[No]
A small blob of pale blue, half-melted wax liquid assembled into letters on Corundum’s sleeve.
After the girl saw it clearly, it stuck together, separated, and recombined into a new line of text.
[They use bell-frame communicators; disabling them will be very loud.]
Corundum was wearing a dark blue, nearly ink-black coat, similar in color to the wax liquid.
The words Willowlia created on it with wax-shaping magic happened to be visible to Corundum while remaining unseen by the soldiers standing guard a few steps away.
“Too hasty.”
Corundum looked toward the display screen.
The crimson dome of Stained Glass City was no longer visible there.
Instead, there was a deep blue tunnel lit by the flame crystal at the bow of the Brass Loom.
When the Molten Flow Ship set off, it melted the waxen ground of the dock just like this and left the city from underground.
“Yes,” Willowlia nodded in agreement, “there were too few places we could rig in advance.”
They had not even agreed on what secret language to use; they could only manage temporarily through eye contact, rapport, and Willowlia’s wax-shaping magic.
But at the same time, there was no better opportunity: as the Molten Flow Ship went deeper into the waxen surroundings, Willowlia clearly felt how restless the power of the tide was today–the power of the tide was the power of chaos, and for them at this moment, chaos was opportunity.
After another exchange of glances, without words or wax-liquid writing, the two girls reached this consensus.
Strange as it was, they had known each other for less than a week, so why could they be so in sync?
Violet and deep blue faced each other from afar, the same doubt rising in both girls’ hearts at once, and even this feeling was seen clearly by the other.
They were certainly not some long-lost blood relatives; rather, they were not even the same race.
As for personality, Corundum was strict and restrained, while Willowlia was loose and cheerful, also quite different.
They also had secrets from each other; after only a few days of acquaintance, many things remained hidden and unspoken.
Yet once their eyes met, they could still glimpse each other’s hearts along their gaze, and knew that a corner of each other’s heart was being uncovered.
It was as if something in their hearts was trembling together; a single glance could connect them.
This feeling… was strange, not unpleasant; rather, it was like the pleasant, teasing itch when a cat’s tail lightly brushes against an ankle.
When her thoughts reached this point, both girls’ cheeks grew slightly warm, and their gazes coincidentally turned away at the same time, letting the crisp sound of the Brass Loom running briefly dominate the quiet air.
“Corundum,” to dilute this brief awkwardness, Willowlia tossed out a new topic, “I don’t think I know the name of the crew member in the Mourning Bell cabin yet.”
“Joel, a Candlefolk commoner, our engineer,” Corundum naturally took up the topic, “before he became an explorer, he served as an acolyte in the Ancestral Hall.
Later we bought him a high priest qualification, so he would be qualified to serve as our wedding priest.”
“I remember commoner acolytes there mainly served as high-quality blood sources,” Willowlia stepped past the soldier and walked to the entrance of the captain’s cabin, pulling down a lever, “the Hall would teach them special cultivation methods to strengthen their constitution and blood quality…”
“So his strength is considerable,” Corundum added, “also, we’re about to pass through the dome.”
Within the display screen, there was no longer only the blue fluorescence of the bow flame crystal; the dome of Stained Glass City extended deep underground, its crimson light faintly showing through the Waxstone and mingling with the blue light into a hazy, ambiguous dark purple.
The Brass Loom advanced little by little, the Waxstone ahead gradually melting, and the crimson of the dome gradually revealing itself.
Willowlia began estimating distance and time.
“Mr. Soldier over there, do you know?”
She waved to the guard who happened to be between her and Corundum; he straightened his back with extreme vigilance and turned toward her.
Cautious, even a bit overly nervous; it seemed his superior understood Willowlia’s magic skill and had repeatedly stressed to him that he needed to be vigilant.
“Your communicators were chosen well,” Willowlia slowed her speech and raised her tone, making her manner seem confident and flippant, “if they relied on dome magic or Candlefolk magic, I could alter them without anyone knowing while the Brass Loom is running.”
“Then on your ground monitors, the communicators’ signal source would drift farther and farther from the Brass Loom’s actual position, until they were completely opposite.
At that point, we could take you all down, and the Brass Loom would vanish without a trace.”
“Of course,” the Candlefolk princess gave a slight shrug, elegant and complacent, “such luck does not happen at random.”
The soldier’s dark brown pupils suddenly contracted; he made no reply, but immediately took out his communicator and repeated Willowlia’s words to his teammates.
“Ask her why she told you that.”
The communicator emitted a blurred voice.
“Why did you tell me that?”
The soldier repeated exactly.
When able to contact a superior, he would overly rely on the other’s orders, Willowlia judged.
At the same time, the wax layer between the Brass Loom and the dome had completely melted, and the burning crimson of the sunset glow was fully revealed before her eyes.
“To divide your attention,” Willowlia replied, “a person’s resistance to enchantment magic changes dynamically with their focus.
If a sufficiently shocking fact occupies their thoughts, their mental defense becomes very fragile.”
“If you pay close attention, you’ll realize that the movement of you just taking out the communicator, and the words your superior said to you, were all illusions.”
“What!?”
The soldier stepped back half a step, right hand reaching for a weapon, left hand pulling out the Mourning Bell amulet; the Mourning Bell force field expanded outward, attempting to drive off the influence of Candlefolk magic.
Willowlia burst out laughing, rocking back and forth–not because her scheme had succeeded, but simply because she found him ridiculous.
“…Xiaofeng, don’t believe her.
That woman is messing with you.”
Behind the communicator was the speechless voice of the soldier captain.
Corundum’s cold voice followed: “Not so.
Actually, there is one thing she didn’t lie to you about–“
So the soldier was once again made to turn around, and the dome of Stained Glass City happened to pass over half the cabin, isolating the soldier from the Mourning Bell amulet in his hand and its protective force field–
“Actually, I was just messing with you too.”
The girl showed a perfectly measured smile, while the soldier’s vigilance and focus dropped to their lowest valley due to the trick and false alarm–
Just like prying open a steamed oyster, Willowlia’s will pried open his will without any difficulty; his expression, ready to lash out, instantly went blank, like a sheet of white paper that could be painted on at will.
“You two, can you not be so childish?”
His expression returned to normal, as if unaffected, simply and naturally a little annoyed.
“All right,” the girl raised her hand, “now whatever he sees and hears is under my control.”
Like every elegant and beautiful female villain, Willowlia wore a smile of successful scheming; and Corundum’s deep blue eyes returned the same smile.
The soldier sent to monitor them saw nothing and heard nothing.