The Church’s sweep went just as Lucimia had guessed, like a net drawn tight over dark water. They mustered soldiers for checks. Many balked at the Authority-level Holy Water. Purification Knights cut them down one by one, like lanterns snuffing shadows, and hauled in a good catch of octopuses.

Alvis worked with the Church, letting word ripple through the city like wind through grass. In the loose crowds, a few tried to slip away. Holy Knights posted on the town’s rim nabbed them like hawks at the hedges.

As for the rest, once the ritual ignites, there will be nowhere to hide, like moths pinned by firelight.

By now, Deceiver Elyssus was officially named by the Church as a real Dark Deity, like a name carved into stone.

They also gleaned extra scraps of truth from the captured octopuses, like pearls pried from grit.

Octopuses came in different breeds. Those with bodies black as ink were the common kind. They had brute strength and blistering speed, nothing more, like arrows without fletching. Before replacing a host, they could barely speak. The Blessing they carried was [Simulation].

They burrowed into flesh, ate the personality and soul like winter gnawing leaves, then found a tongue. They used Simulation to mimic part of the original owner’s skills, like a painter tracing lines.

There were red ones, green ones, and other shades, like flags in a storm.

The strongest caught was the Blue Ringed Octopus. Blades could sprout from its suckers like thorns from wet stone. It spat venom like cold rain. Even so, Lucimia and Desty brought it down in quick tandem, steel stitching water.

Seen this way, their real combat strength wasn’t high. They died easy once found, like weeds under a sickle. Their threat lay in their hidden glide before discovery, defense slipping like sand.

Another point: these octopuses were followers of the Authority of [Disguise]. Elyssus’s full Authority Power was [Disguise and Deceit], twin masks in one frame. They had yet to find the Deceiver mentioned by the Blue Ringed Octopus. Even that octopus didn’t know where the Deceiver lurked. The two sets of believers were split, like rivers parting around a rock.

Were there believers loyal to both? Maybe. No one could say for sure, the fog thick on that road.

Across the town, once folk heard the Church had purged another Evil Entity, gratitude rose like incense. Mouths kept chanting, “Praise the Purification Deity.” The mood swelled like drums. Devotion to the Church set like stone.

Miss Desty’s name began to spread today, wind carrying a bright tale. Her one-sword, one-octopus flourish burned into hearts, a stance hard to forget.

While the outside blazed, Lucimia stayed indoors, studying how to slip past tonight’s inspection like a fish under nets.

Barefoot at her desk, she flipped the books her father had slipped her, toes swaying like willow leaves.

If the ritual was Authority-level, the Blessing’s Exemption against taint couldn’t be dodged. If it couldn’t be dodged, then as a Dark Deity she’d be exposed, like a lantern in a cave.

You may wonder, isn’t a Dark Deity Authority-level too? Why fear a Purification Deity of equal weight, two tigers on one mountain?

That leads to the guts of Authority Power. Non‑conflicting Authorities don’t touch each other’s effects, like parallel tracks. Conflicting Authorities will tangle and distort both sides, like crossed wires. How the distortion lands, Lucimia didn’t know. The book kept that page blank.

She turned into ten thousand whys, the questions buzzing like bees, and lashed herself with one more: What is my Authority?

At first, from her believers’ dress and her own face that drew eyes like a magnet, she guessed it was Charm. It wasn’t.

Later, based on where the Exemption Deity showed up and the anomalies during her fight with the Blue Ringed Octopus, she was ninety‑nine percent sure she was the Exemption Deity. She even felt happy, a wind in her sleeves, thinking she could slip the Exorcism Ritual.

Then Father told her the Exemption Deity’s name was Regana, not Olivya. That shattered the glass.

Could the surname be wrong? Unlikely, a stone that won’t move.

Today again, she asked herself: What is my Authority? Only by naming it could she find a lever for tonight’s ritual. With what she had, she couldn’t pry open this trap.

Am I not a Dark Deity? What Dark Deity doesn’t know her own Authority? That felt pathetic, a crown slipping.

But the logic didn’t hold. If she weren’t a Dark Deity, the sacrifices wouldn’t have been delivered to her door, like birds homing to the wrong nest.

Could they have sent them wrong? It wasn’t impossible. Those believers always felt unreliable, like carts with loose wheels. Who offers a maggot‑ridden dead pig to a Dark Deity? And she’d never granted them any Blessing.

They seemed stuck studying Olivya’s preferences, fumbling like kids in the dark, unlike other Dark Deities’ believers who knew their lord’s tastes and the shape of the ritual.

“Sigh, damn.” Lucimia felt her thoughts fray like damp rope and began biting her finger again, a habit nibbling back.

She replayed the last two days, looking for odd notes. Aside from the corruption gnawing at her sanity, she did find one anomaly.

She felt very smart. Not vanity—these two or three days, that quick little mind had cut through crises like a blade through silk, and deduced more than a few truths.

She linked it with Father’s tale: an ancestor once slew a Dark Deity, [Knowledge and Wisdom]. Boldly, she wagered a thought—did that Dark Deity reincarnate as her, slipped into the Exorcist Family that had once cut him down, to settle old scores?

And why was her knowledge thin, her guesses sometimes wrong? Maybe she had no past-life memories. Maybe the power was still waking, like dawn peeling open.

Okay, a bit melodramatic. Still, a bold guess, a stone tossed into deep water.

She didn’t know how the Authority of Knowledge and Wisdom should manifest, a book without its first page.

“So tired...” Sitting on the bench, head throbbing like drums, Lucimia gave up on thinking. She leaned back, letting her head tip into shadow.

“Uh...” Her calves pushed against the wall, rocking the chair like a small boat. A nonsense sound drifted from her lips, a bubble in mud.

After all that thought, she felt she’d found nothing, like chasing smoke. Still no way to solve tonight’s ritual.

By the clock, it was close to noon. The weather was foul. Even at midday, the sky was only faintly blue, ink clouds herding in from afar.

“Forget it. As things stand, let’s eat first.” Lucimia took Yuna’s hand and led her to the dining room, like a sister guiding a chick.

She explained how she’d met Yuna and only wanted to bring her home to play. Her parents said little. Her mother was glad—Lucimia had made a friend, a flower opening late.

After lunch, on the way back to the bedroom, Yuna tugged at Lucimia’s skirt hem, like a fish nibbling a line.

“What is it?” Lucimia turned back, eyes soft as dusk.

“Lucy, sis.” Yuna paused, words gathering like droplets. “Tonight… is it the Exorcism Day?”

“Mm.” A small sound, like a bead rolling.

“Lucy, sis, you seem… restless. Is it because the ritual will expose the Dark Deity identity?”

Lucimia’s lips parted in surprise, a door creaking. She quickly covered Yuna’s mouth and lowered her voice. “Keep it down. And how do you know? Do you have mind‑reading?”

Yuna shook her head, pink hair swaying like petals. With a small smile, she explained, “Lucy, sis’s identity—Yuna already knows. I know what the Exorcism Ritual does. Think it through, it’s easy to guess.”

“Fine. Then why tell me this? Do you have a way to help me avoid the Exorcism Ritual?”