Mystery: The Witch of Desire

"Lucy, don't worry too much. Maybe you've just been too tired and stressed from rehearsals lately. I'll treat you to lunch so you can relax and maybe you'll feel better."

Looking into Livril's gentle eyes, Lucy forced a smile onto her tired face, her voice tinged with gratitude:

"Thank you, Miss Marilyn, you're so kind..."

At noon, the two went to a quiet little restaurant near the theater troupe and found a corner seat by the window. While pouring Lucy some warm water, Livre subtly steered the conversation:

"Lucy, besides rehearsals, has anything else happened lately? Have you encountered any strange people, or had any small things happen that bothered you?"

Lucy picked up her water glass, took a small sip, pondered for a moment, and shook her head, saying:

"Nothing special, I was just focused on the troupe's rehearsals, going back and forth between home and the troupe every day, and didn't do anything else."

Livre asked again:

"Who have you been interacting with the most in the theater troupe lately? Has anyone approached you or said anything strange to you?"

“You’re the one I’ve had the most contact with, Miss Marilyn,” Lucy said softly. “As for the others… I spoke with Mr. Bright a few days ago. He asked about my family situation, whether I had any relatives or anything, but nothing else. Apart from that, I helped old Fitch tune his lute and helped Carlotty fix her makeup… Other than that, it was just normal rehearsals, nothing special.”

After speaking, she looked at Livre with some confusion:

"Miss Marilyn Monroe? Why are you asking these questions?"

Liviel gave a gentle smile and shook her head slightly:

"It's nothing, I just noticed you haven't been doing well lately and was worried you might be in some trouble. Since it's just because you're tired from rehearsals, just take a good rest and don't put too much pressure on yourself. You'll feel better eventually."

She didn't ask any more questions, fearing that pressing for answers would only make Lucy more panicked.

After lunch, the two returned to the theater troupe together. After the afternoon rehearsal, Livr quickly left Paria. She didn't perform divination at the troupe, fearing that her spirituality during the divination would be sensed by Bright and the others.

Once she was a safe distance from Paria, Livre immediately took out a mirror, lightly touched its surface with her fingertips, and solemnly muttered:

Lucy is in danger.

The moment the words left her lips, the once clear and calm mirror surface instantly rippled violently, light and shadow distorted, and the fluctuations became rapid and turbulent. This was a sign of danger, indicating that Lucy might be in peril!

Livre's heart sank, and she turned and ran frantically toward the Backlund Bridge district where Lucy lived. She didn't know Lucy's exact address, so she could only search along the main road that the Paria Theatre Company might take to get to the bridge district.

She hadn't run out for long, and hadn't even left the Joewood district, when she saw a large crowd gathered under a bridge ahead, pointing and whispering about what was happening below. A faint smell of blood permeated the air.

A strong sense of foreboding gripped Liviel's heart instantly. She quickly pushed through the crowd, her gaze fixed on the ground below the bridge. There, on the cold ground, lay a lifeless woman, a face she knew all too well!

"Carloti!"

Seeing her colleague, with whom she had spent every day in the theater troupe, die a violent death, Livre froze, her feet rooted to the spot.

After a long while, she finally recovered from her shock and carefully examined Carlotty's body: her body was covered in black marks, her face was contorted with fear, the hem of her dress was intact, and her purse lay to the side. Clearly, the killer hadn't committed the murder for money or rape, but rather for sheer torture, to savor the victim's fear, and to extract that dark emotion!

Livre trembled slightly as she noticed a pervasive atmosphere of panic among the surrounding crowd.

This is the second similar murder case in recent times, and the shadow of the serial killings has brought uncontrollable panic.

Looking at Carloti's grotesquely mutilated corpse and feeling the pervasive fear around her, a surge of anger welled up within Livre:

That witch hiding in the shadows must have felt the potion being digested!

Is that you, Mrs. Luna Bell, the Dark Magician?

She activated her spiritual vision again, her gaze falling on Carloti's corpse. Carloti had not been dead for long; his weakened celestial body could still barely maintain the outline of a living person, but its depths had long since turned pitch black, exactly like Isabella's appearance before her death, revealing an eerie evil.

"What is this? Is it some kind of pollution, or a curse?" Livre frowned, her mind filled with doubt. "Does it mean that death will come once the depths of a Protoss's body turn pitch black?"

