The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows across the stone walls of the root cellar, turning the small, damp space into an interrogation chamber. Jonas, the once-composed assistant, was slumped against a thick wooden support beam, his face pale with sweat, the last vestiges of his professional composure stripped away by Ray’s psychological assault. He was no longer an agent of a powerful syndicate; he was a broken man, a prisoner in a forgotten corner of the world. Rina stood guard at the top of the stairs, a silent, loyal sentinel. Master Gideon’s scholarly robes seemed out of place in the grim setting, but his eyes were sharp, his academic curiosity having been replaced by a fierce, protective focus on the boy who stood before the captive.

Ray, feeling the weight of their combined gazes, stepped forward. He had won the battle of wills, but the real work was just beginning. He needed information. He initiated a low-level Concurrent Immersion, bringing the Gritty Detective and the Scheming Courtier to the forefront of his mind. He needed the Detective’s eye for lies and the Courtier’s strategic mind to guide his questions.

“Let us begin again, Jonas,”

Ray said, his childish voice a chilling counterpoint to the gravity of the situation.

“My patron is patient… But his patience has limits.”

“He wishes to understand the full scope of the Hand’s interest in my house.”

Jonas flinched at the mention of the Magus. The fear Ray had instilled in him was a potent tool.

“My mission…”

Jonas began, his voice hoarse.

“It was as you said, after Malachi’s… failure… the Curators were in disarray.”

“They had never encountered anything like the evidence you presented.”

“The coin, the silk… they defied analysis.”

The Curators, Ray logged the title. The leaders of the Hand.

“My master, Gideon was chosen for his expertise in the esoteric,”

Jonas continued, his gaze flicking to the scholar.

“I was assigned to him years ago, my role was simple: to be his shadow, to observe the targets of his research.”

“When the request from House Croft came through, our asset in the Guild flagged it as a high-priority anomaly.”

“My orders were to maneuver Master Gideon into accepting the post and then to observe you, to determine if you were the source of the magic, or merely its Herald.”

Gideon let out a disgusted scoff.

“You used my life’s work as a common spy’s cover?!”

Ray held up a hand, silencing him. He turned back to Jonas.

“And what did you conclude?”

Jonas looked at Ray, a hint of genuine terror in his eyes.

“I don’t know…You are… an anomaly!”

“You have the mind of a sage but the body of a child.”

“You show no discernible magical aura a mage can sense, yet you're at the center of a storm of anomalies. An impossible coin, a glowing scrap of silk... they appear out of nowhere, defying all explanation.”

“My reports to my handler were filled with nothing but contradictions and question marks.”

“Your handler?”

The Detective prompted internally.

“Who is your direct superior?”

Ray asked.

“I… I cannot,”

Jonas stammered.

“You can,”

Ray said, his voice hardening slightly. He took a half-step closer.

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“My patron can pluck secrets from your organization’s most secure vaults from halfway across the continent.”

“Do you truly believe your mind is a safer place for that name than your tongue?”

It was a bluff, but a powerful one, built on the foundation of the impossible knowledge he had revealed to Malachi. Jonas’s will crumbled completely.

“Her name is… Vesper,”

Jonas whispered.

“She operates out of a tavern called the Gilded Cage in the capital city of Luminis.”

"More priceless intelligence. A name and a location."

The Detective noted.

“Why?”

Gideon interjected, his academic curiosity overriding his anger.

“Why this obsession with a minor, indebted house?”

“There must be more to it than a few strange artifacts.”

Jonas hesitated, a flicker of his old training returning. This was a deeper secret. Ray decided to use the new skill he had earned. He parried not a question, but the man's loyalty itself.

“Jonas,”

Ray said, his voice suddenly soft, almost kind.

“Vesper and the Curators have already abandoned you.”

“Your life means nothing to them now, but my patron… he is intrigued by things others discard.”

“A broken tool can still have value, your knowledge has value.”

“Your life can have value, but only if you give us a reason to preserve it.”

[SKILLED APPLICATION DETECTED]

[SKILL ATTEMPT: PSYCHOLOGICAL PARRY (SCHEMING COURTIER)]

[PERFORMANCE EVALUATION: ADEPT]

[Host successfully used a combination of intimidation and perceived magnanimity to bypass the subject's loyalty training. The offer of value in exchange for information was a masterful stroke. Standard Mastery Gain.]

[Mastery Gain: Psychological Parry +10%.]

