Dark Deity Reigana. Authority Power: [Exemption].

The words struck Lucimia like a bell hit by lightning, her heart ringing in a hollow hall.

First came shock like ice water down her spine. The Exorcist Family used a Dark Deity’s power to fight other Dark Deities, like fire checking fire on a winter field. And that Authority Power was [Exemption], a clean blade hidden in soot.

Second came shock like a splinter under the nail. The name of the Exemption Deity wasn’t the Olivya she’d guessed; Reigana was another name entirely, like a moon wearing the wrong face.

If the name didn’t match, did that overturn her quiet belief that she was the Exemption Deity, like a sand painting washed by tide?

Then who on earth was Olivya, that willow shadow by the river?

After the first ripples, Lucimia’s breath evened like a lake after wind. Dark Deities clashed like storms; set thunder against thunder, and one might drown the other.

“Surprised?” Alvis asked, curiosity bright as a lantern in dusk.

“…A little,” she said, voice soft as mist over stone.

“Haha, it’s not a big deal,” Alvis said, rubbing his nose like brushing dust from a page. “Reigana’s a Dark Deity, sure, but our family doesn’t pay any price to use the Authority Power, no offerings, no blood at the altar, like drawing from a spring behind the house.”

“As long as you’re direct blood, you’re born with a Blessing, like a birthmark under sunlight. It’s [Exemption of Corruption], a passive thing that sits in your bones like iron.”

“[Exemption of Corruption] lets us shrug off Authority Power assaults from Dark Deities or Evil Entities, normal strikes that carry taint like rusted thorns, and those insanity traits that crack people after a one‑ or two‑second glance, like a mirror shattering in a blink.”

“Strip away their proud corruptive attacks, and we’re back on level ground, blade to blade and spell to spell, like two fencers under the same rain. The Church’s Purification Power works in a similar way, a white flame against black smog.”

“If there’s a price, it’s this: children born with outsiders get shaky Blessings, or none at all, like seeds that won’t sprout. Some get [Exemption of Magic Learning], and they’ll never learn magic in this life, like a harp with no strings. Some get [Exemption of Walking], and their legs won’t carry them, like roots nailed to earth.” Alvis paused, his words falling like leaves. “Some are better, like [Exemption of Allergies] or [Exemption of Bone Fractures], small suns on cloudy days. Whether that counts as a price depends on the eyes that judge, like two painters arguing over the same mountain.”

Alvis explained with the patience of rain on eaves, and Lucimia listened with the stillness of a cat by the hearth.

“If that’s the case, why is Reigana still a Dark Deity?” Lucimia’s questions rose like sparrows. “It sounds close to the Purification Deity, like twin streams from the same spring.”

“Reigana’s identity as a Dark Deity is a hundred percent confirmed,” Alvis said, firm as an iron lock. “Our ancestor’s book records her evil deeds, black ink on yellowed paper.”

“Reigana showed up at Anding Town—though back then, it was just a village, a lone hut in a wide field. The villagers had black hair and black eyes, like pine and ink. They’re the Lancelot Family’s forebears, our roots under the frost. And back then, Dark Deities dotted the world like storm lights on the horizon.”

“Reigana descended above the village and brought an endless hell, like a red eclipse at noon. She had no believers. She toyed with people for fun, and fed on the emotions that bloomed from pain, like a moth licking fire.”

“She’d deliberately slap [Exemption of Walking] on a healthy, steady man, then laugh at his despair, a cold wind at his back. One wasn’t enough. She’d stack more—Exemption of Sight, Exemption of Sound, Exemption of Breath—stripping sight, voice, air, like peeling bark from a living tree. When he was about to break, she’d return his breath, let him gasp like a fish, then repeat, a cruel tide in and out.”

“She had darker methods yet, shadows within shadows. When the plaything was reduced to a walking corpse, she devoured him, like a wolf swallowing a moonlit puddle. To suit her tastes, she seized the whole village, strings tied to every wrist.”

Lucimia felt a chill creep over her skin like frost on glass. So the Exemption Deity had done this, and to the Lancelot Family’s former selves—her own lineage like an old river under snow. Didn’t that make the Exemption Deity an enemy graven into the family tablet?

“What happened in the end?” she asked, voice small as a candle flame.

