Oh—one thing I forgot to say. She had thought of using a Teleportation Array to go straight back, but hers was one-use only.

Yes, that flaw had been there from the start, a splinter under the nail Lucimia never pulled out.

She learned the Teleportation Array first thing, and her first test flew true, like an arrow finding its mark.

Later she tried again, this time with Yuna in tow, but carrying someone didn’t work; the Array burnt out like a spent firework.

No helping it. With the Array ash-cold, she could only ride the wind with a Flight Spell.

Maybe it was the three of them walking in silence, like shadows drifting through fog, that felt off. Lucimia asked Shebelle, “What illness did your brother catch?”

Her gut tightened first, like a drumhead before the strike; she needed the diagnosis to Devour it cleanly. Otherwise she’d spend energy from the second layer, and Elyssus might slip through the cracks again like smoke.

Oh—and Elyssus hadn’t reacted at all, a quiet snake under leaves. Asleep, maybe?

Lucimia probed; its Deception Power hummed on like a hidden current. That only meant it was brewing something foul in the dark.

Looks like dealing with the Deceiver and the Magic Array needs to climb the ladder, like storm clouds pulled to the peak.

“My brother…” Shebelle thought a moment, brows furrowing like folded paper. “I don’t know. Uncle Anjelo doesn’t either. But he said my brother burns hot, coughs blood like foam, and can’t breathe.”

“Huh?” Lucimia breathed out, a note sharp as a sparrow’s chirp.

Fever. Foamy blood. Labored breath. A plague wind, cold and iron-scented.

Could it be the classic plague? From the sound of it, a lung plague chewing like frost from within.

If that was true, the path would be simple, like a straight road through reeds.

Hold on.

A spark of alarm flicked in her chest, like a firefly against dusk. “Where is your brother now? You weren’t staying with him, were you?”

If they had huddled together under one roof, the girl, her grandmother, and Anjelo would be breathing the same tainted mist by now.

Luckily, the girl shook her head, hair swaying like grass after rain.

“No, no. Uncle Anjelo said it spreads to others, so he separated us from my brother.”

“Oh. Good.” Lucimia nodded, a pebble dropped into still water.

This Anjelo… he actually knew that? A lantern lit in the dark.

Seems the girl wasn’t lying; he had some medicine in his bones, like herbs tucked in a sleeve.

Lucimia remembered her original world—history’s winter with a medieval plague, rats and bells tolling. Most people knew nothing, like blind men in smoke.

But here, rats weren’t the only messengers. The field stank of more.

Around them, corpses lay like toppled scarecrows. Some with fingers blackened like burnt twigs. Some shriveled into husks, skin clinging like old parchment. Some swollen with lumps like storm-hail. Some with skin split into scaly plates, fish-silver turned cruel.

A hundred kinds of death, a collage of ruin, churned the heart like muddy floodwater.

This plague was not one single serpent. It was a nest of snakes, too many to count.

A paradise for viruses, a hellmouth for people.

Seeing it, Lucimia cast a sympathetic glance at the girl leading them, light as a moth wing.

Sympathy for fate, for threads already snagged. Because Shebelle herself might already carry the worm in the blood.

Even if Anjelo split her from her brother, other winds carried other seeds. Infection rides the air like thistle-down.

These bodies lay untended, strewn like broken logs. They carved a domain of rot, with air thick as swamp mist and heavy with invisible teeth.

Uh… wait. Something’s off.

If Anjelo knew to isolate the boy, why didn’t he warn of contagion in the streets? Why let the grandmother send the girl out alone, like a paper boat on a black river?

Right—the girl had gone to fetch water, hadn’t she? The river ran foul as a gutter. Drinking it would be like swallowing weeds and rust.

Would Anjelo, a doctor, not know that?

“Feels wrong…” Lucimia murmured, words thin as dew.

The scene breathed a discordant note, a string out of tune. Unease pooled in her chest like cold rain.

“…Finish the task and leave fast. Deal with the other Time Ability User. Let the Dark Deity keep its distance.”

They walked long, footfalls soft as dust.

At last, a lone wooden hut rose ahead, like a raft on a barren field.

“That’s it,” Shebelle said, pointing, her finger a reed trembling in wind.

The ground around it lay bare, an empty ring like a bald moon.

Wooden fences encircled the hut, loop after loop like ripples. Stakes sharpened by blade and sword bristled on top, teeth on a boundary.

Lucimia was surprised to see Magic Arrays carved into the stakes, thin lines like veins on leaves.

That was startling—a small village with a mage hidden like a fox in brush?

She had passed other huts, plain as clay pots, none fenced like this, none inked with arrays.

Four beasts prowled behind the fence, dog-wolf shapes with horns jutting like broken antlers.

They saw Lucimia and Desty and sprang up, baring teeth and growling, a gravelly drumbeat warning.

Huh. Strange.

Lucimia frowned, thoughts uncoiling like incense smoke.

On the way, she’d asked why the girl had gone to the river. She’d said to fetch water, and to offer their last scraps of food—small fish—as tribute to the river god, like tossing silver scales to a current.

By her account, food should be scarce as winter grain. So how were they feeding four horned beasts?

Lucimia studied the ground. Bones piled in mounds like pale driftwood.

Don’t tell me… they ate the dead?

Then… wouldn’t they sicken too, rot riding the meat like mold?

Lucimia’s brows knit, tight as stitched cloth. She looked again at the girl, a longer glance like a needle measuring a seam.

This household felt… dangerous, a thorn patch under soft moss.

Thinking of safety first, she set a Teleportation Array on the spot, lines blooming on the earth like frost patterns.

The other two watched, puzzled, their eyes flicking like sparrows.

She ignored their questions, turned away, and used Devouring to keep the Array from resetting, a dark tide sealing the glyphs.

Then—Reversion.

In a blink, the three stood together again, facing the hut, time’s river bent like a reed.

“That’s it,” Shebelle pointed ahead, the echo a bell returning.

“Oh, your defenses look solid,” Desty said, voice bright as copper. “Is it because monsters haunt the area?”

Apparently her thoughts sailed different waters from Lucimia’s. She hadn’t felt the wrong note at all, oblivious as a cat in sun.

Truly a lovable fool.

With that thought, Lucimia strode forward and slapped Desty’s butt with a palm like a sudden gavel.

“Eh!” Desty jolted, half-shy, half-mad, turning with eyes like wet ink, casting her a wounded look.

“Why’d you hit me?”

“Because you’re a fool.”

“I’m not!”

“Hmph.”

Lucimia ignored her and turned away, face cool as moonlight.

Desty rubbed her backside, a small circle like smoothing silk. She pouted, shot Lucimia two daggered looks, then followed Shebelle to the hut.

In truth, Lucimia hadn’t slapped her just to vent. She’d placed a mark on her, a silent leaf stitched to cloth, so Desty could ride the same teleport if they fled.

As for why the butt… well, there was a touch of private mischief, a peach-soft temptation under a stern face.

Thinking of her stubbornness and that first rejection, Lucimia had wanted to give her a proper swat, like a teacher with a fan.

And, well… the feel had been… not bad, like velvet under a ring.

“Ahem. Enough.” She shook the thought off like rain from sleeves and followed after.