"...Not sure." Lucimia shook her head, a cool shiver rippling through her like wind over still water.

To be honest, when Ritch cracked that joke, a wicked thought flickered—maybe Cole had just dragged a few friendly faces to slip away for drinks, like a cat melting into shadow behind Ritch’s back.

Otherwise, why send off two soldiers to guard two places? That smelled like letting the men pull a dull duty while the captain chased warmth and wine, like embers hidden under ash.

But the thought snagged and turned. If he wanted to drink, why stage a fake arrest before a bunch of drunks? Was he trying to show he was working, like waving a banner in the rain? If he went to a tavern, wouldn’t everyone still see it, like lantern light in an alley?

"What now?" Ritch’s voice tugged her out of the eddy of thoughts, like a pebble dropped into a quiet stream.

"We take a look first." The calm came first; then she lifted her hand.

They dropped from the sky in a soft sweep, landing at the door of No Leaving Till You’re Drunk, dust fluttering like moths around lanterns.

Inside, the clink of cups braided with the twang of strings, a bright weave sparking laughter like sparks jumping off a hearth.

Standing outside the threshold, Lucimia could hear voices roll and tumble, a river of talk.

Someone said—

"Sigh, thank the Purification Church and the Exorcist Families. Otherwise we wouldn’t drink this easy, like sleeping under a safe roof. Think about places the Church doesn’t cover—how scary’s that? Do people even survive there? Sigh, those Holy Knights fighting Evil Entities, they’re something. I’d love to speak to one up close. During Exorcism Rituals, they always stand way off, like statues in fog."

"Not sure. Best not stick our noses in. The Knights protect us, sure, but sometimes even they don’t know when they’ve been polluted, like a stain in clear water. Getting too close isn’t good for plain folk like us. Still, the Church keeps us safe—that’s real. The Church is solid."

"You’re right. Look at the Lancelot Family. They got too close to Evil Entities. So many in their line died, even the current lord’s eldest son, gone like a candle in wind."

"I heard they’re planning to become a normal noble family. Isn’t there word they already banned their daughter from anything tied to the Dark Deity?"

"Who knows? Why fret so much? Let’s drink. Drink and it’s done."

"True. Drink!"

"Drink!"

Lucimia could hear the gulping, loud and greedy, like wells swallowing rain. Then a satisfied ahh rolled out, and cups slammed hard to the table, the sharp clack ringing like metal on stone.

Someone spoke again, voice rough with wine.

"But that daughter from the Lancelot Family is real easy on the eyes. Last Exorcism Ritual, I saw her from way off. That face—tsk, tsk, tsk—Succubus Row can’t compete, not even their best."

"For real? You’ve been to Succubus Row? Humans and demonfolk aren’t that cozy. You’re joking, right?" One guy sounded doubtful, like a cat staring at thunder.

"No joke. Why would I lie? I used to be an adventurer. I roamed north and south, like a hawk riding currents. I’ve been everywhere. Yeah, relations aren’t great. But I saw them from a distance, like seeing torches across the river!" The first guy spread it on thick, pride puffing like steam.

"Fine, fine. You’re tough."

Yeah, this world kneels under a Dark Deity’s shadow, but adventurers still roam like foxes crossing snow.

And demonfolk still walk the land, old and familiar as mountains.

Because of Evil Entities, humans and demonfolk don’t clash blade-to-blade. Mostly it’s you keep your well, I’ll keep mine—rivers stay in their banks, lives run in their grooves.

Though Lucimia wondered—without anything like the Purification Church, how do demonfolk handle pollution? How do they wash a stain out of their stars?

She had stayed in this small Town of Tranquility like a sparrow that never leaves its tree. She didn’t know the whole sky of this world.

After listening, Lucimia decided not to go in, a soft caution settling like frost. Better avoid trouble born from a careless step.

She told Ritch a few quick words, quiet as needles stitching cloth. Go in, see if Cole’s there. If not, ask whether anyone saw Cole, or saw soldiers bring people in.

Ritch agreed. He lifted his sword and walked into the tavern, steel humming like a cold reed.

