But Wisdom was smoke, not stone; having Wisdom didn’t mean wisdom, he still had to digest it and think, like tea steeping to color.

Otherwise the Dark Deity of Wisdom wouldn’t have died in Olivya’s hands, like a scholar felled by a farmer’s scythe.

Test Subject No.2 died of his cleverness, like a spider strangled by its own silk.

He imagined too many pieces and set too many layers, like a chessboard spilling across a city square.

He judged the Purification Deity the greatest threat and meant to strike Vosh at his peak, like iron taken from the forge.

He was too sure of himself and blind to Dark Deities’ terror, like a candle daring a storm.

He thought his wise self ruled the board, and he slighted the Purification Deity’s wisdom, like a pupil mocking a master.

In the end he died, and Vosh seized the moment to Purify Knowledge and Wisdom, like lime poured over a stain.

That Authority Power vanished like a star swallowed by dawn.

Olivya’s plan hit a wall; raising another person with Wisdom was like forcing winter buds to flower.

Yet this loss let Olivya glimpse another path, like a lantern wavering through rain.

An artificial prodigy is still human, not a god; clay can’t wrestle thunder, and even we with Authority Power aren’t true gods.

Auril drew a long breath, like frost settling on steel, and said, “Back then I thought she was finished.”

Our whole band fighting the Dark Deities thought she’d gone mad, spouting fortune-teller nonsense, like crows calling storm, but we were wrong.

Lucimia kept listening, like a still pond taking moonlight.

After that, Olivya turned at once and said, like a blade changing hands, “There are only two ways humans can face gods.”

“First, become a god; but we can’t become gods—becoming one is our goal,” she said, like a horizon that never nears.

“So only the second way remains; gods are too strong, they kill with a gesture, and a person dies to ash, like soot blown from a hearth.”

“If a person can’t die, with endless lives, they can stand against gods, like a rock holding against the tide.”

“Our first plan already spent countless lives; what if we pour those countless lives into one person?” she asked, like streams feeding a single river.

If No.2 had infinite lives, even if the Purification Deity killed him, he’d revive and rethink how to face Purification, like a craftsman retrying a joint.

Olivya’s idea shocked the entire group, like thunder under a clear sky.

So Olivya’s companions found the Dark Deity of Resurrection and likewise Devoured its Authority Power, like wolves taking a heart.

This time, No.3 wasn’t wise enough, but her talent burned bright, and she had revival, like a seed given rain.

After dying a few times to temper herself, her wisdom would climb, like sap rising in spring.

And No.3 was willing, with a wish to drive out Dark Deities, like a red-threaded prayer.

She used her revivals to Devour a Dark Deity’s Authority Power—Decomposition, like rust eating through iron.

Olivya warned her to start with the weak and grow strong, not to fear losing control, like a rider learning the bit.

So No.3 did that, but the Purification Deity moved fast; Vosh sensed how thorny Resurrection was and struck to kill her, like lightning finding a tree.

No.3 was Purified and locked in a water cell, reviving and dying on a loop, like a bell tolling under the sea.

When the Purification Magic Array was completed, it killed No.3 for good, like a seal hardening to stone.

Olivya slipped away in the chaos, like a shadow slipping between torches.

No.3’s failure made Olivya reflect again; Resurrection was too passive, she needed a more active Authority Power, like wind that chooses its road.

Soon Olivya offered another idea: the world held a Temporal Authority, and if an artificial prodigy could use time Reversion, she wouldn’t be passive like No.3, like a player resetting the board.

Reversion could rebuild the field, unlike Resurrection, like rewinding a loom instead of patching a tear.

Back then, Auril asked, like a pebble dropped in a well, “Why are you so sure?”

Olivya said, like a teacher drawing a circle, “You know about sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice? So what?” he asked, like smoke curling upward.

“When believers offer items to a Dark Deity, why do those items cross time and space to reach us?” she asked, like an arrow to the mark.

“Well… keep going,” he said, like fingers testing thin ice.

“I think it involves a certain ability; if that ability and that phenomenon exist, then the concept exists, and our Authority Power rests on concepts,” she said, like a map unrolling.

So the group began searching for the Temporal Authority, like hunters following a cold trail.

After a long time, they truly found it, like a spring in a desert.

But that battle was the hardest yet; seven or eight teammates died, leaving only Olivya, Nirael, Auril, and a fourth, like leaves after frost.

After bitter struggle, Olivya Devoured the Temporal Authority, like swallowing a shard of night.

There was no time to mourn; every venture cost blood, and this one cost the most, like a ledger inked black.

She set to work on Test Subject No.4 at once, and he gained the Temporal Authority too, like dawn catching on steel.

But No.4 was unlike the others; he refused to sacrifice or save the world, like a hermit closing his gate.

Like Lucimia, he only wanted a life with his beloved, and nothing else moved him, like a boat moored to one pier.

Olivya had thought humans here were like them, willing to drive out Dark Deities and burn themselves as torches, like moths to sacred flame.

She hadn’t expected this, so she moved to block No.4, like a dam set across a river.

Yet No.4 showed his brilliance and stopped every tactic Olivya tried, like a mirror turning all arrows.

It was the first time Olivya saw a descendant so sharp, like a knife honed on silence.

With Temporal Authority and Devouring, he blocked every threat to his simple days, like shutters barred against a gale.

That included the Purification Deity, like a tiger kept beyond the fence.

The Purification Deity couldn’t finish him quickly, and he couldn’t handle Vosh either, so the board froze, like winter on a pond.

Later, the Purification Deity used his lover to spring an ambush, and No.4 died, like a candle pinched out.

As No.4 was dying, Olivya appeared, goaded him, and together they reinforced the Purification Deity’s seal, like chains layered on a gate.

After that, Vosh found it hard to strike freely, and even plotting grew rough, like ink thickened by cold.

From that clash on, Olivya decided not to treat these descendants as friends; to fight Dark Deities one had to be more extreme, more mad, like fire answering lightning.

Auril, Nirael, and the fourth grew harsher too with each wound, like stones weathered to knives.

So Olivya began to lure, deceive, and threaten, using every method; she gained many Authority Powers, yet always fell short, like rain slipping through fingers.

The artificial prodigy still wouldn’t be born, like a bell that refused to ring.

Until Lucimia’s elder brother died, like a star falling unseen.

The Lancelot Family was down to three, like a tree with three last branches.

Olivya summed up all lessons and drafted a complete plan for an artificial prodigy against Dark Deities, like a net woven tight.

They debated whether to let Lucimia’s second brother take the path, but Olivya refused and chose Lucimia, naive and untested, like untouched snow.

Because a blank page bends best, like bamboo in wind.

“How do you plan it?” Auril, Nirael, and the fourth all looked to Olivya, her soul housed in the Fuzzy Orb, like eyes on a lone flame.

“I plan to script her life and make her path run to my design, whatever changes come,” she said, like rails laid through a storm.