Chapter Fifteen: The Three Titans

As it turns out, if you have the opportunity and ability to lie, you should do so—it can save you a great deal of trouble.

Lamia shouted loudly, “What? Your right hand is the hand of a demon?”

Judging by her expression, she looked as though she wanted to chop off my right hand again and switch it back to the original.

I hushed her a few times and said, “There are only benefits, no drawbacks.”

Lamia cupped my face in her hands and asked, “They didn’t brainwash you, did they?”

I replied, “If I had been brainwashed, would I still be telling you the truth? You wouldn’t even know about the hand replacement.”

Lamia examined my right hand, turning it this way and that, but couldn’t spot a single flaw. Even I could see no trace—the skin on both sides of the severed limb was perfectly matched, not a hint of difference. I told her the Magus Laboratory had mistaken my name, and Lamia looked incredulous. She said, “Impossible. The laboratory would never make such a mistake.”

I immediately realized that Farga had saved me—she must have changed the electronic records the moment I was kidnapped. I have a guardian angel here.

After some discussion, we decided not to tell Le Gang about the hand for now; Lamia didn’t want me drawn into complicated spy games. She also told me that tonight, Michael’s museum was hosting a major exhibition and we, as a couple, had been invited—an invitation delivered personally by Le Gang.

I instantly thought this was a golden opportunity to expand my connections. If I wanted to climb higher, I needed new opportunities, and Lamia’s power alone could no longer support my ambitions. Michael, as a friend, was somewhat unreliable. As the saying goes, a clever hare has three burrows; it was time to take a further step.

Michael sent Jean Valen to deliver several sets of formal wear. Since the items on display were thanks to me, Michael thought I must not lose face, otherwise he would lose his as well. He was truly vain, and now I had become a disciple of vanity myself.

Betty was very envious. She cast Salvador a sidelong glance and sighed, “Lanki is really something. Sami, when will you ever be as successful as your brother-in-law?”

Salvador replied, “I’ll do my best.”

Betty always liked to compare, but that was hardly surprising—I was the same. Back in the day, I was eaten up with jealousy toward Milsey. Ah, those years of youth—looking back, how childish and laughable, hardly worth mentioning.

The Black Coffin Classical Museum was also situated on the eighty-third floor, a renowned edifice of the Black Coffin. The noble district’s levels were slightly higher; this museum had only two floors, yet still exuded an air of refinement, elegance, and grandeur.

Stepping into the museum, I saw the bright lights reflected off the polished floors and walls. The entire space was ingeniously designed, with most of it built from massive marble and solid, ancient wood. Under the illumination, the display cases held curiosities of all shapes, precious paintings adorned the walls, and sculptures and totems were interspersed throughout the hall.

I was by no means a connoisseur, but I feigned expertise, gesturing grandly as we walked, with Lamia smiling silently beside me as we made our way through the guests.

Just then, a spotlight shone on a man, drawing everyone’s attention. He had sleek black hair, a broad face, deep-set eyes, and a small goatee. He wore a purple suit, his fingers heavy with diamond rings. Though not tall, everyone who looked at him did so with the utmost respect.

Lamia said, “That is the current Consul, Missouri Tyado.”

I pictured a scene: I would stride up to him and shake his hand; he would immediately notice my exceptional qualities. The next day, he would invite me into his confidence, entrusting me with important tasks, which I’d accomplish with ease. He would praise me, adopt me as his son, grant me power and status, and I would rise overnight to become a dignitary of the Black Coffin.

Lamia asked, “What are you thinking about? Why are you smiling so happily?” She wiped the sweat from my brow, making me realize that, in my excitement, I’d begun to perspire profusely.

Michael handed the microphone to his adoptive father. Missouri ascended the steps and declared, “Thank you, thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome. Michael is my adopted son, and I’ve always been critical of his achievements. Yet, seeing the brilliance and splendor here tonight, I cannot find a single flaw. Congratulations, my child! And to all our guests, please enjoy yourselves!”

The crowd applauded fervently. Missouri shook hands with Michael and continued, “I remember in human history there were eras of great prosperity, when even the stars in the sky dimmed before the city lights of mankind. But those glorious days are gone, many treasures have been lost, and it can be said we may never see them again.”

He bowed his head with a sigh, but quickly looked up again: “But look here, look at everything around you! Here, the visage of human civilization is preserved! Here, the ancient and the present intertwine, letting us traverse time and space! Here, in a fleeting glance, we see how mighty and flourishing humanity once was, how advanced our civilization! This museum fills me with excitement, stirs my nostalgia, and inflames my ambition anew!”