“In the end…” Alvis leaned back, as if the chair were a time‑boat drifting backward. Memory softened his face like dawn on ruins.

“Our family’s first head made a move…”

“I know!” Lucimia stood so fast the chair whispered. “Is it the ancestor who once killed a Dark Deity? Was Exemption cut down like a weed?”

“Uh…” Alvis scratched the back of his hand, embarrassment flickering like a moth. “No.”

“Eh?” Lucimia sank back into the chair, disappointment pooling like rain in a basin.

So not that? Another wrong guess, a dart in the dark.

“Then how did it go?”

“A human who killed a Dark Deity—that was indeed our ancestor, the first head,” Alvis said calmly, his words steady as a drum. “As for the name… there’s no record, like a signature washed away. We only know she was a woman, a blade of grass cutting stone.”

No record? A woman? The unknown felt like fog over a bridge.

“And then?” Lucimia cupped her cheeks, interest blooming like tea in hot water, her tension unwinding into the lazy pleasure of a story by the fire.

She was still a child at heart, loving tales like fireflies.

“That ancestor slew a Dark Deity first, then went to deal with the Exemption Deity,” Alvis said. “We don’t know the dead one’s name, but its Authority Power was [Knowledge and Wisdom], a crown made of light.”

“At the time, that Dark Deity planned to strip all human wisdom, like plucking every star from the night. If that happened, humans would have no resistance left, lambs on a silent road. Thanks to our ancestor, disaster stopped at the cliff’s edge.”

“Afterward, she returned to the village. We don’t know how, but the Exemption Deity vanished, like fog under noon sun. For the village’s descendants, she left the ability to fight Evil Entities, a flint tucked in the thatch.”

“And more than that—over time, the Dark Deities who rampaged across the world mostly disappeared, like wolves fading from a snowfield. Only a very small number remained, and they left behind their believers like shadows without bodies.”

By the end, Lucimia’s curiosity was sated like earth after rain.

She marveled in secret: [Knowledge and Wisdom] felt righteous, a white robe in a temple, yet it was still a Dark Deity, a thorn under silk.

A huge curiosity bloomed toward what Dark Deities truly were, like a door opening to a starless sea.

She also caught the phrase “a very small number,” a pebble in the stream. So some true Dark Deities were still hiding in this world, like tigers in reeds?

Oh. That did sound right. Wasn’t one of them… me? The thought flashed like a fox’s grin.

“Do you believe what I’ve said?” Alvis asked, eyes smiling like crescents.

“Mm. I do,” she nodded, the motion small as a falling petal.

“That’s a surprise,” Alvis said, amused as spring wind. “This story exists only in our ancestral book, unknown outside, like a well behind a wall. All that people have is a rumor that our ancestor killed a Dark Deity—just a rumor, a feather in fog.” He slid a yellowed book across the desk to Lucimia, the pages whispering like dry leaves.

“This book’s yours now. Keep it safe, like a candle in the rain.”

“Eh? So sudden?” She took the yellowed volume with careful hands, like lifting a sleeping bird. “Is it really okay? What if I lose it, like a ring in tall grass?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a copy,” he said, easy as sunlight.

She blinked, then stroked the cover once, a touch like snow on bark, and tucked it into her Storage Ring, a moon slipping behind clouds.

Another question rose, and she let it out like a kite. “Why not tell the Church? They have scholars who study Dark Deities like ants studying thunder. This should help their research, right?”

Alvis shook his head, the motion slow as a pendulum. “We don’t give it to the Church because… I—no, our ancestors—held a bold guess, a thunderbolt you hide in your sleeve.”

“What?” Lucimia felt a foreboding, a black bird crossing the sun. She already knew where this arrow would fly.

Alvis leaned in and lowered his voice, words like a secret pressed into earth. “The Church’s Purification Deity may not be a righteous god. Very likely, also a Dark Deity. There’s just no proof, only smoke without fire.”

As expected.

She’d had the same thought while reading today, a thorn caught in silk.

But such a thought must never be voiced. The Church’s Inquisition would come like iron boots, and common folk would rise like a tide.

After all, the Purification Deity really has helped people keep out Evil Entities, like lanterns holding back night. Even the sick go to the Church, and the Church uses the Blessing of Purification to heal, a warm hand on a fevered brow.