Chapter 3: Hunter and Warrior
7th November 1352
Intis Republic, Riston Province, Bigorre City, Central Traveler's Hotel
-Lumian Lee-
"I didn't keep you waiting long, did I?" Lumian asked the ash-silver haired woman, who had been seated in the lobby awaiting his arrival.
Angel folded the newspaper—the Bigorre Daily—she'd been reading, setting it aside on the table, her gold eyes meeting his blue ones. "I only arrived five minutes ago," she replied, lifting her trunk and rising from her seat to fall into step beside him as they exited the hotel.
The Hunter responded with a hum of acknowledgment, though his mind lingered on what he'd just glimpsed on the front page.
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Another Life Taken as Bigorre Faces Unprecedented Violence!
Over the past three days, the provincial capital of Bigorre has been shaken by a series of killings unlike anything in its recorded history. The violence began with the fatal shooting of a police officer at night, followed by the murder of residents in the city's slums, and now the killing of a priest from L'Église de la Lumière Dorée (Church of Golden Light) in his own home.
Authorities say the victims share no personal connection, social background, or apparent link, deepening fears that the attacks are random. With no suspects identified and no motive established, investigators are increasingly considering the possibility of a serial killer. City officials note that such a sequence of murders is unheard of since the founding of Bigorre, leaving residents anxious as police race to prevent another strike.
---
"The murders," Angel broke the silence, speaking in English, "do you know anything about them?"
Oh? Lumian raised an eyebrow in response, his lips curling into a smile as he replied in Intisian, "What makes you think I would know?" He held her gaze unflinchingly.
The Warrior met his stare for long seconds, her expression neutral, before turning away. "Nothing."
In response to her curt answer, Lumian simply chuckled, casting a sideways glance at her whitened knuckles—trembling—where they gripped her trunk.
Perhaps I got too greedy, assassinating someone three days in a row? In his defense, all the people he'd killed were scum. The priest from last night had even proven the stereotype about them being kiddy fiddlers true. It wasn't his fault that the mayor or the Church wanted to hide their dirty laundry.
But maybe his overeagerness to 'Act' as an Assassin had gotten the better of him. It wouldn't be too difficult to soon narrow down the killer to one of the individuals who had arrived in Bigorre during the last three days, once other suspects were cleared. Especially now that he'd killed a priest of the Eternal Blazing Sun Church, that would undoubtedly prompt the local Beyonders to take action.
Lumian flagged a carriage and gestured for Angel to climb aboard.
"Where to, Monsieur, Madame?" the driver inquired.
"Rue de la Gespe," the Hunter stated simply.
At his response, the driver cast an appraising glance at their quality clothing before nodding without further questions.
Angel, however, didn't accept his destination without question, pressing in English, "Why are we going to the slums?"
"To leave the city," the raven-haired teen replied shortly, opening his bag and withdrawing two black cloaks, handing one to his fellow transmigrator. "So as not to stand out in the slums." He said.
"Why not leave the city by steam train or carriage the normal way?" Angel asked carefully as she draped the cloak over her shoulders.
Lumian didn't bat an eye at her probing inquiry. He wasn't a Spectator—someone who could read every subtle bodily cue—but he could infer based on what he'd observed that her thoughts were likely running along the lines of, 'So he is the killer,' or 'Did he realize I know and is taking me to the slums to silence me?'
In fact, he wasn't sure whether to feel impressed or puzzled that she was following so readily despite her suspicions. Was she one of those 'I can fix him' types? Or was she clinging to him because of their shared identity as Earthlings? Perhaps she didn't even care about the deaths and simply agreed with him as a means to survive in this unfamiliar world? These considerations flickered through the Hunter's mind as he answered without pausing to think.
"Official Beyonders," Lumian said, "they have ways of discovering us—'Wild Beyonders'—and to them, we'll be suspects even if we have alibis. So it's not worth the risk of potentially encountering them."
"Official Beyonders?" Angel's eyebrows rose at the unfamiliar terminology. "Do they work for the government? As part of the military?"
"Not just the military, but also the Orthodox Churches," the Assassin clarified, adding, "Both the Churches and the kingdoms maintain divisions for Beyonders, handling supernatural and mystical matters that arise. I'll introduce you to the relevant information when we reach our destination."
The Warrior's lips parted again, and guessing her forthcoming question, Lumian answered preemptively:
"Cordu Village. Our destination is Cordu Village in the Dariège Region."
….
Rue de la Gespe
-Angel Leblanc-
"Surprised?" Hearing the voice beside her, Angel could only manage a slight nod, her gaze fixed on the street unfolding before them.
