So we go against the current, keep gathering worms behind the Count’s estate; when he piles troops in the left woods, his rear stays bare like an open shore.

“Right.” Nirael nodded, a leaf dipping under a passing breeze.

“But it’s still not enough.” Lucimia’s voice was a cool blade. “On the surface, we’ll gather on the left. Not real worms. I’ll disguise a Fuzzy Orb as Gene, let the fake Gene self‑detonate in full view like a firecracker under noon sun. The burst Fuzzy Orb then masquerades as worms, swarming toward the left woods like a stirred hive. At the same time, other Fuzzy Orbs wear the faces of other followers and self‑detonate inside the woods, faking a giant flesh ball like a lump of raw moon.”

“In truth, our real worms mass on the right. And we won’t wait four days. We gather now, we let Gene self‑detonate now, we draw worms and rats to the right like a river turning. I’ll use my Disguise Power to smother our tracks, dressing the flesh ball as a tree, a rock, a heap of soil under rain.”

Lucimia unrolled her idea like silk from a loom.

“But if we gather now, the energy’s thin,” Nirael said, guilt flickering like embers. “Many followers haven’t finished collecting. I chose four days for that exact reason.”

“I know.” Calm steadied Lucimia like still water. “It’s fine. If we start now, four days later we won’t start from nothing. Once the energy’s full, the worms are born at once like seeds after storm. If you begin only then, it drags forever. In the last Reversion, you saw it: Lev and I fought for ages while you finished gathering.”

“Mm… makes sense.” Nirael’s agreement fell like a small stone into a deep pond. “Good, settled. I’ll tell Gene now.”

“Good. The keystone is—surprise.” Lucimia’s smile was a crescent blade.

“From our earlier misdirection, Ment will think I stole your energy. Our ‘deal’ looks like this: the curse energy goes to me; I help block Ment’s smoke sedimentation. He sees his smoke stalled like fog against pine, and your worm plan delayed like a seed under frost. From his clock, your worms still finish first. In truth, I pass all the energy to you, and you’ll gather faster than before, worms knitting like roots overnight. I don’t remove your curse, so Ment believes I’m not your loyal hand, and thus couldn’t have sent you energy.”

“He’ll rack his brain and still miss it—me, a Dark Deity who doesn’t even want the energy.” Lucimia shrugged, palms open like empty bowls.

“You’re terrifying, Lucimia.” Desty stared, fear written like ink on snow.

Lucimia let the worry drift past like smoke. “Put simply, all that earlier noise was crafted misdirection. He thinks he’s clever, reading the board. The board isn’t that board; it’s his daydream. We just walk our original path like a traveler staying on the main road.”

“A fine plan. Feint east, strike west.” Nirael’s praise rose like dawn, then she asked, “So will you cooperate with Ment, or hide and starve his clock, make him wander the wrong trail?”

“Hide, of course.” Lucimia’s grin was a quiet knife. “I don’t want a head‑on clash. His tactical goal is to kill or cage us; his trump cards likely sit there like buried fangs. Without knowing them, a frontal meeting invites disaster.”

She put down her pen, stretched like a cat, and leaned back in the chair. “Let him spend time searching. We walk our way.”

——

“What if we can’t find her, Lord Ment?” Lev’s worry hung like damp mist. “If we burn time, Nirael might absorb the energy first. And the third Dark Deity—her Authority Power counters us. If we face her head‑on, will we…”

Ment listened, eyes cold as winter glass. “Hmph. Why panic? Don’t forget—I have two trump cards.”

“Trump cards…?”

——

Nirael had already called Gene to the basement and laid out the string of plans like a map on stone.

“Gene, that’s the shape of it, so…” Nirael’s voice faltered like a candle, but the meaning stood clear.

Gene didn’t show death‑fear, nor anger at being chosen as the sacrifice. He was calm as night water, smiling while rubbing his chin.

“So, you need me to self‑detonate.”

“Yes…” Guilt pricked Nirael like thorns.

“No problem.” Gene’s answer was clean, a blade drawn without tremor.

“I’m sorry.”

“No need.” His gaze was steady as a mountain. “We prepared for sacrifice long ago. For salvation.”

He turned to Lucimia. “Can I trust you?”

“What?” Lucimia blinked, a sparrow startled.

“Are you sure you can lead the worms and rats along the set routes, help us kill Ment?” Gene’s words tightened like bowstring.

“I… I’m sure.” Being entrusted like a flame in cupped hands, Lucimia felt a tremor under her ribs.

“When? Where?”

“Now. Behind the Count’s estate. We’ll use my Teleportation Array.”

“Then let’s go.”

——

Behind the Count’s estate, Lucimia, Nirael, and Gene arrived in a ripple of light, teleported like rain slipping through branches. Lucimia didn’t use Invisibility Magic; she used her Disguise Power, turning them into mosquitoes, small shadows in evening haze.

Desty stayed at the inn, a lone lamp at the door.

“Next, I’ll disguise you as a tree, as soil, as stone,” Lucimia said, voice like cool shade. “Don’t worry about being found.”

“Good.” Gene nodded, then walked to the tall city wall, a cliff of brick. He looked up; the crest vanished like a horizon.

“Tsk tsk, never thought I’d crack a wall this tall,” he joked, pride flickering like torchlight, then bowed his head into quiet like falling snow.

After a long breath, he spoke slowly, words like leaves catching dew. “Once, I had a wife and child, a home, a business. Warmth and harmony like a small hearth under winter. I thought it would last, until Ment arrived. His curse shattered my house like a hammer on porcelain. Even I almost became his nourishment, like grain poured into a dark mill.”

He told his past, a thin river before dusk. Perhaps those near death wish their names to be remembered, a lantern hung beneath the eaves.

Listening, Lucimia felt a mirror in his story—family, warmth, then a sudden Dark Deity breaking the table like a storm through a quiet field.

No one interrupted. The silence held like a temple bell.

Gene drew a deep breath, turned, and looked at the rat on Lucimia’s shoulder, gaze heavy as iron. “Nirael, you’ll kill Ment, right?”

“I will.” Nirael’s resolve was a blade tempered. “For revenge, and for salvation.”

“Good.” Gene’s smile was slight, a crescent moon.

The next second—

Boom.

Gene self‑detonated.