Sea’s residence.

The location was close to the fishing village’s docks, with boats sailing into the sea and fishing nets secured to the reefs. Around nearby houses, women were busy processing seafood, turning them into salted fish and jerky. Children ran along various village roads, playing games.

Though different from Cordu, the essence of the scene remained similar.

In front of the Governor of the Sea’s residence stretched a sizable square where Lumian and the others awaited Madame Martha, Rubió Paco, and their emergence.

Children gathered in a corner, arranging numerous shells and engaging in an acting game.

The eldest, dressed in a linen shirt, declared, “I’m the Governor of the Sea!”

“I’ll be the guard!”

“I’m the mother,” the other children replied.

The youngest hopped around, asking, “What about me? What about me?”

The child playing the role of the Governor of the Sea pondered for a moment and said, “You can be the Child of the Sea.”

Child of the Sea? What’s that? Lumian, though not looking, listened intently to the children’s discussion.

These kids may not understand many terms, but their lack of confidentiality made them unwitting carriers of information. The adults in Milo Village wouldn’t be overly vigilant against such young children, who might inadvertently reveal details remembered in their daily games.

Recalling his experiences in Cordu, Lumian recognized the value of sounding out children and playing games with them. It was a subtle way to glean insights into family matters.

After absorbing the children’s discussions and gauging the time, Lumian adjusted his golden straw hat and headed straight for the Governor of the Sea’s residence.

Lugano was taken aback and swiftly followed Lumian.

Two “guards” in brownish-green shirts and pants, each armed with a rifle, blocked the entrance of the cathedral and sacrificial ground, fixing their gaze on Lumian.

“Halt!” the “guards” shouted.

Undeterred, Lumian continued forward, speaking in Intisian nonchalantly, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

With a swoosh, the two “guards” raised their rifles, aiming at the outsider in the golden straw hat.

Lugano hurriedly translated, “They won’t let you in.”

Ignoring his guide, Lumian neither sped up nor slowed down as he approached the white building with gray bricks.

A cold glint flickered in the blue eyes of the two “guards” as they squeezed their triggers.

At that moment, the outsider in the golden straw hat vanished from their sight.

He melded into the sunlit shadows of the governor’s residence.

In the next instant, Lumian reappeared from a shadow in the foyer behind them and continued walking.

It was as if the distance between them had been erased.

The two “guards,” with keen senses, quickly turned around, peering behind them. However, Lumian had already entered the building, leaving the foyer.

Outside, Lugano stood in a daze, uncertain whether to take the risk of following and acting as a translator or to prioritize his own safety.

After passing through the foyer, Lumian suddenly noticed the space ahead darkening. The dome, just over ten meters tall, emanated an inaccessible aura. Aqua-blue walls adorned with various reliefs caught his eye. Unlike the typical statues of Angels and Saints, these depicted objects from the sea—

starfish, corals, numerous fish, lobsters, and crabs.

Simultaneously, Lumian sensed the reliefs coming to life, casting a dangerous gaze at him.

No, they weren’t alive. The building itself seemed alive, instinctively rejecting intruders and exerting layers of pressure.

Lumian’s steps instantly became heavy, as if burdened by hundreds of kilograms of food.

Within his field of vision, Martha, the Paco family’s matriarch, knelt diagonally on the ground with her legs crossed. Rubió Paco stood at a distance. The two maids also knelt, their backs turned towards the entrance hall, as if unwilling to look at a certain important figure.

Directly opposite the high dome lay a “carpet” made of fish skin. A young man in a retro white robe reclined on it, propping himself up with his elbows as he quietly observed Martha.

Four other beautiful women adorned the “carpet.” One knelt behind the lad, serving as his cushion. Another peeled late-ripened grapes and delicately fed them to the lad. The remaining two held trays with alcohol, food, and towels, each standing in a separate spot. Their pregnant bellies were unmistakably visible, radiating a maternal glow.

Upon Lumian’s sudden entrance, the lad appeared alarmed, sitting up straight and seeking solace in the embrace of the woman behind him.

Sensing the abnormality, Rubió turned around and saw the adventurer he had hired, Louis Berry.

