Meanwhile, the Fuzzy Orb tried to Devour the spiky man’s memories, like ink licking a sealed page.

Questions swarmed in Lucimia’s chest like hornets—how did he know she was a Time Ability User, and who sent him?

But the Fuzzy Orb caught nothing, like a net pulled from a winter river.

Yes, nothing at all, a snowfield without footprints.

The spiky man’s mind was a blank slate, as if wind had scrubbed every stroke of ink.

Lucimia blinked back to herself, and saw him lying still like a snuffed lamp—dead.

She bumped Rexi with her shoulder, a quiet tap like rain on bamboo.

Rexi understood at once and reached in with Memory Power, like a hand into cool water.

Seconds later, she stared at Lucimia, eyes vacant as fog, and shook her head.

With no better choice, Lucimia grabbed the corpse and warped again like a pebble skipping water.

Two girls and one corpse popped out by a riverside grove, mist clinging like breath.

Lucimia tossed the body like a sack. Rexi slid off her and patted her chest like a bird shaking rain.

“Haa... I almost suffocated,” Rexi exhaled, breath like steam in cold air.

Lucimia said nothing, a stone under still water.

She hadn’t wrapped them in water magic, so once submerged they held their breath like fish on land.

After a short rest, her voice moved like a ripple: “What did you read?”

“Nothing, blank snow,” Rexi answered, a wry smile like frost.

“Same here...” Lucimia sank into thought like a stone into deep water.

Were his memories frozen in stasis, like a pond under ice?

No—stasis is a special skill, a tier below Authority Power, and it can’t dam Devouring or Memory.

“Only Authority Power can stop Authority Power,” Lucimia breathed out, mist like pale silk.

Seeing her think, Rexi didn’t intrude; she padded to the corpse and tried Memory Power again like a fox pawing snow.

Arms crossed, Lucimia watched the river resume its flow like a clock’s hand, and kept thinking.

The fight had flashed and faded like lightning; her ice filled him with shards—pain, not instant death.

She hadn’t let the Fuzzy Orb Devour his life, so why did he fall like a felled tree?

She replayed the last frame like a lantern slide; on the Magic Array on his coat was a longsword sigil.

What did that mean—did the sword kill him, like a verdict stamped in wax?

She knew no magic like that, which left one path through the fog: Authority Power.

One stroke of that sword cut him down and wiped his memories like rain scouring ink.

“Hiss—what a tangle,” Lucimia kneaded her brow like dough.

Dark Deities again, thorns on every step of the path.

Still, it matched her hunch like a compass; how did the small Lowegar Kingdom live this long?

Obvious—there was a Dark Deity, and that sword smelled of its altar smoke.

Did that sword scrub his memories, like surf erasing footprints?

After a beat, Lucimia called like a bell through mist, “Rexi, stop reading. Restore first, then read.”

“Eh? Oh—makes sense!” Rexi snapped her fingers, a sharp click like flint.

“Uh... seems tricky,” her voice sagged like wet cloth.

“Meaning?” Lucimia asked, her gaze a pin of light.

“There’s resistance,” she said, “like pushing a door that won’t move a finger.”

“I get it. Don’t force it,” Lucimia sighed, breath like wind over reeds.

The Dark Deity’s fuel outweighed Rexi’s, their forces grinding like millstones in recoil.

Lucimia’s own reserves were low, a drained well under cracked clay.

After she Devoured the seal once undone by the Purification Deity, all the Ment energy she’d absorbed ran dry like sand.

Her corruption crept a shade darker, ink climbing silk, so she’d spare what she could.

She’d use Authority Power on small knots and on her own skin, like mending a sleeve in lamplight.

“Um... Lucimia,” Rexi said, a cloud of doubt passing over her face.

“What is it?” Lucimia’s tone was soft as dusk.

“That old grandma...” her words trailed like a thin thread.

“Ah...” A headache drummed in Lucimia’s skull like rain on a drumhead.

For her, it was a blue-sky thunderbolt—an old mother bound for the Lowegar Kingdom to see her son.

She was fleeced boarding the ship, then killed by the spiky man, like a lamb in a thicket.

Rexi meant Reversion; but if they rewound the river, the spiky man would swim again.

Also, Time Halt had ended, and to the boat’s crowd the quarrelling pair vanished like candles in a gust.

“Bit of a headache...” Lucimia rubbed her temples, knots under skin like tightened cords.

He likely had a way to keep memory, like wax seals over a page.

If she used Reversion, his plan still landed; he’d confirm her ability and likely spare the old woman.

He’d still face her counter, and his escape was clear now—confirm, then blink away like a hare.

The Devouring Authority could cut the knot like a blade.

One plan: use Reversion, then Devour the concept of the spiky man reviving, like plucking his shadow from the world.

He’d be gone, not even on the ship, and Rexi could trim memories so no one knew he’d boarded, like pruning leaves.

Another plan: skip Reversion and Devour the concept of the old grandma’s death, like lifting a curse off a name.

Then she wouldn’t die; the scene would mend itself like a weaver’s hand.

She slipped while eating, and a fork and knife nicked her neck like thorns.

They missed the fatal line, and she only fainted like a blown candle.

It’s flimsy, but the world would patch the seams like a tailor.

The spiky man wouldn’t revive, and Rexi would edit the crowd’s memories, his name blown off like dust.

If she had to choose, Lucimia leaned to the latter, a quieter ripple.

The former waved a flag, easy to expose like tracks in snow.

His helper could keep memory too, and with him dead plus Reversion, that helper would sniff trails like a fox.

Besides, Lucimia likely knew the helper’s role, a shadow behind the lattice—the maker of the Storage Ring.

“Lucimia, what do you think?” Rexi stepped close, her approach like a cautious cat.

The girl stayed silent, and Rexi shrugged like a falling leaf.

“If you don’t want to save her, we let it go,” she said, voice light as ash.

Lucimia looked at Rexi, thoughts drifting like mist.

On this, Rexi wasn’t like Desty; Desty would plead for the rescue, a straight blade under moonlight.

Righteous Desty... a white feather on black night.

Lucimia blinked and said, “Mm... let’s save the old grandma,” like plucking a leaf from a stream.

It was a quick gesture, and she foresaw little trouble, like a breeze through beads.

“Huh? You actually agreed?” Rexi stared, eyes bright as stars on water.

“Yeah, what’s wrong?” Lucimia met her eyes, puzzled like a tilted head.

Rexi touched Lucimia’s forehead, then her own, palms cool as spring water.

“No fever...” she murmured, words thin as smoke.

“Am I that dark in your heart?” Lucimia said, each word a struck note like iron on anvil.

She faked a flare of anger like dry tinder, and Rexi backed off step by step like a crab.

“No, no,” Rexi rushed, words spilling like beans.

“It’s Bevi’s tales, the slice of memory you granted, and the things you’ve done—like a winter ledger.”

“I figured you wouldn’t help others, not when you can barely cover yourself like a cloak.”

“Mm... maybe before, maybe even now,” Lucimia said, her gaze like slow rain.

“I just feel that if I do this...” her voice hung like a lantern.

“Do what?” Rexi asked, curiosity bright as a spark.

Lucimia lowered her head and let silence pool like ink.

Then she looked up, patted Rexi’s shoulder like dusting snow, and said, “It’ll let me remember someone important.”