The Cycle of Fate

Chapter 175: The Bustling Underground

The carbide lamp cast a faint bluish-yellow light ahead, illuminating the tunnel separated by rows of stone pillars.

Lumian walked leisurely, with a black canvas bag slung over his shoulder—a style that had become popular among university students in the past two or three years. Inside the bag were a pair of "Torture" gloves and several white candles.

Through multiple experiments, he found that carrying them in a bag over his shoulder had fewer negative effects compared to keeping them in his coat or pants pockets. Although the difference wasn't substantial, anything that helped was worth it.

Following the map Gardner Martin had given him, Lumian approached the subterranean observatory area. Suddenly, he tilted his head, listening to the faint, disordered sound of footsteps coming from a side path.

He glanced at the roads ahead and to the right, unsure which one the unidentified group would take. Deciding to be cautious, he climbed up a stone pillar supporting the tunnel's ceiling, extinguished his lamp, and shrank into the shadows.

Moments later, a group of men approached.

Most of them were dressed in worn-out jackets or were shirtless, hunched over under the weight of heavy crates. About ten burly men, neatly dressed with hostile expressions, held various firearms and carried carbide lamps. They were evenly distributed at the front, middle, and rear of the group.

**Smugglers...** Lumian thought to himself as he peeked out, using their lamps to observe the crates. A faint metallic gleam was visible from inside.

**Weapons? Or something else?** He silently muttered, watching the smuggling convoy enter the tunnel to the right.

As they moved forward, one of the smugglers, perhaps startled by a shadow that looked too much like a person, raised his gun and fired.

The echo of the gunshot rang out, and the tension in the group seemed to ease as they continued on their way.

Lumian shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. **These guys are too tense, overreacting.**

In underground Trier, this kind of behavior could lead to trouble!

Aside from wandering students and locals harvesting mushrooms to supplement their income, most of the people down here weren't simple. The probability of encountering a Beyonder was much higher underground than on the surface. Shooting at passersby could easily provoke hidden organizations, followers of dark gods, anti-government forces, or skilled cave explorers.

With that thought, Lumian drew his revolver and fired toward the air above the smuggling convoy as they disappeared down the right tunnel.

He wasn't aiming at anyone—just the air.

Bang! The smugglers immediately spun around or dove to the sides, unleashing a volley of bullets toward the path behind them.

But that had nothing to do with Lumian, who was still near the ceiling.

After battling with the air for a while, the smugglers, now wary, confused, and flustered, repositioned themselves and moved on.

Lumian watched them leave, a smile forming on his face.

**You're welcome—a free lesson!**

He jumped back down to the ground and relit his carbide lamp.

Sniffing the faint scent of gunpowder lingering in the air, Lumian smiled, holstered his revolver, and continued along the designated route.

A few minutes later, he encountered several quarry police officers in dark uniforms, each armed with a semi-automatic pistol.

The young-looking officer at the front, noticing Lumian's youthful face, canvas bag, and the combination of shirt and vest, muttered a low curse: "Damn it, another university student!"