BXBX NOVEL Chapter 633 - 633 West Balam
This seemed to be the case now.
In the past, Lumian might have teleported over out of curiosity, taking advantage of the three-masted sailboat’s reentry into a safe sea route to assess its internal condition. However, after encountering the Demon legends on Hanth Island, he felt that less curiosity was better. As long as the uninhabited ship traveling in the darkness didn’t exhibit signs of attack or an imminent danger, he could treat it as a unique spectacle of the Berserk Sea and simply observe.
The brown ship gradually distanced itself, leaving only the billowing sails in its wake.
Abruptly, Lumian, utilizing his exceptional vision, spotted a face silently staring out of an open hole in the cabin’s uppermost window.
The face, shriveled and pale-white, clung tightly to the bones, devoid of flesh and blood. Flaxen-colored hair cascaded like withered weeds. The eyeballs were absent, leaving only a void of deep darkness.
It resembled the head of a desiccated corpse, yet its lips were surprisingly vibrant, as if recently adorned with lipstick.
Lumian instinctively sensed the face belonged to a woman. At least, she had been a woman when alive.
He refrained from raising his right hand for a warm greeting. Instead, he quietly observed as the ancient three-masted sailboat sailed beyond the safe sea route and into the dark night. The desiccated face, with blood-red lips and pitch-black eyes, blended into the darkness.
Only then did Lumian wave his hand and offer a faint smile.
“Goodbye! You won’t be missed!”
He then helped Franca and the others to devise a plan to confront Moran Avigny. Ultimately, he opted to await further information from 007 before finalizing their strategy.
Conspirer wasn’t a visionary, known for conjuring conspiracies out of thin air; they required substantial information as a foundation.
When Lumian awoke at dawn, the Berries emerged from the dense, death-carrying fog of the Berserk Sea.
Before him stretched a clear blue sea, bathed in the intense sunlight of the high sky.
The next day, the Berries bypassed Behrens Harbor at the northernmost tip of West Balam. Instead, they continued southwest, reaching Port Pylos by 4 p.m.
Situated in Matani, the port was under the rule of Admiral Querarill.
Originally a colony of the Intis Republic, Port Pylos saw Intis colonists withdraw after the war a few years ago. Subsequently, various factions from the Feynapotter Kingdom, maintaining a favorable relationship with Admiral Querarill, took control.
Lumian’s target, Hisoka, was yet to surface in Port Pylos, but Lumian knew that the two pranks he had engaged in were in Matani. One occurred in Tizamo Town, at the outskirts of Port Pylos, closest to the forest, and the other in Devise, the southernmost gold mine city in Matani.
As Lumian unbuttoned the second button on his linen shirt, he remarked to Lugano in a self-deprecating tone,
“I feel like I’m shunned by winter and have been living in a scorching environment.”
Having arrived in Port Santa during late autumn, which was relatively hot and sunny, Lumian moved on to Port Colla as Port Santa began to cool. His journey continued through what his sister called the tropics, devoid of winter and maintaining a temperature of at least around 20 degrees Celsius.
While Trier was already in midwinter, the Southern Continent was experiencing the height of summer.
This made Lumian’s specially prepared black tweed coat and Gehrman-styled trench coat impractical.
“Because we’ve been traveling south all autumn,” Lugano declared authoritatively on matters of weather and seasons.
Lumian donned a golden straw hat and strolled down the gangway to the port, hand in hand with Ludwig.
He boldly embodied the traits of the adventurer Louis Berry.
Initially, Lumian had contemplated altering his strategy, adopting a new identity to discreetly investigate the two pranks in Matani and uncover Hisoka without drawing attention. However, after Franca vividly detailed Hisoka’s usual characteristics to Anthony Reid, the Hypnotist’s profiling revealed an exceptionally aggressive trait, ranking among the top.
As a result, Lumian reconsidered and returned to his role of casting out “bait.”
Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that success was a slim possibility. The sea sacrificial ritual and Loki’s survival had likely provided Hisoka with a comprehensive understanding of the factions backing him. April Fool’s, with its former display of resources and energy, seemed ill-equipped to challenge the might of the Tarot Club. And Lumian wasn’t solely relying on the Tarot Club for support.
If he were in Hisoka’s shoes, Lumian would opt for patience. He’d wait a month or two, allowing the vengeful enemy to grow restless and make mistakes. When the formidable forces behind him could no longer guarantee protection, he’d launch a surprise attack.
For now, let’s not devise a plan. I’ll consider it when I find clues, Lumian muttered to himself. Leaving the port alongside a throng of passengers, he reached the public carriage stop.
