Lucimia’s thoughts circled like minnows in a pail; she had no clue how to find that blond boy, no clue where to start.

What about fishing for him?

Hang a gold coin at her waist, let it wink like bait, and wander the town all day?

Or cloak herself and layer Disguise Power, then shadow that man named Hart?

If he’s tied to the blond boy, they might trade signals when no one looks.

Of course, Hart and the boy might be strangers; it was all her guesswork, no proof at all.

Fine, try the bait first.

She reached into her Storage Ring for a coin when a line of people poured from one side of the square like a tide.

They raised banners like wind-caught sails and marched in step.

The once-quiet square buzzed like a hive, and onlookers swarmed in, chattering like sparrows.

“What’s going on?” Lucimia lifted her gaze like a cat hearing thunder.

A neat procession came from the square’s edge, clothes mixed and civilian, more street parade than army.

Alongside them, real soldiers flanked the line, all in jet-black heavy armor like obsidian cliffs.

At the front strode a man built like a boulder.

He hoisted an iron-pole banner in one hand.

It read: “Humans should rely on themselves, not on gods, and never on Dark Deities.”

Banner raised, he addressed the crowd, voice rolling like a drum. “Everyone, hear me for a moment.”

Faces tilted toward him like sunflowers; Lucimia’s did too.

“I’ll tell you this: the Plague God is a Dark Deity. You all know it. This plague’s culprit is that Dark Deity.”

People around them nodded, heads bobbing like buoys on a rough tide.

“The Plague God spreads disease to siphon energy, then uses its believers to ‘solve’ it. It takes power and wins hearts. It’s all a scheme.”

“And now, because the new [Sacrifice] refused to wear that role, it’s scattering sickness everywhere, showing no mercy, pretending our offerings never existed. Is that a god? It’s obviously a Dark Deity.”

The onlookers nodded harder, their agreement stiff as axes.

Huh? [Sacrifice]? What’s that? Curiosity pricked Lucimia like a thorn.

The hulk paused, then rolled on like thunder. “Think about it. [Sacrifices] are human. We humans take all the wounds. Whether falling ill or getting treated, it feeds that thing infinite energy.”

“So I’m here to say we should overthrow the Plague God’s rule, fight Dark Deities and Evil Entities in human ways, and protect ourselves.”

“And now, Count Gaha has invented ways to fight disease, by human hands. Yes, the Mystic Return Smoke and the Mystic Return Tablets we all use now. They reined the sickness in fast, and casualties dropped to the floor.”

“Yes, yes,” the bystanders chimed, voices fluttering like flags. “All thanks to the Count. Without him we’d be a pot boiling over!”

“Exactly! He should be raised in rank. ‘Count’ doesn’t fit him anymore!”

“True.”

Lucimia swept the ring of faces like a breeze through reeds and saw most backed “humans should rely on themselves.” Only a few wore ugly scowls and stared knives at the speaker.

One stood out: a tall, thin man in coarse linen, anger twisting his mouth like a cracked bow, veins corded on his clenched right fist.

“Bullshit!” Finally, he couldn’t hold it, and he stepped out under all those eyes like a moth leaving shade.

The crowd peeled back a path like water, and the thin man snatched a wooden stick from the ground and strode at the hulk.

He pointed the stick like a twig-spear and said, “If the [Sacrifice] hadn’t fled, the god wouldn’t be angry!”

Then he turned to the crowd. “This plague is the god’s wrath. We shouldn’t lock down; we should open the gates. We shouldn’t resist disease. Only when the wrath ebbs will peace return!”

Mmm, classic cult-charlatan vibes, Lucimia groused inwardly, like tasting sand in tea.

At his words, some bystanders shifted like grass in a fickle wind, thinking he might have a point.

The hulk saw it, snorted like a bull, and told the thin man, “Hmph. [Sacrifices] are human. They shoulder pain and disease they shouldn’t. And it isn’t voluntary. It’s forced.”

“Once they’re chosen, the people upstairs drag them away, and their ending is sealed like a letter in wax. You that selfish? Let others suffer while you enjoy comfort?”

“You—” The thin man choked on words like a fish on sand.

Seeing it, the hulk doubled his volume, voice cracking like a whip. “Everyone here knows what a [Sacrifice] is!”

Heads bobbed again, like reeds stirred by rain.

No, I don’t… Lucimia muttered inside, voice as small as a moth.

“A [Sacrifice] is a wretch handpicked by a god. Our sickness gets shunted onto them. A handful of tragic people carry the empire’s diseases. Is that reasonable?”

“That’s a Dark Deity sucking energy. It’s humans who get hurt. The ‘rules’ you see were set by that god on purpose. Why not erase disease outright, instead of shifting it?”

In one sweep, he explained [Sacrifice] for Lucimia.

Oh. Lucimia roughly got it, like a lamp lit behind fog. She now knew the empire’s old way to “solve” disease.

Pick a few unlucky souls, dump every illness onto them, trade one body for the health of many, and replace them when they die.

Still, she wondered, how much disease can one body bear? Not long, surely. Unless becoming a [Sacrifice] toughens the flesh like ironwood?

With the crowd leaning back his way, the hulk pressed on. “As for divine wrath, it’s a sham. I say a [Sacrifice] refused, and the Plague God feared losing energy, so it kicked over the jar and tried to gulp the nation’s energy in one go.”

“Then that man must be a believer of the Plague God, an accomplice!”

“Yeah! An accomplice!” one bystander cried, voice sharp as a crow.

“Right—an accomplice, a villain!”

“Exactly!”

The crowd’s fingers pointed like spears at the thin man.

He went ashen, bit his lip till it bled bright as berries, and glared at the hulk.

Suddenly, he screamed from the ribs, “You’re the accomplice! I’ll kill you! Ahhhh!”

He raised the stick and swung for the hulk, but a heavy-armored soldier stepped up like a wall, took it on his forearm, and punched the thin man’s gut.

Bang!

The thin man flew like a rag kite, then skidded on the stones until friction burned him to a stop.

The armored soldier didn’t let him go. He walked up and kicked him again, barking, “Hmph, Dark Deity’s dog! Die!”

His tone dripped disgust like bile.

Lucimia watched every beat play out, eyes cold as frost.

Two creeds had collided like storm fronts.

One preached “humans should rely on themselves.” The other claimed the plague was divine wrath, so open the gates and stop resisting.

Lucimia also spotted, in the back, a few who agreed with the zealot but stayed quiet like stones in grass.

So, if it were her, which side would she take?

From what she’d heard, the Plague God likely was a Dark Deity. Using [Sacrifices] to draw energy. Spreading disease or curing it, both fed it. Cures also buy hearts.

Add the blood-red worm she’d seen in the last Reversion, and the odds of a Dark Deity were sky-high.

If it came down to her choice, she’d pick humans relying on themselves, not leaning on a Dark Deity.

Uh… did that make her a turncoat inside the Dark Deities’ camp?

No, no. Strictly speaking, Lucimia wasn’t a Dark Deity.

The Devouring Authority belonged to Olivya. The Disguise Power came from Elyssus. Even Reversion—the power that likely birthed an Authority Power—was gained from Yuna.

So, looking closely, the original Lucimia was a bona fide human. She had magic talent and a face that could enthrall, and nothing beyond that.