As the door swung open, a wave of liquor breath rolled out, heavy as summer air. Lucimia turned sideways and tucked in by the wall, a swallow under an eave.

When the door shut again, the smell thinned like fog peeling off the river.

Ritch had barely stepped inside when the music cut off, clean and sudden, like a string snapped. The noise died too. Silence fell in a single drop.

"Sol—soldier?"

"Soldier sir, why are you here? Is something wrong?" Voices rose, unsure as candles flickering in a draft.

"Hm?" Hearing the room’s shock, Lucimia’s skin tightened, a prickle like pine needles in cold wind. Something’s off.

"Soldier sir, did you come to drink, or for some other business?" A woman’s voice carried, warm but careful, like a hostess smoothing a wrinkled cloth. Maybe a server.

Ritch didn’t answer at once. He was looking, steady as a hunter weighing tracks.

After a pause, he cleared his throat. "Tell me, did any other soldiers come in just now? A very tall, very burly soldier. He brought a few soldiers and civilians in together."

"This… I’m very sorry, soldier sir. Besides you, no soldiers came in just now…"

"What?!" Ritch’s voice cracked the air, sharp as a spear tap. The server flinched like a leaf.

"S-s-soldier sir! I swear it’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you!" Her words stumbled, beads scattering off a string.

"Yeah, she’s telling the truth. I didn’t see anyone," a patron chimed in, voice flat as a stone.

"Me too. I can vouch for it. No soldiers entered. Actually, nobody entered at all. Except you." Another voice rolled in, steady as a drum.

"I didn’t see anyone."

"Nor did I."

"We didn’t see a thing. Please don’t make it hard on a server, soldier sir." Bodies shifted, backs straightening like reeds rising in a pond.

The rest of the drinkers stood one by one, confirming her words, a tide gathering on the shore.

"Ah, sorry. I didn’t mean that. I was just surprised." Ritch paused, then asked, "You’re sure you didn’t see anyone?"

"Didn’t see a soul. We’re drinking."

"Yeah, I’m drinking too."

"Not me. I ordered roast meat." Laughter tried and failed to spark.

"…All right. I understand. Thanks for your help." Ritch turned and left, steps heavy as boots in wet clay.

As he stepped out, whispers floated behind him, thin as smoke.

"Hey, did he get polluted by an Evil Entity? Nobody came in, right? I’m not drunk yet."

"Nobody came in. I haven’t even started my drink. No way I’m drunk."

"Then that means he…"

"Don’t go that far. This is the Town of Tranquility. How could there be filth? And he only asked about his partner. Maybe he just saw wrong, like mist in moonlight."

"True."

Outside, Ritch looked at Lucimia, face twisted by shock, like a mirror warped by heat.

Not just him. Lucimia’s brows knit, tight as a bowstring.

"What… is going on? We saw Cole walk into this tavern, didn’t we?" Ritch said, disbelief beating like wings.

"Mm. We didn’t mistake it." Her certainty sat cold, a nail in wood.

Then why did every patron swear otherwise? The question gnawed, a rat behind a wall.

She had felt it already when Ritch stepped in. If Cole had entered this tavern, the drinkers shouldn’t be startled seeing a second soldier, nor should the music die, laughter freeze, mouths clamp shut to ask if trouble had arrived. That reaction was wrong, like snow in summer.

Normally, with Cole as the first soldier through the door, their surprise would have already spent itself. Seeing Ritch soon after, they wouldn’t make that big a fuss, like waves easing after a storm.

Could everyone inside be Deceivers? Only then could they cover for him cleanly, like soot hiding ink.

That thought chilled her skin. What had the Deceivers done, silent as spiders, while no one watched?

Goosebumps marched up her arms, a field of tiny thorns.

But no—that couldn’t be right. Drinkers come from everywhere, like birds on different winds. It’s too neat for today’s crowd to be all Deceivers. Not one normal soul?

It didn’t add up.

Unless the whole city had been replaced. But then why hold a ritual and hand out polluted Holy Water? If that were true, they’d just trigger the summoning, like striking flint to tinder.

So that theory broke, ash in rain.

Which means the problem lies with Cole.