They stepped out. The street rolled like a tide of bodies, streams crossing and eddying. Lucimia tightened Yuna’s hand, fear pricking like cold rain that she’d lose her.

Uncertainty gnawed like mist. Would Kaeli show? Should she call once and toss a pebble into the fog?

They slipped into a deserted alley, shadows pooling like ink. She called out, voice thin as a reed in the wind.

“Miss Kaeli, are you there?”

Silence spread like frost.

She called again, and again. Still no figure stepped from the shadowed wall. A bad premonition chilled her like dusk wind through bare branches.

Check the guard post? The thought flashed like a blade, then snagged on thorns—an ambush might lurk. Her pulse said retreat first, like a bird calling for home. Go back, tell Father. After a day and a half of storms, the soldiers’ post might hide more Deceivers. Walking alone into the enemy’s nest was courting snakes.

But before home, she needed one detour through the bookstore. See what last night’s battle left behind; see how the golden-haired man fared; see if the guards found anything. The idea snapped like a drumbeat.

She went to the suburban guard post. She pulled on her cloak again, hiding her raven-black hair beneath cloth, like night wrapped tight.

The gate guard was the same man from yesterday. He looked wilted, face dim like a lamp in rain.

Lucimia stepped forward. “Excuse me. About that bookstore yesterday—did you find anything?”

He turned, eyes narrowing like a drawn bow. “Huh? You?”

His spirit flared up like a spark in dry straw. “Well, well! You’ve got the nerve to walk in here. I told you—false reporting is a serious crime!”

He yanked open the iron gate with a metallic groan and drew his sword, steel flashing like a cold stream.

“What false report?” Fear tremored through her like a wasp sting. She clutched Yuna’s hand and edged back.

“Still playing dumb?” He came on like a wolf, sword raised. “Those sentries slacked off and dragged us into punishment once. Then your lie made us get punished again.”

“Where did I lie? The wreckage was sprawled like fallen trees. Are you blind?” Lucimia could only suspect he’d gone to the wrong shop.

“It’s that one. A few hundred meters from here.”

“That one. When we got there, forget wreckage—the place looked neat, even fancy. We went in and chatted with the owner. Nothing had happened.”

“How… could that be?”

Fixed that fast? And the owner claimed nothing at all? The thought twisted like smoke.

Had the Blue Ringed Octopus not died? After she left, did it swap out the blond?

“Hmph. Don’t even think about running. Come with me.” The soldier reached out, fingers hooking like claws.

Lucimia was never going to yield like a tied calf. She cast an Invisibility Spell over herself and Yuna, and fled at a quick clip, footsteps like wind skimming grass.

How could the Blue Ringed Octopus still live? She had watched the creature burst apart and slump into a stagnant puddle, body like a waterskin split.

Wait. No. The first octopus she killed had been sucked dry to a paper-thin sheet, then crumbled into dust like a moth’s wing. The second died differently.

Maybe it had dissolved itself, turned liquid, and slipped away like rain through a grate.

Damn it. She should’ve struck again, a clean finish like cutting bamboo.

She should’ve burned it hard and hot, until ash rose like grey snow.

Regret was useless. She led Yuna to the old bookshop. The sight froze her like moonlight on water.

The ruined shop had not only healed; it wore new skin—more refined than before. Red bricks stacked like kiln-fired slices. Push-open wooden windows gleamed like lacquered fans. The waxed wooden door shone, edged in iron like a blade’s spine.

No dust, no scuffs—just the bold scent of newness, like fresh timber.

No longer an old shop; a newly-built one sat there like a phoenix in polished feathers.

If the guards came right away and it was already fixed, that was impossible. Time was too short. Only one thread made sense—the soldier lied again. More likely, they helped patch it up when they arrived. That would explain why, during her fight with the octopus, they didn’t stir a leaf.

Should she go in and see if the blond was still the blond?

No need. He had to be a Deceiver—likely the Blue Ringed Octopus wearing a smile. If it saw her, it would go berserk and tear her apart like a rabid dog.

