Chapter 113: Messenger (Requesting Monthly Votes)

Lu Mi carried an acetylene lamp and ascended the stone steps one level after another.

Not long after, light appeared ahead, accompanied by noisy voices.

To someone emerging from the silent underground, it felt as if the entire world had suddenly come alive.

Lu Mi quickened his pace and turned the valve on the surface of the acetylene lamp with his right hand, which held the suitcase, to stop the water droplets from dripping onto the calcium carbide pile below.

As the acetylene gas burned out, the flame at the metal trumpet mouth gradually faded.

At this moment, the scene outside also came into Lu Mi’s view:

The buildings, tall or short, seemed frozen at the very moment of collapse—leaning or teetering, yet stubbornly standing firm.

The pedestrians on the street wore either worn-out or tattered clothes; everywhere, people argued with each other or shouted angrily alone, and the noise seemed never to cease.

Lu Mi stood at the exit of the underground area, glanced left and right, and spotted a five-story building named “Golden Rooster Inn.”

The top two floors of this brownish-beige building appeared to have been added later, starkly different from the lower three floors, which followed the Rosel-era preference for columns, arches, large windows, and ornamental patterns—so crude they looked like they had been moved intact from Kordu Village.

Carrying his suitcase and acetylene lamp, Lu Mi walked through the children crouching on the ground searching for orange peels and the adults shouting loudly, reaching the entrance of the “Golden Rooster Inn.”

He looked up and saw yellow sputum on the floor, torn paper scraps, spilled ketchup, stains reeking of alcohol, and swarms of bedbugs marching in orderly lines across the ceiling and walls.

Had he not been holding anything, Lu Mi would have clapped for this scene.

The old taverns in Kordu Village were far cleaner than this!

He searched for a path with the least filth and walked slowly to the front desk.

There sat a plump middle-aged woman, her grayish-white long dress stained with grease, her brown hair simply pinned at the back of her head.

She lifted her head, scanned Lu Mi with blue eyes, and showed no surprise at the disgust and resistance on his face:

“In the Chaos Street, in the Market District, this is the best and cheapest inn—though the owner is a repulsive miser who won’t hire even a few regular cleaning maids, only bringing someone in once a week.”

“Is he also stingy with your salary?” Lu Mi asked back in a naive, curious tone.

The middle-aged woman instantly grew angry:

“Do you want to rent a room or not?”

“Yes.” Lu Mi sounded startled, speaking quickly to make his intent clear, “I’d like to know the price.”

The middle-aged woman calmed down slightly:

“It depends on what kind of room you want. The top two floors are five Faeljin per week, the lower two floors are three Faeljin per week. If you still think it’s expensive, go up and knock on every door—ask if anyone’s willing to split their bed with you or sublet you a spot on the floor, about one to one and a half Faeljin per week.”

“I’ll take a room on the lower two floors,” Lu Mi chose this because, whether jumping from the window or using the stairs, it was easier to escape than from the upper floors.

The plump woman sized Lu Mi up for a moment:

“If you pay the full month upfront, it’s only fifteen Faeljin.”

“Why so much cheaper?” Lu Mi deliberately displayed the ignorance of a country farmer seeing a big city for the first time.

The middle-aged woman sneered:

“Because too many people stay only one or two weeks before being forced to move elsewhere—or leave Triel entirely.”

“This place is heaven, and it’s hell.”

Lu Mi took out the stack of banknotes he had just received and pulled out three light-blue bills.

Each had a face value of five Faeljin; the front showed the half-bust of Lefanx, the first president of the Intis Republic, alongside laboring farmers and herders, the back depicted the Honaichis Mountains.

After receiving the full month’s rent, the plump woman’s expression visibly softened. She pulled out two brass keys tied together and tossed them up to Lu Mi:

“Room 207 on the second floor. There’s a small restaurant on the first floor, a tavern in the basement. The drawer of the room’s desk contains sulfur—it’ll drive away those damn bugs. I’m Fers. If you have any questions, come find me.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Fers,” Lu Mi took the keys, picked up his suitcase and acetylene lamp, and climbed the stairs toward the second floor.

Along the way, he noticed many walls covered in layers of newspapers or cheap pink paper, some peeling away to reveal cracks beneath and swarms of bedbugs.

The second floor had eight rooms and two washrooms; each room was narrow, with a bed on the right, a desk by the window touching the bed on one side and the wall on the other, and a chair in front with legs nearly broken.

Beyond these, there was no other furniture—only rows of bedbugs crawling across the ceiling.

Lu Mi, accustomed to cleanliness and tidiness since living with Aurora, set down his suitcase and lamp, opened the drawer, took out some sulfur, and lit it with a match.

Amid the strong, pungent odor, the bedbugs retreated from the room, moving elsewhere.

Seconds later, Lu Mi sniffed and smelled the same sulfur scent coming from the adjacent room.

Almost simultaneously, some bedbugs returned to his room, seeking a peaceful haven.

