“…Try again?” Lucimia sighed, her breath like mist over cold water.

Resignation pooled like rainwater. She felt shoved along like driftwood in a flood, not choosing, only carried.

Her heart was a muddled fog. Lucimia still recalled Elyssus’s hint.

—Bazeroth. —Blue Ringed Octopus. The names pricked like thorns under her skin. Was it the Blue Ringed Octopus?

She’d hunted for the boy the Blue Ringed Octopus wore like a mask, but found nothing, like a net drawn empty. She’d planned to end him and sweep that creature off the stage of history, like ash brushed from a shrine.

A pity—only emptiness, like a stone tossed into a well.

A chill crawled like spiders. So the Blue Ringed Octopus, through Elyssus, was swapping townsfolk like cards, paving the summoning ritual?

Lucimia missed it because Elyssus, possessing someone, used Authority Power to veil her eyes like gauze?

Wait. Without the Sacrificial Ritual, how did Elyssus possess? Without possession, how did it wield Authority Power to trick Lucimia, like a lock without a key?

It must have triggered the Sacrificial Ritual once already, like a spark hidden in ash. Did Bazeroth start it elsewhere? No… please no—stormclouds gathered behind her eyes.

Helplessness pooled like lead. If so, she had no way. She’d guessed to search the road the Church took for a Magic Array, but if he made a backup, the trail scattered like leaves in wind.

Clarity felt useless, like light in a sealed jar. She had no blade to cut the knot. Of course—Elyssus’s hint only told her what it did, not a cure. Reason lay cold as slate. Still, was there a way?

In Elyssus’s plan, two nails held the board: Bazeroth and the Blue Ringed Octopus. She couldn’t touch Bazeroth; what about the Octopus, a single star within reach?

The Blue Ringed Octopus had to work with Bazeroth, harvest enough souls by sacrifice, then start the summoning, like a mill turning on river water. If the Octopus died, the townsfolk wouldn’t be replaced. Then the ritual would stall like a mill with no water.

She didn’t know how it sent souls from afar, like a dark river underground. Maybe some peculiar channel.

A plan budded in Lucimia’s chest like a thorny rose. She could kill the Blue Ringed Octopus, erase it from history like chalk washed by rain. The key was finding it, like a thread in a tangled skein.

Thoughts spun like crows in a wind. Elyssus could communicate without a ritual. It must have already told Bazeroth to rush to a backup site and start a Magic Array, like fire carried from hearth to hearth. It also warned the Blue Ringed Octopus to hide like a rat from the knife.

Before the Sacrificial Ritual started, Elyssus couldn’t shield the Octopus. In that gap, it could only burrow and wait, like a mole in dark soil. Conveniently, that gap was Lucimia’s crack in the wall.

At dawn, pale as milk, she took Yuna and slipped out the window like a swallow. From the family’s rear garden, she opened the Magic Eye, cold as a glacier. She searched for the boy’s silhouette like a hawk over fields.

Before Lucimia’s first loop, the boy appeared on the lane beyond her back garden, like a recurring omen. After the loop, he appeared across the street, a shadow on the opposite wall. Either way, he was nearby, like a shadow stuck to stone. With the Magic Eye, without Elyssus’s shield, he couldn’t slip past her gaze, sharp as a falcon’s.

She circled in the air for a while, intent wheeling like a gyre. Soon, Lucimia spotted the boy. He walked the main street, small as a sparrow, hiding behind adults like brush. His eyes skittered about, wary like a hare sensing a hawk.

Lucimia snorted, a shard of frost. She’d kill the Blue Ringed Octopus outright, then have Yuna do Reversion, like the tide erasing footprints. After that, she’d tackle Bazeroth’s thread, a knot to pick later. With Yuna’s Reversion, she needn’t fear witnesses. She only had to avoid area spells that would hit innocents, like wildfire jumping fences.

Ice gathered in her palm, forming an Ice Lance like a winter fang. From above, she aimed at the boy, threw hard, and guided it with mana like a taut wire. Whoosh—! The lance split the air like a tearing seam.