Go home. Home was a lantern in fog. Outside grew sharper by the hour, Deceivers everywhere like briars on a path. True fear lodged deep, heavy as stone.

She tugged Yuna along at a run, breath like clipped wings. They bumped someone; his heels skidded like pebbles and he spilled onto the ground.

“Hey! Watch it!”

Lucimia shot him a glance and kept moving, hand locked around Yuna’s wrist like a lifeline.

Now every face looked like a Deceiver’s mask.

“Hey! You knock me down and don’t apologize? What manners—seriously—”

She let the voice fade like distant thunder and ran on.

They reached home. In the outer courtyard, servants trimming branches paused, shears hanging like silver leaves. Their young lady led a pink-haired girl—surprise fluttered like birds.

She ignored their looks and reached the main doors. To her shock, Kaeli pushed the doors open and greeted them, smile smooth as polished jade.

“Kaeli?!”

She looked fine, like calm water. Had she gone home and already reported to Father?

“Welcome back, Miss. And this is…? A friend of yours?”

“Mm.” Lucimia nodded and spun the tale she’d prepared, words falling like beads onto a thread.

She said she’d met the girl in a public restroom, saw her eyes weren’t good, helped her, then naturally became friends, and wanted to bring her home to play.

No seams in the story. It fit like well-cut cloth.

“I understand.” Kaeli asked nothing more. A maid’s duty was to serve, not pry—obedience sitting like a straight spine.

Lucimia got Yuna inside. She set Yuna in her own room, turned the lock with a click like a cricket, and walked to her father’s study.

She knocked. A heartbeat later, a voice flowed through wood. “Please enter.”

She pushed the door open. Alvis sat at his workbench, eyes on a packet of files. He saw his daughter and set the papers down, movements steady as falling snow.

Lucimia told him what had happened that morning, words tight, emotions first like a tide before the wave.

“I already heard from Kaeli,” Alvis said. His tone was a calm blade. “The Deceiver infiltration runs deep. Pulling them up by the roots will take sweat. Don’t startle the snake. Wait for the Church. Your second brother isn’t home. Counting you, our Lancelot Family has only two who can face an Evil Entity—me, and you.”

It rang true, like a bell. The Lancelot Family had dimmed; it wasn’t the Exorcist Family of old. They needed the Church’s weight.

The family’s true strength was two—Alvis and her second brother.

Rumor said her second brother was the strongest now, able to hold his own against aspects of a Dark Deity, a storm matching storm—strongest in the line besides the ancestor.

Of course, they had to exclude Lucimia, who was herself a Dark Deity, a moon behind the veil.

“Oh—today, when I called for Kaeli in the alley, she didn’t show.” The unease crept back like a chill. If a maid’s task was protection, leaving in haste risked leaving her exposed.

“Kaeli didn’t respond?” Alvis’s brows drew together like ravens’ wings.

“Yes.”

“That’s not normal.” He lifted his tea and drank, steam curling like cloud. “Kaeli knows a special magic—a Clone Spell. She can report and guard you at the same time. Since she didn’t answer, this Kaeli likely has a problem.”

“How could that be…” Lucimia’s heart sank like a stone into a well. That meant Kaeli went after Vittor and stepped into a snare.

Alvis sipped again. “The Clone Spell has a flaw. If the clone is hurt, the body is hurt as well. She may have run into something sharp.”

“And the Kaeli we have now…” Lucimia gripped her skirt hem, grief knotting like wet rope.

“We underestimated how fast Deceivers replace people.” Alvis tapped the desk, a steady beat like rain on eaves. “Ordinary folk don’t have the Exemption Authority Power against the evil taint. Meeting a Deceiver can fog the mind, and resistance drops like a loosened shield.”

He was hurt too; Kaeli had served long, loyalty like old cedar. Losing her stung.

But doubt lingered like smoke. Kaeli was clever; she wouldn’t rush in blind. Perhaps her hiding place was found and flushed.

Alvis held another thought, different from Lucimia’s—he set it down gently like a chess piece. “Don’t rush. We’ll strike back. The Church’s team arrives tonight. There’ll be a banquet. Why not…”