Then the knot tightened again: Olivya had Rexi alter Yuna’s memory—maybe to seal her tongue, maybe to drown a protest that once thrashed like a hooked fish.

In Olivya’s design, Yuna was a lamb on a cold altar—meant for Devouring, so Lucimia’s Authority Power would wake, so Reversion would be claimed.

She also made sure Lucimia couldn’t find Yuna’s parents, hiding them like stones under deep water; finding them would tilt something, however slightly.

Lucimia’s head throbbed like a drum. She didn’t need to grind the thought further; ninety percent, this was why Rexi snapped. If she won the Duel, Auril would spill the rest.

Her heart was a tangled forest, shadows crossing light.

Yuna seemed to be from the First Epoch; her memories and sense were rewritten like ink washed from silk. How was she different from Rexi, whose Authority Power surged, whose self was swapped out?

Lucimia closed the books, pages settling like wings. She glanced at Rexi. “Want to keep reading here, or head back with me?”

“Uh—either’s fine.” Rexi snapped her book shut and stretched like a cat. “Did you find Kalan Village?”

“Mm… sort of.” Lucimia kept the rest under her tongue. After a breath, she said, “Maybe stay and read. It’s my business anyway, and I’ll wrap it fast.”

“Eh—?” Rexi drew the note long, a ribbon of doubt and sulk. “Why? If you found Kalan Village, shouldn’t we go together?”

“No.” Lucimia shook her head, simple as a falling leaf. “We don’t need to go. I just need to confirm who my friend’s parents are. Nothing else is necessary.”

She added, like a pebble dropped into calm water, “It’ll be quick. A few minutes.”

“Oh… fine.” Rexi nodded, then opened her book again, pages rustling like rain.

Lucimia rose and left the library first, her steps soft as dusk. She scanned the grounds, chose a hidden copse, and, once the world stood empty, spoke to the dim longsword sigil on her wrist.

“Auril, I want to guess. I suspect the main cause of Rexi’s breakdown is that she crossed time and space to alter another’s memory.”

Her words moved carefully, like feet feeling a narrow bridge.

She framed it as “main cause,” and left it as “another,” to widen her margin for error like loosening a knot.

After all, the Guess Duel never demanded a name carved in stone.

If she named Yuna alone, what if Rexi had altered someone else and she didn’t know? That would be a blind spot like fog on a cliff.

What if the Duel judged her wrong for that one missing branch?

It was all possible, like thunder hidden in clear sky.

From these brief dealings, Lucimia felt the Duels here were riddled with gaps, holes like burrows for foxes. She couldn’t tell if Auril left them on purpose.

She finished speaking, and the longsword mark on her hand flared like a cold star.

Auril didn’t appear this time; his low voice rolled from the sigil like thunder behind mountains.

“Guess: successful. Duel: victory.” Auril’s reply cut clean, like a blade through silk.

“I’ll say it again—you analyze well, reading the web’s fine threads to find the shape beneath.”

For some reason, Auril praised Lucimia again, words dropping like warm rain she didn’t ask for.

“Since I won, you should tell me everything.” Lucimia let the flattery pass like wind, and went straight for the blade’s edge.

“I already did. If you can guess why Rexi lost control, you should already know what happened.”

Auril began to circle, deflecting with softness like water on stone.

“Cut it out. I want the story from your mouth.”

…

Auril fell silent, a pause like held breath. Then his voice returned, low and steady: “No problem.”

“There is a link among the four of us—me, Olivya, Rexi, and Yuna—threads knotted tighter than they look.”

“Olivya made two plans, both conceived back in the First Epoch, seeds buried deep.”

Auril began to lay it out, words flowing like a slow river.

“Olivya’s first plan was the one you’ve heard of. From me you learn its core: she has always wielded the Authority Power of Soul, and that is why she still exists, a flame that won’t go out.”

“She drove her bloodline to Devour other Dark Deities’ Authority Power, and she herself lived parasitic in her descendants like mist in the lungs. Once Devouring piled high enough, she would seize the vessel, take control, and rise as a god of concept, barring all Dark Deities outside the gate.”

“But the plan was too ideal, stripped of the grit. The Dark Deities joined hands like a storm front, and chose to erase Olivya and her line first.”

“Not every descendant could face a Dark Deity. Some lacked magic talent; some lacked even swordcraft. Even with Authority Power, a dull mind might fail to Devour a single Dark Deity’s gift.”

“Stacking bodies like bricks was clumsy, a wall that cracks under its own weight.”

“As deaths rose like a black tide, births couldn’t keep pace. The first plan would fail sooner or later.”

“So Olivya turned and forged a second plan, a blade hammered from loss.”

“She would, alongside the first plan, cultivate a man‑made genius, someone who could stand against Dark Deities like a pine against winter.”

“She sifted her descendants’ funerals and failures, hunting causes, searching for what else was needed—beyond Authority Power—to fight Dark Deities.”

“She thought and thought, wheels grinding like millstones, and settled on this: to craft a genius, he must have magic talent, and not just high—monstrous.”

“On that point, her first idea was simple as a spark: she had immense magic talent. Was there a way to lend her learning, her knowledge, her talent—temporarily—to another?”

“Soon, through her childhood friend like a bridge over water, she met Auril.”

“With Auril’s Duel, she could complete the ‘lending,’ passing gifts like a candle lighting another.”

“Thus she raised her first experiment, a bud under glass.”

“But he died, bitter as frost. To face a Dark Deity, too much magic was needed; even monstrous talent climbs step by step, building Magic Arrays in the body’s mana corridors.”

“He didn’t have time to grow. He hit bottlenecks like rock walls; when a specific spell was needed, he didn’t have it.”

“His tier fell short; innovation wasn’t even on the table. So he died, a flame smothered mid‑gust.”

“Only then did Olivya learn her talent, for all its height, still fell short of monstrous. The sky she thought she held was lower than she hoped.”

“She also found that shaping a person’s wisdom was grueling—tactics, schemes, analysis, mind games, psychology—each a mountain that needs years. She had no time.”

“So Olivya turned her blade toward Authority Power.”

“Soon the Dark Deities named Knowledge and Wisdom, and Talent, were Devoured by Olivya, swallowed like stars into a black sea.”

“Some time later, Experiment Two stepped out. He had magic that needed no Magic Array carved, sword arts that flicked sword‑qi at will, and wisdom beyond compare.”

“His heart held great aim; his temper rode high, bright with swagger like a banner in wind. Soon he Devoured a Dark Deity’s Authority Power—‘Severing.’”

“That pleased Olivya, a smile like a crescent blade.”