The quiet of the aftermath was more jarring than the violence that had preceded it. In the grand hall, Jonas lay on the floor, bound by Master Gideon’s shimmering blue chains of light, his face a mask of silent fury and disbelief. Rina stood by the main door, her back pressed against it, her knuckles white, acting as a terrified but resolute lookout. Lord Alistair’s enraged shouts could be heard from the opposite end of the keep, where he was dealing with the commotion caused by the smashed tea service. He had not yet realized its true cause. They had precious little time.

“The cellar,”

Gideon said, his voice a low, urgent whisper. The absent-minded scholar was gone, replaced by a man of sharp, decisive focus. He looked at Ray, not as a child, but as a fellow conspirator.

“No one has used the old root cellar in years, we will take him there.”

Ray nodded, his own mind a flurry of cold, tactical calculations from the Gritty Detective’s Ambient Presence.

“Rina, ensure my father remains occupied.”

“Tell him you are cleaning up a mess made by a stray cat, buy us time.”

Rina looked from Ray’s impossibly calm face to the bound man on the floor, her expression a mixture of terror and awe. She simply nodded and slipped out of the hall. Getting the full-grown, magically-bound Jonas to the cellar was a feat of grim determination. Ray, his small body still thrumming with adrenaline, helped Gideon drag the agent through the servant’s passages, their path lit only by a single, guttering candle held in Gideon’s trembling hand.

They half-carried, half-dragged him down a set of stone steps into the damp, cold blackness of the root cellar. The air smelled of earth, mildew, and forgotten time. They propped Jonas against the damp stone wall, the magical Vinculum spell still glowing faintly around his limbs. Gideon then produced a length of rope from his robes, a tool for his research expeditions, Ray surmised and they physically, thoroughly, bound the agent to a thick wooden support beam. Only when Jonas was completely secured did Gideon release his spell, the blue chains dissolving into motes of light.

For a long moment, the three of them simply existed in the flickering candlelight of the cellar: the boy, the scholar, and the spy.

“He is an agent of the Argent Hand!”

Gideon stated, his voice tight with a scholar’s fury.

“He used me, he used my work as a cover to spy on you.”

He looked at Ray, his eyes full of a new, profound respect.

“The artifacts, the rumors… it was all real!”

“This Magus of yours… he is real.”

Ray gave a slow, solemn nod, accepting the role Gideon had just handed him. It was a lie, but it was now a shared lie, a truth between the two of them.

“My patron knew The Hand would not let the matter rest,”

Ray said, his voice low and steady. He was channeling the Scheming Courtier now, projecting an aura of quiet, ancient authority.

“He knew they would send someone to test the waters, he did not anticipate they would be so… direct.”

Jonas, who had remained silent, let out a harsh, contemptuous laugh.

“You think you’ve won, you little freak?”

He spat, his eyes burning with hatred.

“You and this dusty old fool?”

“You have no idea what you’ve provoked, The Hand will tear this keep down stone by stone to get to you.”

Gideon took a step forward, his hand glowing with magical energy.

“You will tell us what you know.”

“I will tell you nothing,”

Jonas sneered.

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“My loyalty is not so easily broken.”

This was the next stage of the battle. Not of blades, but of wills. Ray knew Gideon’s straightforward threats would be useless. Jonas was a professional, trained to resist interrogation, to endure pain, to die before revealing secrets. A direct assault on his will would only make him strengthen his defenses. This required a different approach. This required an artist. Ray held up a small hand, stopping Gideon.

“Master Gideon…”

He said calmly.

“Allow me.”

Gideon hesitated, then looked at the eleven-year-old boy who had just saved his life and engineered this entire situation. He gave a single, curt nod and stepped back into the shadows. Ray walked forward, his small form silhouetted by the candle. He was no longer the frail child or the brilliant student. He was something else entirely. He initiated Concurrent Partial Immersion, calling upon the Gritty Detective for his perception and the Scheming Courtier for his newly unlocked skill: Psychological Parry. He looked at Jonas, his grey eyes unnervingly calm.

