Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability Chapter 524 – Infighting

524 Infighting

The illusory eye between the Demon Warlock’s brows bore a remarkable resemblance to the Eye of Mystery Prying from the Warlock pathway. However, this entity took a unique form, manifesting as a vertical eye rather than the typical manifestation within the eye itself. Lumian had never encountered or heard of such a phenomenon before.

While a Mystery Pryer might experience similar abnormalities as a High-

Sequence Beyonder, it was clear that Burman hadn’t reached the Saint level. Otherwise, Lumian would have been the one fleeing, not him. In such a scenario, Lumian might not have been able to escape even if he desired; his only hope would be that the residual aura of the Blood Emperor could momentarily distract Burman, enabling him to “teleport” away.

Considering the authorities’ wanted poster, information from 007, and details gathered from Philip and others, Lumian had long concluded that a Demon Warlock like Burman couldn’t be a Sequence 4—he certainly wasn’t audacious enough to hunt a demigod.

Based on the illusory vertical eye and Burman’s diverse, comprehensive abilities, Lumian sensed a true alignment with the characteristics of a Warlock. However, no Warlock’s Eye of Mystery Prying resembled this. Not only did it grow between the brows and become a vertical eye, marked with pale-white patterns against a nearly black background, but it also possessed the ability to intimidate others’ Spirit Bodies, revealing a perceived “truth.”

In that moment, Lumian felt as if he had been stripped of all externalities, leaving only his Spirit Body to resist Burman’s. Yielding or failing would result in fainting or enslavement.

Fortunately, the “truth” on him was beyond the perception of Low- to Mid-

Sequence Beyonders, and Burman was no exception. Before Lumian could activate the Blood Emperor’s residual aura, the Demon Warlock suffered a backlash, nearly incapacitating him.

Moreover, Burman’s command over the undead and the protection he received after fainting surpassed typical Warlock capabilities. Even if others could achieve similar effects with learned or invented spells, it wouldn’t be to that extent, let alone so effortlessly.

Which evil god’s pathway is this? Or has Burman, a Warlock, been corrupted and acquired abnormal traits? That would explain the non-human details on him. After conducting so many resurrection experiments, he wouldn’t lack the kind that sacrifices to evil gods…

The illusory vertical eye was undeniably powerful and bizarre. I couldn’t withstand it head-on. Were it not for the protection of Mr. Fool’s seal, Termiboros, and the lingering aura of the Blood Emperor—all surpassing my current level—I might have met my demise at Burman’s hands. Lumian’s thoughts raced as he quickly made a guess.

Seizing this moment to counteract the impact of the explosion, he retrieved the golden straw hat from his Traveler’s Bag and placed it on his head before disappearing.

Lumian “teleported” to 16 Rue Coreas, the entrance of Fidel Guerra’s opulent residence.

While Demon Warlock Burman had the means to escape, the same couldn’t be said for this prominent merchant!

If Burman had been in good condition when he fled, Lumian worried that he might return out of professional courtesy and rescue his employer. However, since Burman had been rendered unconscious and taken away by some undead creature, he wouldn’t be returning to 16 Rue Coreas. He wouldn’t even after waking up either. The more time passed, the more likely Fidel Guerra’s house would become a trap for the Demon Warlock.

Hence, Lumian still had time to ponder Burman’s Sequence and the non-

human issues he exhibited.

His deliberate delay served a purpose.

If Demon Warlock Burman were to wake up promptly and flee with his employer, Lumian’s calculated delay of a minute or two would ensnare both of them.

Standing at the entrance of 16 Rue Coreas, Lumian’s brow furrowed slightly.

As a Hunter, he detected a faint scent of blood emanating from inside the house.

After a moment of consideration, Lumian gently pushed open the dark-blue door.

It was unlocked.

The door bore splatters of fresh blood that hadn’t fully congealed. It seemed as though someone in a panic had sought refuge here, unlocking the door just before being pursued and torn to pieces.

However, there were no remnants of the corpse to be found.

Lumian halted at the doorway, listening intently. The entire house remained eerily silent.

Did Fidel act swiftly, eliminating those in the know and relocating to safety before Burman could strike me down?

In such a scenario, if Burman’s operation proved successful and he uncovered the reasons for my suspicions and if there were others privy to the information, Fidel could use the pretext of a late-night attack by Black Baronet and other pirates, where he nearly lost his life. Escaping wouldn’t have been easy before returning here. Alternatively, he might vanish forever, adopting a new identity to embark on a fresh business venture… Lumian pondered this mystery as he navigated past the blood-stained area at the entrance, intending to search the house for clues. His goal was to uncover the exact relationship between Fidel Guerra and Demon Warlock Burman.

