326 Substitute
“Ha!”

Lumian’s right chest glowed faintly. His Spirit Body quivered as a yellowish beam shot forth from his mouth.

It instantly struck Guillaume Bénet, dressed in a dark shirt and black pants, causing him to collapse in confusion and shock.

Spell of Harrumph!

He’s fake! Lumian’s eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. He wasn’t too surprised by the outcome.

It was evident that this wasn’t the real Guillaume Bénet—a Sequence 5 Fate Appropriator. The way the man reacted to the attack, coupled with his lack of familiarity with Beyonder powers and mysticism, made Lumian believe that the substitute was an ordinary person thrust into an unfamiliar world.

Disregarding the bewildered butler, Lumian swiftly turned on his heels and sprinted out of the compact living room.

As he ran, he whispered, “To Dill!”

Franca, draped in her hooded, leather-armored black robe, materialized in front of Lumian.

Lumian grabbed her shoulder, allowing the black mark on his right shoulder to flicker with a dark light.

Amidst the swirling maelstrom of vibrant hues, the duo found themselves on the balcony of Dill’s sixth floor.

Having sent Jenna to inform Albus previously, Lumian had already memorized the coordinates.

Upon seeing her companion arrive, Jenna, dressed as a female mercenary, emerged from the shadows. She pointed at Room 602 and lowered her voice.

“It’s not over yet.

“Dammit, he’s dragging this out!”

“The second round, perhaps?” Lumian chuckled.

According to Albus, the occupant of Room 602 had already blown his load once before having afternoon tea. Now, it had begun again.

“The soundproofing here is impressive,” Franca remarked, her head tilting as she listened for any signs of activity from within Room 602.

Jenna observed as Lumian wiped his face, disguising himself as a typical Dill brothel attendant. She clicked her tongue and voiced her thoughts.

“That woman in there screams occasionally. Dammit, is that perverted padre into some abusive stuff?”

Jenna, an underground singer frequenting bars and dance halls, had cultivated an open and passionate image. Her close rapport with Franca, who managed the dancers, exposed her to a world beyond the ordinary. She had zero experience, but her insights were substantial.

Franca caught on swiftly. She modulated her voice and clicked her tongue.

Lumian, his Niese Face transforming him, glanced at Franca, silently requesting her to sprinkle fluorescent powder in the corridor outside Room 602.

A countermeasure against Guillaume Bénet’s invisibility!

Lumian knew that the invisibility didn’t erase traces or scents. Should Guillaume Bénet escape into the corridor during combat, the fluorescent powder would create a luminous trail, guiding Lumian’s pursuit.

However, Lumian reconsidered and decided that the use of fluorescent powder might be too conspicuous. Guillaume Bénet could easily detect the abnormality and escape using his bizarre abilities before Lumian could launch a surprise attack.

After a moment’s reflection, Lumian leaned in to whisper to Franca, “Deploy Invisibility to conceal yourself in the corridor. Use invisible spider silk to create a web that covers the target’s door from the ground to the ceiling.”

This approach would neutralize the effectiveness of Invisibility, while also entangling Guillaume Bénet if he attempted to employ Slow Flight.

“No problem.” Franca adjusted her black hood and entered the corridor.

In a blink, her form dissolved, as if a snowman had melted in the sun.

Seven to eight seconds later, a gentle breeze brushed against Lumian’s legs.

He was taken aback for a moment before comprehending.

Franca is using the invisible spider silk to signal readiness.

Since this dude advanced to a Demoness of Pleasure, everything she does carries a sense of teasing… Yeah, she just advanced and might not have full control over the potion’s power. She could be unwittingly affected…

Muttering inwardly, Lumian shifted his attention to Jenna and instructed, “Conceal yourself in the shadows here. If Guillaume Bénet flees this way, you can shoot or execute an assassination. If that fails, withdraw immediately. If he heads in another direction, don’t pursue.”

“Got it.” Jenna, well-versed in these situations, didn’t push for more involvement.

She understood that her capabilities could be effectively deployed only under specific circumstances.

With his team arranged, Lumian pivoted and directed his gaze at the wooden door of Room 602.

He inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly to steady his nerves.

With that, he fetched an armchair from the balcony and positioned it in the corridor.

The invisible spider silk avoided him as he moved some distance away from Room 602 and set down the chair.

In the following moment, he lightly tapped the chair’s back. Crimson flames flowed from his palm, slithering over the chair like serpents.

As the armchair caught fire, Lumian jogged toward Room 602 without attempting to conceal his movements. He rapped his knuckles against the wooden door.

“What is it?”

A voice tinged with contained anger reverberated from within Room 602, indicating a pivotal juncture.

“Fire! There’s a fire!” Lumian shouted in feigned panic.

“Son of a sow!” The male voice inside cursed in a Riston Province accent.

