She opened her eyes. Everywhere she looked stood that familiar grove of dead trees, like a field of grey bones.
Lucimia had used Reversion to slip four days back; she and Desty had just left the village, the road a pale ribbon.
She stopped and raised her arm, watching herself like a hawk over a still pond.
Her skin was porcelain, smooth as fresh silk.
No tumors, no blisters; her palm felt clean, like snow unmarked.
The sickness seemed reset, like a storm blown back over the horizon.
Or Devouring had taken hold, like ink swallowing a stain.
She sank back into thought, mind a still lake stirred by ripples.
From the scraps she had, the town fell to a monster assault, like a dam breaking under a midnight flood.
How did those monsters reach the town?
They looked dead of sickness, like carrion left in frost.
Some beasts had hollow bellies; viscera and guts lay spilled like ropes, and yet they moved, knife-quiet.
And that blood-red worm… a thread of sunset coiled in rot.
Was it steering the beasts, like a puppeteer behind a curtain?
Why did their movement make no sound, like wind holding its breath?
She shelved the questions for night.
Tonight she’d watch how they traveled from the giant tree to Jaha Town, like shadows sliding over stone.
Beyond that, one knot kept nagging at her, like a grain of sand under the tongue.
How had she gotten sick?
She’d used her Devouring Authority to guard herself, a veil against infection; so why did sickness seep in, like damp through brick?
Did Devouring fail, like a blade dulled at the edge?
No. Desty looked fine; Devouring had shielded her, like a lantern keeping moths at bay.
"The problem lies in something I did that Desty didn’t," Lucimia muttered, voice low as rain.
She retraced her steps, memory like footprints in dust; only two things differed from Desty’s.
First, Lucimia had cured Dori, drawing sickness out like smoke.
Second, she had met the blood-red worm’s gaze, like two mirrors catching the same flame.
Say the illness here came from that worm, yet the illness itself stayed ordinary, like a common fever wearing a crimson mask.
By that logic, she only Devoured the plain disease, never touched the worm.
She shouldn’t have fallen ill; her flames had burned that thing like paper, so it shouldn’t be that strong.
The latter felt off too; it was just a glance, like frost kissing glass.
It hurled her into a hallucination, yes, but she used Authority Power to scrub it clean—so why did she still get sick?
Neither angle offered proof it could infect Lucimia, like arrows that never found the mark.
"Then there’s information I don’t have—some hidden mechanism," Lucimia concluded, calm as a still pond.
She’d learned that playing against Elyssus, mind like stones shifting on a board.
She often reasoned from what she had, while unseen rules shaped the outcome, like currents under dark water.
"This time I won’t meet the worm’s gaze."
"I’ll see if Devouring Dori’s illness sent it into me," she decided, thoughts sharp as blades.
She formed a plan quickly, like a net thrown over a river.
Elimination suited her, simple as clear water.
If she fell ill without meeting the worm’s gaze, Dori’s sickness likely jumped to her, like a shadow changing shoulders.
If she stayed healthy, the gaze was the trigger, like flint sparking tinder.
If both were false and she still got sick?
Then she’d look elsewhere, like a hunter circling tracks.
Right—there was that heavy-armored soldier, a walking tower under rusted sun.
Wasn’t he supposed to guard the town? Why point his spear at others, like a wolf turning on the pack?
Was he the culprit, a rot at the root?
Thinking, thinking, Lucimia halted without noticing, like a leaf stilled by wind.
Desty, walking ahead, turned back, eyebrows knotted.
"What’s wrong? Come on. Are you tired? Can’t walk? Want a rest?" Her words fluttered like sparrows.
Lucimia snapped back, gaze settling like dew.
"Yeah. Walking’s too much. I can’t keep it up," she said, tone flat as slate.
Desty frowned and scratched her head, eyes roaming like lost birds.
"There’s no cart or anything here…"
"It’s fine. Remember how I brought you from Val Town to the Town of Tranquility?" Her tone drifted light as wind.
"Uh, you mean… that teleport?" Desty asked, careful as a cat.
Lucimia smiled, soft as dawn.
"Right," she said, smile like a crescent.
She took Desty’s hand, fingers cool as streamwater.
Teleportation Magic flared; white light wrapped them like snowfall, and they vanished from the spot.
The sky-piercing giant tree loomed, a pillar of the world.
Their figures reappeared beside it, two silhouettes under ancient bark.
Desty looked up at the towering tree and sighed.
"Your magic’s wild," she breathed, awe like incense.
While she wasn’t looking, Lucimia reset the Magic Array, hands drawing sigils like frost on glass.
She dusted her palms and stepped to Desty’s side.
"Look left," she said, voice crisp as frost.
"Left?" Desty echoed, like a pebble skipping back.
Desty glanced to the tree’s left.
She saw the piled corpses and instinctively stepped back two paces, heart fluttering like a startled sparrow.
"What is this? Why are they all heaped here? Did someone gather them?"
"No idea." Lucimia shook her head and stepped forward, stride steady as a blade.
She wanted to check the bodies for that red worm, but she feared catching its gaze again, like meeting a mirror at midnight.
She considered, then chose to look; worst case, she’d use Reversion again, time folding like paper.
She crouched and opened her Magic Eye, sight sharpening like a blade to study the corpses.
She scanned the circle, gaze circling like a hawk.
No blood-red worms, nothing at all—only silence, thick as ash.
"That’s strange…" Her voice drifted like smoke.
Maybe it burrowed inside, like a thorn under skin.
Thinking that, Lucimia shaped a Wind Blade in her palm and slit a beast’s flesh, clean as a surgeon.
Desty watched, baffled, craning like a curious bird.
Lucimia worked like a professional doctor, Wind Blade as scalpel, performing a precise dissection on the dead, calm as winter.
She opened layer after layer of flesh, but found no trace of the worm, emptiness like a dry well.
She split the skull at last, shell cracking like porcelain.
Still no blood-red worm, only pale pulp like soggy paper.
"Was the worm added later?" The thought slid in like a cold draft.
After all that, Lucimia planned her next move, mind steady as a compass.
She could use Teleportation Magic to reach Jaha Town.
At the port, she’d push the ships to depart early, ignoring whether monsters would destroy the town, like sails fleeing a storm.
But she worried whether her own sickness was truly gone; she needed proof, like light through fog.
After a beat, she told Desty to step back two paces, voice cool as ice.
"What is it?" Desty asked as she retreated, feet whispering like sand.
Lucimia didn’t explain, silence held like a breath.
She closed her eyes, counted two breaths, then opened them, calm as moonlight.
At once, a strong tide of magic spread from her, a chill cutting to the bone, like winter knives.
In an instant, every monster corpse ahead glazed with translucent Frost, glittering like glass.
Moments later, the bodies stood as ice sculptures, cold statues under pale sun.
Then Lucimia lifted her hand and gently clenched, movement neat as a string plucked.
Pop! A crisp sound cracked the air, like a bead snapping.
All the frozen monsters shattered at once; ice shards whirled through the air, a silver storm midair.
Lucimia blinked after the display, lashes dusted like snow.
Her control over magic had inched forward, like a blade honed one more pass.
With no monsters, no worm could meet her gaze.
And because Lucimia destroyed them with her magic, a strange effect took hold—when she used Reversion again, they wouldn’t reappear, like erased ink.
The town would be safer; she could run her elimination plan—two birds with one stone, like one arrow felling twin leaves.
"Alright. Next, we head into town," she said, voice ringing like a bell.
She caught the still-bewildered Desty and triggered Teleportation Magic again, light rising like a white tide.