Lu Mi paused to think, and understood what was happening:

He had driven the bugs into the neighboring room with sulfur; the tenant there was now trying to drive them back with sulfur of their own.

Lu Mi couldn’t help smiling, bent down, opened his suitcase, and took out paper and pen.

Amid the heavy sulfur smell, he sat at the wooden desk and began writing:

“Dear ‘Magician’ Lady:

“I have arrived in Triel as agreed. Could you tell me what I must do next, which organization to join, and how to approach them…

“Have the two psychologists been available lately? When can I receive treatment?

“Regarding Guillaume Béne and Madame Pualis, do you have any new leads…?”

After finishing the short letter, Lu Mi took out an orange-yellow candle he had taken from his sister’s room.

As he ignited the candle with his spiritual energy, the scent of citrus and lavender spread through the air.

This caused Lu Mi to instinctively close his eyes, his expression gradually calming.

After standing quietly for one or two minutes, he took out the silver ritual dagger, performed the sanctification, created a “Wall of Spiritual Energy,” and dripped essential oil onto the candle flame.

Having completed the preparatory steps, Lu Mi placed the “Magician” card on the altar.

It was the medium for summoning the messenger, allowing vague incantations to become precise and singular.

Lu Mi stepped back, gazed at the faint orange-yellow flame, and chanted in Ancient Hermesian:

“I!”

Instantly, invisible winds began to swirl within the “Wall of Spiritual Energy,” and the room’s light dimmed slightly.

Then, Lu Mi switched to Hermesian:

“I summon, by my name:

“The spirit wandering in illusion, the benevolent celestial being, the unique messenger of the ‘Magician.’”

With a whooshing wind, the candle flame turned deep blue, and the surroundings grew eerie and cold.

Lu Mi fixed his gaze on the candle, waiting for the “Magician” lady’s messenger to appear.

He waited several seconds—nothing changed.

At that moment, the letter he had placed on the altar—the wooden desk—floated upward into the air.

Lu Mi looked up in shock and saw, perched atop the carved window frame, a doll no taller than an adult’s forearm.

The “doll” had golden long hair, pale blue eyes, pale skin, and an elegant pale gold dress; its features resembled a human’s, yet were slightly exaggerated, profoundly strange.

The next instant, the letter landed in the doll’s smooth, glossy, skinless hand.

“Are you the ‘Magician’ lady’s messenger?” Lu Mi asked, confirming.

The “doll” slowly lowered its head; its unfocused, lifeless pale blue eyes reflected Lu Mi’s image.

Its voice, ethereal and furious, spoke:

“Next time, choose a cleaner environment!”

No sooner had the words left its mouth than the doll vanished with the letter.

Lu Mi froze for two seconds, then muttered softly:

“Aurora said all I needed was to keep the altar clean and tidy…”

Almost simultaneously, he saw dozens of dead bedbugs scattered on the floor.

His room was now free of all insects.

“This is better than sulfur…” Lu Mi rubbed his chin and ended the summoning ritual.

He habitually tidied the room, crouched beside his suitcase, and took out his toiletries.

Aurora’s series of dark-colored witchcraft notebooks lay quietly at the bottom of the case.

On the journey to Triel, Lu Mi had skimmed through them thoroughly and found nothing suspicious—after all, Aurora was not the type to keep diaries or record moods and trivialities; her witchcraft notebooks were truly just notes, filled with esoteric knowledge, copied incantations, symbolic patterns, and principles for selecting materials.

Perhaps because Aurora loved keeping accounts, most of these spells were annotated with when, where, and at what cost—money or items—they had been acquired.

This allowed Lu Mi to deduce that the “Fuzzy Baboon Research Society” likely had multiple interest groups; Aurora most frequently attended gatherings of the “Academy,” and many spells had been exchanged with its members. Additionally, she occasionally participated in other groups’ exchanges—for instance, she obtained some esoteric knowledge and spells from “April Fools.”

Since the notebooks appeared unproblematic, Lu Mi could only continue his investigation through seeking psychological treatment, locating the parish priest, and tracing Madame Pualis.

Of course, he knew his sister would never have mentioned the notebooks at the last moment without reason—they must conceal some vital message she intended to pass on.

Gazing at the dark notebooks, Lu Mi decided to begin learning from them tonight, starting from the end and working backward.

Although for a “Hunter,” even mastering a spell would hardly allow practical application, it could at least help him identify whether the corresponding esoteric knowledge was flawed or abnormal.

After neatly organizing his belongings, Lu Mi heard his stomach growl.

He stood up, looked toward the window, and, through the twilight-tinted glass, caught a faint glimpse of his own reflection:

His hair had been dyed golden, grown slightly longer; his features had received little alteration, but paired with the white shirt, black vest, dark formal attire, and his cold, detached expression, he looked years older—even if Parish Priest Guillaume Béne met him, he would only feel a vague sense of familiarity.

Lu Mi patted his face, letting a smile slowly form, then opened the door and stepped out.

ps: Double period has begun—please support with monthly votes! More chapters tomorrow and the day after~

(End of Chapter)