Chapter 89: Venting (Seeking Monthly Tickets)

Aurora carried a tray of lamb chops toward the table, speaking as she walked:

“I’m not sure commanding is viable in that situation—I’m not a ‘Dancer,’ and I have no relevant esoteric knowledge, but trying won’t hurt.”

“Yeah.” Lumian took over the stove work, smiling, “Worst case, we get a wound and some blood—sleep it off and it’s gone. So, what exactly is that ‘giant’ with three heads on top of the ‘mountain’? What’s its connection to that hidden entity and the corruption inside me?”

Aurora set down the tray and turned around:

“Are you overestimating your sister? I’ve never encountered or even heard of anything so bizarre.”

Before Lumian could respond, she added thoughtfully:

“But in my homeland’s myths, there are many similar figures—three heads, six arms, gods or demons…”

She continued:

“And based on our speculation, the Dream Ruins are closely tied to your corruption; the giant’s form likely reflects something from that hidden entity.

“You said its title or description differs from the usual—each segment contains three aspects or forms of some authority or symbol. So three heads make sense, just like a three-faced monster has faces representing humanity’s three stages.

“As for why it has six arms or sits atop a blood-red ‘mountain,’ we lack too much information—I can’t even guess.

“Hmm… for now, focus on that circle of ‘walls.’ I feel there are plenty of useful clues there.”

“Alright.” Lumian followed his sister’s instructions, tossing the sliced potatoes into the pan and stir-frying them in oil.

Aurora ended the topic of the Dream Ruins and said to Lumian:

“While you were napping this afternoon, I thought carefully—I want to invite those three outsiders to stay with us.”

“Why?” Lumian was baffled.

Aurora watched her brother’s busy back and sighed lightly:

“We assumed the parish priest and the others would react like normal people, but don’t forget—some among them have already accepted the ‘Blessing.’ In another sense, that means they’ve been corrupted.

“According to that mysterious woman, the effects of the ‘Blessing’ concentrate on body and mind—meaning, beyond gaining power, their personalities also undergo some distortion. And the more ‘Blessings’ they receive beyond their capacity, the more pronounced and severe the distortion becomes.”

“Right.” Lumian recalled the mysterious woman’s words.

She said if the body couldn’t handle such a massive ‘Blessing,’ one would either become a monster, a puppet of that entity, or transform into another kind of person—cold-blooded toward everything once cherished.

Aurora summarized:

“So those shepherds who accepted the ‘Blessing’ early—like Pierre Béri—might ignore the parish priest’s bigger picture and launch reckless revenge.

“If all five of us live together, watch each other’s backs, we greatly increase our chances of surviving until the Twelfth Night.”

Lumian thought briefly and agreed with his sister’s suggestion.

He then raised a practical question:

“Where will they stay? The first-floor parlor?”

“Not on the same floor—the mutual support won’t be effective,” Aurora glanced at her brother carrying the stir-fried potatoes, “You move into my room. Leave your bedroom and the second-floor study to the three outsiders—they can sort it out among themselves.”

“Huh?” Lumian hadn’t expected this arrangement, “Sleep in the same bed as you?”

Seeing his reaction, Aurora laughed:

“What’s the big deal? Children of the martial world don’t fuss over petty things!”

“Huh?” Lumian didn’t understand his sister’s last phrase.

Aurora chuckled:

“I mean, given our situation, stop obsessing over minor details.

“Do you want to share a bed with Ryan or Valentine? Or should I sleep with Lyra?”

“True—we still can’t fully trust them,” Lumian nodded.

Those three official investigators only teamed up with us because they’re trapped in the loop too—who knows if they’ll take advantage of sleeping together to sneak in some sabotage, making it easier to arrest two wild adepts once the loop ends?

Aurora smiled:

“If they don’t trust us either and choose to share a room, you can move into the other one.”

“One room’s better,” Lumian felt a wall between rooms made them vulnerable to being picked off one by one.

Aurora said no more, adding only:

“Remind me tomorrow to restock food—after Lent, the villagers will grow stranger and stranger; we might have to hold this place or retreat to the nearest highland pasture.”

Then she called her brother to dinner.

Before the sun fully set, Lumian left the half-submerged two-story building to invite Ryan and the others to move in.

As the old tavern came into view, Lumian met several familiar faces.

Pons Béne was walking down the village road with three thugs.

Almost simultaneously, the black-haired, blue-eyed, muscular brute spotted Lumian.

His legs involuntarily clenched, as if recalling some terrible pain.