Leaving the door slightly ajar, he proceeded towards the staircase, the scent of blood lingering in the air.

Perhaps sensing his approach, heavy footsteps suddenly echoed.

Amidst the rhythmic sounds of footsteps, a figure emerged from the basement, coming into Lumian’s line of sight.

It wasn’t human, or rather, it couldn’t be deemed human any longer.

Standing three to four meters tall, its body comprised fragments from various human corpses. It possessed a mix of feminine curves and masculine traits, sewn together by linen threads, with blood-stained mucus dripping from the joints.

This “person” featured a relatively intact head, with only one source—Fidel Guerra, a mixed-blood Intis and Feynapotter.

The merchant’s head didn’t align with the body; it was as if a child’s head had been placed on a half-giant’s neck. Dark brown eyes, vacant yet still filled with fear and confusion, stared out.

Dead? Fidel is dead? Did he turn himself into a monster? Lumian pondered. Just as this thought crossed his mind, the stitched corpse lunged forward, dragging three human leg bones that seemed fused together.

A pale-white flame ignited on the colossal “bone sword.”

Lumian’s eyes narrowed, and his body abruptly vanished, reappearing instantly behind the massive stitched corpse.

“Ha!”

He opened his mouth and emitted a pale-yellow light.

However, the light struck Fidel’s head, failing to disorient him, let alone render him unconscious.

It became apparent that the undead creature was immune to the Spell of Harrumph!

Almost simultaneously, the rapidly running sutured corpse forcefully pivoted, emitting a muffled sound from its throat—a language Lumian didn’t understand or a word carrying magical effects.

Lumian’s soul trembled, as if cowed by evil and death.

He momentarily froze.

The sutured corpse turned around, advancing with purpose. It raised the colossal “bone sword,” burning with pale-white flames, and slashed at Lumian’s head.

Lumian, experienced in such situations, mostly stemming from encounters with high-level entities, found the current threat less severe than the consequences of the Demon Warlock’s illusory vertical eye.

Just in time, Lumian “woke up,” activating the black mark on his right shoulder.

Amidst the howling wind, the colossal “bone sword,” engulfed in pale-white flames, struck the afterimage left behind.

This time, Lumian materialized close to the stitched corpse’s back, stabbing the Symphony of Hatred retrieved from his Traveler’s Bag into it.

With a pfft, the pitch-black bone flute, seemingly fragile, plunged into the stitched corpse’s flesh.

The flaxen threads burst open, and chunks of flesh and blood peeled off, revealing a dark-red heart emitting pale-white flames.

Lumian extended his left hand, pressing it against the near-fatal wound. The crimson fireball, nearly white, compressed layer by layer as it was pushed in.

Utilizing the reactive force, Lumian abruptly flew backward, dodging the massive “bone sword” that slashed at him.

Rumble!

In midair, he witnessed crimson, nearly white flames erupt from the sutured corpse, tearing apart the beating heart.

Rumble!

The sutured corpse disintegrated, and the flesh and blood of various humans scattered on the ground.

Bang! Fidel’s head landed in a pile of flesh and blood, the blankness giving way to a pained expression.

“Who turned you into this?” Lumian inquired, glancing out the window, sensing that the explosion would likely draw the attention of the patrolling police.

Fidel’s head opened its mouth, words muffled and filled with hatred.

“It’s—it’s Burman!”

“Burman?” Lumian was taken aback. “Were you infighting?”

Fidel’s head throbbed with pain as his voice trailed off.

“I thought you were testing me. I wanted to observe for a few more days, b-

but he couldn’t wait. He w-wanted to kill you tonight. I didn’t agree, and he killed everyone in the house…

“H-he’s a true lunatic!”

At this point, Fidel’s head lolled, his eyes closed, and he fell silent.

Demon Warlock Burman’s mental state is quite problematic… Lumian thought. Is that why he killed his employer’s entire household? If he really wanted to kill me, he could have acted alone… Lumian had previously considered whether Fidel would think he was baiting him. For this reason, he deliberately created the illusion that he was baiting Black Baronet to lull Fidel. As for the effect, Lumian didn’t care too much. If Fidel didn’t take the bait, he would use another method. “Fishing” wasn’t the only method in his arsenal.

Unexpectedly, this triggered infighting between Fidel and Burman.

Lumian believed even he couldn’t bring himself to do such a thing when his psychological problems were at their worst. That was unless Fidel provoked him, such as pointing out that only a lunatic would believe in resurrection.

Observing the corpse fragments for a while, Lumian noticed no signs of a Beyonder characteristic emerging.

Curse my luck. Burman must have taken it. He shook his head and walked towards the room where the safe might be.