Holding an iron-black carbide lamp, Franca glanced at the path between stone pillars and asked the smuggler, Fernandez, who was leading the way, in a state of confusion, “Doesn’t this lead to Quartier de l’Observatoire?”

Though Underground Trier was a complex maze, the tunnels on this level had street names corresponding to the surface. After pondering for a moment, Franca realized they were going in the wrong direction.

Smuggling operations certainly entailed entering the city from its outskirts, and Quartier de l’Observatoire was positioned closer to the center of Trier compared to Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman. The district stood on the other side of the Srenzo River, effectively separating it from Avenue du Boulevard.

Fernandez, a smuggler associated with “Rat” Christo, turned around with a smile and explained, “The hidden route we’re taking leads to Quartier de l’Observatoire. We always deliver the goods to the warehouse there.”

“Is that so?” Franca slowed down and increased the distance between herself and Fernandez, who wore a brown felt hat.

Since they hadn’t entered the smuggling route yet, she lowered her voice and conversed with Lumian.

“I remember you traded your Pugilist Beyonder characteristic for 18,000 verl d’or with Gardner. You know it’s a Beyonder characteristic, right? Or rather, do you grasp a Beyonder characteristic’s true meaning?”

“My sister mentioned it before.” Lumian attributed his knowledge to Aurore.

Franca was tall and had long legs, making it effortless for her to keep up with Lumian.

Overwhelmed with emotion, she sighed and commented, “It’s fortunate to have someone to guide you. In the past, we were stumbling around like blind mice, relying on ourselves to figure things out. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have made the choice…”

Her voice trailed off, ending with a long sigh.

This reminded Lumian of a saying, either spoken by Aurore herself or relayed from Emperor Roselle’s famous words: “Once you make a grave mistake, it will haunt you for a lifetime.”

Franca quickly regained her composure and whispered to Lumian, “You’ve just entered the field of mysticism. Apart from knowledge, you’re lacking much more.

“It’s best not to be frugal with that sum of money. Use it to purchase a mystical item or a Beyonder weapon to compensate for a Hunter’s limitations in mysticism. Otherwise, if ‘Black Scorpion’ Roger truly seeks revenge against you, he won’t need to go through much trouble. He can simply summon a few undead to hunt you down. If you have such intentions, I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

Lumian chuckled.

“I’ve already made a purchase.”

“So quickly?” Franca nearly lost control of her voice, causing smuggler Fernandez to glance back.

The carbide lamps cast intersecting shadows, obstructing Lumian’s view of Fernandez’s expression. He couldn’t discern what thoughts they triggered.

Lumian replied “honestly,” “Before joining the Savoie Mob, I discovered a circle of Beyonders through Psychic’s gathering of mysticism enthusiasts. There, I exchanged the verl d’or that the Boss gave me for a mystical item.”

“No wonder…” Franca revealed a knowing expression and praised Lumian. “Your mind is even sharper than I imagined. Hmm, is it an item that enhances your mysticism abilities?”

Lumian spoke frankly, “A pair of Lawyer glasses, but they seem to have been tainted by some strange power.”

As he spoke, he retrieved his brown Mystery Prying Glasses and showcased them. “They allow me to see things I usually can’t…”

Franca’s brow furrowed ever so slightly as she interrupted Lumian. “That’s highly dangerous.”

“I know,” Lumian explained with a smile. “But as long as I choose the right environment and take precautions, it won’t be too risky. Besides, it offers excellent disguises and mysticism techniques…”

Lumian briefly recounted his urge to paint after donning the Mystery Prying Glasses.

Franca’s ponytail bobbed behind her head.

“It’s certainly useful. If I were in your shoes, I’d make the same choice.

“Only the leaders and thugs of the Poison Spur Mob haven’t really interacted with you. They only know you by your peculiar hair color. Otherwise, they would have recognized your true identity by now. They wouldn’t have needed to act themselves. They could have sought revenge by sharing your information and wanted posters with the police headquarters and the two cathedrals.”

Lumian chuckled.

“That’s right. I can already set up a coffee meeting with Officer Everett.”

Franca’s vibrant lake-like eyes sparkled as she said, “You’ve shared so much with me about the mysticism gathering and your trump cards. Jenna even kept telling me how cunning and deceptive you are. Yet, you’re truly sincere and straightforward! Of course, our relationship is different from others. I knew it. Muggle’s brother isn’t that kind of person!”

For a moment, Lumian felt a twinge of guilt. He spoke sincerely, “Yes, she completely misunderstood me.”

After chatting for a while, they finally reached the outskirts of Quartier de l’Observatoire’s underground area and turned into a southward tunnel.

Soon, Fernandez halted in front of a secondary well belonging to an abandoned quarry.

