Seconds dripped by like cold rain. No one stepped up to claim it. Count Emongaha drew a steadier breath and said, slow as a tolling bell, "It seems this mage is very busy. In that case, let's move on."
Emongaha flicked a glance like a knife-signal. The soldier shut the wooden lid with a soft thud, like a coffin closing, and backed off the stage.
Lev strode forward, boots echoing like drumbeats. He slapped three huge portraits onto the high rear wall, paper fluttering like pennants. Two men and one woman; the woman took the center.
Emongaha looked back once, then faced the crowd like a stern cliff. "Everyone, these three are Plague Followers hiding in town. Their names are Pete, Kace, and Gene. Provide leads, and there's a bounty—more than a little."
A cheer went up, quick as sparks in dry grass. For coin and to root out the Plague Followers, eyes widened like lanterns, trying to burn those faces into memory.
Emongaha added, his voice flat as iron, "Be careful with this one called Gene. Our intel says he bears the Plague Blessing. He's terrifying. He's also a Sixth Rank Swordmaster and a Second Rank Mage. If you meet him, run. Don't linger."
At that, a prickle ran through Lucimia before her gaze settled on Gene's portrait like a pin.
Big frame, bald head, features not fierce—more a slow, honest look, like a farm ox under sun.
Looks so straightforward, yet he's the highest risk? The thought rose like a quiet sigh in Lucimia's chest.
She let her eyes skim the other two, quick as swallows.
Pete was short and fat, cheeks layered like dough. Not a kindly chub, but a sly grin, mouse-bright.
Kace was a mature woman with chestnut hair cascading like a river. A mole sat at the corner of her mouth, a dark seed.
Lucimia searched her memory, stirring the pond for ripples. Had she ever seen any of the three?
Nothing surfaced. Faces from earlier days had already sunk like stones.
That was the whole assembly. Emongaha declared it over, climbed back into his carriage like a lord entering armor, and, amid a ring of attendants, rolled out of the square toward his count’s manor.
Watching him depart, Lucimia pulled her gaze back like a hand from flame and decided to visit the merchant ship first.
She flew in open air, wind cupping her like cool water, and began to sort the present mess.
The Plague God is, with high odds, a Dark Deity. He feeds on Sacrifice like a hearth on wood. Now his followers will spread disease, seeking to stain the whole city.
Emongaha looks strict, loud, and showy. His methods grate like sand. Yet, on second thought, he's wielding human strength alone against Blessed zealots of a Dark Deity. That deserves respect.
Lucimia also felt humans should have a power of their own to meet the invasion, instead of leaning forever on outside crutches.
If she had to choose a banner, her heart tilted to the Independents like a compass needle.
But Emongaha's plan to toss her into the fire pit still stung. She never wanted to be dragged into this.
Most people now knew a black‑haired girl had caught Gendi. Black hair was rare here, a crow in a field of doves. They'd soon trace her steps, maybe even find her inn.
Then the Plague Followers would know her roost and might strike back like rats in the dark.
They wield Authority Power–grade corruption. In her current state, a head‑on clash was uncertain. And plague creeps like mist—hard to guard against.
It wasn't that Lucimia couldn't beat them. She could erase them in a heartbeat. But that would alert the Plague God, who might descend to handle her himself.
She recalled her bout with Elyssus, and a slow ache tightened like a band around her heart.
"Followers and Evil Entities are one thing," she murmured, riding the wind with a hint of grievance. "But if a true Dark Deity clings to you, it's misery."
One thing still needled her. On that merchant ship sat a follower—or rather a Plague Knight—of the Plague God, named Hart.
Does Count Emongaha not know? Will he hunt Hart?
And what will Hart do? He's only hired. Yet when he hears fellow Plague Followers are to be hunted, will he really show no ripple?
The captain told her right away there were two divine knights aboard. Was he not afraid the Independents would swarm them? Or did he spot at a glance she was an out‑of‑towner and feel safe to talk?
Also, the Purification Church long didn't know how the Bannubi Empire fights an Evil Entity. But isn't there a Purification Knight aboard? Won't she tell the Church? Or is this her first hire, with no time to report?
After turning it over like a stone in her palm, Lucimia chose to go to the ship and warn the captain, hoping to leave early.
She'd use the count's assembly as her reason. Say Hart might face danger. Better to sail while the tide ran.
And she could watch Hart's reaction.
"Mm. Let's do that." She dipped a shoulder and arrowed toward the merchant ship.
She swept the deck with a glance, quick as a brushstroke. No captain. So she slipped straight into the captain's cabin.
The captain sat with Hart. Both had forks stuck in slices of smoked meat, lifting the red-brown pieces like coals. The other Purification Knight was nowhere.
Lucimia first resumed her true form, then dropped Invisibility Magic, popping into view like a candle flaring.
The captain jolted, a tremor running through him like a plucked string. His fork wobbled, and the meat fell to the floor with a dull slap.
Hart did better. He only locked up for a breath, like a statue taking root.
"Hello," Lucimia said, wearing a spring‑soft smile.
"Uh, heh, hello... Eighth Rank Mage." The captain wiped sweat like dew, picked the meat off the floor, and tossed it into the bin.
He called her an Eighth Rank Mage because, to common folk, anyone who uses Invisibility Magic is Eighth Rank—or close enough.
At their first meeting, he'd thought she was just a little girl, a sparrow under eaves.
Then, on the deck, he heard the talk: the black‑haired girl who caught Gendi. He recalled the black‑haired girl who'd bought tickets.
He adjusted his view, pegging Lucimia around Fourth Rank. She was so young; in his mind, Eighth Rank Mages were mostly not.
But now she'd drifted in without a sound and used Invisibility Magic. Shock washed him clean. He no longer saw a girl, but a heavy figure on the board.
Suddenly he remembered he'd hiked the ticket price and skinned her for coin. Unease crawled over him like ants.
Awkwardness pooled. Not knowing what to do, he spotted the plate of smoked meat.
A quick idea flickered. He pointed at the platter and whispered, "Uh, want some meat?"
Lucimia blinked, lashes like wings.
"Haha, you probably won't think much of it." He let out a loud laugh, then quickly clapped the stiff Hart on the shoulder.
Hart glanced at the captain, then at Lucimia. He set the fork down with care.
Facing Lucimia, his face pale as paper and his voice thin, he spoke slowly, like a measured pour. "Mm. Hello. What can I do for you?"
Hmm? He looked calm?
Lucimia studied him and smiled. "You're a Plague Knight, right? You must know they're going to hunt the Plague Followers. Aren't you afraid?"
Hart listened, still deadpan, and in a calm tone let out the most timid word. "Afraid."
"..." Lucimia went silent for a beat, her thoughts stopping like a bird mid‑wing.
