Change a piece? Lumian didn't expect to be reminded by Themipolos at such a time.

Regardless of whether this fateful angel wants to take the opportunity to set a trap and do something, or simply doesn't want the sealing carrier to have problems at such a point in time, it is enough to show that there is a great hidden danger in this seemingly ordinary and simple game of king's cake, and once touched, it will cause everyone present to slide into the abyss of danger.

When Count Puiver said that it involved the occult, and that it required the sacrifice of a piece of king's bread to the gods of faith or the revered ancestors, Lumian felt that there might be a transcendent element, similar to the divination game that many occult lovers like to play, who knows, the problem was more serious than he expected, making an angel feel that he could not cope with the double sequence 7, or could trap him with the double sequence 7.

Unable to determine what Telemipolos had in mind, Lumian could only cautiously stretch out his arm and choose one of the remaining five pieces of the king's bread in a very casual manner.

This time, Themipolos did not stop again.

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After Lumian, Arnoli, Mullen, Ernst & Young, and Illaeta each took a piece of King's Bread, leaving only the one that was the closest to Lumian.

"Looks like it belongs to me." The Count of Puiver leaned forward, grinned and took the piece of king's bread, put it in his mouth, and gently bit down on it.

Lumian also made a similar move, only to feel that this snack was crispy on the outside, sweet on the inside, and fragrant on the mouth, and the quality was quite good.

After a few bites, Count Puifer laughed and said, "It seems that today I am the king."

He said as he pulled a broad bean out of his mouth.

The moment he saw the broad beans, Lumian's nose seemed to smell a faint smell of blood and rust.

At the same time, this corner of the mechanical café suddenly became dull and oppressive, as if everyone was worried about being ordered to do something they couldn't bear.

The Count of Puiver stood up, his back to the window facing the street, blocking out the sunlight behind him.

This made his face seem to be clouded with a shallow shadow, and his smile was a little dark.

Count Puiver looked at the novelist Arnoli, and the corners of his mouth curled higher: "You go outside the café and shout 'I'm shit' at passers-by."

Unconsciously nervous, Arnoli suddenly breathed a sigh of relief and responded with a smile: "No problem."

Stocky and stocky, he stood up and walked quickly to the door, pulling down the brake knob embedded in the side wall.

Amid the sound of grinding and the slight crash, the mechanical arm tightened sharply, "dragging the heavy wooden door open" backwards.

Arnoli got out of the café and came to the side of the street, shouting at a famous pedestrian on the road, "I'm shit!"

"I'm sow-raised shit!

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"My whole family is sow-raised shit!"

The pedestrians looked at each other in surprise and immediately burst out laughing.

After scolding himself, Arnoli returned to Lumian and the others in a happy mood.

"You're so mentally good." It was not easy for Lumian to force himself to replace "really thick-skinned" with a statement that the other party could accept.

Novelist Arnoli laughed and said, "Every time I can't write, I go to the balcony and scold myself, which is still light."

"You writers have a lot of quirks." Lumian remembered her sister, who claimed to be in the late stages of procrastination.

Arnoli took a sip of absinthe, sat down again, and watched Count Puyver, who always stood with his backlight, look at the pale and handsome painter Mullen: "Give Illaeta a slap."

Mullen relaxed, did not leave his seat, leaned forward, and gave the poet Elite a slap.

With her hair thinning and cheek muscles drooping slightly, Elite didn't get angry, but just took another puff on her cigarette gun.

Sensing Lumian's scrutinizing gaze, he smiled nonchalantly: "As a poet, learn to enjoy the malice around you."

Enjoy Malicious ...... What a literary youth, no, literary middle-aged...... Lumian observed the participants of the game and found that nothing unusual was seen except for Count Puiver, who had eaten broad beans.

The Count of Puiver leaned slightly to the side, his face still a little dark from the backlight.

He told the literary critic Ernst & Young: "Pledge allegiance to me."

The "Black Cats" are the pioneers of performance art, so Ernst & Young is stressful about kneeling down on one knee and swearing allegiance, even if they don't feel enough excitement and humiliation.

The Count of Puiver looked at the poet Elite again: "Give all the money you have on you to the homeless man on the other side." ”

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Elite was stunned for a moment, and said rather distressedly, "Okay."

"You know, I'm a poor ghost, and in the last five years, I've earned less than three thousand filkins from poetry, and every day I think about a friend who will organize a party today and let me drink some wine for free."

