入室强性暴

So a Shepherd’s essence lies in Grazing. They graze upon the souls and characteristics of other Beyonders or Beyonder creatures to harness their abilities…

Thus, a seasoned Shepherd is truly unparalleled. They excel in close combat, long-range attacks, and a multitude of mystical techniques…

In fact, a Contractee is somewhat like a simplified version of a Shepherd. Each contract is limited to a single ability. When one’s Sequence is low, the number of contracts is severely restricted. At most, it might reach five, but often it doesn’t exceed three. If one fails to choose their abilities wisely, they may struggle to defeat an ordinary person armed with a gun. It’s not comparable to a Shepherd’s power, where Grazing bestows all abilities, undiminished…

Of course, at the level of the padre, signing ten or twenty contracts becomes a different experience. Furthermore, contracts often target beings from the spirit world with a wide array of peculiar abilities. Beyonders encountering them for the first time will find it challenging to adapt…

The more Lumian pondered, the more dread Mr. K instilled in him.

Suppressing his thoughts, Lumian stood up and let out an inward sigh.

No wonder Madam Magician believes Mr. K can withstand Susanna Mattise—an evil spirit…

Leaving the room, Lumian approached Louis and Sarkota with composure and uttered, “Have the kitchen prepare dinner.”

“Boss, what would you like to eat?” Louis inquired before Sarkota could speak.

Lumian couldn’t recall the menu at Salle de Bal Brise’s attached café. He pondered for a moment and replied, “Bring me a set meal. Join me.”

“Alright.” Louis signaled Sarkota to inform the café attendant.

Lumian settled at Baron Brignais’s favored table and picked up the day’s newspaper.

The Trier Gazette adorned the top, followed by The Reformer Daily, People’s Voice, Action News, Intis Daily, Friends of the People, and other prominent newspapers.

Lumian couldn’t resist turning his head, a hint of amusement in his voice as he asked Louis,

“Is that what Brignais typically reads?”

A mobster concerned about national affairs?

Louis glanced at Sarkota on the other side and replied with a smile, “He doesn’t read such things. He only insists that we avoid offending reporters and newspapers. If possible, we should subscribe to influential newspapers. Occasionally, he’ll spend money to place advertisements for Salle de Bal Brise, boasting of the presence of captivating dancers here.

“He usually reads the three newspapers and magazines at the bottom.”

Avoiding conflicts with newspapers and reporters… That makes sense. If the Trier Gazette publishes news of a significant mob presence in the market district, the Savoie Mob would be doomed the next day. Those old men still value their reputation… Lumian gained a bit more understanding.

He then retrieved the newspapers and magazines from the bottom.

Isn’t this more interesting than The Reformer Daily and Action News? Lumian picked up Novel Weekly and delved into the latest serialized story.

Casually, he inquired, “Where do the funds and advertising fees for these newspapers come from?”

Louis pondered for a moment, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead, but he couldn’t provide an answer. Just then, Sarkota chimed in, “It’s deducted from the 100,000 verl d’or we set aside for cultivating ties with the police.”

Lumian nodded approvingly, satisfied that it wouldn’t hinder his gains as the new leader of the Savoie Mob!

Before long, the café attendant arrived with their food.

Onion minced pigeon, smoked rock crab, hot bamboo chicken pie, stewed mutton brain, stewed veal slices, grilled oysters with vanilla, two salads, scarlet cheese, grilled almond sauce, a glass of red, white, and blue liqueur, and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

The fragrant aromas mingled together, wafting into Lumian’s nostrils and causing his mouth to water even more.

Just as expected from Trier. Even an ordinary café’s set meal offers such a variety of dishes. If this were Loen, I’d be limited to choosing between pan-fried steak or stewed peas with tender mutton… Lumian, being a pure Intisian, mockingly compared Loen’s cuisine based on his impressions from various newspapers, magazines, and folk jokes.

He lifted the glass of tricolor liqueur and took a sip, then pointed to the armchairs on either side of the table, saying, “Let’s eat together.”

Louis bowed slightly and replied with a smile, “Boss, we’ll take turns eating after you finish.”

Lumian didn’t insist and savored his first feast since arriving in Trier—and it was on the house.

It had to be said that the chefs at Salle de Bal Brise were truly skilled. Lumian nodded repeatedly as he enjoyed his meal.

Among the dishes, he found the mutton brain most delightful. Skillfully infused with several spices, the fishy and gamey flavors of the brain were cleverly balanced, leaving behind a delicate texture akin to Roselle tofu, accompanied by a rich and enticing fragrance.

He finished the glass of red, white, and blue liqueur and one-third of the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. Then, he gestured for Louis and Sarkota to take their turns.

Lumian picked up Novel Weekly and Ghost Face magazines, ready to delve into their contents.

In the pages of Ghost Face, Lumian’s eyes fell upon a familiar name: DuVar.

The proprietor of the restaurant renowned for inventing DuVar’s broth had amassed a fortune and relocated to Quartier de la Maison d’Opéra.

