The two-meter-tall body crashed down, kicking up a thick plume of dust like a startled sandstorm.
But the headless corpse didn’t gush bright or dark blood. Instead, black flames roared up, fed on it completely, leaving no ash—only a dense billow of white smoke.
The squad leader didn’t even have time to wonder. A chill crawled down his back; he spun around and saw a scrawny soldier behind him swelling like a blown bladder, hitting two meters. Muscles knotted and bulged until he matched Lev’s build.
The man whipped out a greatsword and brought it down toward the squad leader’s crown.
The squad leader hopped back. He lifted a hand, then chopped downward; an ice shield bloomed with his motion, a frost-pane leaping up to meet the blade.
Bang! The moment the ice shield blossomed, the greatsword slammed into it.
The blade split the shield; a crack spidered across, ice chips spat. A heartbeat later, the shield shattered. The squad leader was flung back, smashed into the wall. Rubble rained on his head, throwing up dust again.
As the dust thinned, the soldier pinned to the wall was now a young maiden. A sweep of black hair framed a fine-boned face; pale skin carried a smear of earth. She lifted a hand and brushed it away.
She was none other than Lucimia.
Lucimia had disguised herself as a soldier, slipped into the ranks, then seized her chance to ambush Lev.
The plan flowed smooth; the ambush landed. But when she saw no blood spill after his head was Devoured, a cold omen stirred in her chest.
Lucimia trusted her instincts; when they whispered something was wrong, it was truly wrong.
Sure enough, the soldier behind her swelled into Lev’s build and chopped at her brow. Frustration spiked; she had to block, too late to weave better magic, and the impact shoved her into the wall like a wave.
Pain flickered, resolve hardened. She rose from the rubble, brushed the dust from her clothes, and fixed her gaze on the two-meter-tall man that mirrored Lev.
“Who are you? Lev?” Lucimia asked.
The man—apparently Lev—rolled his neck, spread his shoulders, flexed his arms, ghost-gripped with five fingers, bounced on the spot. He moved like he was testing a borrowed body, treating Lucimia like empty air.
Anger flared hot; her will flicked. A spike of earth speared up beneath him, arrowing for his chest like a sudden fang.
He snorted, cold as frost. He leaned back a hair to slip the spike, then punched down and smashed it to gravel like breaking river ice.
Not done. Lucimia had read that backward lean; she called a second spike from behind, a serpent striking for his spine.
Normally, leaning back while punching locks you up for a beat. You can’t change lines instantly; you need a step back to steady before you adjust.
Sure, he could try a backflip, but that still puts him inside the spike’s reach.
So in theory, Lucimia’s second spike was guaranteed.
Yes—and in practice it was. The spike slid clean through his back; its tip burst from his chest and lifted him into the air like meat on a spit.
But Lucimia still saw no blood slicking the spike where it broke out.
The armored man, Lev-like, burned in the same black fire, dissolving into white smoke like chalk fog.
The next second, another soldier’s frame swelled, becoming a third Lev-shaped hulk.
This time, he didn’t limber up. He drew a greatsword and dragged it along the ground; his voice rumbled as he chuckled. “Little girl, you seem… very fond of ambushes? Let me think—three times now?”
It was true. In the Town of Tranquility and in Jaha Town, Lucimia always chose the ambush—strike when they’re unready, slip through a gap to land the kill. It rarely failed.
That way wasn’t exactly honorable. She felt no shame; she wanted the dishonor. In a death match, who cares about honor? Kill the enemy, whatever it takes.
“Looks like you really are Lev,” Lucimia said, sliding back a few paces like retreating tide, keeping him from closing fast. When he counted her three ambushes, he’d admitted it.
“Why won’t you die?” Frustration burned; the question burst free.
“Because I’m undying,” Lev answered, blunt as steel.
“Undying? I don’t buy it.”
“You can test it.”
Silence stretched like a drawn bow. They watched each other, measuring, maybe waiting for the first move, maybe hunting for a seam.
On the surface she looked calm; inside, thoughts raced like storm clouds. How is he reviving? Is he making these soldiers die for him?
That doesn’t fit any magic. A sword art? Doesn’t feel right. It smells like a Blessing...
This substitute-death feels like the Sacrifice. Is Lev one of the Plague Followers? Are they truly putting on a show?
But earlier, every lead said they were from different sides—evidence and all. So what is this now?
How do I fight this? Cut down the soldiers first? He looks to be using them as deaths. But they might not be Plague Followers—they could be duped. Better not kill the innocent…
A prickle crawled up her neck—odd. Why aren’t these soldiers reacting? Why are they all gripping swords and staring at me like hawks?
Lucimia felt a jolt of surprise. Each one was coiled to spring; the moment she fought Lev, they’d pile in like a pack.
Wait—no. Aren’t they baffled by Lev’s revival? He revives by making them die. Aren’t they afraid? No flinch at all? Is their morale really iron?
Lucimia felt something was off, but she couldn’t name the crack.
“This doesn’t feel like you,” Lucimia said suddenly.
“Oh? Why say that?” Lev asked, amused, like a cat with string.
“You used to strike with unstoppable momentum. When I dodged or blocked, the second attack followed, then the third, the fourth. You never left me spare time, and you didn’t waste words.”
“Oh?” Lev let a playful laugh slip. “Heh. You seem to know me. We’ve only crossed once—how can you be sure that’s my usual way?”
Because I’ve fought you more than once… The thought surfaced, but she swallowed it and went on:
“That is your usual way. Yet you’re not doing it now. Either you’re wary of me—the Devouring left a shadow in your mind—or you’re waiting.”
Lucimia drew a deep breath and scanned the ring around them. The white mist seemed to thicken; distant smoke drifted this way like a tide pulling in.
