“It’s fine… I poisoned the Cross, then it blew up and knocked me out—simple as that.” Lucimia lied, tossing words like pebbles into a pond.

“Really…? But I didn’t hear any explosion.” Her doubt drifted like mist at dawn.

“That’s ’cause it was a smoke blast, and underwater. Silence is normal down there.” Lucimia’s defense came quick as sparks. Then she asked, “How’d you notice I was drowning and dive after me?”

“Oh, that. The surface kept rolling, like something thrashing under ice, so I figured I’d check.”

“I see…” Weariness loosened her breath like a slack bowstring. “Anyway… thank you.”

“Mhm, don’t mention it. You saved me too.” The smile on her lips flickered like a lantern in wind.

Desty lifted Lucimia up, gentle as a branch catching snow.

“Let’s go. The worm-rats are coming.” Lucimia urged, voice tight as a drawn blade.

“Okay…” Desty answered, the word light as a falling leaf.

They returned to their temporary quarters, grabbed their horses, and swung aboard in one smooth splash of motion.

Hearing the two Bloodkin were leaving, villagers gathered like a tide, their thanks rising like warm smoke.

“Thank you! You solved our beast problem!”

“Thank you!”

“Truly, thank you!”

“Uh… mm.” Lucimia turned her face aside, like a moon hiding behind cloud.

“Sis! Goodbye!” Aili ran up, hand waving like a small flag in spring wind.

“Mm… goodbye…” Her reply fell soft, like snow on moss.

Without another glance, Lucimia and Desty drove their mounts on, hooves drumming like rain, racing toward another distant forest.

Halfway there, Lucimia yanked the reins. “Forget it. Let’s go back.” Her voice was a stone skipping.

“Huh?” Desty blinked, confusion pooling like still water. “Back? What do you mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong. Just back to look. We’ll watch from farther out.” Her gaze stretched thin as a bowstring.

“Alright… it’s your call.” Desty yielded, calm as dusk light.

They found a clearing not far from the village and watched. Lamps bloomed like stars; the bustle pulsed like a festival drum.

Lucimia didn’t know why she stayed. Maybe to confirm whether the rats had absorbed energy. Maybe to pin this harmony to her heart like a pressed flower.

While they waited, her thoughts slid back like a river retracing stones.

The white mist in the well turned gray; Ment’s eyes burned scarlet, like coals in ash.

What was that? Was that the true Dark Deity, a shadow behind the veil?

It seemed barred outside the wall, its power muffled like thunder under sea, yet its gaze alone chilled like winter wind. What was Ment to it?

And that “punishment”—what was it? Just knocking her out and sinking her under water? That felt childish for a god of darkness, like a prank in the night.

She tested herself. Limbs nimble, like willow in breeze. Magic worked. Authority Power flowed. Reversion answered. She couldn’t tell what it had done.

For peace of mind, she burned energy like oil and used the Devouring Authority, swallowing every trace of influence in her body, root to tip.

Only then did a thin comfort settle, like embers under ash.

And then—the usurpation plan.

She agreed with Olivya’s ideal, like recognizing the shape of the moon in a well, yet she refused to be the one drowned. She wanted good days—hers alone—and she hated Olivya’s methods, bitter as wormwood.

But the line Olivya spoke—“Only madness counters madness”—rang true like iron on stone.

If Olivya sat down calmly with her descendants and said, abandon your dreams and sacrifice yourselves, would you? Some might nod like reeds; many would not. Too few yeses, the plan would die slowly, like a candle guttering.

So she used force—lies, lures, hatred, desire—driving the Lancelot Family onward like oxen under a storm lash.

Lucimia faced a thorn of a question. If she Devoured part of that Authority Power, gained the Temporal Authority, found Yuna—yet lost control—then what?

If she lost herself, how could they live side by side, like two swallows sharing one eave?

She needed a way for her and Yuna to laugh at the academy, to savor days like ripe fruit, to keep a life that belonged to them.

“Lucimia, the ground. It’s shaking.” Desty’s words tugged her back like a bell in fog.

Distant forest heaved; birds burst from the canopy like arrows. The few beasts fled, and the earth hummed like a drum.

Bang.

A bottle toppled from a table, shattered like ice, shards skittering.

“W-what’s happening? An earthquake?” Fear crept like frost.

“I don’t know—wait, why are more beasts here?!” Panic flashed like lightning.

“Hurry, grab weapons!” The shout cracked like a whip.

Villagers snatched spears and blades, but the beasts ignored them, bolting past like a river breaking banks.

“What… what’s going on?” Their confusion drifted like smoke.

Two villagers sprinted up, faces pale as lime. “Bad news! A huge swarm of rats is charging from the forest!”

“What? Rats? Quick! Use fire!” A man once scorched by mouse-plague barked like a dog in rain.

“No use! We tried! The rats melt—then the melt turns into new rats! The more we burn, the more there are! Fire’s useless!” His words spilled like boiling pitch.

“This…” The veteran fell silent, tongue heavy as lead. He’d never seen this nightmare.

Silence held for a few heartbeats, a pond without ripples.

Then someone shouted, voice bright as a torch. “Go fetch those two Bloodkin ladies! They can’t be far! We’ll repay them well!”

“Right! Bring the village’s few horses! Hurry and find them! Everyone else, hold the rats!”

Orders spread like fire on dry grass. The old, weak, and sick were moved behind, like fledglings under eaves. The strong took the front, backs straight as spears.

Seven or eight men mounted up and chased the way Lucimia had gone, hooves biting the road like teeth.

Truth be told, forming up that fast was impressive, a banner in sudden wind. But they overestimated themselves, and underestimated the tide.

This swarm was an Evil Entity even Jaha Town’s regular army couldn’t stem—how could villagers stop a sea with bare hands?

They held the line, eyes hard as stone. They swore to endure until Lucimia arrived, hearts braced like shields.

If they’d held off beasts this long, what were a few rats? Pride glimmered like sun on steel.

But when wave after wave of crimson rats thundered out, a mountain breaking loose, fear washed their eyes the color of dusk.

Without magic, they froze, as if trapped in ice.

“Fire’s our only shot!” someone yelled, a spark in a gale.

Torches flew in arcs like comets, but the more they burned, the more the rats bred. The fire fed the flood like rain feeds weeds.

A few Swordmasters swung sword-qi, arcs bright as falling moons. Severed rats split again, breeding as they died. Their fighting spirit collapsed like a tent in storm.

“How do we fight this?!” The question tore like cloth.

The swarm crashed into them. A huge rat leapt at the foremost man, a red boulder with teeth.

It sank its fangs into his shoulder. Worms writhed over its hide, spilled like black silk, and carpeted the man, eating him alive.

“Ahhh—help! Help!!” His scream ripped the air like a torn banner.

No one stepped forward. Their courage shrank like fire in rain.