Under the crimson moon’s glow, a gas street lamp illuminated the area from a distance. Lumian identified the footprints and followed them at a measured pace.

Before long, the wet spots dried up entirely, ceasing to provide clues. However, Lumian had memorized the size, sole patterns, and gait characteristics of the four sets of footprints, ensuring he wouldn’t confuse them with others.

Even so, tracking them proved challenging. Unlike the ruins of Cordu Village, thousands of people traversed Rue Anarchie and its surroundings daily, leaving countless overlapping footprints that obscured and destroyed each other, making it difficult to pinpoint a target.

Compounding the challenge, vendors littered the streets with trash, and the terrible environment created other distractions. At times, Lumian felt like he was searching for a drop of water in the ocean.

Fortunately, it was midnight, and few pedestrians were out. Most were alcoholics, whose distinct smell and staggered footprints Lumian could dismiss at a glance.

Additionally, Margot and his crew hadn’t been gone long, so many traces remained undamaged. Lumian barely managed to keep up.

Occasionally, due to the environment or Margot’s caution, the footprints would abruptly vanish. But Lumian remained undeterred. He composed himself, searching forward, left, and right over considerable distances for new traces. Through trial and error, he eventually found the footprints he sought.

Thus, Lumian tracked them to Rue du Rossignol in the market district, stopping in front of a five-story apartment building far from several cheap dance halls.

Margot and his subordinates’ footprints led inside.

Upon careful examination, Lumian confirmed that the three thugs had eventually left and walked in different directions.

In other words, Margot was the only one remaining in an apartment room.

He doesn’t need his subordinates’ protection, confident in his own strength… Lumian silently mused, growing more certain that his target was a Beyonder.

He surveyed the pitch-black corridor, considering how a Hunter might handle corresponding traces before returning to their actual residence. He suspected that even with a carbide lamp and meticulous searching, locating Margot would be near-impossible, and he might even fall into a prearranged trap.

After some contemplation, Lumian formulated a preliminary plan. He averted his gaze and headed to the adjacent street.

Before long, he encountered a staggering drunk man in his twenties who could barely walk.

As the man reached a malfunctioning gas street lamp and began to vomit, Lumian lowered his hat and approached. In a hushed tone, he said, “I want to buy your shirt for 1.5 verl d’or.”

The drunkard’s initial reaction was to question whether he was so intoxicated that he was hallucinating.

He wore a gray-blue tweed shirt he’d purchased from a cheap clothing store in Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman for only 1 verl d’or. Now, someone wanted to spend 1.5 verl d’or, or 30 licks, on this old garment he’d worn for two years!

Am I crazy, or is this guy crazy? The drunkard strained to look up at his counterpart, but the dim light only revealed a shadowy figure in the darkness.

The next moment, two cold coins appeared in his hand.

Instinctively, the drunkard weighed the coins and felt the patterns etched into the metal.

He belched and asked, “Why do you want to buy it?”

“If you’re unwilling, I’ll find someone else.” Lumian feigned taking back the silver coins.

Without further questioning, the drunkard grumbled and slowly removed his coat, emptying the pockets.

As Lumian departed with the clothes, the drunkard looked up with difficulty and waved his hand.

“Haha, lunatic. Lunatic who gives money… Blargh…”

By the time Lumian returned to the apartment block on Rue du Rossignol, he had changed into a dark-blue cap, a gray-blue tweed coat, faded pants, and a pair of worn, dirty leather shoes.

In addition to items he would use later, he had spent a total of 12 verl d’or.

Lumian glanced at the unlit apartment and suddenly found himself bewildered.

Why do I have to target a Beyonder like Margot?

His three subordinates were hardly innocent, and they were clearly weak. They didn’t know how to cover their tracks, so dealing with them shouldn’t be much harder than killing a chicken…

The fate of being attacked by the Montsouris ghost wouldn’t discriminate!

Why was I fixated on hunting Margot?

I wasn’t like this before. When necessary, I could be ruthless, and I could keep things simple. I wouldn’t burden myself unnecessarily…

As these thoughts raced through his mind, Lumian’s lips curled into a faint smile.

He realized he had ‘instinctively’ chosen more dangerous prey because it appeared more challenging, making him feel more at ease and carefree.

Lumian gazed at his left chest concealed beneath his clothes, suspecting this change resulted from the corruption within his body.

After a few seconds of silence, he suppressed a soft chuckle.

“From the looks of it, I’m a little crazy…”

He didn’t plan on changing his target; it was as if he could already smell the stench of blood.

