The constable set down his newspaper and sized up Lumian, visibly unnerved by his unabashed confidence. He gestured to the notebook and fountain pen before him, saying, "Show me your lawyer's license and register your name and purpose of visit."

A license? Seriously? Lumian, the phony attorney, felt a surge of panic.

Hadn't he read in countless novels and newspapers that simply identifying oneself as a lawyer was enough to gain access to a client?

As Lumian reached for the black fountain pen, his mind raced, formulating a plan.

He suddenly noticed that the constable across from him had shifted his attention to the recently discarded copy of Youth of Trier, fixated on the annual Trier cycling race.

He doesn't seem to care about the lawyer's license An idea flashed through Lumian's mind. Mimicking Aurore's penmanship, he scrawled his 'name': "Guillaume Pierre, pro bono lawyer. Meeting client, Charlie Collent."

After jotting it down, Lumian stood and nonchalantly glanced around.

Feigning delight, he raised his arm and exclaimed, "My little cabbage, long time no see!"

Confused faces turned in his direction. Lumian spun back to the registering constable and murmured, "I spotted a friend."

The unspoken message: he'd present his lawyer's license later.

Without waiting for a reply, Lumian strode to a corner of the hall.

The constable gave the register a cursory glance before returning his gaze to Youth of Trier.

Once in the corner, Lumian stole a peek at the preoccupied constable, then turned to the baffled onlookers with an apologetic grin.

"I'm sorry, I mistook you for someone else."

Clutching his briefcase, he approached the police officer he had "chosen" earlier, who was now coming from the registration office.

Lumian lifted his chin and demanded haughtily, "I want to see my client, Charlie Collent."

In the Intis Republic, attorneys held a far higher social status than ordinary constables.

The officer glanced back at the registration office, saw no cause for concern, and nodded.

"I'll contact the person in charge of that case for you."

Fifteen minutes later, Lumian found himself face-to-face with Charlie in a secured room, two officers standing guard at the door.

"Who are you?" Charlie asked, sinking into a chair across the table, his eyes filled with confusion.

His once-rosy cheeks were now pallid, fear etched into every line of his face.

He had heard of pro bono lawyers while chatting with other hotel staff and knew they were provided by government agencies or philanthropic organizations for destitute suspects. He never expected one to arrive just half a day after his arrest.

Were those fake-collar-wearing bureaucrats that efficient?

Lumian grinned, removed his black-framed glasses, winked with his right eye, and spoke in his natural voice, "Don't you recognize me? I'm your pro bono lawyer."

Charlie stared, dumbstruck. After a few seconds of careful scrutiny, a spark of recognition lit up his face.

But before he could speak, Lumian slipped his glasses back on and said, "Quiet. Listen to me."

"Alright, alright." Charlie snapped to attention.

Lumian's smile vanished, replaced by a grave expression.

"I need to know the full details of what happened. That's the only way I can clear your name."

"Really?" Charlie asked, desperation in his voice, like a drowning man grasping at a lifeline.

Feigning his professionalism, Lumian questioned, "What time did you stay in the room with Mrs. Alice until?"

Charlie rubbed his face, struggling to recall through the haze of confusion and pain, "Madame Alice ordered room service. I entered her room before 8 p.m. and stayed until she was tired. I only left at midnight. At that time, she had just laid down and was still awake. She was still alive!"

From 8 p.m. to midnight? Every day? That 500 verl d'or isn't easy to earn Lumian mused, then adopted a lawyerly tone, "You have to be honest with me. Hiding anything will only hurt you in the end."

"I'm not lying. That's really the truth!" Lumian's words, actions, posture, and tone had convinced Charlie that he was truly his defense attorney.

After verifying a few more details, Lumian inquired, "After you gained Madame Alice's favor, did anyone express jealousy?"

"Many. Apprentices and official attendants alike, they were all jealous of me" Charlie remembered.

They discussed the topic for a while before Lumian produced a photo, handing it to Charlie.

"See if you recognize this person."

Charlie gasped, "Isn't this Saint Vive?"

Why was she dressed so provocatively, her chest exposed?

"I've confirmed that the portrait in your room isn't Saint Vive. It belongs to the famous courtesan, Susanna Mattise." Lumian tactfully replaced 'prostitute' with 'courtesan' to prevent Charlie from becoming overly upset.

"Huh?" Charlie's face contorted with confusion.

I prayed to a courtesan, not an angel?

But why did my luck change for the better?

No, if it had truly improved, I wouldn't have been arrested

Lumian produced another photo. It still depicted Susanna Mattise, but he had already altered the courtesan's hair color and made a few "edits."