Luna Bell's instigation still echoed in my ears. The phrase "Only by accepting the evil of a witch can you gain power" now seemed more like a deadly prophecy. Were those astral beings who turned black sacrifices for her to digest witch potions? Did she deliberately lure these people into fear and then personally end them, thus fulfilling her role as a witch and gradually moving closer to evil?

As she pondered this, the piercing sound of police whistles rang out in the distance. Several police officers rushed over, set up a cordon, and dispersed the crowd. Taking advantage of the chaos, Livr quietly turned and left the scene.

Two members of the Paria Theatre Troupe have been brutally murdered in just a few days. The bizarre deaths have instilled a strong sense of crisis in Lively. Will Lucy be next? Will it be anyone else in the troupe? Or even herself?

To deal with potential dangers, Livre needs to find ways to improve her strength.

She touched her lower abdomen through her dress, feeling the scent of the black pattern beneath the fabric.

In critical moments, she can pray to Chick again, but she doesn't intend to use that power easily for the time being.

She went straight to the Brave Ones Bar and met Redbeard.

"I paid an extremely high price to help you get that file," Redbeard said in a deep voice. "I hope you won't disappoint me. The extraordinary properties of that Sequence 8 should be realized as soon as possible."

Livre nodded slightly, her tone resolute:

"Don't worry, I've already figured out the extraordinary characteristics of Sequence 8. Although it's not one of the three paths you initially specified, it's still a spiritually significant one, and I think you'll be satisfied."

She has set her sights on Bright's extraordinary qualities.

Redbeard's face remained expressionless, revealing neither joy nor anger, and he simply asked:

"So, you came here for more than just to tell me this, right?"

Livre didn't beat around the bush and said it directly:

"I hope to obtain some methods to enhance my own strength, such as magical items or talismans."

Upon hearing this, Redbeard sighed softly:

"I'm just a middleman who walks on the fringes of the extraordinary circle. Aren't you overestimating me?"

Livre looked directly at him, her tone calm:

"But behind you, there must be a powerful extraordinary individual. Otherwise, you wouldn't need a Sequence 8 extraordinary trait that doesn't specify a particular method."

She knew in her heart that the extraordinary characteristic that Redbeard wanted was probably not for promotion, but most likely for the people behind him to use to make magical items or meet other needs.

Redbeard was silent for a moment, his fingertips tapping lightly on the table, before he slowly said:

“I don’t think you’re a bad person, but the circle of extraordinary people is never easy to enter; one must go through certain tests.”

He paused, then added:

"I will recommend you to the person behind me, but whether or not you are approved to join is not up to me."

Liviel nodded slightly, already satisfied. She knew that integrating directly into the local extraordinary circle in Backlund was not an easy task, and this progress had exceeded her expectations.

Leaving the Brave Ones Bar, Livre returned to 27 Minsk Street. As night deepened, she looked up and saw that only half the lights were on in Mr. Waffle's house next door, meaning that Mrs. Waffle and the maid were not home, and only Mr. Waffle was home.

A thought crossed Livre's mind: Could it be that Mr. Waffle secretly called for a home service again?

As if confirming her guess, a heavily made-up woman dressed in a seductive manner quietly stopped at the street corner, looked around to make sure no one was paying attention, and then quickly turned into the area of ​​number 27 and went straight into Mr. Waffle's house.

"She's moaning again! She's so desperate!"

Livre couldn't help but roll her eyes, speechless. Mrs. Waffle was so gentle and virtuous, and quite pretty too, yet Mr. Waffle was never satisfied, constantly sending girls over—it was just too much…

She gently shook her head, banishing these irrelevant thoughts from her mind. The murder case at the theater troupe was already overwhelming her, and she had no time to concern herself with her neighbors' trivial matters.

The next day, Livia arrived in Balia. As soon as she entered the rehearsal hall, she saw Lucy. She was still alive! But she looked even more tired than yesterday.

Liviel breathed a sigh of relief. Just as she had guessed, Lucy had not been killed. Her celestial form was still a light black, far from reaching the level of Isabella and Carloti.

The next second, Livre used her spiritual vision to scan the entire rehearsal hall, but was startled by the scene before her: everyone in the troupe had some kind of black mark on them! Some were as light as dust, while others had already left obvious marks. The deepest mark belonged to the old musician Fitch, whose black mark was almost solidified, no less than Isabella's appearance before her death.