“You’re right,”

Ray said, his voice soft. The admission immediately wrong-footed the agent.

“We have provoked a great power, we are in terrible danger.”

Jonas’s sneer faltered slightly. This was not the response he expected.

“My patron is old,”

Ray continued, his words slow and deliberate, a master actor delivering a monologue.

“He does not think in terms of years, but of centuries.”

“He finds the frantic scrambling of organizations like yours… tiresome.”

“An inconvenience, like a termite infestation in an ancient oak tree.”

[SKILL ACTIVATED: PSYCHOLOGICAL PARRY (SCHEMING COURTIER)]

He was not attacking Jonas’s loyalty; he was belittling its object. He was reframing the all-powerful Argent Hand as a common pest.

“You believe your loyalty is a shield,”

Ray said, his gaze never wavering.

“But the Hand does not reward loyalty, it purchases it.”

“And when an asset is compromised, when it has failed as spectacularly as you have, it is discarded.”

“Tell me, Jonas, what do you think Malachi’s report will say?”

Jonas’s jaw tightened.

“Do you think he will report that you were defeated by an eleven-year-old boy throwing a book?”

Ray asked, a hint of pity in his voice.

“Or do you think he will report that you were ambushed and overwhelmed by the Magus’s powerful magic, and that his subordinate, Jonas, was captured in the chaos?”

“One version makes him look like a fool. The other makes him look like a tragic victim who can't do anything against an impossible foe.”

Ray could see the seed of doubt taking root behind the agent’s eyes. The Detective persona analyzed the subtle shift in Jonas’s posture, the faint tremor in his clenched jaw.

“He’s considering it, the logic is sound.”

“In their world, survival means controlling the narrative.”

“They’ve already cut you loose,”

Ray said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“They’ve written you off, when your body is found in the woods weeks from now, the official story will be that you died bravely fighting alongside your master.”

“No one will come looking for you, no one will avenge you, your loyalty is a currency that has already been spent.”

“Lies,”

Jonas hissed, but the word lacked conviction.

“Is it?”

Ray countered, pressing his advantage.

“The Red Lily Trading Company was loyal too, right up until the Hand liquidated their assets to cover the loss of that Valorian steel from the Saltwind Dock warehouse.”

“Loyalty is a commodity Jonas, and yours is now worthless.”

The mention of the Red Lily Trading Company, another deep secret from the ledgers, was the final blow. Jonas’s face went white. It was one thing for the boy to know about the warehouse; that could have been a lucky guess, a single piece of leaked information. But to know about the Red Lily affair… that was impossible. That was a secret known only to the highest echelons of the Hand. The boy’s patron didn’t just have spies; he had access to their deepest, most secure records. The fight went out of him. The professional operative’s cold resolve crumbled, replaced by the raw terror of a man who realized he was a disposable pawn in a game played by gods.

“What… what do you want?”

Jonas finally whispered, his voice cracking. The interrogation was over.

[SKILLED APPLICATION DETECTED]

[EVENT: PSYCHOLOGICAL INTERROGATION]

[PERFORMANCE EVALUATION: INSPIRED]

[Host successfully utilized the 'Psychological Parry' skill to dismantle a trained agent's mental defenses by subverting his loyalty and exploiting his organization's own ruthless pragmatism. The use of highly specific, classified information as a final blow was a masterstroke. Largest Mastery Gain.]

[Mastery Gain: Psychological Parry +20%, Deception +5%, Information Gathering +5%.]

Ray looked at the broken man chained to the post. He had what he needed: a source. A living, breathing encyclopedia on the inner workings of the Argent Hand. He turned to Master Gideon, who was staring at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated awe.

“Now, Master Gideon,”

Ray said, his voice returning to that of a polite, eleven-year-old boy.

“I believe it is time for us to begin our real interrogation.”