A chill of doubt brushed her mind like a night breeze—did he not know?

If he didn’t know, he’d stay silent like a stone in a river, not say “I don’t know” out loud.

It wasn’t impossible.

Another possibility rose like a shadow at dusk: Bevi was fake. There was no Bevi. Rexi lied to her.

A third possibility flickered like distant stars—was her question too broad?

“Bevi’s location” wasn’t broad, like a lantern fixed to a street. “Bevi’s information” was broad, like fog over a sea.

Wait—maybe it only allowed one question at a time. Maybe there were rules, a demand for specifics.

In stories from her past life, mediums had their own rules, like ritual steps under moonlight. That would make sense.

But only practice cuts fog like a blade.

She cleared her throat, heart tight as a drum, and asked the blue-haired man’s soul, “Tell me where Bevi is.”

His soul rippled like rings on a pond, then smoothed to glass again. He—

Still didn’t speak.

Lucimia stalled mid-breath, a sparrow startled by thunder.

She hurried, voice low, “You don’t know who Bevi is, right?”

Ripples again, spreading like silk on water. Still, no words.

She tried, “You know who Bevi is, but you don’t know his location, right?”

The same soft waves. The soul kept its lips sealed like a locked chest.

Lucimia frowned, thoughts knotting like vines.

Was that ripple the answer already, and she just couldn’t read it?

Yet the Authority Power had already settled into her like fire in a brazier. Its uses, rules, effects should bloom in her mind on their own.

Her mind told her plainly: ask, and the target will speak, like a bell struck.

“So strange—am I asking wrong?”

She bit her lip, steadied her breath like a swimmer before the plunge, and fixed her gaze on the soul before her.

She asked, “Your name—what is it?”

His soul rippled again. Lucimia waited, still as a candle flame, for his reply.

He still didn’t speak.

Heat rose to her face like an ember. She stood from the chair, eyes heavy as storm clouds on the silent soul.

She continued, “What’s your gender?”

No answer, only the hush of deep water.

“What color is your hair?”

No answer, like wind over empty fields.

“Have you ever peeked at the neighbor girl bathing?”

Still nothing, silence tight as a sealed jar.

Her expression darkened like ink in rain. She drew in several other souls, asked the simplest questions, yet none answered.

“Something’s off… Is it Ment’s smoke?” Her doubt coiled like mist. “Is it blocking the souls’ replies?”

So after all this, she still had to use the Devouring Authority?

She weighed it like a blade in the palm, then used Devouring to ward Ment’s influence from the souls. She asked the blue-haired man’s soul the same questions again.

The result didn’t change. He stayed silent, a statue in winter.

“Odd.”

Lucimia couldn’t find the thread in this weave. She dropped her soul-sight.

The world rushed back like a market at noon—redwood buildings, people in bright fabrics, chatter like rain, glasses clinking, laughter bubbling.

Lucimia set her eyes on the blue-haired man again, gaze sharp as a needle.

She chose to use the Devouring Authority to devour the man’s memories about Bevi.

She stood, circled behind him, and raised a hand. A wisp of shadow gathered in her palm like smoke, then drifted into his cup.

The man popped a nut from the table, then grabbed his wine and gulped like a thirsty ox.

Lucimia triggered Devouring, and reached into his memories like a hand into cold water.

Yet what she devoured was blank, an empty scroll.

“Hm? After all this, he has no memory about Bevi?” Her mind froze like frost on glass.

She refused that like a flame rejects rain. She devoured again, this time what he had done at noon.

The moment she tasted it, she jolted like a bird from a branch—his memories of noon were missing too.

“What is this? Rexi was like that as well. Is Rexi behind it? Or did something else trigger hours ago, making everyone’s memories impossible to devour?”

She couldn’t find the pattern, yet wrongness pricked her skin like needles.

Ment’s handiwork? Did he choose to be Vosh’s dog? Did Purification block my Devouring?

Or does Ment have helpers? Is that Rexi his helper? But when Devouring still worked earlier, there was no trace of Ment. When she tried to kill Rexi to force Ment out, Ment didn’t show.

No—she did that because she thought Rexi was a Blessing. If it was an Authority Power, Ment wouldn’t need to possess anyone.

Maybe Rexi really is someone Ment brought in.

Damn it—she should’ve finished her cleanly.

But what if not? Nirael never told her Ment had such a helper. What if Nirael’s intel lagged behind Ment, and Ment hid this trump card?

And that green hair… could it be Imperial royalty or nobility?

Nirael had green hair. Rexi too. And the first she met, Anjelo—his hair was tea-green, ink-green, but green all the same.

Anjelo’s clothes clashed with that little village like a peacock among sparrows, rich and expensive.

Was Anjelo also noble or royal?

Ment’s first target is to control Imperial nobles and royals. So Rexi might truly have ties to Ment. Even if not partners, she could be cursed and controlled like Nirael was.

The more Lucimia thought, the more the shape held, heavy like a looming mountain. She had just lowered her guard; it rose again like a drawn bow.

Should she go back and kill Rexi? Was Bevi a fake? No such person?

“Wait—what if Rexi’s ability wasn’t cast on others, but on me?” The guess struck like a spark. “My power’s affected by hers, so I can’t devour memories? But that’s wrong. My passive Devouring of All is always on.”

The more she thought, the stranger it grew, like a labyrinth shifting in moonlight. The board slipped from her understanding.

“Could there be another cause? I’m short on clues, can’t deduce it.” Her thoughts hammered like rain.

She couldn’t solve it. All of the above were guesses, and guesses remain mist until proven. She decided to leave the city, compute a parabolic arc from afar, blast the clock tower, and let the Fuzzy Orb poison the past. Done, clean as a blade stroke.

Whatever bizarre scheme Ment set, he couldn’t stop a direct strike.

Strength breaks cunning. One hard shove topples ten clever tricks.

That truth doesn’t bend.

Lucimia set her will like iron.

She ignored the four adventurer teams and walked toward the guild doors, steps steady as a metronome.

Just as she stepped out, the blue-haired man lowered his voice to his teammates, words like a knife slipped under cloth.

“I saw Bevi’s signal. Let’s move.”

Lucimia halted mid-step, turned, shocked like lightning through clear sky.

Bevi? Bevi was real?