No one knew how long had passed; time drifted like mist between the ruined trees.

Rows of disciplined troops stepped from the forest, steel moving like a river. Some wore deep-blue light armor; some bore pitch-black heavy plates.

They reached Wasan Village. Seeing the villagers’ misery, they cursed the evils Lucimia, the Dark Deity, had wrought.

The main hordes of rats and insects had departed with Lucimia, like a tide receding. Only stragglers stayed, gnawing the last scraps like soot-eating cinders.

A Purification Knight carried a lantern shaped like an oil lamp, the Purifying Light. Its blue-white glow washed over the rats; bodies turned to powder, no more splitting, no rebirth.

“Ha, the Purification Deity’s power still wins,” the knight said, praise edged with steel.

The lantern, the Purifying Light, held a fragment of the Purification Deity’s Authority Power. Anything it illuminated among the rat swarms was erased.

They began to sweep the area clean, like brooms across stained stone.

Breath tight, a knight lifted his hand like a sparrow taking flight. “Commander! We found a hairpin!” He held it as he reported to the commander leading the Purification Knights.

The unit in pitch-black heavy armor, a moving fortress, was led by Lev. The Purification Knights were led by Nat, a rare mage-swordsman—magic at the eighth tier, swordcraft at the sixth.

He was also a devout believer of the Purification Deity, an insider who knew hidden channels like roots under stone.

Yet he and Lev alike did not grasp the Dark Deities’ true nature, minds fogged like dawn mist. They believed only this: serve their deity, help it descend, and their desires would be paid like coins into open palms.

Nat’s hair was short and red; stubble shadowed a harsh face. Tall and broad, he matched Lev’s build like twin pillars.

Caution weighed in him; he never hid behind rank. He wasn’t the fool who’d scoff, “Just a hairpin—why report?” If his men brought it, it meant something.

He took the hairpin, warm in his palm, turning it over and over, eyes like whetstones.

“Fine workmanship, costly materials. And these two gems—heh, not common trinkets. They hold magic. Even merchants might not own such.”

“So this hairpin was left by that Lucimia?” Lev’s waist bore the Purifying Light; the lantern swayed with each step like a pendulum of frost.

Nat glanced back at the man with his head wrapped. “Most likely,” he said, a low chuckle like gravel.

Suddenly, Nat’s eyes bloomed blue, possession settling like winter over ice.

He lowered his voice and leaned toward Lev. “Your curse can ride a medium like this, right?”

Lev stiffened, puppet-strings pulled tight. “Mm? You mean… heh, I get it. But her Devouring Authority restrains curses. If she senses it, it fails.”

“That’s nothing,” “Nat” said, dismissing it with a flick, the air rippling. “With my Authority Power assisting, her Devouring weakens.”

“Even if she devours it, it drains her energy. She doesn’t want to consume energy, doesn’t want to absorb energy. Elyssus is locked by her, isn’t he?”

“Nat” smiled like a demon cutting silk. “Keeping Elyssus imprisoned drains her constantly. She fears losing control and polluting everything.”

“So it’s simple. We don’t need to beat her, or catch her. Just burn her energy, again and again.”

“Drive her into full loss of control. Then kill the remaining three of the Lancelot Family.”

“In the past, whenever one descended, the Lancelots traded lives. Now it ends. Kill them, and Olivya’s plan fails completely.”

Lev—Ment behind his eyes—brightened, clarity like a blade.

Purification Deity Vosh had it right: you didn’t need to win against Lucimia; you needed to grind her down.

At first, he lacked intel, a map torn in the wind, and thought Lucimia also absorbed energy freely. Ment wasn’t clear on the subtleties, the waters muddy.

The order he received was simple, like iron: by any means, eliminate Nirael.

“Heh, in the end, you botched it,” Ment sneered at Vosh, voice cold as a whetstone. “We could’ve taken Nirael, Olivya’s hound, in our sector.”

“Now your failure drags us in. For the greater plan, we’re forced to cooperate.”

Vosh snorted, the sound like a shutter slamming. Ment wasn’t wrong. He handed over the hairpin.

“Lay your curse. Don’t skimp on energy. Let it burn.”

“Without the Lancelot Family, who can stop us? First, seal her Reversion of time. I’ll support you with Purification.”

“No problem.” Ment took it, fingers a cage.

As he grasped the hairpin, a cold gleam ripped the air. A black sword shadow cleaved Lev’s arm; the hairpin fell with the severed flesh.

Ment jolted, then drove the other arm, his palm boiling with smoke. He snatched at the hairpin midair.

Another blade flashed like lightning through ink. The second arm fell, blood misting like rust.

A figure burst between them, seized the hairpin, then flickered away, landing atop a distant wooden roof like a hawk.

“Heh, mere flesh,” Ment said, voice withered.

“Is the curse in place?” Vosh asked, gaze a blade.

“It is. The situation was too tight, so I could only slap on a rough influence.”

The two deities steered their puppets, eyes fixed on the attacker like hunters.

Tall and lean, black tousled hair, he looked down from above, gaze cold as winter water.

“So, one of the Lancelot Family,” Vosh spoke first. “I was going to find you. You came to me instead?”

“Oh? And then?” Xiu said, voice a chill draft.

“Heh, you really don’t know your place.” Vosh raised a hand. Blue light flared beneath Xiu’s feet like frost.

Xiu simply stepped back. A Magic Array lit under him; white light washed the world, and he vanished.

“Teleportation Array,” Ment murmured, eyes narrow like knife-slits.

“Heh, fast escape. In possession, we can’t draw more power anyway. Fine, we stick to the plan.”

They released the possession then. Nat and Lev blinked, their minds returning like dawn over ash.