In the end, Lucimia left the inn’s address and slipped away under the soldier’s renewed thanks, a shadow lifting like noon mist.

Confusion needled her like grit in a boot as she walked. She mulled and mulled, but the fog wouldn’t part. She let it drop like a stone and turned her focus to time.

She should have gained time acceleration, right? A new gear ticking in the clock’s heart.

It felt too easy, unreal as a paper moon. One moment she hunted, the next the prey wandered to her door like a moth.

The boy had been dragged out by two feuding tides, right? After the Dark Deity follower got kicked limp as a sack, he dropped from a roof and took a soldier’s head like a scythe.

So the boy’s with the Dark Deity’s camp too? When he said, “You killed the whole city,” did he mean Lucimia helped the human self-rule side catch him, so the gates stayed shut like iron? The Dark Deity’s fury would burn, and everyone would die like wheat in a fire?

Is that it? Maybe. A sideways look cleared the mud like rain on a window.

If that’s true, what was the boy preparing like a hunter setting snares? Because he got grabbed, it fell apart? Was it the beasts outside the walls like wolves in fog? Were those beasts under his hand like dogs on a leash?

This… lines up? Lucimia wasn’t sure, her doubt fluttering like a sparrow. “But those beasts smash and wreck like wild boars, not spread sickness like flies. Well, maybe both.”

After all, she fell ill in a blink after locking eyes with that blood-red worm, like a curse staring back.

Wait—does that instant sickness mean the boy sped the disease’s clock like a hand shoved forward?

The logic clicked like mesh gears. Each tooth met clean.

One more thing felt off, prickly as thorns. He leaped out first to provoke, failed to run, got caught, and his mindset blew like glass. He looked a bit like… a clown in smeared paint.

Fine. Maybe he planned to kill and bolt with speed like wind, but when his speed vanished, his mind cracked like ice.

His killing was too smooth, a blade sliding through silk. It wasn’t his first death, and he wore no burden like a clean shirt.

So he wasn’t some alley robber; he was a shadow-killer, and bodies had sunk like stones, unseen.

Forget it. Why gnaw this bone? Let’s test time acceleration first, like tapping a drum to hear its skin.

Lucimia turned her gaze inward, a lantern held to her own shadow. She checked her powers like a ledger in lamplight.

Shock hit like cold water. Her time ability was still Reversion, no acceleration at all.

Her strolling feet halted like a cart on a rut. Her eyes widened like twin moons. “How is it not there? That’s wrong.”

She tried in a rush, sprinting like a deer and willing acceleration like a spark. Nothing answered; she ran plain, feet thudding like sticks.

“Why?” She stopped, staring at her hands like foreign tools. Why? The word echoed like a hollow bell.

Her mind went blank as fresh snow. Why didn’t she Devour time itself? She’d Devoured Yuna’s power like ink into water; so by rule, she could Devour the boy’s and sidestep that kill-the-host line.

Then why? The silence hung like a stalled pendulum.

She stood there for a dozen heartbeats like a statue, then drew a long breath and let it out like steam. Calm first, bold guesses after.

Lucimia walked back to the plaza, the square opening like a lake. She sat, still as a stone on a bench.

First, assume the boy’s power is time acceleration. Picture its shape like a bird’s outline; what does it look like when cast?

If she had acceleration, how would she use it? She could speed her movement like the boy, wind under her feet. Or she could speed someone’s disease like rot racing through fruit—wait, speed others?

Lucimia’s eyes lit like flint. “Hold on—bold guess time.” Her voice trembled like a plucked string. “Maybe his acceleration was granted by a real Time Ability User.”

“That person boosted his movement like oil to a flame. Maybe a rule let him steer the speed a bit. Or he had a way to contact them, to get acceleration on call like a bell rope.”

Her own thought scared her like lightning. She shot to her feet like a spring. “No. That boy can’t die. I need him for a thread.”

She hurried toward the barracks like a river flowing, then stopped after two steps like a check on reins. Would he talk? He wouldn’t—his lips would shut like a locked box.

Then what? Sneak in at night like a cat, trade freedom for intel like chips? He might not deal, his silence thick as tar.

Change faces? With Elyssus’s Disguise Power, she could wear a new skin like a mask. But the questions would snag; he’d doubt like a fox. He might not betray the one who empowered him, loyalty tight as braided rope.

If all else fails, she’d infiltrate and use her Devouring Authority to eat his memory like a moth on parchment, digging out the true Time Ability User behind him.

Devour the memory fragment of how he gained movement acceleration, like plucking a thread from a tapestry. The energy cost would be light, a candle’s sip, not enough for Elyssus to exploit a crack.

If that still failed, she had more roads like forks in a trail. Lay down Frost at his drop point like white nets. When his escape died like a drowned spark, Lucimia would stage a “hero saves the flower,” winning his trust like warm bread.

She’d claim she was with the god-faith camp, get him to lead her to a similar nest like a warren. From inside, the real Time Ability User might step from shadow like a spider.

Hss… it felt wicked, sweet and bitter like candied haw with pepper.

Lucimia shook her head, clearing dust like a breeze, and looked up at the high sky hanging like a brass plate. “It’s noon. Let’s eat first. After that, scout the ground. Tonight, slip in like night rain.”

With a plan set, her panic ebbed like tide. She walked back toward the inn, slow as a drifting leaf.

With Elyssus’s Disguise Power, stealth felt native, a cat padding on velvet.

She had to praise that octopus Authority Power again, its arms handy like tools in a belt.

Once she dealt with the other followers and the Magic Arrays like tangled webs, she’d let the Fuzzy Orb slowly Devour it, bite by bite like a patient moth. Then Elyssus would be no more, shadow snuffed like a candle.

Before that, caution had to wrap her like a cloak. Elyssus might be weaving a revolt in secret, threads tight as snares.

Feeling the weight of her tasks like stones in a pack, Lucimia sighed and quickened toward the inn like a swallow.

On the third floor, she spotted Desty sitting outside the door, dazed like a cat in sun. In her hands lay a new longsword, held like a reed.

“What are you doing here?” Lucimia stepped up, voice light as a breeze.

“I closed the door and only then realized I had no key,” Desty turned, a hint of grievance soft as drizzle in her tone.

“Sorry. I forgot we’ve only got one key.” Lucimia’s words fell like pebbles. “I’ll get the boss to give us another.”

She hurried downstairs like water down steps and soon came back with a key, shining like fish-scale, handing it to Desty.

Desty thanked her, a nod neat as a folded note. Then she tapped five silver coins from her ring, laying them before Lucimia like bright moons.

“What’s that for?” Lucimia blinked, her question simple as a twig.

“To return it. I can’t take your money.” Desty’s voice grew firm like oak. “I’ll repay the sword money too.”

“Mm~” Lucimia hummed, half playful and half puzzled, a sound curling like smoke.

“You’re out of money, aren’t you? Keep it for now like a pocket ember. Pay me back later.”

She didn’t wait for Desty’s answer. Lucimia headed downstairs first, steps quick as sparrows. “Since you’re back, let’s eat lunch together.”

Desty watched Lucimia’s back slip down the stairs like a flowing ribbon. She stood silent for a beat like a held breath, clenched the silver in her hand like stars, and followed.