Numerous rental carriages and pitch-black or vermilion coffins were parked nearby.
Coffins? Despite having read many travelog books on West Balam’s customs, Lumian found it absurd to witness coffins lining the roadside.
Before the invasion of the Northern Continent, before East and West Balam’s division, the Balam Empire revered Death—
the Emperor of the Underworld from the War of the Four Emperors. Thus, the locals valued and loved coffins, considering them objects that brought peace, tranquility, and the blessing of Death. When traveling, they would lie inside, carried by people or pulled by horses and single-horned goats.
Of course, this form of transportation was reserved for those of a certain wealth level. Ordinary people couldn’t even afford lying in a coffin.
After a momentary daze, Lumian addressed Lugano and Ludwig with interest, “Do you want to take the coffin? I plan to give it a try.”
“I-I’ll pass,” Lugano replied, finding the idea of lying in a coffin unsettling.
Ludwig shifted his attention to the nearby street vendors.
The aroma of corn and potatoes intertwined, enticing every passerby and prompting increased saliva production.
“How lame,” Lumian teased with a smile. Approaching the four locals with disheveled black hair and dark brown skin, he raised his right hand and pointed at the pitch-black coffin beneath the shade of a tree.
“How much?” Lugano inquired in fluent Dutanese before Lumian could.
“How much?” Lugano inquired in fluent Dutanese before Lumian could.
His linguistic talent was evident. Less than a month had passed since their departure from Port Santa to their arrival at Port Pylos, and he could already communicate with people in Dutanese. Of course, his proficiency was limited to basic words and short sentences.
A half-naked local in linen pants replied in Dutanese,
“Nearby, 40 coppet; faraway, 1 verl d’or.”
Recognizing the foreigner’s inquiry, he refrained from quoting the price in the local currency, Delexi, the Intisian term for copper coins.
Quite affordable. This coffin, carried by four people, should be considerably cheaper than the one carried by eight… Lumian mused, appreciating the direct use of verl d’or and coppet. It showcased the recent Intisian influence in the former colony, lost only a few years ago. Lumian’s grasp of Dutanese surpassed Lugano’s, thanks to the mid-level Language Comprehension charm he had used on the ship.
Learning Dutanese in this manner proved more efficient.
Regarding charm consumption, Lumian harbored no concerns. In his view, items served a purpose, and there was no concept of waste as long as they proved useful. He couldn’t align with those miserly individuals who hoarded their wealth throughout life, only for it to benefit others after their demise. If he urgently needed Language Comprehension charms, he could acquire them from the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society. If their gathering didn’t align with his schedule, teleporting to various cities in Lenburg would allow him to purchase them from the Church of Knowledge.
“Sure,” Lumian nodded at Lugano and said, “Let’s go to Hotel Orella.”
After Lugano paid 1 verl d’or, the local who had quoted the price lifted the thin coffin lid, revealing the interior covered with thick dark-red cloth and a stiff neck pillow.
Excitedly, Lumian removed his golden straw hat and lay down, immediately feeling a cooling sensation enveloping his body.
In the hot season, the coffin effectively dispelled the humidity.
Is it the coffin’s wood or the sun-screening black paint, or perhaps the shade of the tree? It feels like stepping into a morgue in the summer—surprisingly comfortable… Lumian observed the thin coffin lid closing, witnessing the shadows rapidly expanding until they dominated his world.
Outside, the voices became muffled in his ears.
The coffin was lifted, swaying slightly as it moved forward.
Within Lumian’s view, everything was dark, and his surroundings exuded a sinister, cold ambiance. For some reason, it felt like he was walking toward death, touching it.
Setting aside the psychological discomfort, it isn’t bad. The only downside is the tendency to easily fall asleep… Lumian evaluated the mode of transportation in a good mood. It’s unsuitable for mixed-gender rides, which could be more awkward. Heh heh, I wonder if the “romantic” Intisians have ever engaged in an affair under such circumstances?
Nearly half an hour later, the coffin halted in front of Hotel Orella.
Lumian stepped out, finding himself in front of a small, man-
made valley.
Rows of grayish-black stone rooms encircled the inner wall of the “deep valley” until reaching the bottom.
This was Port Pylos’s most renowned Hotel Orella.
Originally belonging to a Balam royal family descendant, Orella Eggers, it had been constructed with the intent of approaching death. Later, it fell into the hands of Intis colonists.
Upon the Feynapotterians’ arrival, they perceived it as a symbol of entering the earth and returning to the land, prompting its transformation into a sizable hotel.