She waited the whole night, and Lucimia saw nothing strange about Bazeroth.

He studied the blueprint, washed up, and lay down. Sleep took him like a tide at dusk.

That baffled her. Unease pressed first, then thought followed. Why didn’t he contact his fellow Deceivers? How would he set the next move without them?

Did Bazeroth not know there were Deceivers in town? Had Cole been the one who approached him, handed him the plan?

Now Cole was dead. No Deceiver had come knocking. Did that mean Bazeroth would follow the usual script, distribute normal Holy Water, hold a normal rite?

Then did she not need to swap the Holy Water and wreck the ceremony?

Impossible. Lucimia shook her head, like a willow shedding doubt.

She wouldn’t leave a single loose thread. Even if Bazeroth kept to routine, she’d still swap the Holy Water and break the rite.

She would cut off every chance like pruning a poisonous vine.

She cast an Invisibility Spell on herself, eased the window open, and slipped into the bedroom like a night breeze.

Her feet touched the solid floor, cool as river stones. She didn’t rush the swap. First she watched Bazeroth.

Eyes shut. Chest rising and falling like a slow tide. His breath even. He looked sunk in sweet sleep.

He didn’t stir at all. Lucimia moved quick to the wooden crates, swept them into her Storage Ring, then set out the “Holy Water” she’d prepared.

She had readied it that morning.

The crates and glass bottles matched the originals. The church’s bottles had no special mark, easy to mirror.

Inside was only drinking water. Clear and tasteless, like Holy Water’s twin.

Good deed done, Lucimia withdrew. Bazeroth noticed nothing. Everything flowed smooth as still water.

What next? Keep watching Bazeroth? What if he woke at midnight and met someone in the dark?

Forget it. Keep watching.

She aimed an Imagerecording Stone at the room, then perched on a jutting ledge outside the window, and lifted her gaze to the moon.

The sky was unusually clear tonight, not a cloud like a blank scroll. The moon hung full and round, a pale-blue lantern in the black.

Beautiful, she breathed, like dew on jade.

She wished this moon would greet her every night.

Morning came like the edge of a blade. Bazeroth hadn’t moved all night. He rose and stretched, lazy as a cat warmed by sun.

Lucimia, by contrast, had stood her vigil. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Weariness pooled; a yawn slipped out.

Damn. She rubbed her eyes. I can’t sleep yet. I still have to wreck today’s ceremony. If I endure today, the octopus crisis should ease.

If Elyssus couldn’t be summoned, the board would be in her hands. Then she’d sweep the octopi clean and drive the Deceivers from town.

She also planned to watch Bazeroth through the day, see if he’d tamper at the rite. Meanwhile, she’d cull the octopus hidden among the mages.

Morning meant Bazeroth would meet his father. During that window, she didn’t need to tail him. She could go kill the octopus in the mage team first.

She could also test her earlier guess: anything she killed would vanish from this world, erased like chalk in rain.

If true, even if she killed that mage, no one would notice one person missing.

As an assassination gift, it was sharp as a hidden dagger.

Bazeroth ordered the mages to set up the Magic Array. He took a few key people and headed for the Lancelot Family.

Lucimia shadowed them from the air, a quiet hawk riding the breeze. Once they entered the estate, she relaxed and slipped through her own window.

“Lucy, big sis!” Yuna heard the sound and knew the visitor at once.

Mm-hm.

Lucimia answered, then told Yuna what happened last night and laid out the plan ahead.

“Taking me this time?”

“Yeah. We go together. For now, we pretend we just woke up. We walk out the front door.”

“Okay.”

They did as planned. After breakfast, they saw Bazeroth and Alvis deep in talk.

They greeted Miss Desty, then Lucimia took Yuna’s hand and stepped out.

High above, Lucimia flew, combing the town for the Deceiver she met in the last loop.

Soon she found the old man. He and several mages were discussing the Magic Array like carp around grain.

Lucimia landed not far away and walked toward him, steps light as falling leaves.

“Oh? Isn’t this the Lancelot Family’s young lady? What brings you to me, miss?”

She glanced at him, cold water over stone.

Hmph. He wore his human mask well.

Lucimia cleared her throat. “My father needs you. Please come at once. Officer Bazeroth is there too.”

“Is that so? Ah, all right, I’ll go in a bit.” The old man nodded, placid as a pond.

“No. They said it’s urgent. Come with me now.”

“Uh…” He hesitated. Her unyielding gaze pressed like a sword at the throat. To avoid exposure, he agreed.

“Fine. Let’s go now.”

“Mm-hm. On our way.” Lucimia smiled and nodded.

She led him into a narrow alley, a vein of shadow between brick.

“This way? Why not the main road?” He glanced left and right, nerves rustling like dry grass.

Lucimia moved easy, voice casual. “This way’s shorter.”

“…Oh.” He nodded, half-convinced, still trailing after her.

When they reached a quiet spot where no one would intrude, Lucimia suddenly turned.

“What is it? Why stop? Wrong turn?”

“No. We’re close. I’ll give you something first.” She raised a small hand, fist closed, palm up.

The old man leaned in. “What is it?”

As he drew close, Lucimia opened her hand. Two strands of hair lay on her palm like black silk.

His face soured. He felt mocked and anger rose like a struck wasp. Then one hair snapped straight and shot forward like lightning.

Pffft.

The hair was a needle, sharp as frost. It punched into his forehead. His human skin melted, revealing the octopus body beneath.

“Rraaah—urk.”

The roar died halfway. Lucimia’s second hair lanced through him, and sound fell flat.

The inky body broke into powder, ash on a wind, and drifted away.

All done. Let’s head back, Yuna. Lucimia brushed her hair with a fingertip, a ripple across black water.