Chapter 311 - 311 Strange Boy
311 Strange Boy
Lenburg? Baron Brignais’s illegitimate son or godchild resides in Lenburg? Lumian was puzzled, his mind racing with playful guesses.
Baron Brignais places a high value on education, entrusting his most beloved child to the kingdom of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom for learning…
Lumian studied the young lad before him and asked in a laid-back tone, “Aren’t you supposed to be hitting the books in Lenburg at your age? The education there is leagues ahead of what Trier offers.”
The boy’s face lit up with an oddly animated expression. “Nah, I’m not up for the daily grind of school, burning the midnight oil over homework, and tackling exams every month!”
Sounds a little terrifying… A shiver trickled down Lumian’s spine at the thought of such a life.
At the very least, it didn’t sit right with him.
Agreeing with a nod, Lumian casually asked, “Are live rats tasty?”
The boy regained his composure. “It’s not exactly gourmet, but I can’t be choosy when hunger gnaws. Waiting till midday to raid the kitchen doesn’t cut it. True bliss is savoring a meal whipped up by a maestro chef. And some mild hunger pangs do add a certain… flair.”
After explaining, he must have felt he came across too mature and quickly recalibrated.
“Can’t blame me if your kitchen’s dragging its feet until noon!”
Well, that’s hardly the point, now, is it? When I was wandering about without a proper place to stay, I sure as heck didn’t have any notions of munching on live rats. The big issue, of course, was that I couldn’t even catch the pesky things. And if by some miracle I did, then I had to somehow figure out how to set up a fire, skin them, and roast them. But this kid right here? He’s out here grabbing rats, using nothing but his own bare hands. His strength or maybe just his good luck isn’t half bad, I’ll give him that. It’s not even an hour away from noon, and he’s acting like he’s got an insatiable hunger? The more Lumian looked at him, the more he was convinced there was something peculiar about this little lad.
Amused, he inquired, “Brignais didn’t bother to feed you, then? Need me to escort you to the police headquarters so you can lodge a complaint about his child abuse?”
“Well, aside from pestering me about my studies, he’s alright. He makes sure I have a proper meal every two hours. On top of that, he whips up cakes, biscuits, roasted meat, and pies for those midnight hunger pangs.” A subtle lick of the lips revealed the boy’s longing.
Are you a pig? Lumian had never eaten so much while undergoing puberty.
And yet, the lad didn’t appear overweight, only solidly built.
In the blink of an eye, the boy’s gaze shifted as he spoke in rapid succession, “Perhaps studying demands a lot of energy. I need all this sustenance to keep my brain firing on all cylinders.”
Is there no saying about how “trying to explain is just a cover-up” in Lenburg’s education? Your elaborate justification makes me wonder if your appetite is problematic… All this eating hasn’t exactly made you a genius, has it? Lumian grinned and quipped, “If Brignais wasn’t intentionally starving you, why resort to raw rats and steak?”
In a frustrated tone, the boy retorted, “I managed to slip away without breakfast or morning tea today!”
And yet, you’re so famished that you’re downing raw rats? If you go hungry for another half day or so, will you start eying pedestrians on the street? With a fluid motion, Lumian produced an iron-gray military flask from his shirt pocket.
His left hand slid into his trouser pocket, deftly unscrewing the cap of the flask before tucking it away.
Lumian raised the iron-gray metal flask, breathing in the fragrance with a satisfied grin. He inquired, his voice light, “Fancy a sip?”
Gulp! The boy’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed his saliva.
Struggling, he responded, “I’m not of age yet. I’m just a kid!”
He’s tasted it before, and he’s taken a liking to it… Lumian passed his judgment and swallowed a mouthful of the spirit.
Maintaining the military flask at his lips, he spoke in a casual tone, a question hanging in the air, “Which deity do you believe in?”
“Why’re you asking?” the boy inquired cautiously.
Seeing the lack of alarm, Lumian breathed a sigh of relief. He tipped the flask again, the liquid gurgling.
He lowered the military flask, his expression bright as he spoke with clarity, “As a devout follower of the God of Steam and Machinery, I’ve got to verify the faith of those with uncertain origins.”
“By steam!”
This time, Lumian spoke without the veil of alcohol.
Subconsciously, the boy shook his head.
“Words don’t mean much. Just saying I believe in whichever deity doesn’t make it true.”
Lumian studied the boy’s reaction. “It’s true that folks from the orthodox Churches can sometimes claim belief in any deity without much sincerity, but they’re harmless. I’m more concerned about worshipers of evil gods. They’re fervent and unpredictable. They won’t fake it to deceive others, believing that to be against their faith and blasphemous.”
Instinctively, the boy retorted, “Not always. Some followers of evil gods will pose as adherents of the orthodox gods to further their holy missions. They can pray, attend rituals, join Mass, and chant the names of other gods without a second thought—as long as they repent to their own deity afterward, they reckon there’s no issue…”
At that moment, the young lad abruptly halted. He exchanged gazes with Lumian and lapsed into a prolonged silence.
