“We really are wanted.” Lucimia spoke softly, her voice drifting like ash on a cold breeze.

“Mm… what now? Where do we find followers?” Desty’s confusion hung like fog, her eyes searching for a path.

Lucimia paused, thought folding like paper, then chose to share what Plague Followers might do.

She laid out the pieces she’d gathered, then guessed, “Their aim is to spread disease, like ink bleeding into wells, so they poison food and water.”

“But we both know Mystic Return Smoke and Mystic Return tablets burn the virus to ash. The source is worms, an Evil Entity, and smoke or tablets can’t solve that. They blunt the spread though, like a scale finding balance, which isn’t what Plague Followers want.”

“Mm-hmm.” Desty nodded, bobbing like a sparrow pecking rice.

Lucimia’s tone cut clean, then flowed again. “So odds are high they’ll sabotage the production site beside the Count’s estate, and the fields growing the raw materials. We can stake them out there. That’s first.”

“Second, they need distance. They need to break the raised walls and let the virus spill into other towns. Jaha Town faces the sea like iron, with Rook Village to the right already swept by plague. Only the rear lies sealed by high walls, and beyond that are other towns.”

“So the second watch is the city wall, right?” Desty blurted, eager as a child grabbing the answer.

“Exactly.” Lucimia smiled, a thin crescent in the shadow.

“Let’s go now. Split up?” Desty’s impatience sparked like dry tinder.

“Don’t be dumb.” Lucimia rolled her eyes, a brushstroke of ink. “We don’t split. Alone is a lure for danger.”

Desty inhaled to ask more, but Lucimia raised a hand like a gate and spoke first. “I’ve got other ways to watch. But first we lay Teleportation Arrays. We set up a safe distance, and if trouble stirs, we teleport straight in.”

“Oh…” Desty nodded, slow as a drumbeat.

Lucimia didn’t explain the method. It felt awkward to say. She meant to use the Fuzzy Orb, a drifting seed with eyes, to observe. If trouble blooms, she’ll teleport and strike with the orb’s surprise.

Plans had been shifted, like a river forced to bend. Lev’s assault must have twisted the original course of history. Since she had their intent sketched, Lucimia wanted to try solving the Plague Followers before the second Reversion.

One thing gnawed at her. When Lev’s squad asked the innkeeper if he’d seen Lucimia, the man said no.

Bad memory? Or sheltering me?

Maybe he guessed, from her silence, that Lucimia was God‑Embracing, guessed he was too, and chose to shield her?

There was another path.

“Plague Followers… Gene…” Lucimia murmured, brow knotted like twisted rope.

Gene—Emongaha and Lev both singled him out. High danger. Held the Blessing of Plague, and was a sixth-tier Swordmaster, a second-tier Mage.

Lucimia had studied his portrait. Bald, honest-faced, like a farmer carved from clay.

The innkeeper wore the same honest air, only with hair.

“Wig?” Lucimia rubbed her temple, the ache ringing like tin.

Suppose the innkeeper was Gene. After she fled, Lev would take Gene away for lying. Gene might resist, but she guessed he didn’t.

If he’d fought, gossip would roll through the streets like thunder. A suspect taken for questioning barely spreads, unless the innkeeper is confirmed as Gene, a Plague Follower.

“Gene didn’t resist. He followed Lev.” Lucimia licked dry lips, a desert’s hint of salt, and a shape formed in her mind.

He’s classed as most dangerous. He wouldn’t make a novice’s mistake, risking himself to shelter some follower who isn’t Plague.

He’s plotting. He’ll use me as a key. Once jailed, he’ll spread disease inside the soldiers, rot starting at the roots.

If the soldiers lose their strength, the town won’t have many who can stand.

But Lev isn’t soft. With his iron nature, he might kill wrong rather than let threat slip, chop Gene down, never grant him a chance to sow disease.

That isn’t impossible.

Gene’s been in this town a long while, and should know Lev’s ways. Even so, he chose arrest, which means confidence like steel under silk.

“Ugh, what a mess. Guessing someone’s mind is a headache.” Lucimia rubbed her head again, fingers circling like a slow millstone.

She added a step to the plan—lay Teleportation Magic inside the jail, release a Fuzzy Orb, and watch Gene’s moves.

She’d have to avoid Lev’s gaze. That heavy-armored soldier seemed to have a special way to see through her veil.

Lucimia and Desty pressed close, a pair of sisters by cloth and posture, and walked the street toward the Count’s estate.

The road climbed like a spine toward the hill, homes lining both sides like shells on a shore. Neighbors sat in their doorways, gossip fluttering like sparrows.

They glanced at the two girls, looked twice, compared faces to the wanted posters like matching leaves to shadows, then let them pass.

They walked. Then the man ahead jerked, a wire snapping, and fell with a thud like a drum dropped on stone. He convulsed, limbs shaking like fish in a net. Lucimia and Desty jumped back, fear washing over them like a cold tide.

Others turned, eyes pulling tight like knots. A few ran in, concern lifting them forward like wind.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” A passer-by crouched, voice trembling like reeds.

“Smoke… tablets… water… ugh—so… so awful… body… hurts…” The fallen man’s lips shook like frost, words breaking apart.

His whole frame convulsed, face twisted, a mask of pain. Suddenly he went rigid, eyes wide like lanterns in the dark. The shaking stopped. Two heartbeats passed like stones dropped into a well. He tore his mouth open.

“Ah—ah—ah—ah! I feel awful! It hurts! Help me! I’m dying!”

He clawed his chest, fingers digging deep. His nails lengthened like black thorns, shredding cloth, then skin, until red flesh and blood-streaked bone shone like wet stone.

The scene froze the crowd’s marrow. People fell back on their rumps, skittering away like crabs on a tide-flat.

Lucimia flinched at the shock, fear flaring like sparks, then cooled her pulse like water on coals. She fixed her gaze on the man.

What she saw jolted her again. Countless blood-red worms writhed in the torn flesh, threads churning, eating the meat like fire eats paper.

His chest cavity was crowded with them, a nest boiling. They bred madly, packed every pocket of space, layered upon layer, writhing, devouring.

Soon, the man went still, quiet as a guttered candle.