Liviel's heart tightened, and she used her spiritual vision to observe her astral body again. Her aura color was still healthy, without a trace of black marks, so clean that it was out of place with the people around her.

"why is that?"

Livre was filled with doubt, and suddenly the words Bright had said to her before flashed through her mind:

"Everyone can be replaced, but you are the most important."

"Could it be... that everyone else in the troupe will die except for me? But why...?"

The moment this thought crossed her mind, Livre's mood instantly turned heavy.

Just then, two policemen walked into the theater troupe. Unlike last time, they didn't question everyone individually. They just talked to Brett briefly, as if it were a routine matter, and then left in a hurry. The people in the troupe didn't even know about Carlotte's death.

Livre was shocked. How could the police be so perfunctory about two bizarre serial murders?

During her lunch break, she went out and bought a copy of the Backlund Workers newspaper, as well as several other local newspapers. After carefully reading through them, she felt a chill in her heart: none of the newspapers reported on the two murders in detail. Only the Backlund Workers newspaper mentioned them briefly in a short paragraph. Moreover, due to the lack of detailed information, the newspapers did not connect the two murders with similar methods at all, as if they were just two unrelated ordinary murder cases.

“Someone is manipulating public opinion! Moreover, judging from the police’s perfunctory attitude just now, they have either been bribed or under some kind of pressure.”

Livre endured the afternoon's rehearsal in a state of oppression. Every minute and every second, she could feel the black marks on the people around her, the invisible threat of death, and the evil atmosphere within the theater troupe.

During this time, Livre tried to investigate Bright's office many times, but Bright was extremely cautious and would lock the doors and windows tightly every time he went out. Without violent destruction or with the help of Fors's useful "door-opening" ability, it was impossible to step into his office.

"The apprenticeship ability is so useful..." Livre sighed with envy as she looked at the closed office door.

She couldn't help but wonder if she should ask Fors to come over and sneak into Bright's office late at night to see if she could find any crucial information.

But as soon as the thought popped into her head, she quickly suppressed it. She really didn't want to take such a risky step unless absolutely necessary.

After get off work in the evening, Livre didn't go straight home, but quietly followed old Fitch. Old Fitch was still carrying his treasured lute, his steps heavy, and a lingering, somber aura emanated from him.

After getting some distance away from Paria, Livre found a secluded corner, took out a mirror, lightly touched its surface with her fingertips, and solemnly muttered:

"Old Fitch is going to die."

As soon as he finished speaking, the once calm mirror surface suddenly surged violently, the light and shadow twisted and churned, and the violent fluctuations almost broke through the mirror surface. This meant that old Fitch was likely to encounter misfortune!

Livre's heart tightened, and she immediately activated her spirituality again to perform a second divination:

"The cause of Fitch's death."

The mirror was shrouded in mist, and after a long time, no image appeared.

Livre pondered for a moment, then performed the divination again:

“Following old Fitch would be dangerous.”

This time, the mirror only stirred up a not-so-violent ripple. Although there was fluctuation, it was far less violent than the last time, which shows that the tracking was indeed dangerous, but the degree of danger was not high.

Having made up her mind, Livre concealed her presence and followed Old Fitch at a distance that was neither too close nor too far. She remembered that Old Fitch's house should be in the Jowood district, but Old Fitch did not head in the familiar direction. Instead, he walked briskly for a long time before finally stopping at the border between Jowood and Bridge districts and entering a somewhat dilapidated tavern.

As night deepened and several glasses of strong liquor were down, old Fitch's cheeks were already flushed red and his eyes had become cloudy, but he still had that sullen and taciturn look on his face. The oppressive aura around him not only did not dissipate, but became even stronger, much like the strange and low-pitched tunes he usually played on his lute.

Livre quietly hid in a corner not far away, patiently observing Old Fitch's surroundings. In order not to be detected by any assassins who might be lurking in the shadows, she even went so far as to expend her spiritual energy to activate her invisibility ability, completely concealing her figure in the shadows.

By late at night, old Fitch had drunk countless glasses of strong liquor. He swayed his somewhat heavy body, slung his lute over his shoulder, walked out of the tavern, and continued walking towards the bridge district.

Livre remained invisible, and when the invisibility effect was about to wear off, she slipped into the shadows to distance herself from old Fitch and avoid being discovered, following him at a distance that was neither too close nor too far.

