Forget it—if the thought won’t land, let it drift like smoke and vanish.

Still, the ambush left Lucimia with one hard-won boon, a shard of shadow gleaming in her palm—the black Cross.

It was a cold hint in a hot mess: this world might hold tools that gag magic, like iron muzzles on a roaring storm. Or maybe that tool was a spell wrapped in bone and silence.

Either way, it warned her not to lean too hard on magic. Be ready for the moment it goes mute, like a wind that dies mid-sail. Lucky she had Authority Power to anchor her; without it, she wouldn’t have known which way the compass pointed.

Given what she had just let slip, Lev would brand her a Dark Deity or a Dark Deity’s follower, ink her face on wanted posters like crows lining every wall. If they wanted to go back, they’d need a new face like a new skin.

“Hey, Lucimia, what do we do next?” Desty raked her fingers through her hair, frustration sparking like dry tinder. “They’re awful. We helped catch the Plague Followers, and they tried to use you as bait. Refuse, and they kick in the door.”

Lucimia met her eyes, her voice steady as rain against stone. “They’re Independents. They don’t trust gods. We’re outsiders. They’ll assume we’re the god-blessed kind, which makes us their enemy.”

She paused, thoughts settling like silt. “Besides, you do have the Purification Deity’s Blessing. They call the Purification Deity a Dark Deity. In their eyes, you wear the same colors.”

“Hm… fair.” Desty, surprisingly, didn’t argue whether Purification was a Dark Deity or not.

That made Lucimia look twice, a flicker of curiosity like a moth circling a lantern.

Desty had been grinding on this question for a long time. Maybe Dark Deities were truly that corrupt, wearing sanctity like a silk mask. More worship, more fuel. More fuel, an easier descent. Villains don’t announce their villainy, do they?

Yes—Desty did think exactly that.

Especially with Anjelo’s words ringing in her skull like a bell she couldn’t unhear—

“The Purification Deity forged a pact with the other Dark Deities. Purification wipes out the others’ Evil Entities and followers to fatten itself, then trades information to plant them elsewhere. They court new followers to harvest power, then Purification sends its own devout to slaughter the rest, completing the cycle. All the victims are human. Not one is a god. Have you heard of the Purification Church killing even a single Dark Deity in a hundred years? Not even a minor one.”

That line had been echoing for days, a cold refrain in Desty’s ears. The more she mulled, the less impossible it seemed.

She thought of Elyssus lying low, of Plague God Niral here in the Bannubi Empire, playing at being a proper deity—spread disease, then have followers and Sacrifices “solve” it. When a Sacrifice ran, the mask dropped, fangs bared.

The more she chased it, the more likely it felt, a thorn nest under her ribs. Sometimes it made her doubt the shape of the world.

Yet both Anjelo and Lucimia had said it straight: decide why you yourself hunt Dark Deities and Evil Entities. Hold that like a compass, and the storm feels lighter.

Lucimia glanced at Desty’s far-off stare and guessed the road she was on. Anjelo’s words again, right on cue.

“Still… Anjelo’s claim bumps a stone here,” Lucimia murmured, finding a seam in the puzzle. “If we assume the Purification Deity is also a Dark Deity, and they do cooperate—why doesn’t the Plague God cooperate?”

Nirael had barred the Purification Deity from setting foot in the Bannubi Empire, like a gate slammed shut.

“Maybe Dark Deities clash too,” Lucimia mused. “Purification and plague pull in opposite directions. Their Authority Powers grind against each other.”

Books from the Purification Church said Dark Deities were at odds, with only a few ties woven between them.

“And the real world flips it,” Lucimia sighed, a bitter smile like frost. “Most cooperate, a few clash. Figures.”

She shook her head, let the tangled thoughts fall like leaves into a stream, and pulled her gaze back to the present.

Her eyes found Desty. “Still going to help with the Plague Followers?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” Desty frowned at the obviousness, a blade of intent clean and bright. “I aim to wipe out Dark Deity followers. If that’s clear, that’s enough.”

“Mm…” Lucimia studied her a heartbeat longer, then let the tension slide off like water from oiled silk. “Alright. Let’s move.”

“Move? Where?”

“Back to town. How else do we cut down followers?” Lucimia blinked, puzzled as a sparrow.

“Huh? Won’t we get hunted?”

Lucimia chuckled, wind-light. “We can change our looks.”

“Change…” Desty’s thoughts snagged for a few seconds. Then it hit—Lucimia had a way to change shape.

Desty had always wondered about that Authority. She’d never heard of any magic that could truly alter face and form, bone and breath, not just trick the eye.

Illusions existed, sure. But illusions were shadows on a wall.

Seeing her expression, Lucimia couldn’t help a soft, private sigh. Elyssus’s Authority Power was a blade that fit the hand perfectly.

This Disguise Power wasn’t like those other abilities that screamed corruption at first glance. It whispered magic instead, gentle as mist.

It deserved the name—Disguise. Even the way it was cast wore a mask.

“Ahem. Let’s go.” Lucimia cleared her throat and set off toward the town, her steps quiet as falling dusk.

“Oh—coming… ow, that hurts!” Desty took two steps and flinched, pain biting her calf like a small, mean dog.

“What’s wrong?” Lucimia stopped, turned, concern pooling like cool water.

“You kicked me too hard earlier… it really hurts…” Desty bit her lip, one eye squeezed shut, brow knotted. The pain painted her face pale as milky clay.

She bent, fingers kneading her calf. On her fair skin, a bruise bloomed like dark fruit.

That… was on me.

But the moment had been a knife’s edge, and kicking her down was the quickest shield she had.

Awkward, Lucimia twined a strand of hair around her finger, then offered softly, “Let me treat it.”

She lifted her hand, and the Fuzzy Orb softened into a facsimile of Healing Magic—light like dew—and Devouring swallowed the ache whole.

When the pain ebbed, Desty’s eyes brightened like lamps fed fresh oil. “You’re amazing. Same age as me, and already an Eighth Rank Mage. You’ve mastered so many spells—Healing Magic too!”

I don’t know Healing Magic at all.

Lucimia nearly blurted it, but steadied the surface of her voice like a calm lake. She clapped the dust from her hands and said, “Let’s go. Back to town. See what the Plague Followers plan.”

—

Jaha Town.

Noon hung like a gold coin in a clear blue sky, sunlight spilling warm as honey down the stone streets.

People on the road drew in a deep breath of Mystic Return Smoke, then let it float out slow, white vapor curling like silk.

By the plaza’s pool, a knot of townsfolk leaned close, voices weaving like sparrows.

“Did you see the new wanted posters? The mage who caught Gendi turned out to be a Dark Deity follower—of a different one.”

“I saw. I heard she wounded Lev. Lev’s the strongest general in our town. If he bled, that follower’s a monster.”

“These Dark Deity followers are vile. Throw away being human to wag tails for gods. Because of them, this town feels like a house without a door.”

“Yeah…”

Sighs crossed the square like a tired wind.

Lucimia and Desty had already reshaped their faces. They stood a little off, listening as passersby’s words drifted like leaves.

They’d both turned their hair to gold, softened their features, and chosen looks so ordinary they were invisible. Even their clothes were plain, coarse, the fabric speaking of work and weather.

Of course, they hadn’t taken the main gate. The front required inspection, hands pawing through your life. Too much trouble.