“What's the Time Stasis Bearer’s relationship with him?” The question struck Rexi like a tossed pebble, rings rippling her calm.

Annoyance flared like sparks in dry grass. How would we know? That’s their own business, like curtains drawn against rain. We’re outsiders, wind at the door. And we can’t use Authority Power now. This Duel’s crooked, a tilted scale—damn that Dark Deity, a shadow with claws.

Rexi ground her teeth like flint on steel and snapped, “Who would know? That’s your mess, isn’t it? You call this fair, under open sky?”

Auril’s voice came back cold, like frost on iron. “Is that your guessed answer?”

“It isn’t!”

“Then keep guessing,” he said, a clock with no warmth.

“You—!” Heat rose in her chest like steam. “It’s unfair. At least give us options, like stones in a river!”

“The Duel’s content is a guess, not a choice.” Auril’s tone was a machine’s hum, gears in the dark.

“Damn it.” The word dropped like a dull knife into snow.

She had wanted to haggle, like a trader under a lantern. If Auril gave options, she’d pick one to toss aside, buying Lucimia a wider road.

Auril stayed unmoved, a standing pine in winter. With no way around, Rexi turned to Lucimia and asked, “Lucimia, can you guess it?”

“Mm… let me think.” Lucimia lowered her head a fraction, like a crane by water, and sank into thought.

In theory, a Duel stayed as fair as a balanced beam, even if Auril held the Duel’s Authority Power like a seal. He still had to bow to what Duel meant.

So he couldn’t throw a riddle no one could answer, like fog at midnight. It had to be guessable, a path under the moon.

Then why can I guess it? Why does Auril think I can? Or why does the Authority Power judge this within fair bounds, like scales at market?

Following that thread like silk through a needle, Lucimia recalled the sailboat—the hothead with a one‑use Time Halt trinket, and the longsword laid on the Magic Array like a sleeping fish.

And she weighed the intel she had on Time Ability Users, a map drawn by Bevi and Nirael, ink dark as a night pond. A shape formed in her mind.

She had already guessed at the tie between the Time Stasis Bearer and the Dark Deity, three branches on one tree—

First: the Time Stasis Bearer cooperates with the Dark Deity, two boats on the same current.

Second: the Dark Deity controls the Time Stasis Bearer, a puppet on cold strings.

Third: the Time Stasis Bearer holds an Authority Power too, like Nirael—ability user and Dark Deity one and the same, two masks on one face.

This “guessing Duel” did have options, like stones across a stream, but you had to find them yourself, step by step.

Now, from Bevi and Nirael’s reports, the Time Stasis Bearer was female, a note clear as a bell. So the third branch could be cut away.

The Dark Deity and the Time Stasis Bearer weren’t one body, not two shadows glued as one.

Two options remained, like twin roads under fog.

Lucimia could have Rexi guess one; if wrong, Lucimia would say the other, and the Duel would fall like ripe fruit.

But then Rexi wouldn’t get in; to bring her in required another Duel, another storm at sea. And Auril, being the Duel itself, might not obey any rule saying “the challenged can’t refuse.”

The Duel had no such line etched in stone. In Lucimia’s old world’s medieval days, you could refuse a Duel—earn sneers like crows, yet walk away.

So… should we do it?

Lucimia looked at Rexi. Rexi caught her gaze like a tossed ball, blinked, and asked, “Did you figure it out?”

“Mm… I’m not sure.” After a beat like a slow drum, Lucimia shared her thoughts, words laid out like cards on a mat.

Rexi didn’t frown, not a cloud in sight. She thumped her chest lightly, a drum of confidence. “No problem, leave it to me.”

“Uh… if you guess wrong, you can’t get in,” Lucimia said, laying down the cost like coins on a counter. “To enter, we’ll need another Duel. The content’ll change like wind, and he can refuse.”

“It’s fine. Worst case, I wait outside like a cat at dusk. You finish up and come get me. You can go in and out freely; you can even bring me snacks mid‑way.” Rexi blinked, stars in spring water. “And my luck runs fair, like a breeze. Maybe I’ll nail it.”

“Mm… all right.” Lucimia’s thoughts folded again, cranes in her palm.

“It’s set then. If I’m wrong, you pick the other,” Rexi said, patting her chest, a steady heartbeat.

She stepped forward, cleared her throat like a flute warming, and readied her guess.

Watching the green‑haired girl’s bright stance, Lucimia felt a strange chill, like a draft through paper walls.

Can it be this simple?

This Duel seemed winnable a hundred ways, like ripe grain in an open field.

Either one gets cut off like a branch, or both carry the harvest home.

Can it really be that easy?

But…

Lucimia felt she’d missed a stitch, a loose thread catching in the loom.

What was it?

She never took anyone or anything lightly, a blade kept sharp. So she re‑read the rules and her own guesses, line by line, like stars on a clear night.

Suddenly, her pupils tightened like struck strings.

“Rule Five: every participant has a chance to win.”

Yes—every participant, like every seed with a chance to sprout.

Lucimia caught the snag. She’d almost fallen into a ditch by the roadside. She’d assumed only she and Rexi, the guessers, were participants; she’d assumed Auril stood outside the circle; she’d assumed, as the god of Duel, he could tilt the board.

But a Duel is two sides at least, like two oars on one boat. No less.

“Wait, Rexi!”

“Huh?” Rexi was about to speak, but Lucimia’s voice cut in like a bell. “What is it?”

The girl didn’t sulk at the halt, a willow easy in wind. “You thought of something else?”

“Maybe… give me a moment,” Lucimia said, like a diver holding breath.

“Okay.” Rexi wasn’t in a hurry and plopped down on the ground, a carefree sparrow.

Auril didn’t rush them either, a mountain under snow. Time stayed halted, the lake without ripples. It felt like this guessing had no time limit.

Lucimia thought fast, sparks across flint—

If every participant can win, Auril’s win condition is clear as ice: both Lucimia and Rexi guess wrong.

Only that path lets him reap the harvest.

So the third option can’t be tossed aside? Or are there more stones in the stream?

But her intel shouldn’t be wrong. The Time Stasis Bearer is female, a lantern’s sure glow. Auril’s voice is male; could that be a special voice, a mask of mist?

That would explain why Auril never shows himself, only a voice drifting like wind through pines.

Is this a lie, smoke curling from wet wood?

So pick the third?

No—too simple, like bait glinting in clear water. Could this be a smokescreen?

Do we choose it?

No. Don’t stay in this pit; climb the ridge and look from above. Don’t argue from reasons to result; invert it—set the result, then hunt reasons like tracks in fresh snow.

Lucimia hadn’t expected a small guessing Duel to pull her into hesitation, a foot caught in reeds.

Looks like Auril came prepared, a hunter patient at dusk. He might’ve chosen this content long ago, carved into the bark.