Old Fitch drove deep into the Backlund Bridge district, passing through several narrow, dilapidated streets, and finally entered a rather run-down residential area. The houses were low and old, the walls were mottled, and the air was filled with a damp, musty smell, not much better than the East End.

Old Fitch seemed extremely familiar with the area. He walked effortlessly to a dilapidated three-story apartment building, pushed open the half-closed door, and quietly went inside, then went up the stairs to the second floor.

Livre quickened her pace, re-entered stealth mode, and followed him up the stairs. But just as she was about to reach the corner on the second floor, the sight before her made her shudder: Old Fitch's figure had inexplicably merged into the shadows around him, as if he had never been there at all, leaving only a faint outline flickering in the shadows.

"He's actually an assassin!"

Liviel was shocked and instinctively held her breath, her steps halting on the spot. She never expected that the seemingly dull and taciturn old musician would hide such an identity. As an extraordinary individual of the assassin path, it was hard to say that he had no connection with Bright and the others, but why was the black mark on his celestial body so deep?

Suppressing her shock, Livre peered into the dim light and saw old Fitch silently creep out of the shadows to a door on the second floor. He took out a wire, fiddled with it for a moment, and easily knocked open the old lock.

Old Fitch gently pushed open the door and went inside. Livril followed closely behind, peeking through the crack in the door. She saw a woman wearing only pajamas sleeping soundly on the bed inside, her face still showing a hint of fatigue.

"Lucy!"

Livre was startled. At that moment, old Fitch took the lute off his back and gently plucked the strings. A deep, eerie melody slowly rose, somewhat similar to what old Fitch usually played in the troupe, but with a stronger sinister and eerie aura, carrying a strong sense of oppression.

Lying on the bed, Lucy's expression gradually turned to pain. Her brows furrowed tightly, her lips twisted, and she let out a soft groan, but her eyes remained tightly closed, and she did not wake up. Livre immediately activated her spiritual vision, her gaze falling on Lucy's astral body. The black marks were visibly deepening at a further speed to the accompaniment of this eerie melody.

Without hesitation, Livre activated her acting ability instantly, shrinking her body slightly and altering her appearance. Her figure suddenly appeared behind old Fitch, her right hand instantly transforming into icy frost, swiftly seizing old Fitch's neck. The chill spread instantly, freezing old Fitch's neck in a thin layer of ice, making it difficult for him to breathe.

In that critical moment, a ruthless glint flashed in old Fitch's eyes. A sharp dagger suddenly sprang from the tip of his lute, and using the remaining momentum in his body, he thrust it upwards towards Livr's abdomen. Livr was prepared, nimbly dodging to the side. At the same time, even more frost condensed on her fingertips, the chilling aura instantly freezing old Fitch's upper body, stiffening his limbs and rendering him completely incapable of resistance.

Immediately afterwards, a wisp of frost entered his mouth, freezing his tongue and rendering him unable to make a sound.

After doing all this, Livre dragged the frozen old Fitch quickly up to the rooftop. Only after confirming that no one was around did she release him, revealing a cold, piercing gaze to the gloomy, panicked old Fitch.

She grabbed old Fitch's still-frozen neck, forcing him to only let out muffled "heh-heh" sounds. Then, with a slight movement of her fingertips, she melted the ice in his mouth. The melting ice water spurted down his throat and into his lungs, causing old Fitch to cough violently, his face turning purple, his eyes filled with pain.

What were you doing just now?

Livre's voice was icy cold, devoid of any emotion, her gaze fixed intently on old Fitch.

Old Fitch was panting heavily, but he remained silent, his eyes filled with a fierce desire to devour Livr alive.

"You killed Isabella and Carlotty?"

Livre tightened her grip, her tone growing increasingly cold.

Old Fitch remained silent, his lips bitten until they bled, and his fierce eyes held a hint of impending death.

"What are those black marks? What do they have to do with Luna Bell and Bright?"

Livre pressed him for answers, but old Fitch remained silent, biting his lip tightly, his body trembling slightly from the cold and fear.

Livre's expression turned cold, a ruthless glint flashing in her eyes. A cluster of black flames suddenly ignited at her fingertips, carrying a chilling, bone-chilling spiritual heat, and she unhesitatingly burned it onto old Fitch's leg.