You're an honest poet, aren't you...... Lumian wondered if he should sponsor this guy and see what he could write

Poetry comes, anyway, that "sponsorship fee" is Gardner. What Martin provides, he can't really pack if he doesn't use it

In his own pocket, on the contrary, he had the opportunity to take a part of it for himself only if he specifically sponsored certain artists.

Without waiting for Count Puiver's response, Elite suddenly laughed, fumbled in his pockets, and happily announced, "So, I only took 5 Felkin out!"

"5 Felkin? If you go to the Café Vichy, you can only ask for half a bottle of natural water and two boiled eggs. The novelist Arnoli muttered as he watched the poet Elite go out quickly, throwing the 5 Felkin to the homeless man opposite.

The Café Vichy is located in one of the alleys of the Boulevard and is visited by parliamentarians, high-ranking government officials, bankers, industrialists, financiers, famous courtesans and writers, painters, poets and sculptors sought after by high society.

At this point, everyone had their turn, and only Lumien was left.

The Count of Puiver looked at Lumien with deep eyes and said:

"Your first time at our 'Black Cat' party, I'll give you an easy task, grab your King's Cake and go to the deepest room in the basement of the café to get back a blank piece of paper."

That sounds a bit occult...... If something really went wrong, I set fire to that basement...... Lumian grunted as he took a few bites of the King's Cake and, following the novelist Arnoli's guidance, found the staircase leading to the basement near the kitchen.

Before entering, he used the mechanical device outside to light the gas wall lamps inside, and in a slightly dim light, he passed through the "hall" stacked with miscellaneous items and reached the deepest room.

The scarlet wooden door of the room was tightly closed, and Lumian listened intently for a while, but found no movement.

There were also no suspicious signs outside the door.

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Lumian stretched out his right palm, grabbed the handle, twisted it slightly, and slowly pushed it forward.

As the light of the gas wall lamps in the basement "hall" shines into the room, one thing after another outlines the outline.

It was heads, huddled in the shadows, staring at the "visitor" at the door without emotion.

Lumien's pupils dilated, and he saw several familiar heads.

They are the heads of the novelist Anoli, the painter Mullen, the critic Ernst & Young, and the poet Ilett!

When a fireball was about to condense into the air, the experienced and tenacious Lumian forced himself to calm down and sensed the problem:

The heads were not as white as the dead, and the room was not filled with the distinctive smell of antiseptics.

Lumian, who controlled his reaction, looked closely for a few more seconds, and found that they were all wax heads that had been removed.

They are like watermelons, stuffed into different compartments of wooden shelves.

Is the purpose of this mission to create a scare? If it weren't for Themipolos' reminder to keep me on high alert, how could a prank of this magnitude scare me? Where is the manifestation of the occult? Lumian pondered for a moment, then placed the king's cake in his hand on one of the wooden shelves, and removed the white paper on which a waxy head was placed.

When he returned to the Mechanical Cafe with the blank paper in hand, he saw that Arnoli, Ellett, and the others were all smiling at him, as if trying to find the remaining horror.

Count Puiver nodded with satisfaction: "You did a good job."

What if I don't do my job well? What will happen? Lumian pretended to be scared and said:

"Those waxy heads are so real they almost stopped my heart!"

"Haha." Arnoli laughed, "This is the Earl's greeting gift to every new guest. He is most fond of collecting wax heads, and every friend he recognizes is invited by a wax master to turn the head into a work of art and put it in the basement of a mechanical café. ”

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It is as if your head had been given to the Count of Puiver...... Lumian looked at the necks of Arnoli and the others, but found no signs of the cut.

After chatting for a while about various rumors in the writer's circle, and after sponsoring the "Black Cat" with 2,000 Ferkin, Lumian offered his farewell.

Before leaving, his gaze naturally swept over the two one-legged tables.

Suddenly, Lumian's pupils froze.

He saw that the plates of Count Puiver, Arnoli and others still had uneaten king's cakes, and the white-glazed porcelain dessert plate that had originally held king's cakes was empty.

There should have been a piece of king's bread dedicated to the ancestors of the House of Sauron!

It's gone!

Lumian didn't hide his doubts, pointed to the snack plate and said, "I remember there's a piece of king's cake."

Count Puiver laughed, took a sip of his coffee and said, "I ate it."

"That's right......" Lumian suddenly realized, and smiled back.

He turned and walked out of the mechanical café, the smile on his face fading.

The Count of Puiver's own piece of king's bread had only eaten two bites!