Rue de la Gespe was a narrow, winding lane that sprawled outward like an afterthought the city wished to forget. Here, the buildings leaned toward one another as though seeking support, their timber frames exposed and rotting, plaster cracked and stained brown from decades of damp and neglect. The cobblestones beneath were uneven, treacherous, glistening with the contents of chamber pots emptied from upper windows, the stench of refuse and unwashed bodies clinging to the air like a physical presence.
Unlike the broad, gaslit boulevards of Biggore's respectable quarters—with their stone-faced townhouses and tidy shopfronts—this lane seemed to belonged to another city entirely. Here, laundry hung from every window like tattered flags of surrender.
It looked worlds apart from... from everything, really. Angel's lips downturned, eyebrows drawn together in a frown that deepened the longer she observed this parallel existence mere streets away from the city's prosperity.
"Places like this exist everywhere," The sudden comment pulled her attention back, as she glanced at Lumian's cloaked back. "They call them different names: the barrio, the favela, the slum, the ghetto. But they're always there, tucked away like a shameful secret everyone pretends not to see. In my country, we had whole hillsides covered in them, homes built from scrap wood and tin sheets, clinging to the slopes overlooking the wealthy districts below. The government would send in the National Guard when things got too desperate, when hunger pushed people to take what they needed from those who had too much. And the newspapers would write about restoring order, about the dangers of lawlessness, never once mentioning the empty stomachs that made lawlessness seem like the only option."
A humourless laugh escaped his lips. "Did you know, my dad went out one random Tuesday to scrounge together some food, only for me to find his bloodied corpse surrounded by flies later that day. I was ten back then." He turned around to face her.
Angel's words caught in her throat as she saw the unexpected expression on his face. The man she suspected was a serial killer looked...weary, as if the weight of decades pressed on his shoulders.
But it only lasted a few moments before his features slipped back into that familiar mask. The confident smiling mien, the easy curl of lips that promised nothing and hid everything.
Angel suddenly felt confused about the individual named 'Lumian Lee'. She had first pegged him as a playful youth, but that changed when he pointed out her Transmigrator status. Then when the killings over the past three days coincided with his appearance, her opinion shifted to him possibly being a psychopathic killer. And now he seemed like a world-weary man who had witnessed enough hardship, disappointment, and human folly.
Which was the real Lumian Lee?
The Warrior wasn't given time to ponder the question as the man—now teen—in question signalled to her.
"Come." He dipped suddenly into a narrow alleyway that gaped between two crumbling buildings.
She glanced around, noticing a few eyes drifting her way, specifically her exposed ash-silver hair. Angel quickly pulled her hood up, ducking into the alleyway.
They walked for about a minute, twisting and turning through several alleyways. Angel noted how effortlessly Lumian navigated the maze-like terrain.
Is this the ability of a 'Hunter'? The Warrior couldn't help but wonder, then remembering the raven-haired teen's previous words, Or is it experience?
"Catch."
The gold-eyed woman reflexively stretched out her arm, catching the object thrown at her. She glanced down and saw, "A mask?" Although surprised, Angel didn't ask any unnecessary questions—for one, she preferred keeping to herself rather than talking constantly, and for two, the mask's purpose in the city's current situation was self-explanatory.
However, she would unhesitatingly voice certain questions, such as the sudden turn of events.
"…How do you have a motorbike?" The young woman blankly stared at the sleek, matte black, futuristic-looking vehicle, her mouth falling open.
"It's an artifact." Lumian said matter-of-factly, as if it were perfectly normal for such an object to exist in this time period. "Are you going to hop on or stare like a goldfish?" He turned to her, his knowing smile visible as he wore a half mask.
Angel took a deep breath, and after a moment she placed her trunk in the rear rack alongside the Hunter's bag before hopping onto the bike.
"Even if you're safe from all harm while on the bike, I'd recommend you hold on tight." Lumian warned, hands on the handlebars.
The sound of a low, smooth whirring reached the Warrior's ears, reminding her that this was not the usual petrol-powered motorbikes she was familiar with. So, after a brief moment of hesitation, she wrapped her arms around Lumian's waist, leaning her body into his back.
To distract herself from thinking about the fact that she was pressing her breasts against the body of someone who looked fifteen—an act that'd land her on a registry back on Earth—she asked, "Isn't it dangerous to drive in these narrow alleyways?"
In response, a chuckle sounded. "Who said anything about travelling in alleyways?"
Before the ash-silver haired woman could follow up, the bike moved.
One instant they were stationary, and the next, they were travelling at Mach speeds through a world transformed into a kaleidoscope of colours.
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A/N: Who needs 'Travelling' ability when you have a indestructible vehicle that can traverse through realms and space and keep you unharmed as long as you are on or in it. It would be quite funny and fitting to make the 'Chariot' transform into the Mystery Machine from Scooby-Doo, ramming through all obstacles.