“I made a fatal mistake. I’m no true strategist… I’m sorry.” Lucimia shut her eyes like shutters against a storm and apologized to Desty.

“No… no.” Desty pushed back. “I’m the drag on the line; you already did your best.” Her voice trembled like a reed in cold wind. “I hauled you into this like a net pulling a swimmer under. If I hadn’t forced you to help, I’d have gone alone. Then maybe the only death would’ve been mine.”

“Dummy.” The word carried warmth, like a hand over a small fire. “I’m not just helping you. I’ve got my own road to walk.” Lucimia’s breath was a rough tide. “I’m finding my closest friend. And you’re my friend too. I won’t let my friends get cut by this night. I’ll shield you with everything I have.”

“I…”

“Enough. Don’t,” she said, voice steady as a lantern. “It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong, truly.”

“Then you… you did nothing wrong either…”

“Uh…”

Before Lucimia could go on, Desty spoke first. “The rot is Ment and Vosh. They’re wrong… not us.”

Lucimia froze like frost on glass, then smiled. “Mm. We’re not wrong.”

“Mm.” Desty nodded with a gentle smile, like sun on winter snow.

It was a tender picture, a candle in a cage-fight of darkness, a sliver of light in a night of beasts.

But a spark is only a spark; the dark can swallow it whole—

Bang!

A blast cracked past Lucimia’s ear like thunder under a lid. The warmth of Desty at her side vanished, and wet heat splashed her right temple. For a heartbeat, time went wooden. A hot stream slid down her temple, over her cheek, along her jaw, and dripped onto her clothes.

It was a vivid red.

Lucimia’s pupils pinched tight. She swallowed dry air. Her hands grabbed Desty’s shoulders, then gently eased her back. As distance opened, the picture came into full view.

Desty’s head had exploded.

Yes—her whole head burst. Blood, brain, and shreds of flesh scattered like torn flags. It was brutally, eerily spectacular.

An eye, knocked loose by Lucimia’s movement, slipped off her shoulder and thumped to the ground. Lucimia lowered her gaze, looking for what fell—only to lock eyes with it. Her spine jolted like a struck bell.

She let go. Desty’s body toppled into the snow, a red stain on white. Lucimia stared at her own hands, slick with blood, and her breath came rough and fast.

“…Has it begun? Long‑range wound‑swap?” Her thoughts skittered like startled birds. “He’s not even chasing now? What do I do? Reversion? But after Reversion… then what? What can I change?”

Far off, a line of azure rose from the horizon, a blue spear punching the sky. It climbed and kept climbing, unbroken.

Lucimia knew that light. It was the Purification Magic Array in Jaha Town—the iron fence of a prison in the making. When every bar was set in place, the Array would be complete.

“…I have to Reversion. No more delay.”

She spoke, and two more beams thrust up like frozen rivers.

“Damn it.” She gritted her teeth. “Reversion.”

White flooded her vision like snow glare. Needles bit her eyes. Tears leaked from the sting, and a new dread prickled—her sight might dim again. The pain burned, but she had to choose it.

The feeling dragged her back to the Town of Tranquility.

Powerless. Desperate. Agitated. In pain.

Familiar as an old scar, and the last thing she wanted to relive.

—

Reversion ended. The time point jumped forward again. Lucimia fought down the nausea, then spun.

“Desty!”

She turned and saw the red‑haired girl intact, a bright ember in the wind. The girl blinked, then gave a wan smile. Lucimia stepped toward her, reaching out—

Bang!

The red hair flared, then vanished in gore. Desty’s head burst in front of her like a crushed pomegranate.

Lucimia’s outstretched hand hung in midair, stone‑still for seven or eight seconds. She clenched her fist until the knuckles creaked. Frustration ground in her teeth. “…Re… version.”

The sixth Reversion. Time slid earlier.

This time, they were on a tree in a hilly stretch. Below lay a Holy Knight encampment, tents like pale shells under the branches—exactly along the path they had thinned before.

Thump.

A dull report bloomed behind Lucimia. She didn’t even turn before a headless body dropped from the tree, landing in the camp below. The resting Holy Knights jolted like startled deer.

Lucimia bit her lower lip until iron‑tasting blood rose. “…Reversion,” she whispered.

Seventh Reversion. Eighth. Ninth. She kept trying. Time kept slipping.

No matter how many times she rewound, Desty’s death didn’t change. Death came like fate written in frost. At the instant of every return, Lev swapped wounds from afar and traded Desty’s life for his advantage, never leaving Lucimia a breath to react.

Once, he hadn’t even swapped yet—Desty died anyway.

Because she couldn’t set the exact point, she never knew where she would land.

One Reversion dropped them onto a slope. Lucimia remembered this point; the soil had loosened, Desty had slipped, and Lucimia had caught her in time. Below had been a tide of rats.

Another Reversion threw her straight back to that moment. She didn’t know what had already rolled forward. By the time she fought off enough nausea to focus, Desty had slid down. The rats surged up like a gray wave and swarmed the red‑haired girl.

They bit and tore, mouth by mouth. Desty clenched her jaw and didn’t make a sound, quiet as a stone under rain.

Lucimia couldn’t watch her suffer. Her gut was still roiling. She triggered Reversion again.

Time kept grinding. Lucimia kept rewinding. Panic, shock, and grief burned like a fever at first. Then came numbness, a winter drift. Her face went blank.

She watched Desty die in front of her, again and again. The girl never once asked to have her memory reset. Lucimia’s heart iced over, layer by layer.

She tried not to Reversion immediately, tried to stand and fight. Then Lev—and the Holy Knights—rushed her like a pack of wolves.

When Lev told his men they’d revive after death, they charged harder, deathless in spirit. They fought like dead men walking, fearless and fierce.

Lucimia was forced into battle. Every clash ate at her energy, every strike fed the Purification Magic Array like kindling.

Beams rose one after another, blue lines carving the sky. With each, Lucimia’s hope thinned.

She could only Reversion again—to haul Desty clear, and to snatch a breath for herself.

This time she dropped into dense forest. Branches were black ribs around them.

As soon as she landed, she crouched low and bowed her head.

“Urgh…” She gagged and retched, emptying what little she’d eaten. Her throat burned like fire in a narrow pipe.

“Lucimia…” Desty’s voice was thin, her spirit frayed by too many deaths. The sound was a wilted flower in rain.

“…I’ll find a way to save you. Don’t ask me to let you go.” Lucimia spat twice, wiped her mouth with her sleeve, and panted. She looked at Desty, eyes raw.

“No… I mean…” Desty panted too, her words breaking like twigs. “You… seem to have three eyes…”

“?” Lucimia froze.