Rexi asked. Lucimia didn’t veil it; truth slid out like a cold blade in winter air.

Yes. But it was by my hand, cut clean like frost on glass.

Eh? Rexi froze, a sparrow halted mid‑flight.

What—don’t believe it? Her brow arched like a drawn bow.

Th‑this… why? Her voice trembled like leaves in a night wind.

Why? Lucimia watched Rexi’s curious eyes, thoughts turning like slow tides. Because I’m a Dark Deity; I kept them as spare rations, grain sealed in a cold cellar. When problems jam shut, I drink their energy like a stolen fire.

Ah…? Rexi hadn’t imagined that. Fear crept up her spine like a damp fog.

So don’t travel with me. Don’t adventure at my side. You’ll end up as food, a lantern moth drawn too close.

Then why tell me? If I’m rations, silence is sweeter. So… it wasn’t you who chose to kill them, right? Her words pecked at details like a finch at seed.

Lucimia let silence pool, dark and still as ink.

Relax. Rexi slapped her chest, a light drumbeat before dawn. I won’t die easy. I’m a Dark Deity too. Together, we’re steadier, two boats sharing the current.

Your wish is to save your friend, right? I can help. When the time comes, introduce me—let me meet them, like a cup raised between friends.

She beamed at Lucimia, smile bright as morning glaze on water.

So you’re not joyless by nature. It’s all the mess around you. If you could choose, you’d pick the path where you don’t have to think, where play carries you like wind. Me too. My heart chases kites, not chains.

…

Lucimia watched the words pile like soft snow. A sigh drifted from her chest, smoke from a weary brazier. She rubbed her temples, pressing away static. What do you want out of this?

Heh. Rexi’s smile turned sly, a cat in moonlight. Do you want… a stretch of calm days?

Lucimia blinked, a ripple in still water. What do you mean?

I mean I can give you the life you want for a while. Your friend might not return right now, that’s a hard stone. But you can loosen your grip, let the bow rest. Relaxing might ease the thorn of suspicion. Press too hard, and strings snap.

She flashed white teeth, sun on bone, and laughed toward Lucimia. Friends help friends. You take me to the Royal Capital, keep me company. I help you with your wish. The Bloodkin have a saying—one drop of grace, repaid with a spring.

Bloodkin? Did they coin it? Her voice flicked like a struck chime.

Uh… no idea. Bevi says it, rolling it like candy on the tongue.

Fine. Lucimia didn’t wrestle the proverb. Her gaze steadied like a blade put back in its sheath. How will you help me? What’s your play?

Heh. When the Royal Capital is settled, I’ll tell you. My ability can do it, like a hidden door in a blank wall. Rexi lifted her chin, pride rising like a small banner.

Authority Power again. What’s yours? Curiosity glinted like a fish scale.

I’ll tell you later! She kept the fog wrapped around it, a secret lantern with its cover on.

Tch. Suit yourself. Lucimia turned away, shadow sliding over stone. I’ve got work. We’ve chatted enough. Don’t disturb me for now.

So you agreed? Does that mean we’re friends? Rexi leaned in, playful as a breeze, light‑green gradient hair spilling like waterfall silk.

We’ll see. Lucimia’s voice hit firm, a knuckle on wood. She paused, then added, Go read your book. Learn some magic. I can’t keep you safe if you cling only to Authority Power. Don’t make it your crutch.

Eh—are you… worried about me? Rexi blinked, stars playing in her eyes.

…

Lucimia let the quiet settle, then reached out, mind like a thread hooking a distant bell, and linked to the Deceiver.

Rexi took her answer like a warm coin. She didn’t bother Lucimia again. She opened the magic book, pages fanning like wings, and began to study.

She found old notes left by Lucimia, thin lines like vines weaving through margins. Her smile grew, and she read with hungry delight, a squirrel with a full tree.

The sky was ink‑black, a sealed jar of night. A magic flying carpet glided north, steady as a river current.

—

In a space of chaos, where up and down had no names, a blonde woman knelt on one knee before Lucimia, posture like a drawn blade.

Lucimia had become an octopus‑limbed monster, a sea shadow wearing a throne. She conjured a tall seat, its whole frame veiled in coiling tentacles, a reef of living ropes.

To match Elyssus’s persona, she went barefoot, moon‑pale feet on cold stone. One leg hooked over the other; she sat with one hand propping her face, calm as a masked actress. The markings on her cheeks showed like storm sigils, and the tentacles hovered behind her, an eerie forest in midair.

Seeing “Elyssus” so formal, the blonde guessed a great move was rising, a tide behind a dam. Her posture turned sincere, chest low, eyes down.

She still flicked a glance at Lucimia, a moth daring the flame. She had never thought Elyssus was a woman. Or maybe Dark Deities had no gender, only shadow and will. She didn’t know. But she hadn’t expected beauty like this, sharp and soft, enough to make a woman’s heart stutter.

A Dark Deity as a young beauty—she had never imagined that star.

She didn’t dare look long. Stare too long, and the mind cracks like thin ice.

Report the situation in Royal Capital Luo. Lucimia lowered her voice; a deep, airy tone slid into the Deceiver’s mind like mist through a window.

Yes. The Deceiver answered, then unrolled what she knew like a map on a table.

The Magic Array’s energy stays full, brimmed like a lake after rain. It’s ready to be moved at your will.

Also, the Dark Deity Ment seems to be plotting. He killed most people in the Royal Capital, harvesting early, and absorbed their energy. Luckily, I hid using the Authority Power you granted. Otherwise, I’d be ash on the wind, unable to serve.

Figures. Lucimia’s thought rose and sank like a tide. As expected.

Is my Lord going to face Ment? If so, I’ll offer everything—bone, breath, shadow. The Deceiver’s voice knelt deeper, a candle bent to its flame.

Really? Then offer your life when the bell tolls. Lucimia kept the thought inside, a quiet blade under velvet.

He’s guilty enough, a butcher feeding the Magic Array fat with stolen light.

Lucimia considered, thoughts circling like crows. A vial of poison appeared in her hand, glass cold as a winter moon.

Take this. Go into the sanctum’s Fog Domain. Pour it over the Cross where Ment stores energy. Understand?

Understood! The Deceiver nodded, quick as a sparrow, and took the vial like a hot coal.

Good. I’ll give you a small reward now. Lucimia’s voice turned warm, a low ember.

Hearing “reward,” the Deceiver shook with excitement, head bowed to accept grace, a pilgrim before an altar.

Lucimia’s leg began to ache where it hooked the other; she shifted, an easy ripple, and said, I remember—you’re a Swordmaster?

Yes. The word landed like iron on stone.

Good. Her gaze slid to the longsword at the woman’s waist, a sleeping river in its scabbard. With a thought, she imbued the blade with the Authority Power of Cutting Severance, a keen edge hungry for lines to slice.

Now she’d have enough bite, enough weight, to do the task well.

Worried she’d grow too strong? Not a chance. Lucimia had Devouring in her veins, a night sea that eats fire. The effect sat only on the sword, and remained under her hand, a hawk tethered by an invisible cord.