Chapter 1063 - Chapter 1063 Helpers
Chapter 1063 Helpers
Upon hearing Ma’am Hermit’s words, Lumian’s eyes suddenly lit up.
The corners of his mouth gradually turned upward, his smile becoming quite bright. “What can I do to help?”
…
Trier, cathedral district.
At the entrance of the Church of Steam and Machinery’s patriarchal cathedral, with its towering iron-black chimneys, Lumian, wearing a lady’s soft hat and face covered by a black veil, looked up for two seconds before walking through the open doors into the interior.
The first thing that caught his eye were thick grayish-white pipes crisscrossing everywhere—some attached to walls, some supported by pillars, some winding across the dome.
They were components of a giant steam engine, or rather, this cathedral was made up of a giant steam engine and several other large mechanical devices.
Currently, no heat radiated from these pipes, but come winter, when the giant steam engine would run continuously, the entire patriarchal cathedral would be enveloped in warmth, allowing worshippers to experience the pleasantness of early summer.
Lumian then saw many believers walking out, seemingly having just finished listening to a sermon, still immersed in the solemn atmosphere.
Lumian passed by them, walking toward the altar area.
Many believers, both men and women, suddenly found their gazes following this tall, beautiful figure, unconsciously turning their bodies sideways and looking back.
Lumian walked forward naturally, neither fast nor slow.
Arriving at the first row of seats before the altar, he gazed at the Triangular Sacred Emblem representing the God of Steam and Machinery, his eyes slowly moving between the symbols of steam, gears, and levers within the solid triangle.
At this moment, he wasn’t thinking about how sacred or mechanically beautiful it was, but rather pondering a question, If the God of Steam and Machinery truly evolved into the God of Electric Power and Information Technology, what would this Sacred Emblem look like?
Lumian controlled his blasphemous thoughts and, under the watching eyes of the preaching bishop, sat in the first row near the center aisle, raised his hands, lowered his head, and began to pray.
When his spiritual intuition told him that the bishop had looked away, he reached into his Traveler’s Bag.
He took out a mobile phone.
The one he had used in the dream city.
Of course, this wasn’t real, but rather woven from his memories by Madam Dreamweaver—it had no functions and couldn’t last long.
The woven phone’s screen was lit, displaying a WeChat dialogue box between Lumian and Stiano.
The content of the conversation showed Stiano sending Lumian a mini-program called “Information Shredder.”
Lumian held this false, dream-like phone and began praying again, “Great God of Steam and Machinery, You are the embodiment of essence, the protector of artisans, the glory of technology, please grant me once again the ability to shred information, effective for one week…”
After praying earnestly, Lumian drew the Triangular Sacred Emblem across his chest with his right hand.
At the same time, he felt a subtle change.
He lowered his head and looked again at the dream phone in his left hand, finding it seemed more tangible now.
Lumian instinctively swiped the screen with his finger, watching the dialogue box retreat to WeChat’s main interface.
Then, he switched back to the home screen and found all the previously downloaded apps were there.
Was a real phone created based on the corresponding information? Is this the glory of technology, a Sequence 0 true god? Although Lumian was already a Sequence 3 Demoness of Unaging, he was still quite amazed.
He studied it for a while, confirming that the phone really worked, just without network connectivity.
Of course, the Information Shredder didn’t need an internet connection.
…
In an apartment on Avenue du Boulevard.
Professor, Associate Professor, Periodic Table, Isotope, and two other Warlocks currently in Trier sat on the sofa, backed chair, and armchair, looking at each other with unease and anxiety.
After receiving Hidden Blade’s request for an urgent meeting, they contacted each other and, after much consideration, finally decided to meet with her.
Of course, they chose the time and place.
“What urgent matter could Hidden Blade have?” Isotope whispered with concern.
If it weren’t for Hidden Blade’s consistently good reputation and character, they would definitely have refused such a hasty meeting request without specific details.
“Whatever her purpose, I believe she has good intentions,” Professor, wearing a black butterfly mask, said looking around. “Besides, don’t we also have something to discuss with her?”
Everyone nodded.
At this moment, they heard a knock at the door, using Morse code.
“Come in,” all the members of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society present straightened their backs.
Not only did Hidden Blade enter, wearing her “assassin outfit” but with hood down, revealing her striking features, but also Hela, dressed as Black Widow.
“Madame Hela, you’re here too?” Periodic Table and others stood up simultaneously.
Listen to that, just listen to that, you’ve never addressed me as “Madame”! Though Franca complained internally, she wasn’t actually upset—too many “Madames” would give her goosebumps.
Hela nodded slightly and replied, “I’m here to vouch for Hidden Blade and handle the aftermath.”