He raised his blood-red glass high and proclaimed, “In this sorrowful age, we need not only material support but spiritual guidance! Humanity’s pioneering spirit is a beacon in the darkness, shining upon us, calling to us! We must drive out the demons, forestall disaster, rebuild civilization, restore science, restore glory, and let all here in this museum be carried forward—until, at last, we are proud, truly proud, to be human!”

The crowd was swept up in his fervor, clapping and chanting in unison, “Proud of humanity! Glory to humanity! Long live the Consul!”

Missouri returned the microphone to Michael, who smiled warmly and said, “Now, I invite the esteemed Professor Magus to unveil tonight’s new exhibits.”

Magus was undoubtedly one of the most powerful figures in the Black Coffin. Ennobled as a duke, he controlled the laboratory and held countless secrets. Compared to the current Consul, his status was nearly equal—he was once a strong contender for the consulship himself.

Magus wore thick black-rimmed glasses, his hair disheveled and his attire expensive but ill-fitting, as though stolen. He was about fifty, clean-shaven and with hair unmarked by gray, making him appear much younger. He hurried onto the stage, awkward and brusque, like a sullen youth forced into the spotlight.

The room held its breath as Magus pulled back the curtain, revealing the portrait of Haisi. I noticed his gaze changed; impatience gave way to intense focus. He studied it closely for a moment, then unveiled the statue of the goddess Iks. This time, his expression was one of surprise, and he stepped aside, staring intently.

Michael announced, “These two pieces were discovered by a brave ranger named Lankinus—the first survivor in fifty years to emerge from the Henry Mansion on the thirtieth floor.”

I had never realized I could suffer from stage fright until this moment. When the spotlight fell on me and more than two hundred pairs of eyes fixed on me, I was so flustered I even forgot how to smile.

Michael noticed my discomfort and smiled, “He’s a steady man, not one to seek glory, but as a witness to the event, I can tell his story for him.” He launched into a vivid and embellished account of the goddess Iks and the Haisi family, spinning the tale for all to hear.

His knowledge was indeed prodigious, his eloquence remarkable. The Consul watched Michael with evident approval, as if this wayward adopted son pleased him more than the practical and reliable Le Gang.

When Michael finished, he asked, “Any questions?”

Magus said, “This statue is incomplete—there are two missing pieces, aren’t there?”

Michael laughed awkwardly, “Is that so? We all know Professor Magus is a master of the occult. What do you think?”

Magus replied, “This statue is highly unusual. I’d love to study it further if…” He trailed off, swallowing the rest of his thought.

I whispered to Lamia, “Given the laboratory’s usual practices, I bet Magus will send someone to steal it.”

Lamia said, “Don’t worry, both the statue and the painting are fakes.”

I was startled and asked, “How do you know?”

Lamia replied, “Of course—they’re always fakes. It’s the museum’s tradition, everyone knows. Michael never leaves the real exhibits here, only the safest place. What he shows the public are copies made overnight; only at the Consul’s request would he display the originals.”

“I see,” I said. Yet I had told Michael there were two other statues and even given him the location of one, but here, he hadn’t revealed a thing.

Clearly, he was guarding against Magus and others as well.

A strikingly beautiful young woman made her way through the crowd. The Consul rose to meet her. At first, I thought she was his wife, but their manner toward each other said otherwise. Her blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, pressed close to her head. She wore a luxurious gown that still gave the impression of a knight’s armor. The Consul met her gaze at eye level; their smiles were polite but kept a measured distance.

She said to Michael, “Forgive me for being late. I would have preferred to unveil the exhibit myself rather than leaving it to the uninteresting Magus.”

Michael took her hand and kissed it, bowing deeply with a smile. “No matter, madam. I am deeply grateful in any case.”

Magus remained impassive, unmoved by her jest, clearly lost in his own thoughts.

I asked, “Who is she? What presence!”

Lamia said, “That is Duchess Typhon, the first Consul. She discovered Farga and founded the Black Coffin. She, Missouri, and Magus are known as the Black Coffin’s three giants.”

I was stunned. “She… so young? How does she do it?”

Lamia whispered, “She, Missouri, Magus, Michael—they’re all bloods. That’s why their lifespans are so long.”

I replied, “No, no, dear, they’re rabid blood disease carriers.”

Lamia laughed, “Call it what you like, as long as you don’t mind the name being a mouthful.”

I looked around, feeling my blood shiver with fear: just how many of these… these bloods were here? I recalled the expressions of Vasilisa and Abel when they were hungry and wanted nothing more than to slip away with Lamia.

Duchess Typhon approached us, her presence so commanding that I scarcely dared to breathe.

She shook Lamia’s hand first and smiled, “Yune is our hope. Thank you, Lamia.”

Lamia replied, “The honor is mine.”

Then Typhon shook my hand. Her grip was firm and powerful—I felt almost overawed by her force of will.