"That said, black hair means Bloodkin. It’s common sense, like night ink on snow. You shouldn’t forget that."

"Uh..." The man looked closely, then saw Lucimia’s black hair; the night had veiled it like a curtain before.

"Among the Bloodkin, black hair marks nobles. Two tear-moles, like twin drops of ink, mean the Progenitor line. Do you know what that means?" the elder asked.

"Kinda… like a royal house?" the man answered.

"Close enough. This is human land, and Erwei City is the Empire’s heartland. From the moment she came, her depth felt like a bottomless lake."

"And what she did just now likely aimed to smoke us out of our burrow, maybe to talk."

"Talk?" the man asked. "About what? Is she going to besiege us? She can’t take a city alone like a storm. No alerts elsewhere. Maybe she came for Erwei City."

"Yes, she came for Erwei City," the elder said. "You may not know it, but a Bloodkin lives here, also black-haired, a shadow under our eaves. This girl likely came for that one."

"Huh? We have a Bloodkin in our city? I had no idea… Still, she’s a foreigner. Entering without papers—doesn’t that—?"

"Different matters," the elder said. "Since we know why she’s here, I’ll speak with her." He patted the man’s shoulder like a steadying rock, then flew forward.

His words drifted like a bell note: "Bloodkin lady from afar."

Lucimia’s ear twitched; her eyes fixed on the elder, while her hands kept pouring magic into the crossbow like a stream into a millwheel.

A prickle of curiosity warmed, then suspicion cooled like dawn dew. Bloodkin, huh? The label’s handy. They treat Bloodkin politely, like reeds bowing to wind? Are Bloodkin that strong?

Wait—why doesn’t he know I’m wanted? He’s a Ninth Rank Mage. Did Ment fail to seize him? How can he be blind to secrets?

This can’t be. Even an Eighth Rank Mage of the Purification Church knows such things. He’s Ninth Rank, one of two in the Empire. Ment wouldn’t let him roam.

He’s acting like he doesn’t even know Lucimia. Strange.

"Something’s off…" Lucimia pinned the thought like a needle through silk. She kept listening to the elder.

"I know why you’ve come. You’re looking for Bevi, right? I don’t know your ties or grudges, but I can bring him before you, if you stop the siege. Still, you trespassed into another nation. You should offer something."

Oh. So that’s it. Understanding clicked into place like a pebble in a pond.

Lucimia wasn’t here for Bevi, so she said nothing. She stepped back, light as a swallow, and power burst like a geyser.

As a Ninth Rank Mage, the elder saw her intent. He shouted, thunder over the plain, "Bloodkin, are you unilaterally tearing up the armistice?"

At once he went full power. He tried to seize her magic in reverse, like turning a river back to its source.

The result was instant. As soon as he touched her magic, a dreadful, uncanny aura blanketed his heart like winter seawater. He trembled, couldn’t move, lost control, and fell.

"Teacher!" The young man dove and caught him like a hawk snatching prey.

"Cough, cough… damn it, are all Progenitor-line Bloodkin this unreasonable? These filthy mosquitoes should go extinct." The elder’s eyes burned like coals.

"Activate the city’s Magic Array!" he roared.

The city shifted with his cry. Multicolored arrays bloomed around the walls, layer on layer, barring Lucimia like ripples of light turned to glass.

"Go," Lucimia whispered, light as wind.

The arrow, fed magic for long, finally leapt free. It carved a shrill line through the sky, long and fierce, with piercing power like a comet.

The elder watched the arrow strike the array. By his read, it was Ninth Rank at least. Yet the defense was woven by the Empire’s two Ninth Rank Mages. Layered on layers. Even if it pierced several, it shouldn’t pierce all.

But the unexpected came. At contact, it didn’t even slow. It slid like a needle through paper, smooth as silk, through every array.

The elder gaped—eyes wide, mouth open—words blown away like dust.

The arrow drove for the clock tower. The lofty tower was bored clean through, revealing the black Cross within.

Lucimia withdrew the effect of the Devouring Authority at once, lest she devour the Cross and deepen her own taint.

Fuzzy Orb crawled off the arrow. It lunged at the Cross with poison like green fire. Soon, the Cross was tainted, petrified, and shattered like dry rock.

Meanwhile, Ment never appeared to stop her. No other strong ones emerged. Rexi didn’t suddenly strike.

Everything went so smoothly it rang false, like a lull before a storm. The smoother it ran, the stranger it felt to Lucimia.

Could Ment have run? Maybe the Cross held little energy left.

It’s possible. But if he ran, Nirael should know. Nirael wouldn’t let Ment slip away.

"Strange," Lucimia murmured, wind through reeds.

With Erwei City’s Cross destroyed, she planned to retreat and lie low for now. She’d wait for the rat swarm, then help them siege. The city’s battle strength was high, like cliff stone. They might not wipe the swarm, but they’d resist long.

So she’d help break the city, let the swarm enter easily—wait.

How could she think of killing so calmly? Before, there was guilt and weight. Just now, it felt as natural as eating and drinking.

Hiss. The taint’s still there. I must hold my first resolve. I must not forget. Don’t worry. When I gain the Temporal Authority, I’ll bring you all back.

Lucimia clutched her head like holding a storm. She spoke to herself, and to the innocent dead.

"Bloodkin! You won’t leave!"

The elder regained control of his magic. He rose into the sky and barked, "Is the Empire a place you come and go at will? What do you stand for among the Bloodkin? Are you declaring war?"

Lucimia halted. She looked back, cold as moonlight.

That single look froze the elder. The uncanny, evil power surged again, like countless eyes in the dark fixing on him. His body went numb. He shivered.