Circle of Inevitability Chapter 324 - 324 Which Is True and Which Is False

324 Which Is True and Which Is False

After a brief mention of the reason for selecting his seat, Buhler glanced up at Lumian, a self-deprecating smile on his lips.

I didnt expect you to open fire so quickly.

Lumians hand rested casually on the revolver by his side as he offered a faint smile in return.

It seems the folks youve encountered before are law-abiding citizens.

Buhlers instincts, honed from past experiences of being beaten, urged him to retort. But as he compared Lumians demeanor with those of his previous encounters, he found a strange logic in the mans words.

Thanks to the shelter of the law, he, a columnist for Ghost Face, had managed to survive up to this point!

Are you not afraid of attracting the police? Buhler turned to look at the waiter, who dared not approach with the menu and drink list. Firing a gun in a place like this isnt a minor incident. Someone should have already alerted the authorities.

Lumian chuckled.

Thats why we have to hurry.

His words punctuated by deliberate actions, Lumian picked up his revolver, rotated the cylinder, and slotted a yellow cartridge into the empty chamber, right before Buhlers eyes.

I want to know which courtesans have left Rue de la Muraille, this haven of extravagance, in the last two months, Lumian inquired with a calm resolve.

Instinctively, Buhler shook his head. They arent true courtesans. Those women possess their lavish residences and permanent paramours. They frequent high society, wielding influence over industries and policies with their words alone. This place merely acts as a reserve for courtesans.

Im only interested in those who fit my description. Lumian dismissed the specifics of courtesanship.

Buhlers gaze flickered between the revolver in Lumians grip and said, recollecting,

Four of them. Lil Jort wed a Loen merchant and relocated to Backlund. White Vase Sophie became the lover of Member of Parliament Batis, attending high society banquets and salons. She had a chance of becoming a true courtesan. Dew Rose Mary fell victim to mental illness and mutilated her face with scissors one morning. Shes confined to an asylum. Condiment Beauty Paulina vanished from Rue de la Muraille without a trace, as though whisked away by someone of status.

As Buhler recounted, he noticed the dashing figure before him, ready to fire at the slightest provocation, producing a post-it note and a fountain pen, meticulously jotting down notes.

Swallowing unease, he continued, I encountered Paulina on Rue Vincent not long ago. She seemed well off, with a four-wheeled carriage, a maid, a valet, and even a butler.

Sadly, I had pressing matters then and failed to determine her place of residence.

Rue Vincent... Lumians memory jogged. It was one of the five streets Franca had divined. Farthest from Rue de la Muraille, it exuded a quieter, upscale aura.

Based on Buhlers account, he suspected Paulina had become Guillaume Benets paramour.

For a fugitive, a prospective courtesan proved a safer choice than frequenting Rue de la Muraille. Guillaume Benet was intelligent and capable. His present yearnings for intimacy and his voracious hunger hadnt rendered him a mindless imbecile. He would surely opt for a less risky strategy.

Just then, hurried footsteps resonated outside the cafe as three police officers neared the entrance.

Coolly, Lumian donned his dark-blue cap, stashed his note and pen, and slid 50 verl dor notes onto the table before Buhler.

With these tasks accomplished, he reclaimed his revolver, stood up, and proceeded to the cafes rear door. Swiftly, he opened it and departed.

Bang!

The police officers burst into Hope Cafe through its main entrance.

On the elegant street of Rue Vincent, stately villa-like houses adorned both sides of the road. The road was wide and well-kept, with only occasional pedestrians and carriages passing through.

After Lumian turned into the street, he found himself at a loss.

He couldnt infiltrate every house and search every room, could he?

Besides, he wasnt the most suitable candidate for this kind of investigation. Franca would be better suited for it, but involving her was risky.

After a brief contemplation, Lumian allowed a smile to grace his features. He strolled toward one of the houses and pressed the doorbell.

A young valet opened the dark-brown door. His appearance suggested no trace of Southern Continent lineage, and he gazed at Lumian in bewilderment. In a clear Trierien accent, he inquired,

Sir, how may I assist you?

With an amiable grin, Lumian replied, Im here to inquire about the most splendid madam residing on this street.

... The valet was momentarily speechless. This was the first instance hed encountered someone seeking such peculiar information.

Or perhaps not. While such matters were whispered about behind closed doors and boasted about in taverns, there were occasionally individuals who exhibited curiosity about such affairs. However, who would approach a strangers door in the sweltering sun to inquire?

What was this person up to?

Before the valet could react, Lumian produced a 10 verl dor note and offered it with a genial demeanor.

The valets eyelids twitched. He hesitated for a moment before accepting the payment.

He suspected this young man to be a counterfeit Dandyist, specialized in duping affluent ladies of their bodies and riches. The appearance and conduct matched the descriptions found in newspapers.

