In the next two days, believers who’d finished absorbing energy offered themselves like guttering candles to feed the colossal worm.

Lucimia used her Disguise Power to blend it into the scene like mist sinking into rock; Ment noticed nothing.

Two days without her shadow, Ment changed tactics like a fox switching trails at dusk.

He praised Lucimia’s “independent spirit” again, words like honey over steel.

He declared her Magic Array had flaws, like hairline cracks under frost.

They had wanted to discuss solutions with her, like scholars around a lamp.

Since she hadn’t shown up, she’d likely left by some special means, like wind through a keyhole.

So they would modify it themselves, hands like chisels.

Lucimia didn’t need to guess what “modification” meant, suspicion like bitter tea.

He wouldn’t rewrite the whole Magic Array; if cost rose and effect fell, the crowd would chill like winter rain and stain his name.

Ment would graft his own curse onto Lucimia’s array, like ivy taking an old wall.

As he’d once stolen Nirael’s energy, he’d siphon what Lucimia’s array drew, like a thief tapping a night pipeline.

Would Lucimia let him steal that easily?

Obviously not.

She felt a wisp of smoke thread through the array to her side, like a snake through reeds.

She answered with the Devouring Authority, swallowing his curse strike like a black tide.

Ment tried several more times; every attempt vanished into the Fuzzy Orb, like crumbs into a whirlpool.

After that, he went silent, like a drum with its skin cut.

He likely realized his Authority Power couldn’t touch Lucimia—held in perfect check like fire under rain.

Yet Lucimia knew their powers restrained one another by whoever moved first, like two blades testing initiative.

When her Devouring Authority stayed closed, his curse locked her down, like chains snapping shut.

When she opened it, his curse couldn’t touch her; it only drained energy like sand leaking from an hourglass.

“Lucimia, one more day should do it. Time for a feint,” Nirael popped out, voice like a pebble skipping water.

“Mm. One day earlier than before. We start tomorrow night,” she said, resolve like a lantern lit.

“Now the problem is, after we withdraw, how do I travel?” Lucimia asked, worry like fog rolling in.

“The route is long, and flight is banned; walking would take till the Year of the Monkey,” she said, humor like a bitter smile.

“From Jaha Town, head north all the way,” she traced the map, finger like a river.

“Pass a forest, then a river, and reach the second site: Wasan Village,” she said, voice like a measured bell.

“The distance is unclear, but by the map’s scale, it’s far,” she added, calm like stone.

“Hmm… that’s on me,” Nirael, riding a mouse, crawled over the map like dusk creeping.

“I can grant you speed, like I did for Gendi,” he said, promise like wind over grass.

“That works, but… it sounds exhausting,” Lucimia said, fatigue like lead; half an empire on foot felt like a frozen horizon.

“Then rent—or buy—a carriage,” Nirael offered, plan like a bridge over mud.

“I’ll lay time-acceleration on the horses,” his tone like gears catching.

“A carriage…” Lucimia thought, memory like dust on a shelf.

“Since reincarnating here, I barely rode any,” she mused, past like distant rain.

“The Lancelot Family had carriages, but I rarely used them—never went far,” she said, truth like bare branches.

“Now there’s a chance to try; I won’t miss it,” she smiled, like sun through leaves.

“Let’s do that. No better option,” she decided, words like a stamp.

“Bring the team close first; when the wall breaks, use the Teleportation Array to send the horses too,” Nirael said, plan like a drawn bow.

Needing another buyer, Lucimia looked at Desty still lazing in bed, like a cat in warm light.

Her eyes turned, mischief like sparks; she climbed onto the bed and watched the sleeping redhead.

Cold season now; Desty was wrapped in a thick quilt, half her face showing like the moon behind clouds.

Lucimia reached to nudge her awake, then a playful itch bloomed like frost flowers.

She gathered a thin layer of Frost on her palm, then slipped into the quilt like a breeze.

Her hand found Desty’s smooth back; her palm pressed to that fine spine like ice on jade.

One second. Two seconds—

“Wah!” Desty yelped and shot up from the bed like a spring uncoiling.

“That’s freezing!” Desty shoved Lucimia away and cinched the quilt tight like a fortress door.

“Hmph, up already,” Lucimia withdrew the Frost, mood like a teasing tide.

“There’s nothing to do. Why get up so early?” Desty curled back, voice like a drowsy cat.

“We might get tired later; better sleep now,” she said, logic like warm coals.

Seeing her close her eyes again, Lucimia stepped forward, resolve like a knife.

She pinched a corner of the quilt and tugged; the fabric flew, revealing legs white as new snow.

“Hey, what are you doing? It’s cold!” Desty yanked the quilt back like a slammed shutter.

“Don’t you wear pants in winter?”

“…I don’t have pajamas,” she muttered, embarrassment like blush behind clouds.

“…”

After a brief silence, Lucimia patted the quilt, decision like a seal.

“Alright. Today I’ll buy you clothes. And a carriage.”

“Huh? A carriage? Why?” Desty peeked out, confusion like morning mist.

“For what’s next, of course,” Lucimia said, plan like a map unrolled.

“We can’t break the wall and then walk on foot,” her tone like iron hammered.

“The sites are far apart. Some paths are rough. We shouldn’t always rest in the wild,” she added, care like a hearth.

“In a carriage, it’ll be better,” her voice like a steady drum.

“Oh…” Desty understood, clarity like sun through fog.

“No wonder you woke me—you want to buy a carriage together,” she said, smile like a small flame.

“Mm. And pick you some clothes,” Lucimia said, warmth like tea.

“Didn’t you just say the carriage was the side task?”

“Forget it. Up you go,” Lucimia said, words like a nudge, and opened the door.

“I’ll wait upstairs.”

—

Washed up and dressed, they moved like birds leaving a nest.

To avoid trouble outside, Lucimia quietly lulled the two inn traders to sleep like night snow falling.

She wore their faces and walked out like a mask slipping on.

That way, no doubts would rise, her mind like still water.

Outsider merchants buying a carriage is normal; with the town sealed, locals would rent, not buy, logic like stacked stones.

Sunlight blazed today; after so long underground, the unmissed sun pricked their eyes like needles of gold.

“Do you know where to buy a carriage?” Desty asked on the road, voice like a bell.

“Yeah. Nirael told me,” Lucimia said, certainty like a straight line.

“Good. What kind of horses do you need?” Desty perked up, interest like a flame.

“If horses fall short, we could use draft-type magic beasts,” she added, curiosity like a hunter’s gaze.

“Not sure the town has them,” she mused, doubt like a passing cloud.

“You know horses?” Lucimia was surprised, eyebrows like wings lifting.

“Of course. I’m a Holy Knight; how could a knight not know horses?” Desty said, pride like a flying banner.

“Fair point,” Lucimia nodded, agreement like pebbles settling.

“You choose, then. We need endurance and strength high,” she said, criteria like carved seals.

“It’s a long haul, and they’ll pull the carriage, not just carry riders,” she added, plan like tied ropes.

“As for tricky terrain, don’t worry,” Lucimia said, confidence like a tight keel.

“Most horses here handle rough ground; merchants run the wilds often,” her tone like rolling wheels.

“Alright. For pulling, one horse may be weak,” Desty judged, voice like a measured blade.

“At least two. One can work, but the cabin gets cramped,” she concluded, practicality like an abacus clicking.

“Fine for one person; two inside isn’t convenient,” she said, verdict like a closing fan.