Illness

If Pons Bénet truly slipped into Naroka's house just to take her hair and fingernails, that means Naroka was most likely murdered by one of her kin. She had a fine reputation, was the pillar of the household, and was in good physical and mental health; suicide was out of the question... Lumian swiftly pieced together a chain of deductions. *If Naroka was indeed murdered by a relative, what was the motive?* Seeing her brother lost in thought and silent for so long, Aurore assumed he had been frightened by "people turning into sheep" and "someone in the Berry family possibly being murdered." She offered a few gentle words of comfort. "It sounds grim, but it won't affect us for now. "It seems I need to do some self-reflection. Constantly forbidding you from touching real mysticism only leaves you panicked and at a loss when you run into things like this. Well, in these past few years, supernatural incidents have become more and more frequent in this world, and I can't stay by your side forever. You're going to grow up eventually, and you'll have a life of your own..." *I've never heard that growing up means you have to leave your family...* Lumian retorted inwardly. He could sense that, because of the business with the sheep, Aurore's stance on him learning mysticism had softened. *With a little more push, I can just confess that I've already become a Beyonder...* Before Lumian could speak, Aurore had already made up her mind. "Go pack your bags right now. We'll use the invitation from Novel Weekly to leave Cordu immediately. "What a stroke of luck—receiving a telegram like that right at the critical moment, giving us an entirely legitimate reason to leave without raising suspicion. "Mm, whenever we have a private moment along the way, I'll teach you some real mysticism. But as for becoming a Beyonder—don't even think about it. It's far too dangerous." *It wasn't luck at all. We sent the telegram precisely because we noticed something was wrong; it just took until this loop to get a reply...* Lumian grumbled silently, though he was gratified to see his sister remain as decisive as ever. He had little confidence that they could leave Cordu Village smoothly—or break free of the loop that easily—but they had to try. "Uh, what about those three sheep—those three people? We're not going to save them?" Lumian asked tentatively. Aurore shook her head. "Doing that could provoke a direct clash with Pierre Berry. I don't know how strong he is, nor do I know how many helpers he has. Rescuing them blindly is too dangerous. "Let the authorities handle it. That's their responsibility. Once we reach Dariège and buy our steam train tickets, we'll mail an anonymous letter to the authorities and let them take care of it." "What if they don't believe it?" Lumian deliberately pressed. Aurore smiled. "When it comes to mysticism, you truly are illiterate. "If we describe the matter of people turning into sheep clearly enough in the letter, they'll naturally find a specialist to perform a divination. Even if they don't receive detailed revelations, they'll still detect the anomaly in Cordu." "Understood." Lumian wasted no more time and went upstairs to pack his things. Before long, brother and sister came down, each carrying a brown suitcase. Aurore glanced outside the door and said, "We'll head to Madame Pualis now and borrow her carriage so we can reach Dariège as quickly as possible." For an ordinary person, walking from Cordu Village to Dariège took an entire afternoon. As a Hunter, Lumian certainly wouldn't need that long, but in Aurore's eyes, he was still just an ordinary mortal. Lumian hesitated over whether to seize this chance to come clean to his sister. But considering it was practically impossible to escape Cordu Village anyway, he figured it was better to use this opportunity to look around Madame Pualis's home and search for clues. He nodded. "All right." He reached out, took the suitcase from his sister's hand, and walked toward the door carrying both bags himself. Aurore looked on with satisfaction and warmth, but then a hint of puzzlement crept into her expression. "You've grown stronger. Carrying them looks effortless." Instinctively, she started to raise her right hand to rub the sides of her eyes, but Lumian was already out the door. She abandoned the thought and hurried after him. On the way to the administrator's mansion, many villagers saw Aurore stepping out with luggage and curiously asked what was going on. With a valid reason in hand, Aurore answered quite serenely. Lumian, on the other hand, spun seven or eight different tales along the way to deal with the various villagers. First it was that Aurore had been awarded the Intis Legion of Honour and was heading to Trier for the investiture; then it was that he had been specially recruited by the Trier École Normale Supérieure and had to register immediately; and then it was that Aurore had gone bankrupt trading stocks, her creditors were about to knock down the door, and they had to flee somewhere else. The unsophisticated villagers listened, completely dumbfounded. Thanks to Lumian's reputation, once they came to their senses, none of them believed a single word. Before long, brother and sister arrived before the black building that had been converted from an ancient castle. Looking up at the two soaring towers, Lumian smiled and said, "I wonder what's inside there. Aurore, have you ever been in?" "Why would I wander around someone else's house?" Aurore shot her brother a sideways glance. Lumian murmured softly, "I thought Madame Pualis would have invited you for a tour. Don't people like them love showing guests their grand house and precious collections?" "What is there to tour..." Aurore's voice trailed off. She realized that seeing it would actually help her describe old castles in her writing. "Ah, maybe when there's a chance in the future. Who knows if we'll ever come back to Cordu." She then led Lumian through the riot of vibrant blossoms in the garden toward the castle's front doors. After a few steps, Aurore slowed down, glancing left and right in confusion. "The flowers in this garden are blooming quite early..." Cordu Village sat in the mountains, bordering highland pastures. Under normal circumstances, the first wave of spring flowers wouldn't arrive until mid-to-late April. *Perhaps Madame Pualis's gardener has a special trick.