Lucimia took in the scene with eyes like nets cast over dark water. She lingered on the old mage twice, then once more, suspicion pricking like a thorn.
Could it be him? An octopus under a robe? Doubt pooled like ink, but proof stayed out of reach.
Desty finished her inspection and drifted back, steps like leaves skimming a stream.
“How is it?” Lucimia asked, voice a quiet bell in mist.
“No issues. Not a single flaw,” Desty said, steady as a rock under rain.
“Is that so?” Lucimia’s mind began to hum, gears turning like a waterwheel at twilight.
If the ritual’s fine, what swapped out the whole city? Holy Water? Even if it was tainted, it shouldn’t touch someone with a Blessing. Last time, everyone but her and Yuna was replaced.
Unless Elyssus himself polluted the Holy Water. But he’s sealed in another world right now, not summoned. It should be hard to reach across and meddle.
She sighed, a soft reed in wind. Can’t unravel it. No choice—follow the plan like a lantern path through fog.
They watched the fifth Magic Array in the central plaza, its lines knotted like constellations stitched on silk.
This array was more intricate, dozens of smaller arrays laced together. To her, it was a forest of runes, and she couldn’t see the trail.
Desty went through the motions again, hands like brushes over calm water. No problems.
Dusk bled into evening, a bruise on the sky. The ritual was close. They parted with quiet nods, two shadows slipping from one road to two.
Lucimia kept turning the idea of sabotage in her palms, like weighing a blade under moonlight.
Break the four corner arrays first. They were out of the way; the central plaza was a tide of bodies. According to Yuna, she’d be spotted by the third array. Then she would pound the “octopus,” draw Bazeroth and her father, and let the crook cry foul first—say the octopus was wrecking things and she caught him red-handed.
Father and Bazeroth would take it seriously, like thunderheads gathering. They’d recheck the ritual with a fine comb, and once they knew a Deceiver existed, they’d hunt the octopus like hounds on a scent.
Night fell, 22:00 sharp, a black ink stroke on the clock.
At 23:00 the Exorcism Ritual would begin. Lucimia had one hour to carve her changes.
She brought Yuna along. They started at the top-left, moving clockwise, like tracing a circle with a blade of night.
They rode the dark with a Flight Spell, skimming rooftops like swallows. They slipped past common folk, the current parting, and reached the first Magic Array.
The array glowed a pale blue, a pond under moonlight, poised to awaken. Holy Knights stood around it, spears like winter pines.
Such guards didn’t trouble Lucimia. She breathed an Invisibility Spell, her outline melting like mist, and tiptoed to the array’s heart.
She’d watched how mages placed the arrays earlier, learned the rhythm if not the song. Quiet as falling ash, she laced in several extra shapes with her own mana. When it was done, she ran, her shadow a brushstroke fleeing the page.
“Feels too easy. Why’s there no fuss?” she murmured, doubt flickering like a moth.
“Different… method,” Yuna said, voice a small flame behind glass.
“That so?” Lucimia’s mouth tilted, remembering—maybe the previous her had smashed things with brute force.
She worked the next two arrays the same way, needle-silent, thread-sure. When they reached the fourth, she found no guards at all, an empty stage under a pale sky.
Odd. But she stepped in, ready to stitch her changes.
The change came like a trap-spring.
Her foot touched the array. In the next breath, a razor gust knifed her back. She tugged Yuna close and slid aside, heat in her chest like a struck gong. A Wind Blade whooshed past her eyes, invisible as glass, slicing off several strands of hair before biting into a tree trunk.
The trunk parted cleanly, a sheared pillar, and half the tree crashed down like a drum.
Strong. Her first thought sharpened like steel.
She turned toward the source of the Wind Blade, gaze a thrown spear.
An elder in a classic mage robe stepped out of shadow, moving like a tide creeping over stones.
It was the very old mage she’d doubted this morning, mask now glinting under starlight.
“Hmph.” The old mage’s snort hit like frost. “Do you know I’ve followed you the whole way? Who would’ve thought the Exorcist Family’s young lady would destroy a Magic Array? Unforgivable.”