"Take a look at this and tell me if you recognize this person."

Charlie scrutinized the image for a few seconds before his expression morphed into one of shock.

"Wh She! How can this be?"

"So you do know her?" Lumian smirked.

Charlie looked up, his voice hollow, "S-she is She's the woman from my beautiful dreams.

"Didn't I tell you? I had these amazing dreams for a few days. I dreamed of making love to her. She was so passionate and gentle

"H-how did you know I dreamed of her? I didn't tell anyone! Why do you have a photo of her?"

Charlie's gaze, now fixed on Lumian, had completely changed.

Is this really the southern kid I know?

Aside from his talent for pranks and good looks, there was nothing extraordinary about him!

Lumian's lips curled into a smile as he gazed back at Charlie.

"Take a closer look at who's in the photo."

Charlie stared blankly at the image of the green-haired woman.

As he examined it, his expression morphed into sheer terror. He recoiled involuntarily, making the chair creak.

"No, that's impossible! Susanna, Susanna, she's that prostitute!" Charlie shouted, unable to suppress his emotions.

This revelation left him feeling as if he had encountered a malevolent spirit.

After praying to a portrait of a prostitute, he had not only escaped hunger and found a new job but had also dreamed of her and slept with her!

Wasn't this akin to encountering a ghost?

Lumian nodded approvingly.

"Congratulations. At least you're not blind."

He had intended to help Charlie and divulge information as a prank to frighten him, but the two matters were unrelated.

The door to the interview room creaked open. A constable standing guard outside inquired warily, "What happened? Why are you shouting?"

"I helped him recall some key details," Lumian explained calmly.

Charlie snapped out of his stupor.

"Yes, I remember something very important."

And indeed, it was!

The policeman didn't press further and shut the door again.

Seeing this, Charlie leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table, and asked anxiously, "Did I encounter an evil female spirit?"

"It might not be a vengeful or evil spirit," Lumian said, watching Charlie's expression soften slightly before adding, "It might be even more troublesome than that."

At those words, Charlie's face turned ashen.

After a brief pause, he asked apprehensively, "You you mean Madame Alice was killed by that evil spirit?"

"I'm not sure yet." Lumian stood up. "I need to examine Madame Alice's corpse."

"You even know how to investigate a corpse to determine the true cause of death?" Charlie found his neighbor increasingly enigmatic.

Lumian smiled but offered no answer.

As Charlie's defense attorney, Lumian had the right to inspect the corpse under police supervision, and he could even enlist the assistance of an independent pathologist. So, after signing two documents under the name Guillaume Pierre, Lumian was escorted to the basement of the market district's police headquarters and into the morgue where the body was kept.

The officer leading him slid open the cabinet, unzipped the body bag, and pointed to the female corpse.

"This is Madame Alice."

In life, Alice had preserved her appearance quite well, with only faint wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her thick brown eyebrows framed her face, her cheeks sagged slightly, and her skin had taken on a deathly pallor.

Lumian glanced casually at the body and said to the officer, "I'm good."

He wasn't a pathologist who had come to conduct a genuine examination; his objective was merely to pinpoint the approximate location of Madame Alice's remains.

After exiting the morgue, Lumian turned to the accompanying officer and asked, "Where's the nearest restroom?"

"Take a right at the end of the corridor," replied the officer, despite his growing impatience.

Lumian hastened his steps and entered the basement restroom.

Once inside, he locked the wooden door and performed the Summoning Dance in the cramped space.

Amidst the frenzied, contorted dance, a chilling wind swept through the restroom. Vague figures materialized one by one, their pale or bluish-white faces staring at Lumian with empty eyes.

These were the lingering obsessions of the departed.

Lumian had never witnessed such a spectacular sight before. For a moment, he felt as if he were surrounded by ghostly specters.

He steadied himself and continued the second half of the dance while searching for Madame Alice.

Soon, he spotted the fierce-looking lady with the thick brown eyebrows.

Lumian unsheathed the ritual silver dagger and inflicted a wound, commanding Madame Alice to attach herself to him.

Madame Alice consumed the drop of blood and entered Lumian's body.

Immediately, Lumian felt a shiver race down his spine, and his chest grew heavy.

His breath came in labored gasps.

Without hesitation, Lumian amplified Madame Alice's obsession, foregoing any selection of her characteristics or abilities.

Almost instantaneously, Lumian's vision dimmed, and he saw Madame Alice lying on the bed, her mouth and nose smothered by a down pillow. However, there was no one pressing down on the pillow in her line of sight!