The boy seemed to feel Lucimia’s killing intent, sharp as sleet. Instinct lifted his head, like a deer’s twitch. He saw the lance streaking straight for him like a falling star. He twisted aside, quick as a fish. The Ice Lance pierced his shoulder and nailed him to the stone like a butterfly.

The nearby crowd panicked, fear blooming like dandelions in wind. Some screamed and fled, like birds in a burst. Some rushed in to check the boy’s wounds, hands fluttering like moths. Others looked up and spotted Lucimia hovering like a pale falcon.

“It’s her!” The words cracked like dry twigs. “Isn’t that the young lady of the Lancelot Family?” Their shock rippled like water. “Why is she killing innocents like a storm?”

Lucimia ignored them; Reversion would wash this clean like tidewater. She dropped fast and shaped an ice blade in her hand, ready to finish it like a guillotine. Her mood soured, prickly like nettles.

“Move.” Lucimia’s voice cracked like thunder under stone. A few men checking the boy’s wound hesitated, then stood before him like a fence. “Can we ask why you’re doing this?”

“It’s an Evil Entity. I’m exorcising.” Lucimia’s face was a mask of frost.

“This…” The men traded looks, ripples across a pond. They glanced at the boy behind, eyes trembling like reeds. “Ow—ow— it hurts… it hurts…” The boy lay bleeding, weeping snot and tears like a rain-bent willow. The men looked back at Lucimia, uneasy as dusk. “This… doesn’t look like an Evil Entity.”

“Hm?” Their words hit Lucimia like a pebble on glass. Why could the boy still speak, like a flute in a storm? Why was he crying, salt rivers down his face? Didn’t her magic work like quicklime? Normally, after a hit, the skin should slump away and show the Blue Ringed Octopus, like a mask torn off. Why this time…?

Shock cracked through her like ice in spring. She hurried over and crouched by the boy, knees in dust like kneeling on cold ash. His eyes brimmed like flooded wells, pleading at Lucimia. “Sis… why did you hurt me…” “I…” Lucimia’s face emptied, hands lost like birds in smoke. Did she kill the wrong person? No—same clothes, same face, etched like a portrait. She couldn’t be wrong.

The crowd caught on and turned, voices pecking like crows. “Tsk tsk, never thought the Exorcist Family’s young lady would do this.” Their scorn buzzed like flies. “Killing innocents—poor boy.” “Doesn’t she refuse to do exorcisms?” “Why pull this?” “Maybe that’s an excuse.” “She’s spoiled, learned some magic, noble blood, so she slaughters people.” “Do nobles get to do that?” “She should be punished.” “Makes sense.” Their verdicts fell like hail.

Lucimia stood ringed by people, fingers pointing like spears. Her mood plunged, black as a pit. The darling of the crowd was now a target on a post, feathers plucked. Their words grew looser, ugly as flies.

“No, it’s not…” She tried to explain, but her tongue felt like wood, heavy as wet bark. Did the Blue Ringed Octopus not replace the boy? Is he still himself, like a candle unlit? Did I kill an innocent? How am I different from a Dark Deity, a storm that eats crops? I only wanted to give up, not become a villain.

Right—the boy wasn’t dead. Reversion could still reset him, like winding a clock back. He wouldn’t be swept off history’s slate, like chalk erased. She still had a chance with Yuna. Thinking that, Lucimia looked down at the boy. The sight made her hair stand like needles on ice.

The boy lay there and lifted his head. Both mouth-corners curled up too far, like hooks. His eyes narrowed to slits, the corners tugging down like bent branches. He wore that signature devilish grin 😈, slick as oil. “Hehehe.” He laughed, a sound like a rat scratching.

?! Lucimia’s pupils jolted like struck bells. No—the boy was the Blue Ringed Octopus. Something was wrong, deeply wrong, a worm at the root. Lucimia flared her mana and blasted aside the men like reeds in flood. She sprinted in, grit her teeth, and brought the ice blade down, aiming for his skull like a falling axe. A watching soldier reacted in time and slammed her with a shield, like a battering ram. Her blade sank only into the boy’s chest, cold as iron. “Hehehe~” The pierced boy didn’t scream; he kept grinning, sly as a fox.