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The attendant’s gaze locked onto the handful of gold coins and the banknotes, their unique ink fragrance captivating his senses. He couldn’t help but hold his breath, caught in the allure of the treasure before him.

After a few heart-pounding moments, he swiftly surveyed the area, ensuring no prying eyes were nearby. Gradually, a sense of relief washed over him.

“A-all of it?” The attendant’s voice quivered as he swallowed with difficulty.

With a precise flick of his wrist, Albus tossed a gold coin worth 5 verl d’or into the attendant’s waiting palm. A confident smile tugged at his lips as he spoke, “That depends on the value of the information you provide. Rest assured, you’ll receive another 20 verl d’or, no matter what.”

The attendant gingerly bit the gold coin, stealing a glance back at the path they had traversed. His voice dropped to a hushed tone as he shared, “Just as you surmised, the man from the south, in Room 2 on the sixth floor, frequents the company of the most renowned courtesans. He possesses a penchant for pre-ordering his meals, which we dutifully deliver to his quarters every half hour.”

A southerner with a penchant for famous courtesans and a habit of pre-ordered meals. Room 602… Albus wasn’t one to skimp on appreciation. He tossed two 10 verl d’or coins, etched with the likeness of a warship, to the attendant.

Seizing the calmness on Rue de la Muraille, Albus covertly ascended to the sixth floor, concealing himself on the balcony at the corridor’s far end.

Within mere minutes, the attendant tasked with meal deliveries arrived at Room 602, carried by a steam-powered mechanical elevator. A silver-white metal serving cart accompanied him. Carefully, he pressed the doorbell.

Albus straightened up, aligning his view with Room 602’s entrance. His gaze intensified.

The door swung open, revealing a man of slight stature, not exceeding 1.7 meters. His attire comprised a pitch-black half-mask, a crisp white shirt, and pale-hued boxer shorts.

Removing his trousers but leaving his upper attire on… Concealing tattoos, perhaps? The more Albus observed, the stronger his conviction that the occupant of Room 602 matched the likeness of Guillaume Bénet from the wanted posters.

Abstaining from “disturbing” his quarry, Albus settled back into a white-paneled armchair on the balcony. From his pocket emerged a gray-furred rat—one of Beast Tamer Christo’s pets.

Lumian had engaged the services of the “Rat,” his abilities allowing easy communication and efficient coordination among team members.

Naturally, Christo served as the intermediary and the “translator.”

Albus tenderly patted the rat’s head, signaling it with a gesture—a thumb and index finger forming a ring, with the remaining fingers raised.

This signified the discovery of the prime suspect.

With a high-pitched squeak, the rat darted from Albus’s grasp, off to find its owner at a nearby tavern.

…

Upon learning from Christo’s pet parrot that members of the Iron and Blood Cross Order had located the padre, Lumian found himself plunged into a momentary maelstrom of shock and confusion.

Had they truly found Guillaume Bénet? Then, who did I see?

If the occupant of 50 Rue Vincent is Guillaume Bénet, where did the counterfeit they see come from?

In the whirlwind of his thoughts, a realization struck Lumian with the force of lightning.

Guillaume Bénet must have enacted the Substitution Spell ritual!

It was one of the five specialized ritualistic magics Lumian had acquired as an Alms Monk. The padre, now a Sequence 5 Fate Appropriator, was evidently familiar with it.

This ritual enabled the user to choose another person to inhabit their identity for a period upon sensing impending danger. By gaining the genuine or fake approval of those around them and establishing a strong mystical connection, a ritual could then finalize the switch.

If the Substitution Spell succeeded, the stand-in would be indistinguishable from the original in the eyes of others, although their self-awareness and performance might be compromised to a degree. Nevertheless, their core identity would remain.

When the substitute faced imminent disaster, the one who cast the Substitution Spell could alter their own fate, thus avoiding the impending calamity.

Of course, this hinged on the substitute being kept unaware of the impending danger.

While this ruse could prove effective on other Beyonders, Lumian was well-acquainted with the circumstances surrounding the Substitution Spell. Thus, he couldn’t be easily deceived.

For Lumian, the paramount issue at hand was this: Which individual was the true Guillaume Bénet, and which was the substitute?

To deal a decisive blow to the padre and apprehend him with minimal casualties, Lumian needed to consolidate his forces and make a choice. He couldn’t attack both entities simultaneously.

Gardner Martin had merely agreed to assist in locating the “prey,” without extending further support. Consequently, the majority of individuals dispatched by the Iron and Blood Cross Order were Low-Sequence Beyonders or even regular people.

If Lumian opted to solicit Gardner Martin’s aid, it might take hours for the Iron and Blood Cross Order to assemble sufficient reinforcements. Guillaume Bénet didn’t possess limitless endurance, and the courtesan wasn’t a Demoness of Pleasure who could allow an extended encounter. He would definitely be gone by then.

The question remains: What decision would Guillaume Bénet make? Would he have the substitute remain at the residence to divert danger while he ventured out for personal pursuits? Alternatively, would he dispatch the substitute to showcase his characteristic behavior, drawing danger away from himself? Lumian found both scenarios challenging to dismiss.

After deliberation, his gaze shifted to the green and white parrot. He addressed it, “Locate ‘Red Boots’ Franca and ask her to divine the authenticity of the Guillaume Bénet at 50 Rue Vincent and the one present here.”

The parrot stared at Lumian as if questioning his sanity. “I’m just a parrot.”

What I said is too complicated. It can’t understand or memorize everything? Lumian swiftly arrived at a decision.