After a spell, he took a bite out of his uncooked steak and introduced himself, “I’m a believer of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom. The devoted faithful in our Church have this peculiar knack for pointing out slip-ups in the other party’s speech, just like before. Yep, just like before!”
Lumian fixed a piercing gaze on the lad for a few beats before inquiring, “What might be the usual prayers at the God of Knowledge and Wisdom Church?”
Quick as a flash, the boy responded, “Like I was saying earlier, folks who believe in those evil gods can mutter the honorific name of an orthodox god with a heavy heart and toss out those prayers. You can’t rightly figure out what’s in others’ minds unless you’re a card-carrying member of the Eternal Blazing Sun Church and you’ve got it notarized that you won’t lie…”
With that, the lad clammed up once more, his gaze fixed vacantly on Lumian.
After a brief pause, he stretched out his empty right hand, and pressed it to his forehead. “May wisdom be with you!”
Such a foolish fellow shouldn’t be a spy sent by an evil god… From his intelligence, he’s really a child… Lumian struggled to maintain his composure, requiring a concealed deep breath to regain control over his facial muscles.
“Indeed,” he concurred, his lips curving into a smile. Mirroring the boy’s action, he brushed his head with the base of the iron-gray military flask and uttered with significance, “May wisdom be with you!”
Without affording the boy a chance to reply, Lumian adopted an alluring tone. “Would you care to join me at the café on the second floor? I’ll treat you to a proper meal. The chefs here are quite remarkable.”
The boy swallowed visibly. “You won’t turn against me, will you?”
“You can tail me the entire time. That way, I won’t ever get a shot at double-crossing you.” Lumian initiated a little trial, testing if the other guy’s brains matched his looks and age, or maybe they lagged behind. “And mind you, we only prohibit the God of Knowledge and Wisdom Church from preaching in Intis or setting up a cathedral. We do let their believers cross the border. Trier’s got the Lenburg Chamber of Commerce, you see.”
The boy pondered for a moment and said, “Okay.”
Lumian sized him up, withdrew his left hand, sealed the liquor flask, and tucked the iron-gray flask back in his brown coat.
Then, he pressed his forehead again. “May wisdom be with you!”
With that, Lumian pivoted and ascended the stairs.
The kid stuck to him, politely shutting the cellar’s deep-brown door behind him.
Seeing Lumian whirl around, the kid explained earnestly, “If it’s left open, the food inside will spoil.”
“True enough.” Lumian pulled his gaze and climbed up the stairs.
The kid trailed him close, eyes peeled for any odd moves, any signs of betrayal.
Lumian steered him into the kitchen, then upstairs to the café on the second floor and ordered a set meal.
In no time, the spread hit the table: fried veal steak, grilled eel, roasted leg of lamb, chicken pie, red wine, and cream.
Lumian settled in, watching the kid wolfing down like he was bottomless.
Every now and then, he tossed a comment,
“Veal is crisped good, but the meat is nothing special…
“Sweet sauce masks the eel’s fishiness, but it makes it greasy…
“Leg of lamb is roasted just right, crispy outside, tender inside. Spices are off a touch, though. Too much fennel…
“…”
Just eat. Why are you so talkative… Lumian silently watched the boy eat the table full of food with a satisfied expression.
Fifteen minutes later, Baron Brignais walked in from the second-floor entrance, donning a half top hat with a diamond ring shining.
The boy turned in surprise and glanced back at Lumian.
Lumian smiled and said, “Did you think I’m the only one here who knows you?”
The boy was startled as he fell silent.
Baron Brignais walked up to Lumian and said with unconcealed relaxation, “Appreciate it, Ciel.”
“Just so happened to catch him skulking around in the cellar, munching on something,” Lumian responded, his voice warm and friendly.
Baron Brignais gave him a sidelong glance before shifting his attention to the boy. “Time to head back, Ludwig.”
Ludwig, the young boy, remained silent. Swiftly, he polished off the last remnants of his meal and rose from his seat.
“Ciel, we’ll catch up,” Baron Brignais directed a nod at Lumian.
Seated opposite, Lumian observed as Baron Brignais clasped Ludwig’s hand, their departure imminent. Lumian’s lips curved again before saying, “Don’t forget to settle the tab.”
Baron Brignais displayed a hint of surprise. His eyes flickered, suggesting a momentary uncertainty in his initial assessment.
Yet without uttering a word, he withdrew a wallet brimming with banknotes and promptly covered the cost of Ludwig’s meal.
Lumian maintained a contemplative silence, watching the duo disappear down the stairwell. Leaning back in his chair, he murmured softly, his voice a mere whisper, “Temiboros, where exactly is the stroke of fate you mentioned?”