However, if the lady wasnt the valets mistress or lady, why refuse the reward?

When the stranger acquired what he sought, a certain madam would also receive some gratification!

The valet cast a furtive glance around before lowering his voice.

The lady in Unit 50 is exquisitely beautiful. A genuine Trierien, she married a foreigner from the southern lands. That accent...

As the valet spoke, he shook his head with a mixture of indignation and scorn, as if he had harbored this sentiment for some time.

Lumians smile broadened.

Indeed, under the sway of his burgeoning impulses, the padre couldnt resist sharing his prize with the neighborsa stunning Trierien courtesan.

He might not host grand banquets or waltz to proclaim his conquest, nor would he escort his lover for a public appearance. Nonetheless, he would inevitably find subtle ways to make his neighbors aware that even foreigners could possess resplendent courtesans as mistresses.

At times like this, Guillaume Benet had to exercise prudence in disguising himself. However, his mistresss beauty wasnt something easily concealed. She might even meticulously dress herself to exhibit her remarkable presence.

Of course, Lumian couldnt be certain if the lady was Paulina, the presumed mistress. Yet, the gradual collection of anticipated information through bold assumptions and careful confirmation made him feel he was steadily closing in on Guillaume Benet.

Beyond the gates of 50 Rue Vincent, Lumian glanced at the facade as an ordinary passerby might.

The three-story beige structure stood before him, surrounded by a lush green lawn and a garden vibrant with colors. A gardener tended to the greenery, offering a partial view.

Lumian promptly averted his gaze from the buildings pillar, wary that prolonged observation could arouse suspicion.

As for any possibility of being recognized by the padre, Lumian held no concern. Prior to setting out, he had employed Niese Face to alter his appearance and communicated to his companions that it was due to cosmetics.

Lumians striking appearancea fusion of golden and black haircould be anyones. As long as Guillaume Benet lacked the ability to penetrate the illusion or actively employ it, it was unlikely hed realize his pursuer had infiltrated the vicinity.

Lumians current plan was to leave Rue Vincent and switch places with Jenna or Franca. He would then ensconce himself in the shadows across from Unit 50, patiently observing until all suspicion around the target was dissipated.

He refrained from adopting the guise of a tramp this time, given the scarcity of such individuals on this refined street. While a rare appearance might occur, these transients were promptly shooed away by the household staff.

Just as he prepared to depart from the beige edifice, Lumian turned his head in a casual manner. His gaze alighted on a figure visible through the living room window.

The figure stood at a modest height, barely reaching 1.7 meters. Clad in a dark shirt and black trousers, the person possessed a slightly stocky build. Their nose bore a gentle curve, and their black hair fell in a mid-length cascade.

Lumians pupils dilated for a fleeting moment before swiftly returning to their normal state.

A wisp of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and an invisible fire seemed to ignite in his eyes.

Despite the adept disguise, Lumian would recognize him even if he were reduced to ashes!

It was Guillaume Benet, the padre of Cordu!

Lumian wrestled to contain his surprise, his gaze steering onward.

Simultaneously, his mind raced as he evaluated the next course of action to undertake.

Before long, he reached the end of Rue Vincent.

At that very juncture, a parrot adorned with green and white feathers took flight from Rue de la Muraille and perched itself on Lumians shoulder. It chirped excitedly, Weve located the target!

Located the target? Then who did I just see? Another padre? Lumian was momentarily flabbergasted and perplexed.

Which one was the genuine Guillaume Benet? Had he erred in judgment, or had the Iron and Blood Cross Order and Rat Christo been deceived?

Fifteen minutes earlier, at the Dill Brothel on Rue de la Muraille.

Within the annex bar on the first floor, Albus savored his Lanti Proof while discreetly observing the attendants, laborers, and the overseer who managed the establishment.

His assessment encompassed the clientele as well, but it yielded nothing of note. Many concealed their identities by donning assorted masks, making it nearly impossible to unveil their true selves.

Having gained a preliminary insight into the inner workings of the Dill Brothel, Albus seized the chance to make his way toward the washroom. He veered onto the path leading to the kitchen when an attendant approached, carrying a collection of post-it notes.

This attendants responsibility encompassed recording the requirements of each room and relaying orders to the kitchen.

Albus, marked by his dark-red hair, advanced and retrieved a handful of glistening coins along with a substantial bundle of banknotes from his pocket.

The attendants features twisted into a blend of perplexity and intrigue.

Albus smiled and said, Im on the hunt for a scoundrel. Uncertain about his guise, Im merely aware he shares your build and possesses a penchant for consorting with the most celebrated ladies. Post-exertion, he seeks sustenance to satiate his hunger immediately.

If youre able to furnish me with the relevant particulars, all this is yours.