Simultaneously, Hunter Lumian detected a distinctive motion—someone getting off the bed.

Two to three seconds later, the door swung open, revealing a naked man wearing an iron-colored half-mask and a white shirt, his lower half exposed.

A brunette, clad in a fishnet nightgown, was still draped over him.

Holy heck, can’t you even let go of her? Franca’s amused commentary echoed in Lumian’s mind from her invisible position diagonally across.

However, Lumian’s focus was unshaken. When the suspected Guillaume Bénet appeared, his gaze flickering towards the smoky, flaming chair, Lumian acted swiftly.

“Ha!”

Another yellowish beam shot forth, piercing through both the man in the iron-colored half-mask and the woman in the fishnet nightgown, enveloping them.

A glimpse of shock and panic flashed across the eyes of the supposed Guillaume Bénet, revealing his grasp of Beyonder powers.

Then, his eyes dulled, and he collapsed, a fraction after the woman.

As the sound of something heavy thudding to the floor echoed, Lumian seemed to enter a surreal trance.

Impossible. A Fate Appropriator like Guillaume Bénet couldn’t be knocked out by a Contractee’s Spell of Harrumph…

Is he a decoy?

The one at 50 Rue Vincent was an imposter too!

Where is the real Guillaume Bénet?

Shaking off his momentary daze, Lumian knelt, peeling off the iron-colored mask from the unconscious man.

The face beneath was unnervingly familiar—it was the hooked-nose countenance of Guillaume Bénet.

Darkening with concern, Lumian pushed the half-dressed woman away from his target and tore open the white shirt.

In the next heartbeat, his eyes fell upon three black marks resembling signatures on the unconscious man’s upper body—one on the left chest, one on the right chest, and another on the abdomen.

This wasn’t Guillaume Bénet!

Guillaume Bénet held more than three contracts—probably a dozen or more!

All fake? All substitutes? Lumian clenched his fists, his eyes igniting with an invisible blaze.

He rose, dragging the man, an identical look-alike of Guillaume Bénet, back into Room 602. Then, he found a blanket, swathed the unconscious woman, and deposited her in the corridor.

In the interim, Franca discerned the falsity of the prey once again, vanishing her invisibility. She summoned frost and doused the flames consuming the armchair.

As she transferred the woman from the corridor to a vacant room, Lumian extended his right hand, fingers closing around the throat of the Inevitability bestowed.

With a decisive snap, he broke the man’s neck, rendering him unconscious and lifeless.

Following that, he shut the wooden door, drew the ritual silver dagger, and sanctified it. A wall of spirituality enshrouded Room 602.

Subsequently, Lumian initiated the Summoning Dance, opting to engage in a preliminary, purpose-driven spirit channeling through this method.

He had chosen not to enlist Franca’s aid for a reason: he was uncertain about the peculiar creatures the deceased had contracted. It was possible they would induce corresponding corruption. Only Lumian, having long been an Inevitability bestowed, remained unaffected by the spirit channeling process.

The sedatives and the last remnants of truth serum from the Bliss Society were reserved for use on the real padre.

…

Diagonally opposite 50 Rue Vincent.

Perched on the second floor of the building and ensconced in cover, Anthony Reid, steadfastly observing the target, espied a graceful lady in a pale-green gown hurrying out, accompanied by her valet, maid, and butler. The group entered a carriage, deftly relocated from the rear to the front entrance, before embarking toward the far end of Rue Vincent.

Without precipitously giving chase, Anthony meticulously memorized specific details concerning the carriage and the horses.

…

Amidst the fervent and contorted dance, the departed spirit detached from its corporeal vessel, hovering midair. It cast a glare laden with animosity and perplexity upon Lumian.

Drawing his own blood, Lumian enacted a command, compelling the spirit to bind to him.

Although desire and voracity ignited within him, Lumian remained resolute, detecting an additional presence.

Summoning the Abyss Demon Flower…
Invisibility…

Transfiguration… Dammit!

An involuntary curse escaped Lumian’s lips.

He began to grasp the unfolding situation!

The individual at 50 Rue Vincent was possibly a product of the Substitution Spell. The one at the Dill brothel, on the other hand, had been fashioned as a substitute by Guillaume Bénet, utilizing Transfiguration, exploiting its negative effects.

He was vigilant against anyone exploiting his negative effects to track him down!

Transfiguration was a contractual ability capable of altering a person’s appearance, physique, and disposition. It also possessed a measure of resistance against divination. The price exacted was one’s own visage, with the detrimental side effect manifesting as a desire for the exploitation of others.

Lumian steadied himself, summoning to mind the genuine Guillaume Bénet—his visage, his deeds. This resonance united with the memories that had left the most indelible mark on the spirit of the deceased, enabling Lumian to hunt for clues.

In due course, a cluster of seven or eight memories quivered slightly. Lumian selected one, striving to magnify it for deeper understanding.