He positioned the carbide lamp at the mouth of the well and gestured downward.

“Let’s go in.”

With the aid of the blue light, Lumian peered down into the depths of the well. It had been neglected for a long time and appeared to be completely blocked by gravel.

Using the recess in the well wall, ropes concealed in the shadows, and a basic iron ladder fastened to the moss, the three of them descended and swiftly reached the well’s bottom.

Fernandez moved a few seemingly heavy rocks, revealing a narrow tunnel at the well’s edge, wide enough for one person.

As they traversed the tunnel, which emitted a foul stench, the passageway ahead widened, as if they had entered another section of the quarry cave.

The air grew eerily still and darkness enveloped them. The cave ceiling was damp, with scarce traces of moss.

Lumian and Franca, each holding a carbide lamp, slowed their pace and meticulously examined the various signs along the smuggling route.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Fernandez pointed to a nearby tunnel.

“Our boss and Baron Brignais weren’t entirely fruitless. They discovered that the caravan’s tracks vanished into thin air over there.”

It was a tunnel connecting two sections of the quarry cave. The path was strewn with rubble and potholes. In the distance, darkness prevailed, devoid of any light.

Lumian and Franca swiftly located the relatively fresh footprints that had abruptly vanished. They squatted down, closely examining them.

“Only footprints going in. The ones coming back end right here. Most people returning carry heavy loads. Their footprints are deeper, distinctly different from when they came… We can rule out the possibility of them turning around and retracing their steps…” Lumian swiftly made a series of deductions.

Franca averted her gaze from her surroundings and stood up.

“No signs of a struggle. It’s incredibly peculiar!”

She then motioned for Fernandez to move further away and wait in the quarry cave.

As Fernandez’s carbide lamp glow faded into the distance, Franca produced a small makeup box and a white handkerchief with a blue checkered pattern.

The handkerchief belonged to “Rat” Christo’s brother, Erkin, who had also gone missing during the smuggling operation.

Franca placed the carbide lamp down, opened the light-gold box, and ran her fingers over the mirror inside.

Meanwhile, holding the handkerchief, she repeated in a whisper, “Erkin’s current whereabouts, Erkin’s current whereabouts…”

The already dim tunnel grew even more stifling. The light from the two carbide lamps was pushed back by an invisible force, and the palm-sized mirror emitted a watery glow, as though revealing the depths of a dark river.

Before Lumian could count to three, a scene materialized on the mirror’s surface.

Laborers lugging wooden crates and smugglers armed with revolvers and rifles trudged through the tunnel. As they progressed, the darkness behind them engulfed the space where the light had receded. Eventually, the carbide lamp’s glow vanished from view, and the mirror’s surface turned pitch-black.

“They did vanish in this area.” Franca ended her divination, her thin red lips pressed together. “But I can’t discern anything further.”

Lumian didn’t suggest trying the Mystery Prying Glasses. From his perspective, Trier’s underground was a treacherous place, concealing all manner of secrets. There were ruins from the Fourth Epoch, foul-smelling old bones, catacombs with specific rules to follow, and the lingering Montsouris ghost that had defied eradication for years. They were all elements that instilled fear in those seeking the truth. If he were to use the Mystery Prying Glasses to survey the surroundings, there was a high chance he would explode on the spot.

In due time, Trier’s underground would boast another legend entwined with the power of an evil god.

Therefore, Lumian would lend a hand out of consideration for the Savoie Mob’s boss, but he wouldn’t go all out and take unnecessary risks.

After all, it was “Rat” Christo who suffered the loss. What did it have to do with him, “Lion” Ciel?

Salle de Bal Brise still had an abundant supply of alcohol!

Franca glanced at him, not intending to make things difficult.

Red Boots stowed away the makeup box and Erkin’s handkerchief, picked up the carbide lamp, and said to Lumian,

“Let’s return and find Fernandez. Let him guide us forward. Perhaps there are other clues left behind.”

“Alright.” Lumian felt that Franca was merely fulfilling her duty as a member of the Savoie Mob.

The two turned around, carrying their carbide lamps, and ventured back toward the original quarry cave, plunging into the ever-deepening darkness.

After taking a dozen steps, Lumian abruptly halted, his expression growing grave.

“What’s the matter?” Franca asked, perplexed.

Lumian’s voice resonated with gravity as he directed her attention to the scattered rubble and pockmarked ground.

“No more footprints. The smugglers’ tracks from their departure and our own as we crossed have vanished! But there’s a trail of footprints carrying a heavy load leading forward!”

Franca’s heart skipped a beat. She peered ahead, coming to the realization that the ground lay in disarray. The footprints left by her, Lumian, and Fernandez in the tunnel had vanished, replaced by the sudden reappearance of the missing caravan’s tracks out of thin air!