* Remembering that the lady was an unorthodox Beyonder, Lumian suspected it had something to do with supernatural phenomena, though he couldn't say that out loud. Aurore had merely made an offhand remark and thought nothing more of it. Together with Lumian, she reached the castle and received a warm reception from Madame Pualis. Today, the lady wore a blue cinched gown, the diamond necklace set with gold still gracing her chest. Her long brown hair was styled half-pinned and half-falling, making her appear even younger than usual. Seated on an armchair in the small parlor, she listened quietly to Aurore's request and smiled faintly. "There's no need to be so polite. We are friends." *Heh...* Lumian scoffed inwardly. *What kind of friend tries to force a ridiculous marriage match on you?* Just as that silent mockery crossed his mind, he saw Madame Pualis look toward him, a ripple of amusement shimmering in her bright brown eyes. Lumian instantly recalled their conversation from the previous loop and felt intensely uncomfortable. "All right, then," Aurore said, looking helpless. Every time she borrowed a carriage, she offered to pay, but Madame Pualis invariably refused. As a result, Aurore usually brought back a modest, respectable gift on her return journey, along with a tip for the driver. While waiting for the coachman to get ready, Madame Pualis invited the siblings to sample some pastries made by her chef. Lumian tasted a muffin, looked around, and asked, "Where is Monsieur Lund?" Louis Lund was the steward to the administrator, Béost, having followed him from Dariège to Cordu Village. Lumian held leverage over him for having an affair with a local woman and secretly selling off certain items from the castle's collection. That was how he had learned that Madame Pualis was the curé's mistress. All that talk about coincidentally catching the curé and Madame Pualis having an affair inside the church had just been a lie for the outlanders! At that moment, Lumian wanted to find Louis Lund just to curse him out: *You son of a pig, why didn't you tell me Madame Pualis is a sorcerer?* Madame Pualis let out a soft sigh. "Louis is sick. He is resting in his room." *Sick?* For reasons he couldn't explain, Lumian sensed that something was amiss. While his sister chatted with Madame Pualis, he excused himself to use the washroom, slipped out of the small parlor, and headed straight for the stairs. The castle was vast, and the administrator and his wife had brought few servants. The entire place felt hollow and empty; in certain spots, footsteps even produced echoes. That made it much easier for Lumian to sneak around. Relying on his heightened senses, he effortlessly slipped past a footman and a housemaid, made his way quietly to the second floor, and located Louis Lund's room. Instead of knocking, he tilted his head and pressed his ear against the wooden door. "Ah!" "Ah!" ... One agonized male scream after another drifted out of the room. *He really is sick? Sounds pretty bad...* Lumian pondered briefly, moved aside, and opened the door to another servant's room. Béost and Madame Pualis resided on the third floor. Slipping inside, he gently shut the door behind him, crossed the room in a few strides, and pushed open the glass window. Lumian peered down. Seeing no one around, he placed his hands on the sill and flipped out with ease, suspending himself against the castle's exterior wall. Immediately after, he gave a light spring, landing on the windowsill of the steward Louis Lund's room as silently as a wildcat. Standing on the edge of the glass window, Lumian turned sideways and peered cautiously into the room. He saw Louis Lund lying stark naked on the bed. His belly was swollen high into the air, looking as though it could burst at any moment. Seeing the dark hair of the forty-something steward completely soaked in sweat, his face contorted in sheer agony, and hearing the horrifying shrieks that tore from his throat from time to time, Lumian could not help but frown. *What kind of illness is this?* *It looks terrifying. How could a belly swell that large...* Beside Louis Lund's bed stood a woman in her forties. She had brown hair and brown eyes, with fine features and few wrinkles. Clad in a grayish-white dress, she was shouting excitedly at Louis Lund, "Almost! Almost!" *Almost what?* The thought had barely flickered through Lumian's mind when another bloodcurdling scream erupted. He watched as a section of Louis Lund's belly was thrust violently upward by something from within. In the blink of an eye, the flesh tore open—Louis Lund's belly burst! A bloody little hand reached upward through the tear. "It's born! It's born!" the woman cried out in joy. She bent over and lifted a wrinkled, filthy, blood-drenched infant straight out of Louis Lund's belly. Lumian froze on the spot, completely stunned. "..."