Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability Chapter 518 – Merchant’s Entrustment

518 Merchant’s Entrustment

518 Merchant’s Entrustment

Twirling the brim of his golden straw hat, Lumian stopped just outside the office door and met Fidel Guerra’s gaze across the desk. Lumian’s grin was anything but friendly.

“Made a decision, have you? Faster than I expected.”

Fidel Guerra, with his partially Feynapotterian features, turned to Roddy and let out a soft sigh.

“Didn’t expect my attendant to be the ringleader of a scam syndicate.”

“Maybe the paychecks he receives from you don’t quite match the lifestyle he sees on a daily basis,” Lumian shot back habitually.

Fidel ignored the jab. He studied Lumian, eyes narrowed.

“So that bar act was all for show? To dupe fools like him?”

“Let’s say I’m grateful for their thousand verl d’or donation. Looks like Port Farim’s got a bright future for con artists.” No shame in his banditry, not a flicker.

Roddy felt a swarm of regret gnaw at his insides.

Fidel nodded and inquired, “What’s on your shopping list?”

Lumian, affecting an air of indifference, responded, “I’m in the market for a bottle of Colorful Bearded Horned Lizard’s venom.”

Isn’t it the Sphinx’s brain? Roddy, who was listening, was taken aback.

For a moment, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was the swindler or the man opposite him.

Clad in a white shirt and brown vest, Fidel contemplated for a moment before offering, “I don’t have it in stock, but I can procure it for you. It might take two to three days. As for the price, it varies, usually between 3,000 to 4,000 verl d’or, depending on the seller. Need my assistance in acquiring it?”

“No problem.” Lumian, arms slightly spread, replied, “Praise the Sun. You’re a gem.”

Fidel, suspecting mockery, frowned slightly.

He maintained his composure, stating, “I’m not charitable; I’m a businessman. Why not make a profitable deal? Besides, I find forming connections with adventurers like you beneficial. Given money and resources, certain matters are easier for you to handle.”

Fidel, smiling, questioned, “Aren’t you concerned about counterfeit goods? How do you confirm authenticity on the spot?”

Lumian, with an approving smile, quipped, “I know you live here. That’s assurance enough. The famous merchant Fidel? Gunned down six times in a row for pulling a fast one in a deal worth a few thousand verl d’or. Not the kind of rep you’d call respectable news.”

Fidel maintained his impassive gaze on Lumian before a smirk crossed his face.

“Interested in knowing what fate befell those who did?”

“Curious if I’ve got the nerve to make a move now?” Lumian’s gaze narrowed a touch. His smile remained, but it chilled the room in an instant.

He met Fidel’s gaze without hesitation.

After a while, Fidel sighed without anger and remarked, “Your approach reminds me of someone—the legendary adventurer, Gehrman Sparrow.”

“Yes, I’m mimicking him,” Lumian admitted candidly.

Fidel chuckled.

“Imitating his madness, then? So, underneath the act, you’re a calm, rational, and cunning individual?”

Lumian shook his head, smiling, and replied, “No. If I don’t imitate him, I’d be even crazier.”

The atmosphere in the study became tense once more.

Fidel, picking up and sipping fragrant black tea from a bone porcelain cup, acknowledged, “You’re quite the young firebrand. Your vigor even makes an old man like me a bit envious.

“How about taking on a commission? It can fetch you a hefty sum and earn you fame at sea, akin to Gehrman Sparrow.”

Lumian, adjusting his golden straw hat, inquired, “What’s the job?”

“Eliminate a pirate, Baronet Black, Class Khizi, captain of the Golden Nepos. The bounty is 65,000 verl d’or,” Fidel stated calmly. “He used to be the third mate of the King of Dusk, Bulatov. Left the fleet, turned to plundering on his own. Four months back, he stole a batch of my goods on Saint Tick Island. It’s likely sold by now. I don’t expect to recover it. I just want him dead. Let everyone know that anyone who touches my goods meets their end.”

Lumian, teasingly, asked, “What if it was the King of Dusk who did it?”

Fidel fell into silence.

After a brief pause, Fidel brushed off Lumian’s question and continued, “I’ll provide you with regular updates on Khizi—his characteristics, strength, ship location, and onshore whereabouts. As a bonus, I’ll throw in an extra 25,000 verl d’or as a reward.