Professor and the others immediately turned their gaze toward Franca.
This time, they were all captivated by the Demoness of Unaging’s features, momentarily unable to look away.
Franca walked to the fireplace where no charcoal was burning, and smiled at Professor and the others. “Please sit down.
“Actually, I’m here today to ask for your help. Look, I’ve even shown my face to help you trust me more.”
Professor, who had sat back down, asked puzzledly, “Hidden Blade, you’re already a demigod, what could we possibly help you with?”
Franca glanced at Hela, waited for her to nod, waited for the night outside to seem deeper, then said with a smile to Professor, Associate Professor, Isotope, and others,
“Would you like to completely solve the problem of the Hidden Sage force-feeding you knowledge?”
“Completely solve it?” Professor was quite a calm woman, but even she couldn’t help blurting out.
This was something they had never thought possible—no, they had fantasized about it when they were weak and ignorant.
“How to completely solve it? Can we really help?” Periodic Table, who had already clearly told Franca she was a member of the Moses Ascetic Order, asked repeatedly.
Although she didn’t hold much hope, even if it was just a straw floating on water, she wanted to grasp it.
The other Warlocks present shared the same mindset.
Franca didn’t answer immediately, watching as they raised one question after another.
Finally, Professor, with pale lips and a somewhat pale complexion, smiled bitterly and said,
“Hidden Blade, actually, we were preparing to consult you about this matter.
“Previously, Muggle told us that the small ritual plaza at the entrance of the third level of the catacombs had divine power remnants that could block most external influences. That really helped us tremendously, even saved many of our lives. Otherwise, with the Hidden Sage’s increasingly frequent and crazy knowledge infusions, some might barely hang on, but others would probably be gone already.
“What we wanted to ask you is, after leaving Trier, are there other places that can block the Hidden Sage’s infusions, or are there ways to reduce the negative effects?”
Indeed, while others are reluctant to leave Trier mainly for emotional reasons, Professor and others have a practical need, a life-or-death need… I was planning to have Lumian ask Ma’am Hermit if she, as a senior on the Warlock pathway, had any good methods to “plug ears,” then trade for that method and tell all the Warlocks in the Research Society… But now… Franca suddenly felt somewhat emotional.
Then, she smiled and said to Professor and the others, “The solution is to kill the Hidden Sage.”
“You’re… not joking, are you?” Associate Professor asked with difficulty.
Isotope followed up, “Hidden Blade, although you’ve become a demigod, the gap between you and the Hidden Sage might be even bigger than the gap between us and you. It’s a fundamental difference.”
“Even the entire Research Society together couldn’t handle the Hidden Sage.” Professor likewise had no confidence.
Franca smiled. “I’m not the main force.
“This matter has some big shots taking the lead, I’m just providing support.”
“Big shots…” Professor pondered before asking, “How big?”
Franca pointed to the sky. “That big, even bigger than the Hidden Sage.”
Isotope, Periodic Table, and others looked at Hidden Blade, suddenly remembering that Sequence 4 demigods could already be called Saints, and were definitely high-ranking even within orthodox churches.
Their gazes moved back and forth between Franca and Madame Hela several times, gradually understanding that they might be involved in an event worthy of recording in mysticism history.
A divine war!
“Is this what you sought us out for? We’re not even demigods…” Professor said hesitantly.
“You won’t need to fight the Hidden Sage. Like me, you’ll be doing support work,” Hidden Blade Franca thought for a moment before saying, “This matter does carry some risk, though not from combat—other demigods and I will handle intercepting all enemies and monsters. Your danger comes from something else, but it won’t be much more dangerous than receiving another knowledge infusion from the Hidden Sage. I can’t tell you the specifics now.”
The six Warlocks present again communicated with their eyes, both somewhat tempted by this excellent opportunity to escape the Hidden Sage’s threat, and very nervous and worried.
After a few seconds, Associate Professor asked, “Are you confident?”
“We wouldn’t be planning this hunting operation if we weren’t confident. Don’t worry, even if we fail, the Hidden Sage won’t discover your betrayal. Trust me, by failure I mean not successfully killing the Hidden Sage and letting Him escape, not that the Hidden Sage could win.” Franca displayed complete confidence.
“Why ask for our help, why us?” Professor asked, as if making a final confirmation.
“Warlocks, transmigrators, gray fog aura,” Franca answered simply. “Don’t ask me what gray fog aura is right now.”
Periodic Table’s face, covered in chemical symbols, frowned. “Muggle also meets these conditions, why don’t you ask her?”
Franca immediately smiled. “In this operation, she has a more important task.”