“Guide me to ‘Red Boots’ Franca. Actually, first lead me to Christo.”

Time remained on their side. The individual at 50 Rue Vincent couldn’t elude them. The team responsible for the mission could convene briefly, exchanging essential information.

In the shadows they lingered, while their foes roamed in plain sight. As long as they didn’t startle the targets, they could afford to wait. Of course, they had to conclude before Guillaume Bénet’s deed with the courtesan reached its conclusion. After all, tailing an individual posed inherent risks, especially when dealing with the padre and his array of bizarre and unfamiliar abilities.

…

In a narrow alley near Rue de la Muraille.

The afternoon sun cast its radiant touch upon the mostly dismantled barricade, while even the breeze seemed to take a momentary pause.

Franca, now garbed in an Assassin’s attire, and Jenna, disguised as a female mercenary, rendezvoused with Anthony Reid, still clad in his military green attire, and Lumian, sporting a cap, a black vest, and a white shirt.

Lumian delivered a succinct briefing, omitting details about the Substitution Spell due to time constraints, referring to it merely as a form of witchcraft capable of generating lifelike substitutes.

Before Lumian could inquire further, Franca retrieved a mirror from her possession. As her fingers grazed the surface, she intoned an incantation.

Soon, an aqueous luminescence radiated from the mirror, accompanied by an aged voice.

“They are both real.”

Both real… Franca turned to Lumian in surprise.

The witchcraft responsible for creating the substitute proves potent—resembling the original down to appearance and fate. Conventional divination methods stand powerless against such deception!

Both real… Lumian had anticipated this response and had already devised an alternative course of action.

Sensing his silence, Franca drew a deep breath, hesitatingly suggesting, “D-Do you need me to consult another source?”

She aimed to seek confirmation from the entity renowned for unerring divination.
Yet, this approach risked unveiling a question that could render her socially deceased before Jenna, Lumian, and Anthony Reid.

She envisioned the other party asking, “Do you often entertain the idea of doing the deed with Jenna?”

How would she navigate her future interactions with Jenna?

Lumian shook his head, asserting, “No need. I have a plan.”

Turning his attention to Jenna, he directed, “Conceal yourself in the shadows diagonally across from Room 602 in Dill. Keep a vigilant watch on that Guillaume Bénet’s activities.

“If he concludes his affairs and prepares to depart, but we haven’t arrived yet, refrain from impulsive pursuit. Instead, discreetly monitor his movements from a distance and deduce his chosen path.”

“Understood.” Jenna nodded, mentally rehearsing her upcoming task.

Lumian shifted his focus to Franca and Anthony Reid.

“Let’s proceed to 50 Rue Vincent together. I’ll directly confront Guillaume Bénet. Franca, maintain invisibility and follow me closely. We mustn’t launch an attack until we’re certain of his authenticity.

“Anthony, secure the perimeter outside. If the Guillaume Bénet on Rue Vincent proves to be counterfeit and we hasten to Dill, covertly monitor the madame there, tracking her movements. In case Guillaume Bénet manages an escape, she could serve as a pivotal lead for subsequent pursuit.

“If the 50 Rue Vincent counterpart is genuine and a skirmish erupts, approach discreetly and provide reinforcement.”

Franca harbored no objections to this arrangement. Aware of Lumian’s teleportation abilities, she grasped that once he confirmed the Rue Vincent Guillaume as fake, he could facilitate swift transition for the primary combatants to the opposite location, preventing the two Guillaumes from “exchanging information.”

Assessing the calculated risks, Anthony endorsed the plan, confirming his willingness to execute his designated role.

…

50 Rue Vincent, near the beige three-story building.

Observing Franca’s seamless invisibility, Lumian raised his right hand and swept it across his face.

In an instant, he transformed into a man in his thirties, attired in a black uniform with an inspector’s epaulet.

Niese Face!

Satisfied with his condition, Lumian proceeded to the designated building and pressed the doorbell.

The door swung open, revealing a man garbed as a butler. His gaze landed on Lumian as he inquired with a touch of confusion, “Officer, how may I assist you?”

“I’m here regarding a missing vagrant case linked to this street. I’d appreciate a conversation with your master,” Lumian nonchalantly fabricated.

A subtle shift occurred in the butler’s expression.

“Please wait a moment, Officer. I shall inquire with our master.”

After a brief pause, the butler returned to the doorway, addressing Lumian, “Officer, our master invites you to the small parlor on the ground floor.”

Lumian offered a slight nod and trailed the butler into the abode at 50 Rue Vincent.

The living area exuded spaciousness, hosting a bluish-gray cat huddled in one corner, its presence accompanied by the ceaseless chirping of caged birds. Positioned in the aisle, a black dog, reminiscent of a hound, remained seated, its gaze unwaveringly fixated on the unfamiliar entrant.

Circumventing an elegant sofa, the butler led Lumian into a parlor towards the rear. There, a man with midnight hair, azure eyes, and a slightly hooked nose reclined in an armchair. He sported a dark-hued shirt and black trousers, his demeanor one of relaxed arrogance as he gently caressed the head of a sizable brown-furred dog.

“Officer, in what way may I be of assistance?” The man inquired, rising with deliberate languor.

It’s him—Guillaume Bénet! Padre Guillaume Bénet! Lumian’s pupils contracted, closing the distance to a mere five meters.

Then, he parted his lips and voiced, “Ha!”

Action was the sole path to distinguishing the genuine from the imposter!