The agent broke. The words came spilling out, a torrent of confession that laid the Argent Hand’s true strategy bare.

“It was never just about the debt,”

Jonas admitted, his head bowed in defeat.

“The debt was just the leash, the initial dossier on your house, years ago, flagged you, the youngest son, as a biological anomaly.”

“The ‘Wasting Sickness’ you survived… It wasn’t a common illness, It was a symptom of your… condition.”

Ray’s mind flashed back to the system’s diagnosis, Aetheric Leak.

“The Hand’s Antiquarian Division, their magis, believed you had a rare, unstable connection to what they call ‘Primeval Aether’,”

Jonas explained.

“Old Magic, they wanted to study you.”

“The potion that saved your life was also a tag, a way for them to monitor you.”

Gideon gasped, his face paling.

“They use forbidden arts…They experimented on children?!”

“When you began producing artifacts,”

Jonas continued,

“they believed their hypothesis was correct, that you were the key!”

“They concluded that this keep, your ancestral home, must be sitting on a significant magical locus, a wellspring of Old Magic.”

“The betrothal to House Thorne was never about the money, it was a legal mechanism to seize control of this land and its ‘primary asset’… you.”

The full, horrifying truth settled over the room. The Fletcher’s Coin, the glowing silk, Ray’s clever deceptions had been interpreted in a way he had never intended. He had meant to create a shield, to invent a protector. Instead, he had painted a giant, glowing target on his own home. He hadn't scared them away; he had convinced them there was a priceless treasure buried in his backyard.

“So they haven’t retreated,”

Gideon breathed, the pieces clicking into place.

“They’ve just regrouped, they’ll be back!”

“Yes,”

Jonas confirmed, his voice hollow.

“My failure to uncover the truth of the ‘Magus’ will only make them more determined.”

“They will send a new team, not assessors or spies, an acquisitions team.”

“They will take this keep, by force if necessary.”

The silence that followed was absolute. The fragile peace Ray had bought them was a lie. It was merely the quiet before a much larger, more violent storm. The Ambient Presence in Ray’s mind was a flurry of activity. The Veteran assessed their pathetic defenses. The Detective analyzed the enemy’s new objective. The Courtier calculated the political fallout. But it was the Conman who saw the only way out.

“You can’t defend this place, kid. It’s a losing game.”

“So you gotta do what any good grifter does when the con is about to blow up in his face: you change the venue.”

The path forward was suddenly, terrifyingly clear. His father’s plan to send him to Solhaven Academy was no longer just an opportunity for the family’s honor. It was a strategic necessity. He had to get out from under the Hand’s nose. He had to place himself under the protection of a major Eldorian institution, to become a public figure of such note that the Hand couldn’t simply make him disappear without causing a major incident. He had to trade his phantom protector for real ones. The final problem remained: what to do with Jonas? Gideon looked at Ray, his expression grim.

“He knows too much, he cannot be allowed to live.”

The implication hung in the air. The Stoic Assassin in Ray’s mind offered a silent, simple, permanent solution. But Ray pushed it away. He looked at the broken man before him, a tool of a vast, heartless machine.

“No,”

Ray said, his voice firm.

“We will not kill him, he is more valuable to us alive.”

He looked at Gideon.

“Your Vinculum spell, can you modify it?”

“To induce sleep, to cloud the memory?”

Gideon’s eyes widened slightly at the boy’s cold, pragmatic command.

“A Somnus Ward?”

“It is complex, but… yes.”

“I can create a magical confinement that will keep him asleep and compliant, it would require me to refresh it every few days.”

“Do it,”

Ray commanded. He then turned his gaze toward the stairs, where Rina still stood watch.

“Rina.”

She came down the steps, her eyes never leaving the bound agent.

“Jonas will be our guest for a while,”

Ray said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“He will be kept here, you, and only you, will bring him water and a little food each day.”

“No one else can know he is here, not my father, not my mother, no one.”

“Do you understand?”

Rina looked at the defeated spy, then back at the eleven-year-old boy who now radiated an authority that eclipsed even his father’s. She saw the gravity of the secret she was being asked to keep. She saw the danger. And she nodded.

“I understand, young master.”

Ray looked at his new, strange council: a master scholar of Old Magic, a loyal and brave servant, and a captured enemy spy. It was a mad, impossible alliance, forged in darkness and deception. But it was his. The war with the Argent Hand had just entered a new, more dangerous phase. And for the first time, Ray Croft was not alone.