Gazing at Lumian nearby, Pons Béne struggled internally.

He wanted revenge, yet feared facing what happened last time—being picked off one by one.

While Pons Béne hesitated, Lumian flashed a bright smile:

“Well, well, if it isn’t my rebellious son?”

He strode toward the thug who drowned Raymond and his three thugs, adopting a posture ready to beat them all down.

Seeing this, Pons Béne no longer hesitated—he signaled his three thugs to move in.

The three thugs immediately charged Lumian, pulling out short clubs and iron rods.

Lumian also accelerated.

Just as he was about to collide with the three thugs, he suddenly leapt—aiming for one of them.

This unconventional move caused all three thugs’ attacks to miss.

Lumian seized the target’s shoulder midair and forcibly flipped.

His waist and back now felt like a highly flexible spring, helping him lift the enemy and build momentum for the roll.

In a swift, exaggerated front flip, Lumian hurled the enemy straight to the ground.

Thud! The thug crashed down, vision darkening, body aching, unable to rise.

At that moment, Lumian landed behind the other two, just seven or eight steps from Pons Béne.

He bent slightly and charged the thug—Pons Béne, scrambling to dodge, shouted:

“Quick! Quick! Stop him!”

The remaining two thugs spun around and chased Lumian; Pons Béne steadied himself and boldly advanced, ready to hold him and complete the encirclement.

Just as the two thugs neared Lumian’s back, he—having deliberately not sprinted full speed—suddenly stopped and crouched.

With a screech of friction, the two thugs couldn’t halt in time; they tripped over him, lost balance, and tumbled into Pons Béne’s front, crashing into him.

Lumian pounced like a tiger, grabbing both thugs by the neck, lifting them, and slamming their heads together.

Thud!

Their foreheads swelled instantly—they passed out on the spot.

Immediately, Lumian dropped the burdens, pushed off hard, twisted his body, and slid behind the rising Pons.

He seized both of Pons’s arms and yanked them backward sharply.

A crack echoed—Pons Béne screamed in excruciating pain.

“How’s that? Pretty satisfying, right?” Lumian laughed as he asked the curled-up Pons Béne, then hoisted him and dragged him toward the village outskirts.

Soon, he reached the riverbank, grabbed Pons Béne’s skull, and forcibly shoved his head underwater.

Gurgles bubbled for a while; Lumian lifted Pons’s head, tilted his face, and smiled:

“Feeling good, bullying others?”

Pons Béne’s face was drenched, twisted in agony, nose and saliva dripping—he couldn’t answer.

“Feeling good?” Lumian’s voice rose sharply; he gripped the thug’s head and slammed it into the water—crashing it onto the pebbles.

Fresh blood drifted in the water; Pons Béne kicked desperately but couldn’t lift his head.

Gurgles, gurgles—as time passed, his struggles grew weaker.

Only then did Lumian pull him up, extended his left hand, and slapped his face:

“I ask you again—does bullying feel good?”

Pons Béne’s eyes were filled with terror—he didn’t know how to answer.

At that moment, a figure approached the riverbank—it was Pierre Béri, the shepherd, wrapped in a hooded long coat.

He glanced at Pons Béne’s pitiful state, then spoke gently to Lumian:

“We’re all from the same village—this is enough.”

“You want to kill him?”

Lumian immediately released his grip on Pons Béne’s skull and stood up, smiling at Pierre Béri:

“As you wish.”

“Tell this sow’s son not to bully anyone again.”

Before Pierre Béri could reply, Lumian passed him and headed toward the village.

…………

In Ryan’s room on the second floor of the old tavern.

Lumian told the three official investigators his sister’s idea.

After exchanging glances with Lyra and Valentine, Ryan nodded:

“Excellent suggestion. In this situation, splitting up means scattered strength—easy to target individually.

“We can move to your place right now.”

On the way to Lumian and Aurora’s home with their luggage, Lyra chimed in:

"What are your plans for that tomb chamber?"

"Plans?" Lu Mi sneered. "Do you think we can handle that?"

"It seems you're still cautious—that puts my mind at ease," Lyra said with a smile.

Ryan Cos added for her:

"What we mean is, if the things inside the tomb chamber truly relate to the key of the cycle, they must manifest during the Twelfth Night ritual; and if they have nothing to do with the origin of the cycle, why risk exploring them at all?"

"In short, we wait patiently for the Twelfth Night?" Lu Mi asked, suddenly understanding.

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(End of Chapter)