Lucimia had said before that this world belonged to Dark Deities, like a night sky owned by invisible stars.

Under Dark Deities, people couldn’t live in peace; the Purification Church rose like a lighthouse, throwing a circle of safe light on a stormy sea.

Yet the Church didn’t cover the whole world; blank spaces still lay on the map like frost-bitten fields without fire.

Sometimes the Church couldn’t reach; sometimes locals shut the gates and bristled like hedgehogs in the brush.

The Bannubi Empire was one of those winter-bright blanks.

Lucimia knew little; she only knew a river cut between the Bannubi Empire and the Kingdom of Sipan, like a sword stroke through earth.

Sipan was the Purification Church’s starting hearth; once that hearth warmed its own, the Church cast its net outward like migrating birds.

Most nations opened their doors like lantern-lit porches; a few slammed them shut like shutters in wind, the largest being the Bannubi Empire.

Why refuse? Border sparks already smoldered there, two neighbors glaring like wolves across a fence.

Even as enemies, the Church meant to shield all humankind against Evil Entities and Dark Deities, like rain that doesn’t choose which field to bless.

The Church said as much, steady as a bell.

But the Empire’s high seats replied they needed no shelter; they had their own way to fight, cards held tight like a cloak in rain.

What way that was, no one outside knew, the truth tucked away like a stone under snow.

Long ago, Lucimia had overheard her father and second brother: the Bannubi Empire often stirred war like iron in a forge.

Their warriors were a hard knot to cut; most were Swordmasters, marching like an undying legion that pushed Sipan back step by step like tide.

There was a front of killing cold, breath turning to smoke like threads; Sipan’s soldiers wrapped themselves in warmth like bears before a storm.

They meant to let the weather grind the Empire’s expedition down, like ice grinding oars, trusting home roads and supply fires.

No one expected the Empire’s warriors to shrug off cold like wolves in snow, never falling ill, growing fiercer with each frosted breath.

Sipan’s men, instead, fell to sickness and frostbite, bodies paling like withered leaves and stiffening like reeds in ice.

At the end, an ice-snow mage stepped forth like a glacier rising, pinned the enemy in place, and steadied the line like a nailed plank.

Sipan’s mages outshone Bannubi’s like clear stars; Bannubi’s Swordmasters outcut Sipan’s like honed steel.

Each side held its own strength, two wings on a scale like water and fire.

After saying all that, Lucimia really meant one thing: she, a Sipan noble, had drifted into enemy land like a lone boat into dark reeds.

This land had no Church canopy; out here, Dark Deities and Evil Entities might prowl like wolves beneath a moonless sky.

The Empire talked about its way to fight, but wrapped it in mist like a veiled mountain.

“Savior sister?” Shebelle peered up, her voice light as a sparrow on a branch. “Where did Savior sister come from?”

Guilt pricked first like a thorn; then Lucimia moved.

“I…” Lucimia hesitated, a stone skipping on water.

She had wanted to claim Bannubi blood to dodge enemy nets, a mask pulled on like shadow.

But that mask would blind her to truth like cloth over eyes, so she said lightly, “I’m from the country of Rovega.”

“Huh? Where’s that? I’ve never heard of it.” Her surprise fluttered like a moth.

“A small country,” Lucimia said, a casual wave like drifting cloud. “It’s normal you haven’t heard of it.”

“Oh~” Her answer trailed off like a ribbon.

Silence fell for a breath, like snow sifting down.

Lucimia spoke first, voice steady as a handrail. “You know what an Evil Entity is, and what a Dark Deity is, right?”

“Mm! I know.” Shebelle nodded, her braids swaying like reeds.

“Good.” Lucimia nodded back, then loosed the question that burned like a coal. “Since there’s no Church here, how do you fight Evil Entities and Dark Deities?”

“Um…” Shebelle pinched her hem, fingers twisting like wind around grass, tangled by doubt.

“Can’t say?” Lucimia asked, tone soft as rain. “Do your laws ban telling outsiders?”

“Actually… not really…” Her words crept out like a shy cat.

“Then what is it?” Lucimia’s gaze held steady like a lantern.

“It’s…” The girl bit her lip, teeth white as rice grains, struggling so long her eyes glazed like wet glass. “It’s our god…”

“A god? Which god?” Curiosity flickered through Lucimia like a fish in clear water.

Besides the Purification Deity, were there other gods?

Could it be a Dark Deity, a shadow under the eaves?

Shebelle drew a deep breath; her face settled solemn as if before an altar, a candle straightening in still air.

Lucimia saw and matched her, her own posture stilling like a pond.

“Mm. It’s… Plague God Niral.”

“…Plague?” The word hit Lucimia like a drop of cold rain. “That name… are you sure it’s not a Dark Deity?”

“It isn’t.” Shebelle shook her head, soft and firm like a bell’s last note. “The Plague God is good.”

“He’s always helping us. No one gets sick. He wipes out every disease, like fire burning mold from wood.”

“If Evil Entities invade, Plague God drives them off like wind chasing crows.”

“That…” The claim leaned hard against Lucimia’s old maps, crumpling them like paper.

She’d thought a Plague God must be a Dark Deity; plague, in people’s minds, was a black flood with teeth.

Yet here, he was a righteous god?

Maybe in this world, a name didn’t sort good from evil, like masks hiding smiles and frowns.

For example, a Dark Deity Olivya once slew held the Authority Power [Knowledge and Wisdom], bright as dawn on pages.

It sounded virtuous, yet that Dark Deity tried to strip humans of wisdom and knowledge, like locusts stripping a field.

And Plague God Niral held the Authority Power [Plague], a word like smoke, yet he did good?

Was that truly so, or just a story dressed in clean robes?

“Mm. If a god like that helps you, why is there still a plague?” Lucimia’s question landed like a stone in water. “Why ask me to wipe it out? Isn’t that a contradiction?”

“Um…” Shebelle twisted again, a sapling in gusts, eyes swimming until tears pooled like dew.

“This?” Lucimia pressed gently, voice low as dusk.

Shebelle struggled so hard she nearly cried, breath hitching like a finch in a snare.

Seeing that, Lucimia lifted a hand and let the question go like a kite’s string. “Forget it. If you don’t want to say, don’t say.”

She wouldn’t corner a little girl; her heart stayed cool as shade.

Shebelle exhaled, relief soft as steam; still, fearing Lucimia’s anger, she whispered, “Grandma told me not to tell outsiders…”

“I see.” The answer sat in Lucimia’s chest like a pebble.

“So, can you help us wipe out the plague?” The talk circled back, a river returning to its bend.

“Mm… but I’m not a doctor,” Lucimia said, palms up like empty plates. “I’ve got other matters too.”

“And I don’t even know what’s going on here. How am I supposed to wipe anything out?”

Weariness sagged over her like a wet cloak. She only wanted home—a soft bed like a cloud, a long sleep like night without dreams, and a hot meal after.

“Uu…” The girl lowered her head, eyes brimming like dawn leaves.

Pity didn’t move Lucimia; her mind stayed still as stone. Even if she agreed, could she do it?

Her only real method was Devouring, a black tide she couldn’t fully call right now.

Forget it; she could barely keep her own lantern lit in this wind.

Lucimia turned away, clean and cold as a blade, and let the girl slip from her gaze.

Then Desty’s weak voice drifted over, a candle flicker in a draft. “I think… we should… help them, right?”