An intriguing anecdote caught Lumian’s attention within the Ghost Face pages:

DuVar’s infatuation with Perle, a stage actress from Loen and a Trier courtesan, had cost him a fortune. The tale recounted a banquet held at Perle’s private residence, where she lay naked on an enormous silver platter, served by attendants, in the presence of over a dozen guests.

This shattered DuVar’s heart. He had even attempted suicide to no avail.

Lumian couldn’t decide whether to sigh at the Trieriens’ tendency to exaggerate or to jest at the Loenese for not being as conservative as they seemed. It appeared that the latter adapted swiftly in Intis, or perhaps he should mock DuVar for his unblemished innocence despite being a Trierien in his forties.

At times, Lumian couldn’t help but wonder if these behaviors stemmed from the influence of a Beyonder’s nature or if the followers of the malevolent god couldn’t rein in their impulses.

Naturally, had it not been for the shared inclinations among the Trieriens and the fact that many things posed no issues, these individuals would have been exposed long ago.

After Louis and Sarkota had finished their meal, Lumian led them down to the first floor.

The dance hall buzzed with activity in the evening. Jenna stood upon the wooden stage, her voice carrying a melodious tune accompanied by the band. Couples below embraced one another, twirling around the floor.

Lumian cast a fleeting glance at the scene before redirecting his gaze and striding toward the exit.

“Boss, where are we headed?” Louis inquired.

Lumian chuckled.

“Am I the boss or are you? Do I need to report my whereabouts to you?”

Louis’s expression froze. He glanced at the silent Sarkota and suddenly felt that emulating his composure wasn’t a bad idea.

“I-I’m merely concerned about our next course of action,” he asserted.

As Lumian made his way out of the dance hall, amidst greetings from the bouncers, he smiled and replied, “I will inform you when there is a need for you to know.”

He returned to Auberge du Coq Doré but veered away from Room 207, where he had intended to retrieve Mr. K’s finger and his revolver. Instead, he ventured into the underground bar.

Before Lumian could assess the situation, Charlie’s voice reached his ears, brimming with enthusiasm.

“Have you heard the news? Ciel now goes by the nickname ‘Lion’ Ciel!

“‘Little Minx’ Jenna came up with it. Have you laid eyes on her? I doubt you’ve ever seen a woman as stunning as her. She possesses an alluring figure and a face that could bewitch anyone. When she sings, everyone yearns to abandon their faith for her. And she took a liking to Ciel and invited him to dance. They were inseparable, grinding each other! Oh, the dance hall was dimly lit. You can well imagine what transpired…”

“…” Lumian suddenly felt like he had become the protagonist of a news story in Ghost Face.

Louis and Sarkota, standing behind him, felt both embarrassed and concerned for their boss.

They were embarrassed that the person at the small round table might be boasting on their boss’s behalf. They were worried that if it were true, their boss would be making “Red Boots” Franca a cuckold. In that case, they would be in serious trouble. Franca not only held considerable power but was also the mistress of their big boss!

Charlie, holding a beer, caught sight of Lumian, and his smile froze.

He hopped off the small round table and approached Lumian, coughing before speaking.

“Hey, Ciel, would you mind if I shared some details about your romantic entanglement?”

Instead of answering, Lumian asked, “How did you find out?”

Charlie grinned. “Many people know; it spread from the Salle de Gristmill.”

In other words, the Poison Spur Mob is aware that I danced with Jenna twice before assassinating “Hammer” Ait? That’s true. I only disguised myself back then, without even changing my hair color. I even provoked those around me. In hindsight, coupled with “Hammer” Ait’s demise, they will surely recognize me… As Red Boots’ mistress, Jenna may also become a target for their vengeance. There’s no need to be overly concerned, though. She is protected by Red Boots. As a seasoned Beyonder and a formidable Demoness, Franca won’t be careless in such matters… Lumian nodded, understanding the situation.

He smiled at Charlie and said, “Feel free to share.”

The more the news spread, the more it would attract Red Boots’ attention, deterring any potential reprisal from the Poison Spur Mob.

Lumian asked Charlie, “Why didn’t you go to Salle de Bal Brise?”

Charlie forced a smile and replied, “The manager, René, wants me to start officially tomorrow. He offered me 80 verl d’or per month.”

As they conversed, Lumian noticed his neighbor sitting at the bar counter.

The abject author Gabriel.

He still sported disheveled, greasy brown hair, large black-framed glasses, a faded linen shirt, and black dungarees.

Lumian bid farewell to Charlie and approached Gabriel, asking, “What’s the matter?”

Gabriel, sipping on a glass of light-green absinthe, glanced at him and smiled bitterly.

“My script was rejected. Those managers didn’t even bother reading it!

“I’ve submitted it to dozens of theaters, but no one is willing to give it a chance.”

Dozens of theaters… Lumian’s heart stirred as he casually inquired, “Did you send your script to Théatre de l’Ancienne Cage à Pigeons in our market district?”

“Yes,” Gabriel sighed. “Their manager turned me down too. He mentioned that they write their own scripts or commission custom ones.”

Lumian took a seat and asked, “Who is their manager?”