Morning light poured through the window like pale tea, washing the bedroom as Desty lifted her heavy lids.

She hadn’t slept a wink; the night had gnawed at her like a restless rat.

Her thoughts had tangled like reeds in a river; at last, dawn loosened the knot.

She didn’t need to cling to her own stance and clash with Lucimia; they weren’t crossing blades, they were sitting at the same tea table.

She could mirror that, water taking the shape of its cup.

Right now, Jaha Town lay under a creeping shadow; the Plague Followers had already slipped sickness into the people like dye into a well, and the task was to keep their plan from ripening.

Before the merchant ship left, cut their net and take them out, then ride the tide and leave by boat.

It wouldn’t ensure new Plague Followers wouldn’t weave fresh schemes, but it would buy her a candle’s worth of time to alert the Church.

So Desty felt she could try to persuade Lucimia, ask her to lend a hand like wind stoking a small fire.

Her words and tone had to be soft as spring rain, not iron—no forcing, no orders, no demands, no “of course it’s right” thunder.

Lucimia had handled Elyssus; surely she could sweep away this small plague, a brush on dust. She was formidable, and sharp, seeing the river’s flow from a single ripple.

Alright—set like a seal pressed into wet clay.

She waited until Lucimia woke, then voiced her idea in a hush, fear fluttering like a sparrow. She added her way to solve it, a path traced in sand.

“You guessed the Plague Followers might be lacing food and water with disease, right? Let’s trace the river back to its spring and fix the source.”

Afraid Lucimia would find it tedious, Desty leaned in with a smile like dawn. “You know Healing Magic, right? That’s the kind only great magi wield. Just spread a veil over the water, and it’s done, light work.”

I don’t know any Healing Magic… Lucimia felt exasperation touch her tongue like a dry laugh, then the thought settled like dust.

Still, Desty’s plan laid a bridge that looked passable, simple and sturdy.

She hadn’t agreed before because she’d been walking blind in mist, and she didn’t want to step into the Plague God’s shadow.

Now Desty begged only for help for this town, not for the kind of charge Shebelle had urged—to confront the Plague God himself.

The difficulty dropped like a stone taken off the back. With the lay of the land clear, she could stitch together the Plague Followers’ plan; unraveling it looked easy.

It was surely simpler than wrestling Elyssus, a tiger traded for a stray dog.

She didn’t know Healing Magic, but she had Devouring. No need to hunt the spring; send the Fuzzy Orb into the pipes like a water snake. It would follow the lines, swallowing any spread disease or worm like a dark pearl.

As for food—no fear. Drink water touched by Lucimia’s Devouring Authority, take a bite of tainted bread, then sip that Devouring water again, and the stain would be eaten clean.

It really did feel simple, like snapping a thin twig.

Only one hitch: when using Devouring Authority, her description had to be precise, a needle threading the eye, so the energy cost would be a sip, not a storm.

Elyssus and the Plague God Niral could rain down Authority-level contamination like ink across silk—so what about Lucimia?

Yes—she could, too.

Let the Fuzzy Orb carry Lucimia’s Authority-level Devouring contamination, pour it into the water. The moment folks drank, it would swallow the worm-born stain from their food, a dark mouth cleaning the bowl.

Good. Hammer set; do it.

Facing Desty’s hopeful gaze, Lucimia blinked, mischief fluttering like a tassel. “Let me think about it.”

“Ah…”

She rose and left the bedroom, steps light as wind slipping past paper.

“Hey, wait!” Desty scrambled off the bed, reaching like a branch, but Lucimia moved too fast. Bang—the door slammed like a drum.

“W-wait…”

Desty’s outstretched hand froze in midair like a withered twig.

Lucimia skipped the inn’s breakfast and stepped straight into the market street, the morning clatter ringing like coins.

She hurried because she wanted to return to the jail and use Devouring Authority to swallow the boy’s memory once more, casting a net through his mind’s water.

This time, a new idea gleamed: devour the boy’s hideout, dig into the burrow where secrets slept.

He’d worked with other Plague Followers; there had to be a gathering point or den. Maybe the pale green–haired girl would nest there. Catch her, devour her ability, and the goal would be sealed like wax.

Hmm… that blond Deceiver hadn’t brought word yet; his message still hung like a letter stalled by wind.

No matter. He’d likely say, “The girl’s gone. Maybe dead.”

But Lucimia knew the pale green–haired girl still breathed, a leaf tucked among reeds, most likely hiding in Jaha Town.

Could she be the escaped Sacrifice, the spark that angered the Plague God’s oil-dark heart?

A pinch of doubt pricked first, then thought followed like a slow drum: she hadn’t learned the timing of the Sacrifice’s escape nor the outbreak’s first bell. She couldn’t judge the girl yet.

Besides, a gap yawned in the logic, a broken plank on the bridge.

If the girl was the escaped Sacrifice, why would she help the Plague God spread disease? The rope was knotted wrong.

“Could becoming a Sacrifice turn you, in some measure, into a follower of the Plague God?” Lucimia walked and thought, shadows crossing her path like bars.

Followers split into two roads: those beguiled, and those willing, two doors in one wall.

The Sacrifice might be the moth, drawn to a lamp not her own.

“If I can’t find her, I’ll do nothing. I’ll linger here on purpose, a heron by still water, and watch what the Plague Followers aim to do. Maybe the pale green–haired girl will step into the light. Once I confirm, I’ll perform Reversion and help the townsfolk.”

She set the next steps like stones: wait for the girl to show; make contact like fingertip to silk; slip the Fuzzy Orb into her body like a seed.

If the target moved too fast for Devouring, she’d mark her with ink-stamp certainty. She’d use her way of keeping the Magic Array from resetting, then unwind time with Reversion.

With the mark glowing like a lantern, she could find the girl again.

Sudden coughs cut across her thoughts like stones tossed into a stream.

Cough, cough, cough…

“Hm?” Lucimia lifted her head like a cat hearing straw rustle and looked toward the sound.

It was the woman who’d first sold her the wooden comb, bent and coughing, a blossom drooping on its stem.

She’s… sick?

Cough, cough, cough… Another man hacked from the other side, a rough saw under the morning.

Lucimia glanced once, a cool ripple over the scene, and didn’t intervene. She angled her steps toward the jail like arrows loosed from a bow.

Along the road, many residents were coughing; some coughed until their faces reddened like fired clay and gagged dryly.

It was clear the street’s vigor had thinned since two days ago; pale faces drooped like wilted reeds, breath light as paper.

She could guess the reason. The Plague Followers’ plan had already unfurled, poison seeping like dye through cloth.