Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability

Chapter 121 Salle de Bal Brise

Lumian didn’t swivel or hesitate, striding confidently toward the public carriage sign. He scanned the area nonchalantly, his eyes settling on the glass window of a nearby café.

Him in a dark jacket was reflected there, and not far from him, another figure in a canvas jacket and a cap.

Lumian averted his eyes, abruptly quickening his pace as if trying to catch the departing double-decker carriage.

As expected, he felt the man in the blue cap break into a jog.

The public carriage glided away silently, turning down the street. Lumian knew he couldn’t catch up and halted abruptly.

Using the shop windows lining the street, Lumian caught sight of the cap-wearing man stumbling to a stop. Seizing the moment, he spun around and surveyed the dance hall opposite.

As Lumian passed the public horse stop sign, he gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Continuing on, he ducked into a shadowy alley blocked by a barricade.

The man in the cap pursued him, vaulting the ramshackle barricade with ease, but Lumian had disappeared.

His quarry seemed to have evaporated into thin air.

Just as the cap-wearing man prepared to give chase, Lumian sprang from his hiding place in the corner, like a predator pouncing on its prey. He seized the man’s shoulders and yanked him backward, driving his knee into his back.

Crack!

Lumian’s knee connected with the man’s waist, contorting his face in pain and buckling his knees.

He collapsed to the ground with a thud, stirring up a cloud of dust.

Lumian crouched and gripped the back of the stalker’s head. In a gravelly voice, he demanded, “Who got you to follow me?”

“I’m not! I’m just taking a shortcut!” the man in the cap protested anxiously.

Lumian chuckled, grabbed his head, and slammed it into the ground.

The man in the cap howled in pain, his forehead bruised, swollen, and bloody.

“Who sent you to follow me?” Lumian pressed.

The man in the cap felt indignant.

“I’m not following you! I don’t even know you!”

“Alright.” Lumian released his grip.

In an instant, he struck the stalker behind the ear.

The man in the cap crumpled, unconscious.

Lumian hoisted him up and thoughtfully lowered his hat to cover his tightly shut eyes.

Then, as if aiding a drunken friend, he strode out of the alley and rounded the corner. There stood an entrance to the underworld.

Lumian had “waited” for the stalker in the alley knowing he could slip underground if needed, and the setting was suitably “quiet.”

When the man in the cap came to, his vision was swallowed by darkness. Only a faint light in the distance weakly revealed his surroundings.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! The sound pierced his ears, approaching and receding through layers of obstacles.

As a native of Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman, he was no stranger to such a scene. He suspected he’d been taken underground. A steam subway passed through the “street” next door, providing the faint light.

Lumian sat in the shadows, eyeing the man in the cap. He grinned and said, “You have two choices now. Either tell me who sent you to follow me, or I’ll take you deeper underground and bury you there. You should know that many people go missing in Trier every day. You won’t be the only one.”

Seeing the stalker’s silence, Lumian knew his mental defenses were wavering. He added, “As for me, I’ll navigate these underground streets and move to another district.”

Realizing Lumian had an escape plan and was ready to silence him forever, the man in the cap’s fear overwhelmed him. He blurted, “I-it’s Baron Brignais!”

Baron Brignais? The boss of the Savoie Mob and a creditor of Osta Trul? Why is he tracking me? I met him at the apartment on Rue des Blouses Blanches last night and didn’t even speak to him… Lumian was baffled and at a loss. This convinced him the man in the lying. If he wanted to fabricate a story, he cap wasn’t wouldn’t have chosen a mastermind that Lumian couldn’t fathom.

Lumian frowned, asking, “Why is he following me?”

“I don’t know,” the man in the cap replied, trembling. “He just wants me to follow you and see where you’ll go.”

Lumian pondered for a moment and asked, “Where is Baron Brignais now?”

“If there’s nothing else, he’s usually at the Salle de Bal Brise on Avenue du Marché.” The man in the cap strained to read Lumian’s expression, but the light was too dim. Salle de Bal Brise? Lumian recalled the landmark buildings in Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman from his recent recon.

Avenue du Marché was the main road connecting Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman to the Suhit steam locomotive station, stretching two kilometers. Salle de Bal Brise was near the market district, its unique statue at the entrance unforgettable. Lumian’s lips curled into a smile as he told the stalker, “Take me there. I want to talk to Baron Brignais.”

