Chapter 471 Topsy-Turvy
Angoulême, racing towards église Saint-Robert with Imre and Valentine to gather more intel and receive the latest orders, suddenly found himself blinded by sunlight. It was as though he had been shrouded in darkness for too long, struggling to adapt to the sudden brightness.
After a few moments, he and his teammates gazed skyward.
In Trier, where it had been late at night, the scene had transformed into a sunny afternoon!
Feeling the warmth of the sun, Angoulême couldn’t shake off the chill crawling down his spine. He sensed that the problem had escalated dramatically, and a catastrophe loomed on the horizon.
In the blink of an eye, a series of explosions echoed from the Rist Docks, Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman, Suhit’s steam locomotive station, and the nearby depot and warehouses.
Thunderous rumbles echoed through the air. Even from a distance, Angoulême and his comrades witnessed the crimson flames and burning structures. Gunshots, salvos, and shouts pierced through the chaos.
The entire market district plunged into anarchy.
Is Quartier éraste’s military rebellion thinning Trier’s Beyonder forces to support the insurrection in the market district? This can’t be the same group responsible for the earlier docks and factory strikes at dawn… What is happening? Angoulême’s expression hardened as he changed course, hastening towards the epicenter of the most intense explosions.
Imre and Valentine followed closely behind.
…
In Salle de Bal Brise, the café on the second floor,
Gardner Martin donned his silver-white full-body armor and positioned himself by the window. A smirk played on his lips as he observed Angoulême de Fran?ois and his team departing the area.
The leader of the Savoie Mob could already envision the chaos unfolding at the Rist Docks, Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman, and other key locations.
Without reservation, he unveiled the hidden might of the Iron and Blood Cross Order in the market district, aiming to sow maximum chaos in the shortest time possible.
Whether it was “Blood Palm” Black overseeing Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman, Vincent Lorraine at the Rist Docks, Parsifal managing the depot, or Faustino, the infiltrator at Suhit’s steam locomotive station, each was leading a team in acts of arson, detonating explosives, and unleashing indiscriminate destruction and carnage.
“Fortunately, we were well-prepared. Even if we had to expedite our plans, we can still complete the corresponding ritual,” Gardner Martin remarked to Supervisor Olson, standing not far behind him.
Olson, resembling a starving bear, clutched his small brown suitcase, his voice indifferent as he inquired, “You didn’t eliminate the Demoness?”
Gardner Martin grinned.
“No need to waste effort on such a foolish Demoness. She poses no real threat. Moreover, taking her down would be time-consuming, and you’re aware of their formidable survivability. It might cause us to miss the crucial moment.
“As for the others causing trouble, I dispatched Albus to the military camp in Quartier éraste. Lumian…”
At the mention of Lumian, Gardner Martin’s smile broadened.
He lifted the visor of his helmet, peering out the window once more.
Under the brilliant sunlight, the flames of Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman painted the sky crimson. Shouts, cries, gunshots, and explosions reverberated through the air.
Gardner Martin tilted his chin upward, closed his eyes, and contentedly awaited the unfolding climax of the play.
The ritual was on the brink of completion.
…
In the painting world, the westering sun in the sky assumed a heightened realism, its glow merging with the faint shadow in an uncanny dance.
Similar transformations unfolded across every structure. Vendors and pedestrians on the streets ceased to be lifeless figures, now frantically darting about in pandemonium, desperately seeking refuge.
The subterranean market district and its surface counterpart gradually transitioned into tangible existence. One was now bathed in flames like an oil painting, and the two began to mirror each other, interweaving as “projections” in the spirit world.
Suddenly, like illusory objects flipping upside down, the painted market district emerged on the surface, severing its complete seal with the rest of Trier. The authentic market district had transformed into a mural within the cave, linked to the underground.
In the actual Trier, Salle de Bal Brise existed in darkness, mitigating the effects of the seal.
Within that darkness, the three-headed, six-armed giant, Lumian, adhered to the enigmatic door. With a resonant creak, it slowly swung open, stained with blood and red rust, revealing a crevice seemingly ablaze with invisible flames.
Rumble!
Trier shuddered in its entirety, and the sunlit sky descended into a twilight adorned with fiery clouds.
…
Quartier éraste, Red Swan Castle.
Count Poufer, roused from his slumber, snapped awake in the midst of a dream.
Blood-stained sunlight filtered through the thick curtains, accompanied by cruel and frenzied screams.
The beige castle, adorned with ancient bloodstains, trembled violently, as if a colossal entity beneath the ground clung to its foundations.
Poufer felt a summoning and a magnetic pull from the depths of his soul. Excitement painted his expression as he hastily vacated his bed and dashed out of the bedroom.
In his frantic haste, he disregarded slippers and eschewed a change from his dark-red cotton robe. Barefoot, he sprinted down the corridor, the hem of his robe swinging behind him.
How many nights had he yearned for this awakening?