The scolding came like sleet.
Lucimia didn’t flinch. Her calm was a lake under snow. Now she could say with blood-deep certainty—this old mage was a Deceiver.
He claimed he’d shadowed her. Then why not stop her earlier? Other arrays had heaps of guards. If he had struck then, the net of Holy Knights could have closed, blocking every escape.
But he waited, chose an empty place, and slid out like a knife in silk—because he didn’t want witnesses to who he was.
“Hmph.” Lucimia matched his tone, a cold bell. “Do you know I’ve been fishing? Who would’ve thought a church man would sabotage a ritual. Not even human.”
“You!” His beard trembled like startled grass, anger blazing when her last words hit—a veil yanked, a secret nicked.
“Fine, fine. You’re not only wrecking the ritual, you’re trying to frame me. I must—what?! Aaah!”
He didn’t finish. His scream tore the quiet.
Lucimia didn’t wait for his script. While his guard slipped like a loose knot, she snapped a Wind Blade, a clean arc of air.
He didn’t react. His eyes widened as the blade slid into flesh like ice into water.
In a breath, the Wind Blade cleaved his body in two, a paper cut through silk.
Blood sprayed like crushed berries. A strange magic reaction flared, and his body began to dissolve, flesh melting like wax, revealing the true form—a red octopus.
Its red tentacles whipped madly, ropes in a storm, its roar raw and ragged, a scraped drum: “Raaaah!”
It lacked the Blue Ringed Octopus’s cunning; once it showed its octopus skin, words fell apart like wet clay.
In this form, their fighting power dipped. When they replaced someone, they could use a Simulation Blessing, mimicking the target’s favored abilities.
That’s why Lucimia didn’t play fair—she went straight for the robe, split the mask, and stripped the borrowed body. No hard fight. After that, the rest was easy.
The red octopus shrieked. Lucimia lifted a hand, bursting a bloom of fire in the air, a signal flare against night.
It drew Holy Knights from other posts, boots like rain.
They all spotted the red octopus, eyes spearing it like lantern light.
“What is that thing?”
“An octopus? Since when do octopuses fly? Did I drink too much?”
“You drank no damn wine. You’re on juice. That’s an Evil Entity. Report to the Executor and Miss Desty, now!”
“Yes!”
Several knights ran to report. The rest ringed the octopus, shields like petals closing. Lucimia backed off and worked with them, her ice magic coiling like winter vines, and they captured it alive.
Everything moved smooth as ink, sliding along her plan.
Bazeroth, her father Alvis, and Desty galloped in at once, urgency like thunderheads rolling.
They saw Lucimia, moonlight silvering her hair.
“I was out with Yuna,” Lucimia said, voice clean as spring water, “and found this octopus sabotaging the Magic Array.”
Eyes turned to the octopus, gazes like spears planted in the earth.
“Sabotaging the array…” Alvis said, low as distant thunder. “We must inspect every array again, Bazeroth.”
“Right.” Bazeroth nodded, face set, a cliff against waves.
They took over, sleeves rolled like banners. They checked for changes and redrew the array patterns, strokes neat as calligraphy.
They treated it like a storm on the horizon. Before the ritual began, they announced the Holy Water was Authority Power-tier. The Deceiver wouldn’t dare drink. It flushed out plenty, and they cut them down one by one like weeds.
Lucimia and Yuna also drank the Holy Water this time. With the inspection in full swing, there was no way to dodge the cup.
She didn’t worry. Her Authority Power felt like a warded charm, turning aside a thousand stains.
Nothing showed. Not a whisper of taint.
She hadn’t wanted Yuna to drink, but Yuna heard her suspicion about the Holy Water and insisted. She said they could test it, and at worst she’d use Reversion.
The surprise came like a clear bell. Yuna drank, and nothing happened. No ripple. Strange. In theory, if time itself was a Dark Deity, it should count as “evil” and be detected.
Yet the water stayed still, and the night held its breath.
