After turning the problem over for a while, Lucimia’s head swam like mist over cold tea. She sipped the sour “sugar water” and glanced at Desty, who sat quiet as stone.

Desty had already finished her “sugar water.” Lucimia marveled she could swallow such bitter stuff, like thorns slipping down.

“Thought it through?” Desty leaned in, her voice soft as brushstrokes.

“Mm... roughly,” Lucimia said, uncertainty like a wavering flame.

“Then... are you sure you’ll help?”

“I don’t know... No, it’s more like I have no choice.” She drank again; the sour bite made her stick out her tongue like a cat tasting vinegar. “I’m thinking: if breaking the wall succeeds, everywhere I pass turns to hell. People living there become food for worms and rats. And the one who causes it... is me. With that in mind, I resist it.”

Desty sank into thought, like a reed bowed by wind. After a moment, she spoke. “But one thing is also certain: whether the Curse God wins or the Plague God breaks the wall, the whole Empire suffers. If the Empire falls, the pain spreads to other lands. But if... we follow the Plague God’s way... sacrifice a small part to save everyone... that’s what you told me.”

She grew quieter with each word, like dusk fading. For those sacrificed, it feels terribly unfair.

Silence dropped like ash between them.

“Lucimia!” Suddenly Desty stood, looking at her with eyes bright as steel.

Confusion pricked Lucimia’s brow; she stared back, the air taut as string.

“Help them,” Desty said. “It’s the best path. Don’t worry, you won’t carry it alone. Treat me as your accomplice.”

“Huh?”

“Cut the ‘huh’.” Desty grabbed Lucimia’s shoulders, like anchoring a drifting boat. “To save, there must be sacrifice. That rings true. Besides, we’re not killing for killing’s sake; it’s to save. Picture it like a campaign. Fallen soldiers trade lives for the people’s peace.”

Desty’s words knocked clarity into Lucimia like a bell. By that metaphor, her heart hurt less. But...

“But... soldiers volunteer. These people would be forced.” Lucimia glanced at the street’s cheerful residents, bright as lanterns. “Maybe they don’t want to become Sacrifice, like the Independents proclaim—oppose the Sacrifice.”

Desty faltered. Words failed her, like a stream hitting stone.

Lucimia brushed off Desty’s hand, sighed heavy, and stood. “Even so, we still have only this choice. The other paths are worse.”

“Uh... yeah...”

Lucimia studied Desty’s face and smiled, light as dawn. “Let’s go.”

“Go? Where?”

“To find Gene.”

Inside the upscale inn, lantern light pooled like warm honey. Gene sat at the front desk, gloom clouding his gaze on the door. He thought no one would come today. Then two girls walked in.

Gene greeted them with a grin. “Two lovely ladies, need a room?”

Lucimia didn’t answer right away. She swept the lobby, like a hawk checking for movement. Seeing no one else, she stepped to the counter, cutting straight to it. “Hello, Gene. Mm... I want to eat the rabbit Gendi caught.”

She blinked, like tapping a secret seal.

Gene’s honest smile froze; his mouth sank; his eyes sharpened; his face hardened. The honest man swapped masks, like a mob boss stepping from shadow.

He sized up Lucimia and Desty. Then his tone went cold. “Who are you? I haven’t seen you.”

Lucimia didn’t flinch at his pressure. She met his fierce eyes, one hand on the desk. “Put me through to Nirael. I need to confirm something with her.”

“You want the Plague God?”

“Yes.”

Gene held his breath and watched her, still as a drawn bow. Lucimia didn’t look away. Tension gathered like a storm cloud.

After several seconds, Gene let out a long breath. “Fine. I’ll get you connected.”

He drew two keys from a drawer and tossed them to Lucimia.

“Thanks.” She caught them, thanked him, and headed in with Desty.

She checked the numbers on the tags. “301. And... negative 101?”

Lucimia blinked, pocketed the keys, and moved to the stairs like a shadow seeking height. She climbed to the third floor.

She used the key for Room 301 and opened the door. The decor matched the other rooms, plain as bread.

Lucimia opened her Magic Eye and swept the room like a lantern. She found a hidden passage under the bed.

“Help me push,” Lucimia said, pointing at the bed.

“Okay.”

They strained and slid the wooden bed aside. The dark hatch yawned open like a mouth.

A four-digit lock sat on the hatch; the first slot was a symbol. Lucimia flipped it to the minus sign. She set the last three to 101. The lock clicked open.

They lifted the iron lid. A narrow passage descended like a burrow.

Lucimia first chose to relock Room 302. Then she and Desty stepped into the passage.

They walked a long while, until the end, their breaths like soft drums. A door blocked them.

Lucimia slid in the key, turned it, and opened it easily.

Inside waited a single wooden table. A worm-shaped Magic Array was carved upon it. At the array’s center sat a mouse statue.

Lucimia poured mana into the array without hesitation. The lines lit up, and the mouse’s eyes glowed. After a moment, the light turned red.

“Lucimia,” the mouse said.

“I used Devouring Authority to keep you from Reversion wiping your memory,” Lucimia replied. “That way our talk stays clean, without extra explanations.”

“Good. Thank you.” The mouse paused, then continued, steady as an old bell. “Thank you for choosing to help me. When it’s done, I’ll share all the information.”

“Mm.” Lucimia nodded. “Before I help, I want you to pay some information first. I need to confirm a few things, or I can’t craft a method for the smoke sediment.”

“No problem. Ask.”

With his assent, Lucimia drew out the chair. She patted off the dust and sat. She faced the mouse statue like a negotiator before a shrine.

“What is energy?” Lucimia asked her first question.

“The essence of energy is life and soul,” the mouse answered, crisp as a blade. “Its accompanying effect is pollution. In other words, using Authority Power costs life and soul—plus the proper pollution.”