It signified the long-awaited recognition from the remnant spirit of his ancestor, the fulfillment of the prophecy by the mysterious leader of the Secret Order, and the dawn of hope for the Sauron family to reclaim their strength. It meant the end of the curse that haunted the other Saurons and the promise of rebirth!
Count Poufer understood the potential consequences for himself, but he faced the situation without flinching or hesitation.
Hadn’t every member of the Sauron family, choosing to reside in Red Swan Castle and not relocating after reaching adulthood, been mentally prepared for this moment?
To become the vessel for their ancestor’s resurrection, to merge with Him, was an honor for every Sauron family member!
Descending the stairs, Count Poufer entered the underground maze.
In the darkness behind him, a figure emerged from the vicinity adjacent to the stairs.
It was Elros, donned in beige hunting attire with her long auburn hair tied into a ponytail.
The girl, bearing both the Sauron and Einhorn bloodlines, followed her cousin at a steady pace, her presence silent yet profound.
…
In Apartment 601, 3 Rue des Blouses Blanches, in the market district.
Franca and Anthony Reid found themselves momentarily bewildered as they witnessed the sun appearing and hanging low in the west.
It’s past 2 a.m. What sun could there be?
What was going on?
Why was this strange phenomenon happening?
Their thoughts were abruptly shattered by the reverberations of explosions and gunshots in the market district. Anthony visibly trembled, instinctively attempting to dodge the unforeseen onslaught.
Fortunately, having chosen to remain in Trier earlier, he managed to regain control more effectively than in past episodes.
A shared glance exchanged between Franca and Anthony revealed surprise, confusion, and underlying worry.
“Has the catastrophe struck?” Anthony Reid queried in a deep, resonant voice.
Franca, brow furrowed, mused, “But according to Bouvard’s corpse’s prophecy, the catastrophe was accompanied by rain and water, and now…”
Before she could complete her sentence, her spirituality alerted her to something outside the window.
An unmistakable phantom materialized in the building opposite, the two figures overlapping and swiftly parting ways.
Simultaneously, a wave of dizziness enveloped Franca, as if she had plunged weightlessly and failed to utilize an Assassin’s Feather Fall.
Anthony Reid experienced a similar sensation. He spoke solemnly,
“Indiscriminately affecting everyone?
“The effect of a ritual?”
A ritual to trigger the catastrophe?
Just as Franca considered suggesting leaving the apartment to approach The Fool’s cathedral at the Lavigny Docks for a clearer understanding, her attention was drawn to the abrupt changes in two items tucked within her hidden pockets.
She quickly made a judgment based on the locations they were located.
One was the palm-sized Primordial Demoness figurine, which, even through clothing, exuded an abnormal coldness.
The other was the ancient silver mirror from the underground, an object connected to a peculiar mirror world. It trembled subtly, as if stirred or resonating with the current environment and nearby objects.
Wh— Franca’s eyes narrowed.
Coupled with the simultaneous movements of the two items, she suspected the presence of a high-level Beyonder of the Demoness pathway nearby!
…
In the Sacred Heart cloister, now transformed into a sun, the continuous cries of an infant filled the air.
The cries unsettled Madam Magician with a starlit visage, causing a multitude of door-shaped insects to crawl in and out. Miss Justice, her skin covered in grayish-white scales, was compelled to Placate herself.
The piercing sunlight forced the two Major Arcana card holders to instinctively shut their eyes. Before them, voids intersected, and layers of starlight blocked the spreading flames “into the distance.”
They recognized the incoming force all too well.
It was the divine power of the Eternal Blazing Sun!
Although this true god hadn’t physically descended from the spirit world into reality, Lady Moon, who had nurtured a deity, and the newborn baby she held, indirectly channeled some of His strength.
The power of a god!
Magician and Justice, though struggling to endure, remained composed. They knew they weren’t alone.
Upon discovering Lady Moon’s hideout in the Sacred Heart Cloister, they had anticipated the worst-case scenario.
…
On the Blue Avenger at the Lavigny Docks, The Hanged Man Alger, adorned in a sailor’s attire with dark-blue hair, positioned himself at the bow of the ship. Witnessing the sudden brightening of the sky and the sun hanging low in the west, a mix of worry and excitement washed over him. Swiftly, he retrieved an item from his possession.
It was a card featuring Emperor Roselle with raised hands and a papal tiara adorning his head. Behind him, the depiction showcased lightning, violent winds, and tumultuous waves.
The Tyrant card!
One of the Cards of Blasphemy crafted by Emperor Roselle.
The Hanged Man Alger had made a special trip to Trier, abstaining from involvement in operations elsewhere, anticipating the worst calamity!
Through prior communication, pre-installed imprints, and adept prayers, as a Saint of the Sailor pathway, he possessed the ability to employ the Tyrant card. This allowed him to temporarily harness someone’s power, enabling resistance against the sun in the sky without jeopardizing the stability of the astral world.
Whoosh!
As Alger bowed his head in prayer, the Tyrant card illuminated, causing Trier’s sky to darken. Countless water droplets descended to the ground beneath the sunlight.
Rain, a deluge of torrential rain.