The man in the cap sighed in relief, feeling as if his life had been spared.

Who would hold the upper hand or be “accidentally” killed at Salle de Bal Brise was no longer his concern.

Salle de Bal Brise occupied the bottom two floors of a khaki-colored building. The second floor housed a café, while the first was a bustling dance hall-though it had just opened and few customers were present. A white, spherical statue composed of countless skulls greeted visitors at the entrance. Inscribed in Intis were the words: “They sleep here, waiting for the arrival of happiness and hope[1].”

Lumian surveyed the scene and trailed his ‘guide’ around the statue to the dance hall entrance.

Two burly men in white shirts and black coats stood guard. They simultaneously rested their right hands on their waists and questioned the man in the cap, “Maxime, who is he?”

“H-he’s here to see Baron Brignais,” Maxime stammered.

Under the guards’ suspicious scrutiny, Lumian replied coolly, “It’s up to Baron Brignais to decide if he wants to see me or not, not you. Do you want to bear his wrath?” After a moment’s hesitation, one of the guards turned and entered the dance hall.

As they waited, Lumian casually asked Maxime, “What’s up with the statue and the inscription? They don’t match the dance hall at all.”

Of course, it was cool. Maxime nervously glanced at the grinning Lumian and explained, “This was originally an moved annex to the cathedral. Later, the bones were to the catacombs, leaving the area empty. Then, this building was constructed. “Although those bones were purified or just ashes, the Savoie Mob found it too creepy after buying this place. We had no choice but to commission a statue symbolizing death and an inscription representing the dead to appease any lingering bones that might remain underground and unexcavated.” Lumian found the idea of people dancing here amusing, considering it could disturb the skeletons below, essentially dancing on their heads.

Just then, the guard returned and informed Lumian, “Baron Brignais will meet you at the café on the second floor.”

“Alright.” Lumian held his head high and strutted into the Salle de Bal Brise.

First, he noticed the dance floor encircled by railings and the half-height wooden stage up ahead for singers. Then, his attention was drawn to the haphazard seating and the various perfumes and cosmetics wafting through the air.

Maxime hesitated before following Lumian. He felt compelled to report the situation to the baron, lest he end up missing in the underworld.

Upon reaching the second floor, Lumian recognized the gentleman he had encountered the night before.

In his thirties, the man sported a black, thin-tweed formal suit. His brown hair appeared naturally curly, and his brown eyes held a confident smile. His features were sharply defined. Baron Brignais set down his coffee and grasped the mahogany pipe with his diamond-adorned palm.

“What would you like to drink?” He was surprisingly polite and generous.

Eyeing the four thugs with their hands on their waists, Lumian addressed Baron Brignais, “Why did you send someone to follow me?”

last Baron Brignais smiled and admitted candidly, “I saw you at Rue des Blouses Blanches night and again near Rue Anarchie today. The more I observed you, the more familiar you seemed, so I had Maxime follow you to confirm your intentions in the market district.

“You were searching for Osta last night too, weren’t you?”

“He tried to scam me out of my money,” Lumian replied before inquiring, “Why do I seem familiar to you?”

Baron Brignais took a puff from his pipe and grinned.

“To experienced individuals like us, your actions can hardly be considered a disguise.

“Once we grow suspicious and connect the dots, we’ll naturally recognize you—Lumian Lee, a wanted criminal with a 3,000 verl d’or bounty.”

My bounty is only 3,000 verl d’or? Lumian’s initial reaction was confusion.

As the source of Cordu’s time loop, how could his official bounty be lower than that of the padre and Madame Pualis?

“However, merely providing information about you is worth 500 verl d’or,” Baron Brignais added with a smile. “Young man, you need a book called Men’s Aesthetics. Don’t be embarrassed. In Trier, it’s quite normal for men to wear makeup. It’ll help you conceal your true identity.”

This “gentleman” had also applied eyeliner and powder.

Lumian smirked.

“Are you planning to capture me for the bounty?”

[1] This quote is from an inscription on the entrance of the Salle de Bal Brise in Paris during the Victorian era. I made some modifications to the original inscription. The ballroom was indeed built on the site of an old cemetery, and even used the stones left behind after the cemetery was relocated. It’s like dancing on graves. The previous mention of walking turtles also refers to events that really happened during that time.