This was both a blessing and a curse.

With his cap pulled low, Lumian carried a pile of items and circled to the rear of the target apartment.

He arranged the fatty meat, flammable sofa stuffing, and other items against the wall, creating a fireproof barrier around them.

Next, Lumian struck a match and tossed it onto the pile.

The sparks rapidly spread across the most combustible materials, quickly growing and consuming everything around them.

Black smoke billowed.

As the dense smoke enveloped the area, Lumian shouted,

“Fire! Fire!”

He then raced back to the front of the apartment and retreated into the shadows of a nearby corner.

His plan was simple: since he didn’t know which room Margot occupied or what traps he had set, he’d force Margot to reveal himself!

If Margot were a Pyromaniac, he’d certainly sense that the flames and smoke below couldn’t cause a real inferno. His reaction would differ greatly, allowing Lumian to determine Margot’s Sequence and decide whether to proceed or abort the plan.

With the rising smoke, flickering flames, and Lumian’s cries, the apartment’s tenants and those from neighboring buildings rushed down the stairs to the street.

As the fire wasn’t large and the smoke hadn’t penetrated the apartment, no one risked jumping out.

Remaining silent, Lumian focused intently on the apartment entrance while others ‘replaced’ him to shout and search for the fire’s origin.

Seconds later, a figure leaped from a second-floor window, landing with ease.

It was Margot—dressed in a red shirt and long milky-white pants!

Relying on his Beyonder abilities and living on a lower floor, Margot hadn’t taken the stairs like the other tenants. Instead, he jumped out the window.

Upon landing, he glanced back at the apartment, realizing the fire wasn’t serious at all. There had been no need for him to jump out, making him appear panicked and foolish.

In that instant, Margot spotted a figure wearing a peaked cap and gray-blue shirt emerge from a corner.

The figure, head lowered, pointed at Margot and laughed.

“Look, this guy is such an idiot!”

Margot’s emotions erupted with a fury.

His eyes tinted red as he lunged at the man mocking him.

He was fast, but the figure was faster. He had already turned and darted into the nearest alley.

All Margot wanted was to teach the guy a lesson and chase him down.

The pair raced into the dark, deserted alley, one tailing the other.

Tap! Tap! Tap! The figure sprinted to a barricade and vaulted over it with a push from his right hand.

Upon landing, he saw the figure stop and turn around.

The moment he landed, he saw the figure stop and turn around.

Under the crimson moonlight, Margot saw the face beneath the dark-blue cap.

It was swathed in layers of white bandages, revealing only nostrils, eyes, and ears.

The figure’s left hand was similarly wrapped, gripping a sinister-looking, pewter-black dirk.

Margot’s pupils widened, and his heart skipped a beat.

He instantly realized he had fallen prey to some kind of Provocation.

Suppressing his unease, Margot drew the black revolver from his waist.

He aimed at Lumian and activated Provocation.

“With that knife? Idiot, this is the age of the gun!”

Bang!

Margot pulled the trigger, sending a bullet straight for Lumian’s head.

Lumian suddenly arched backward, as if forming a bridge.

Then, he snapped horizontally, dodging Margot’s second bullet.

Next, Lumian straightened like a coiled spring and hurled Fallen Mercury at Margot as if it were a flying dagger.

Anticipating that his enemy had a Provocation-like ability and possibly poisoned the weapon, Margot dared not confront it head-on. He hastily twisted his body, allowing the pewter-black dirk to sail past him and embed into a crack in the barricade.

As he evaded the attack, Margot saw Lumian pounce on him like a tiger.

Only then did he notice that Lumian’s ears were stuffed with thick wads of paper, rendering him almost immune to Margot’s Provocation!

The best understanding of a Hunter always came from another Hunter!

This revelation infuriated Margot once more, as if he had been silently ‘Provoked’ by his opponent’s prowess.

Bam! Lumian clenched his right fist and struck Margot’s temples with a sharp crack.

Margot blocked it with his left arm.

Simultaneously, he raised his right hand and aimed the revolver at Lumian’s head.

Let’s see how you dodge at this close range!

In an instant, Lumian leaned forward as if to headbutt Margot’s chest and grabbed his right wrist with his left hand.

Meanwhile, his right leg swung up with incredible flexibility.

Not at the back of his head, but at Fallen Mercury, lodged in a crack in the barricade beside him!

The sinister, pewter-black dirk soared into the air, propelled by Lumian’s kick, and flew straight toward Margot.