“If you manage to take down Khizi, I’ll expedite the process to secure the full bounty through my connections and help spread your reputation. Everything Khizi owns will be yours.

“So, what do you say? Eliminate Khizi, and you’ll become one of the most renowned adventurers at sea.”

25,000 additional reward and intel support… Lumian thought for a moment and asked with a smile, “How many adventurers have you pitched this to?”

“Seven or eight, all of whom I hold in high regard,” Fidel replied candidly. “There’s no penalty for failure, as long as you survive.”

Inwardly, Lumian mused, So, it doesn’t matter whether I accept the mission or not? He nodded.

“Hunting pirates is the duty of every adventurer.”

With a verbal agreement established, Fidel reached into a drawer, producing a brown paper envelope, which he tossed to Lumian.

Abruptly, he looked up at Fidel.

“Has Khizi been seen in Port Farim recently?”

“Yes, I’m certain of this intel, though his exact hiding spot is unknown,” Fidel replied with a slight nod.

Agreeing to return in two days for updates on both the Colorful Bearded Horned Lizard venom and Baronet Black, Lumian left 16 Rue Coreas and made his way towards the harbor.

Roddy, fearing severe punishment, was surprised when Fidel merely waved him off, instructing, “Go back to your room and reflect.”

“Yes, Monsieur Guerra.” Roddy, relieved, left the study and ascended the dimly lit stairs to the second floor.

Yet, as he walked, a chill overcame him, and he shivered.

The darkness around him deepened, and in the dim light, something emerged from behind his shadow.

Attempting to cry out for help, Roddy, gripped by terror, found himself forever voiceless.

…

Meanwhile, Lumian didn’t head directly back to the Flying Bird. Instead, under the cooling night sky, he strolled towards a street he had recently passed.

There stood a modest cathedral—The Fool’s Cathedral.

Having previously spotted The Fool’s Sacred Emblem on the bell tower, Lumian had decided to offer a prayer upon his return.

As expected, Mr. Fool’s faith seems prevalent at sea. Port Farim, being an Intis colony, boasts several cathedrals. Lumian gazed at the warm light emanating from the cathedral, removed his golden straw hat, and entered.

Inside, Lumian noticed around 20 to 30 individuals, likely homeless, resting at the edge of the wide hall. Some had tattered blankets, while others relied solely on their clothes for warmth.

The Fog Sea Archipelago wouldn’t turn these tramps into ice statues this season, but rain lurked, ready to pour at any time. Finding shelter was a coveted haven for these tramps, and The Fool’s cathedral offered solace.

Back in my vagabond days, when brutal weather hit or days without food wore me down, I’d roll the dice in the cathedrals of the two Churches. If the bishop or padre was decent, they’d toss a meal my way and a spot to crash for the night. But come dawn, I had to vanish, or I’d end up in those rotten relief centers… Lumian reminisced, found a seat, and started praying.

The Fool’s cathedral embraced silence at night. Now and then, folks strolled in, muttered their prayers, and exited. Some wore merchant garb, others rocked a sailor’s look, and a few even emitted a faint pirate vibe, but none disturbed the peaceful aura.

Lumian wasn’t sure what to pray for. Back when he’d occasionally drop by the Eternal Blazing Sun cathedral, he’d just echo bits of scripture in his mind, tossing wishes like coins and hoping for corresponding blessings. What if they actually came true?

Now, he knew such rituals were futile, and he had few desires.

Most importantly, Lumian had only heard clerical teachings about The Fool a few times. He couldn’t remember much from the Bible except for the eight Angels and Mr. Fool’s authority. But did that matter now?

Recounting his journey from leaving Trier to arriving at Port Farim, Lumian’s emotions gradually settled into a sense of tranquility.

“May Mr. Fool bless me. May all catastrophes be resolved. May Aurore be resurrected…”

After about fifteen minutes, Lumian concluded his prayer with a simple wish.

As he stood up, a distant rumble echoed. The cathedral’s windows rattled, and the building creaked and swayed.

Lumian raised his eyebrows. Amidst the startled tramps, he walked to the door and gazed towards the source of the noise.

Near the governor-general’s office, billowing smoke and flames rose into the sky, casting an eerie glow on the surroundings.

Lumian couldn’t help but raise his right hand and stroke his chin. He muttered to himself, This shouldn’t have anything to do with my arrival, right?

It seemed something significant had occurred in Port Farim.