The man was dead; worms had eaten every organ, then melted into a sheet of blood, a crimson tide pouring downhill like rainwater after a storm.

Blood crept toward Lucimia’s toes; her gut tightened, and she yanked Desty back like pulling a sleeve from a flame.

She felt a prickling omen, a chill like winter wind: this blood might carry the plague; one touch would bite like nettles.

Faces on the roadside blanched like paper; chatter snapped off mid-note, cut clean like a string.

Lucimia glanced at Desty; the same sick pallor washed her face like ash on snow.

“A… a dead man!” the fallen passerby stammered, his voice quivering like a struck reed.

The street woke with a jolt; the crowd went from frozen pond to breaking ice.

“Ahhh—someone’s dead! Another one in Jaha Town, killed by disease!” People bolted downhill like leaves torn by wind.

Those about to climb up stopped short; pupils pinpricked, and they dragged family and children back like fish fleeing a net.

“The worms are coming again, the worms are coming…” The whisper spread like mold in damp corners.

Residents on both sides shuddered, fled indoors like birds to roost; slippers flew, and doors slammed with a bang like thunder on wood.

The noisy street went hollow in a breath, quiet as a graveyard under frost.

“Lu… Lucimia…” Desty’s eyes wavered like ripples, asking what to do before words could form.

Lucimia’s brow knotted; two steady breaths passed, then the knot smoothed like silk under a palm.

“It’s the Plague Followers’ poison. Their plan’s already in motion.” Her voice fell like a stone into a well.

“…What about the others?” Desty’s worry fluttered like a trapped moth.

“They might have worms in them too. They all drank from the same source,” Lucimia said, calm as cold iron.

She’d puzzled before—she had cut open beasts and found no blood-red worm. Now it clicked like flint: the thing could turn to blood, and her trail had washed away.

No wonder it was the color of fresh wounds—red that hides in red.

“Do you have a way? Healing Magic should work, right?” Desty’s hope flickered like a candle.

“Maybe. First we fix the water source,” Lucimia nodded, voice like a kept promise. “Even if they hide, they still have to drink.”

Plans buckle under weather; she’d meant to watch first and handle it in the second Reversion, which was why she hadn’t dropped the Fuzzy Orb with Devouring into the water.

Now the tide had risen; she had to move.

With Desty in tow, she headed for the well; downhill, the blood still streamed like a dark ribbon.

She thought fast, then loosed a Fireball Spell while no one watched; the flame fell like a star, burning the dead man and the running blood to ash.

“To rest…” Desty murmured, voice soft as falling petals.

Only after that did Lucimia walk on; at the well, she followed the plan and sent the Fuzzy Orb in like a seed cast into a pond.

In Desty’s eyes, it was just Healing Magic, a gentle light over dark water.

She drew the “magic” back and studied Desty, who peered into the well like a curious cat; Lucimia’s face stayed still as a lake. “Let’s go. I need to set up a surveillance… mm, Magic Array.”

“Okay.” Desty nodded, small as a dew-drop nodding on grass.

They returned to the spot; the man was cinders and white bone, a charcoal sketch left by fire.

“Rest in peace…” Desty whispered again, a leaf falling twice.

They skirted the remains and reached the count’s manor; Lucimia cast an Invisibility Spell on both, a veil thin as mist.

She lifted her gaze; a gold-trimmed apartment block stood ahead, gleaming like sun on armor. Guards held their posts like spears, and servants inside trimmed flowers like tending a quiet sea.

In a nearby court, a few ladies sipped tea and nibbled cakes; laughter rang like silver bells.

The scene hit Lucimia sideways; for a breath she felt she’d stepped through a mirror, into a world of spring while winter gnawed below.

Up above, comfort flowed like warm wine; down below, disease bit like wolves. The mismatch planted a thorn of doubt in her chest.

Plague ran wild beneath, yet those above looked unshaken; did they trust they wouldn’t catch it, as if blessed by luck?

“Is it because they drink things made with Qihui effervescent tablets, so they aren’t worried?” The thought slid in like a whisper under a door.

The count made the stuff; of course he’d keep plenty for his own.

“Where’s the production site?” Lucimia stood on a stone, rose on tiptoes like a crane peering past reeds.

A guard’s gaze swung her way; her body jolted like a taut string, and she ducked behind the rock like a rabbit to brush.

A blink later, the guard looked away, his scan drifting like a lazy broom.

“I thought he could see me…” Lucimia scratched her head, heat pricking her ears like sun on snow.

She’d slipped into treating him like Lev by instinct; she nearly forgot that, besides Lev, people shouldn’t see her under an Invisibility Spell.

“Eyes are too slow. Sneaking in is a slog. Use the Fuzzy Orb.” She set her palm to the ground; a shadow pooled like ink, then she veiled it with an Invisibility Spell.

The shadow swam fast like an eel and slipped through the gate crack like smoke.

Lucimia rode the Fuzzy Orb with shared vision, darting through the manor like a swallow under eaves. At last, behind the estate, she found a half-cylinder building laid on its side like a Quonset shell.

Inside, one half grew green plants like rows of jade; the other half clanked with a half-manual, half-mechanical line where cigarettes and effervescent tablets were made like coins from a press.

“This should be it… Hm? What’s that?” The question rose like steam.

Every finished cigarette and tablet got sent to a small sealed room; workers pushed packed goods through a lower hatch like offerings into a shrine.

They waited a moment, then the hatch pushed them out, and another crew carried them off like ants ferrying crumbs.

“Quality check? That’s awfully fast, like lightning counting leaves.”

Curious as a fox, Lucimia drove the Fuzzy Orb to the hatch’s seam and slipped through. Darkness swallowed sight like ink poured over snow.

“So dark… how do they check?” Her doubt fluttered, and she opened her Magic Eye; night vision bloomed like moonlight in a cave.

Sight flared—and shock struck like hail. A giant pitch-black Cross stood at the center, smoke coiling around it like snakes, cold seeping out in waves.

The Fuzzy Orb was small; she had to look up at it, and the weight pressed down like a mountain’s shadow.

A strange feeling crawled up from her heart like ants from a crack; she felt countless eyes on her, staring from the dark like predators beyond the firelight.

She turned a full circle; nothing showed, only that naked, unblinking gaze, and more of it, closer each breath like footsteps in fog.

Goosebumps sprang up; her skin tightened like drumhead.

She moved to pull out. The vision snapped black, clean as a snuffed candle. A heartbeat later, it came back—no Cross, no smoke, only the gold-trimmed apartments and the standing guards.

Her sight had jumped back into her own body, like a kite yanked home.

“What was that?” Lucimia scanned the world, then reached for the Fuzzy Orb again; her mind stretched like a hand in the dark.

Nothing. She tried again and again; the thread stayed cut like a rope burned through.

Only then did the truth land like cold rain.

“The Fuzzy Orb… is dead?”