His pupils dilated slightly as he urgently spoke in Intisian, “Why did you come in?”

Only then did Lumian pause and smile.

“I’m a professional adventurer. You’ve been inside for too long. I’m worried something might happen.”

As he spoke, Lumian sensed dangerous gazes from various parts of the building.

Rubió fell silent for a moment before saying, “Don’t worry. Just wait outside for us to come out.”

“Alright,” Lumian chuckled, turned around, and sauntered into the foyer, acting as if the dangerous gazes didn’t exist.

Back in the foyer, he faced the two “guards” and their rifles without giving them a glance as he walked past.

The expressions of the “guards” shifted, but they refrained from firing, allowing Lumian to exit the Governor of the Sea’s residence.

Lugano breathed a sigh of relief, grateful he wouldn’t be hunted down by the people of Milo Village.

Despite being a Beyonder, facing more than one armed soldier still made him uneasy.

Glancing at Lumian, he hesitated to ask why his employer insisted on barging in.

Lumian settled back beside the carriage driver, tucking in his legs with one bent and the other extended, allowing his right arm to rest on it.

After nearly ten minutes, Rubió Paco and his mother, Martha, emerged from the cathedral-like building.

Rubió took a deep look at Lumian and said, “Let’s go. The Governor of the Sea has agreed to let my mother receive treatment at the Church.”

Is that lad the current Governor of the Sea? He looked weak and appeared panicked. How can he protect Port Santa’s fishermen and sea merchants for a year? Or does he lack abilities but possess a special symbol? Did the April Fool’s prank cause an accident at last year’s sea prayer ritual? This Governor of the Sea might have failed to receive the sea’s boon or appointment, but the Fisheries Guild members conceal the matter to avoid causing panic, treating him as the real Governor of the Sea. He must know about what happened back then… Lumian nodded thoughtfully.

He smiled and asked Rubió in Intisian, “Then, should we thank Earth Mother for Her love and care or the Governor’s approval?”

Rubió didn’t respond and followed his mother, Martha, into the carriage.

Lugano hurriedly took a seat on the other side of the carriage driver, watching as the horse circled around and changed direction, gradually departing from the Governor of the Sea’s residence.

Phew… Lugano sighed from the bottom of his heart.

This commission doesn’t seem dangerous…

Apart from his employer insisting on barging into the Governor of the Sea’s residence, there were no surprises.

Lumian chuckled and remarked, “That’s because I’m here. If it were just you, those hidden observers might have already come knocking.”

Lugano fell silent, observing as his employer pointed at the Governor of the Sea’s mansion, resembling a cathedral, and uttered a phrase in Highlander word by word.

“What. Will happen if. Blown up?”

Lugano shuddered, his hair standing on end.

He glanced at the astonished carriage driver and advised his employer in Intisian, “You’ll probably be hunted down by the entire Port Santa.”

Lumian smiled and averted his gaze, remaining silent.

Only then did Lugano realize.

His employer was testing someone!

Why else would he use Highlander, a language he hadn’t mastered yet?

He was testing the reactions of the carriage driver and Madame Martha in the carriage!

Listening to Martha and Rubió’s conversation, Lumian noted the mother and son barely spoke during the journey, perhaps due to Martha’s poor health, with occasional moans of pain.

As the carriage left Milo Village, the driver suddenly pulled the reins, stopping the horses.

An old man with a black cane had appeared in front of the carriage.

With dark and white hair, eyes as blue as the sea, and wearing common fishermen’s clothes, the wrinkled face of the old man could have killed a mosquito with its folds.

“Mr. Oro…” the carriage driver whispered, his expression tense, uncertain how to react.

Juan Oro? Lumian thought. The president of the Fisheries Guild and the former village chief of Milo Village?

Supported by a young man resembling him, Juan Oro approached the Paco family’s carriage with his cane.

In the carriage, Rubió and Martha remained silent.

At that moment, a revolver appeared on Juan Oro’s forehead, pressing the cold muzzle against his flesh.

Lumian raised his chin slightly and looked at the president of the Fisheries Guild. With a calm expression, he asked, “Who allowed you to approach this carriage?”