Desty spoke up, her face pale as paper, her right hand resting on her forehead like a wilted leaf seeking shade.

“Help? Why?” Lucimia asked, her voice cool as moonlight on still water.

“I actually woke up earlier,” Desty murmured, her words thin as a thread of rain. “I heard what you said…”

“And?” Lucimia’s tone flicked like a fan snapping shut.

“So… that little girl saved us, right?” Desty’s eyes wavered like ripples. “She dragged us to shore. We should… repay the favor.”

Lucimia fell silent, her gaze flat as a calm lake that hid currents.

She sighed, a soft wind slipping through bamboo. “Even if she hadn’t pulled us up, we wouldn’t have died. I had precautions.”

Desty choked on her breath, as if a pebble had skipped across it.

“But…” Lucimia’s tone turned, a blade catching light. “If she hadn’t, your intracranial bleeding might’ve worsened. I couldn’t have saved you then.”

“No wonder my head keeps spinning,” Desty muttered, her hand pressing like a clamp.

“So it’s her and me who did you a kindness,” Lucimia said, her meaning coiling like smoke. “Not me owing her.”

“What… are you trying to say?” Desty asked, confusion clouding like mist.

She pushed herself up slowly, her hair sliding over her shoulder like a dark waterfall.

“I mean, if you want to help them, go alone,” Lucimia said, her voice steady as a drawn line. “I won’t. I have my own path. I’m going home.”

“Why?” Desty’s confusion flared, like a lantern shaken in wind. “Aren’t you from an Exorcist Family?”

“From the girl’s story, I feel the plague links to a Dark Deity or an Evil Entity,” she pressed, words like drumbeats. “Aren’t you investigating? Didn’t you resolve the town’s Dark Deity? Didn’t you ask me to help with those little octopi, to keep people safe? Aren’t you righteous? Aren’t you like me? So why stop here?”

The volley of questions pelted Lucimia like sudden rain on stone.

She rubbed her temples, her breath tightening like a drawn bow. “I never said I was righteous or noble. I fought the octopus for myself. Why help strangers tied to me by nothing?”

“You…” Desty stared, stunned like a bird mid-flight struck by silence.

She had assumed Lucimia shared her creed, a flame to flame, ready to burn for faith and cause.

But Lucimia was nothing like that, and Desty’s heart wavered like a lantern in a draft.

“Fine. I’ll help on my own.” Desty struggled upright, one hand at her waist like a brace. “Even without a debt, I’d help. And… sorry. I thought you were my kind, so I dragged you with me. Turns out I was forcing you. Sorry.”

She spoke coldly, like steel cooled in snow, then brushed dust from her clothes as if shaking off ash, and walked toward Shebelle.

Shebelle watched the red-haired girl approach, then glanced at Lucimia standing apart like a lone pine. Her hands fidgeted like leaves in wind.

In her eyes, the black-haired girl looked like the doctor, while the red-haired one seemed… not.

“Wait,” Lucimia called, her voice cutting like a bell in fog.

“What is it?” Desty turned, her eyes bright as flint. “Changed your mind?”

“No.” Lucimia’s tone was cool as shaded stone. “You can’t go.”

Impatience finally broke in Desty like a storm cresting. “Why?”

“You’re coming back with me as my witness, to clear my name.” Lucimia’s voice brooked no tide.

“?” Desty blinked, puzzlement drifting like smoke.

“The Church will mistake me for a Dark Deity,” Lucimia said simply, each word a pebble in a quiet pond. “Only you know I’m not. I need your testimony.”

“A mistake?” Desty frowned, thoughts knotting like reeds. “It can’t be everyone who thinks you’re a Dark Deity.”

“You’re right,” Lucimia said. “But I don’t trust chance. So you’re coming with me.”

“I refuse.” Desty’s face cooled, a sheet of frost over a river. “I have to help the people here. And there’s no way everyone will misjudge you. I passed intel to a mage. He should explain for you.”

She turned to leave, but Lucimia’s voice struck like a thrown pebble.

“Are you an idiot?”

“Hah?” Desty spun, her youthful face tightening like a drawn string, anger pricking like nettles. “Why insult me? Are you saying helping others is stupid?”

“I never said that.” Lucimia narrowed her eyes, a cat watching a dark lane. She glanced at Shebelle behind Desty, then met Desty’s gaze again, sharp as frost. “Forget whether that mage is even alive. Tell me. How will you help these people? How will you end a plague?”

“How to help…” Desty’s voice deflated like a punctured drum. She had no answer, just silence pooling.

Seeing Desty hesitate, Lucimia drew a deep breath that settled like rain. She stepped close, her face solemn as a shrine. “You don’t even know the situation here. You want to charge in on passion alone? You couldn’t beat a Blue Ringed Octopus. How will you face a Dark Deity or any Evil Entity here? Do you know where this is? This is the Bannubi Empire. Without the Church, how does one person help?”

Desty was struck speechless, her resolve flickering like a candle in wind.

“And are you a doctor?” Lucimia pressed on, words tapping like hail on tile. “How will you treat anyone? Can you cast Healing Magic? You can’t, right? Is your Blessing about Purification of disease? It isn’t, right? So how? Do you understand what a plague means? It’s not one patient and a prayer. Do you get that?”

Desty bit her lower lip, teeth white as ice on plum bark, and said nothing.

“So,” Lucimia finished, her tone flat as a closed gate, “what’s wrong with me calling you an idiot?”

“I…” Desty’s voice broke, like a twig underfoot.

Could she really be an idiot?

“But I can’t just walk away,” she said, the words steadying like a spear planted in earth. “As a Holy Knight, helping others is carved into my creed. I’ll stay.”

Desty clung to it, stubborn as a pine in snow, while Lucimia laid out reasons like stones across a stream.

Desty ignored her and turned away, her steps firm as drumbeats.

“I pulled you back from the brink, and you’re marching to your death?” Lucimia shouted, anger flaring like sparks in dry grass.

Desty didn’t slow, her back straight as a blade.

Lucimia let out a heavy sigh, dusk settling over her shoulders like a shawl.

If that’s how it is…

She took two steps forward, her voice low as a distant gong. “Desty, I saved you twice. First, in the Town of Tranquility, I pulled you from the Blue Ringed Octopus. Second, I stopped the bleeding in your skull. You say you’re a Holy Knight. Your creed must include not repaying kindness with dust. I need your help now. Why won’t you return with me and clear my name?”

Desty stopped at last, the tips of her red hair swaying like embers in a breeze.

“I…” The word stuck, a fish caught in a net.

On one side, the weak needed help, a field of withered wheat in need of rain.

On the other, a life-saving debt called her back, a bell tolling from a distant temple.

How was she supposed to choose?