Tsk. Lucimia frowned; a faint itch crept along her right forearm like ants under skin.

Desty, knocked aside, sprang up like a bristling cat, drew the longsword at her waist, and watched the snowy world with knife-bright eyes.

Cold caution first, then motion; Lucimia turned and lifted her gaze to the high sky like to a frozen lake, hunting the hidden hand.

She opened her Magic Eye; the veil tore like mist at dawn, and a figure surfaced in the blue heights.

A man hovered there, red short hair like a flame tuft, a magic longbow like a crescent moon in hand, staring down at Lucimia with a razor smile.

“That smirk begs for a beating,” Lucimia muttered, voice flat as sleet.

“How’d he find us?” Desty asked, breath thin as frost.

“No need to guess. Flight plus Magic Eye…” Lucimia said, turning toward Desty; in the river behind Desty, a shadow bled through the surface like ink.

“That’s—behind you! Lev, behind!” Lucimia shouted, voice snapping like a whip.

Before her words hit the ground, Lev burst from the river in a spray of silver scales, greatsword chopping down like a guillotine at Desty’s crown.

Warning first, then steel; Desty spun and braced her blade upright, spine taut as a bowstring.

Clang—! Steel struck steel; a gust boomed out like a drumbeat, and powdered snow exploded into the air.

Seeing it, Lucimia raised her hand; frost bloomed like a white flower, and an icicle formed, a fang aimed for Lev.

Annoyance first, then adjustment; above, Nat drew his bow in the same breath, so she had to whip the icicle toward him like a snapped icicle shard.

Whoosh—! Arrow and icicle streaked to meet, but the arrow wore Purification Power like blue fire; two centimeters out, the icicle unraveled into glittering dust.

The cerulean arrow tore for Lucimia like a comet over black water.

“Troublesome Authority Power. Magic won’t stop it…” she breathed, words low as a snowmelt whisper.

A Fuzzy Orb popped into being like a dandelion puff, ready to Devour the arrow.

“Heh.” Nat’s cold laugh fell like sleet; the arrow winked out a hairsbreadth from the orb, snuffed like a candle.

Shock iced her spine; danger flared behind her like a struck match. She snapped around, and sure enough, the arrow screamed in from her back.

“Teleportation Magic?!”

Wasan Village flashed through her mind like lantern light; Desty versus A-Biao, sword-qi flung through a rift, the cut arriving at Desty’s back through a tear black as ink.

But that trick couldn’t tag a living body.

Staring down the arrow, Lucimia’s face set like stone; with a flick, she ripped a spatial rift, a black, chaotic seam opening like a crack in night glass to swallow it whole.

The exit bloomed behind Lev like a dark flower.

That was her play: if Nat sent arrows by teleport, she’d reroute one behind Lev, save Desty, and maybe turn the blade back to kill him.

She wanted to see if Lev could still revive after a strike laced with Purification Power.

“Mm?!” Lev blanched; locked close with Desty, he couldn’t slip free. The sudden arrow hit, punched through armor like a blue nail, and buried in his flesh.

“Good, Nat… you really…” Lev bowed his head; his posture sagged like a puppet with cut strings.

Lucimia flicked a look at Nat in the high air; the redhead still smiled, and wrongness rang in her chest like a cracked bell.

“Nat… you really… helped a lot!! Hahaha!!”

Strength surged in Lev like floodwater. He hewed; Desty, outmuscled, couldn’t hold. Her blade snapped like a twig, but experience spoke—she leaned back, and the greatsword only painted a red line across her.

Blood poured like a ribbon on snow, but she wasn’t cleaved in two.

Tsk. Urgency first, then sprint; Lucimia dashed to break Lev’s press, but from the flank sky another arrow fell like a hawk. It led her path and pinned the ground before her feet like a serpent’s strike. She slammed a halt and slipped past it.

“Forget the others. Your opponent is me,” Nat said, disdain dripping like cold rain from a gutter.

Anger coiled cold, then words; Lucimia stared at that punchable face. “You’re courting death… You think you can beat me?”

Nat threw his head back and laughed to the clouds, crows bursting from a tree. “Ha! I can’t beat you. But I live to tempt fate. If you’ve got the guts, come kill me.”

Caution deep as winter water, then choice; Lucimia didn’t charge. She sank into thought like a stone into a pond.

That arrow’s Purification Power moves with intent. Hit Lev, and it refreshed him. Hit me, and I’d drop dead on the spot.

This line won’t cut. They came prepared. If he dares to taunt me, the net’s already cast.

What now? Worst case, unleash wide-area Devouring like a black tide, shove them back, then grab Desty and ride a Teleportation out.

The Teleportation Array outside the valley is barred, but the ones inside sit open like side doors ajar.

But that bleeds Authority Power like feeding leeches. That’s the point of their plan.

Yet I may have to take it. An open trap is still a knife on the table.

Worse, trying to Devour them will drink me dry. They’re wrapped in Authority-level effects like rune scales.

So you planned for this already…?

Tsk. Trouble. This is the classic duel of strategists, a chessboard in a storm.

At first, a great strategist strikes like thunder. Once the enemy learns her, they weave a labyrinth tailored to her steps.

Every trick you favor gets counted. Your style, your rhythm—he clicks his abacus and sets the counters before you arrive.

It’s common. The only way out is to step off the beaten track, to leave your own footprints in fresh snow.

While she thought, the enemy didn’t idle. Arrows kept falling like rain. She slipped through them and let Nat’s jeers wash off her like wind over stone.

“Hey, hey, what trash Dark Deity. I thought you were scary. All you do is dodge? Don’t you have Devouring Authority? Come Devour me. I won’t even move. Hahaha.” Nat mocked as he loosed, voice oily as smoke.

Each arrow used Teleportation Magic, a snake striking from holes in the air. It turned the fight thorny, blades from blind spots.

On the other side, Desty held a broken sword like a splintered branch, catching Lev’s axe-blows with both hands.

She held, but every block lit fire ants in her arms. She felt the hourglass running out.

“Yo, you’ve gotten stronger? Blocking this many hits,” Lev drawled, voice slick as oil on ice.

“Damn it…” The words rasped out of Desty like winter wind.

Lev brought another vertical chop, a falling tree. Desty couldn’t hold; she rolled away, a gourd in fast water, and the blade split only snow.