The next day, Ray, accompanied by a plain-clothed Sergeant Svane, made his way to the College of Statecraft. His stated reason was to thank Eliza for her family's assistance and discuss their shared classes, but his true motive was to make a final assessment.

He found her in a crowded common room, the air buzzing with the low hum of intellectual debate. A small crowd was gathered around a low table where Eliza was hunched over a complex strategic board game called Syndicate's Fall, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her opponent was a well-known senior student named Orin, a gifted strategist in his own right.

As Ray and Svane paused at the edge of the crowd, they overheard the hushed commentary of the onlookers.

“She’s overextended her trade routes,”

one student whispered.

“Orin has her western flank completely cornered. It’s over.”

“Cornered?”

another student countered, her voice full of admiration.

“Or is that what she wants him to think? Look at her supply lines. That's not a retreat; it's a trap.”

On the board, Eliza made her move. She deliberately sacrificed her most powerful piece, a ‘Guildmaster,’ in a seemingly foolish gambit. Orin, seeing an opportunity for a decisive victory, took the bait and moved his own key pieces to crush her weakened flank.

It was the final, fatal error. The moment his pieces were committed, Eliza executed her true plan. A series of smaller, previously ignored pieces she had positioned earlier in the game sprang to life, cutting off Orin’s supply lines and surrounding his most valuable assets. His aggressive charge had become a rout. He was checkmated in three moves.

Orin stared at the board, his mouth slightly agape, before letting out a loud, grudging laugh of pure admiration.

“By the Founders, Vance, I never saw that coming,”

he said, shaking his head.

“You sacrificed your entire western consortium.”

Eliza leaned back in her chair, a satisfied, witty smirk on her face.

“A necessary expense, Orin. You can't build an empire without being willing to burn a few of the less profitable provinces. A lesson in ruthless capitalism.”

Ray watched, a small, appreciative smile on his own face. Her mind was as sharp and as devious as he remembered. The Scheming Courtier in his own mind gave a silent, professional nod of approval.

Just as Ray was about to step forward and approach Eliza, a smooth, familiar voice spoke from beside him.

“Initiate Croft! A pleasure to see you. I was wondering where you have been.”

It was Robert Brando. He had appeared as if from nowhere, his timing perfect. His smile was disarmingly friendly, tinged with what looked like genuine academic camaraderie.

“Master Fonseca's class has been dreadfully dull without its other 'irregular' student,”

Robert continued, his tone light and conversational.

“I was beginning to think I was the only one in that room interested in a real debate.”

“I've been occupied with my other studies, Senior Brando,”

Ray replied, his voice polite and even.

“My research requires a broad perspective.”

“So I've heard,”

Robert said, his intelligent eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“The whispers are quite fascinating. A Statecraft prodigy spending his time observing Valor students' combat class and Arcanum student duels. It's a contradiction. I had you pegged as a pure intellectual. Why the sudden interest in the cruder arts?”

“To understand strategy, one must understand all its instruments, from the pen to the sword,”

Ray parried smoothly.

“It is merely… expanding my horizons for research.”

“A worthy goal,”

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Robert said.

“Perhaps we can compare research notes sometime. I would be interested to hear your findings and conclusions.”

He gave a polite nod and walked away, leaving Ray thinking about his offer. He had finally met someone who is close to his age and on his intellectual level, someone who could keep up. He saw Robert as the first real competition he's faced at the academy.

This encounter reframed his decision about Eliza. He looked over at her, still chatting with her defeated opponent, her witty smile as sharp as her intellect. The question in his mind was no longer about reacting to a threat. It was a more complex, strategic one:

The players in this academy are more skilled than I anticipated. Is a loyal ally like Rina enough? Or do I need an ally who can keep up on this new, higher level of intellectual and political gamesmanship?

His decision to empower Eliza Vance was no longer a foregone conclusion driven by fear. It was now a calculated assessment. He walked towards her, his footsteps quiet and deliberate on the stone floor. He is now ready to pose his hypothetical question, his decision still hanging in the balance.

Ray stopped and turned to the silent, professional man who shadowed his every move.

“Sergeant,”

Ray said, his voice quiet but firm.

“I need to speak with Initiate Vance. Alone.”

Sergeant Svane’s stony expression didn’t change, but his posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.

“Lord Croft, my orders from the Headmaster are absolute. I am not to leave your side.”

Ray met the sergeant’s unwavering gaze. A direct order, even with the authority of the Custodian's Crest, would be a crude and inefficient move. This required finesse. He let the cool, political logic of the Scheming Courtier guide his words.

“Your duty is my security, Sergeant, and I do not question it. But security is not always a matter of swords and shields. Sometimes, it is a matter of securing information and alliances. This conversation is... a delicate part of that. Your presence, as an elite guard, would change the nature of the discussion and make my task impossible.”

He gestured to a strategic vantage point across the room, an arched alcove that offered a clear line of sight to the entire common room and its entrances.

“I am not asking you to leave me unprotected. I am re-tasking you. Your new post is over there. Observe the entire room. Intercept any physical threats that may arise. Grant me the tactical distance I need to handle the social threats. Trust my judgment in this.”

Svane was silent for a long moment, his disciplined mind processing the request. The boy was not dismissing him; he was deploying him. He was speaking the language of a commander, not a child. He was being treated as a fellow operative, not a babysitter. The sergeant gave a single, curt nod.

“Understood, Lord Croft.”

He turned without another word and moved silently to the alcove, his gaze sweeping the room, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He was a silent, lethal guardian, now watching from a distance.

With his privacy secured, Ray waited patiently for Eliza to finish her good-natured gloating with her defeated opponent. When the small crowd dispersed, he stepped forward.

“Eliza.”

She turned, her sharp, intelligent eyes lighting up with a genuine smile.

“Ray! I was wondering when you’d emerge from your mysterious research.”

He offered a small, sincere bow, a gesture of formal respect that was startling in its earnestness.

“I came to thank you. Properly. Your family’s assistance with my house’s affairs… It was a service of profound importance. My family, and I, are in your debt.”

Eliza was caught completely off guard by his genuine action. A slight flush rose to her cheeks, and for a moment, the witty, confident initiate was replaced by a slightly flustered girl. She quickly recovered, her smile returning, warm and friendly.

“It was nothing, Ray. My father enjoys a good, complex negotiation. He said your terms were… creatively structured.”

As they began to talk, walking slowly through the less crowded corridors of the Statecraft college, Ray observed her. He saw her loyalty, a quality as sharp and unbending as her intellect. He saw her pragmatism, a clear-eyed view of the world that was a refreshing contrast to the academy’s political posturing. The thought of the second Understudy Protocol slot surfaced, a powerful and dangerous possibility. His archetypes immediately began a fierce, internal debate.

Conman: “She did us a solid. A gift for a gift. It's good business and it makes a key ally even stronger. Do it.”

Veteran: “I have said this before, that she is still green. One battle doesn't make a soldier. If you do this, you're not her friend anymore; you're her commanding officer. You'll be responsible for getting her trained, or you'll be responsible for getting her killed.”

Gritty Detective: “Her family is a black box full of question marks. They're merchants. Their loyalty is to profit. If you bring her in, you're not just betting on her; you're betting on every contract her father ever signed. It's a hell of a risk. But an inside woman with her access could be a game-changer.”

Healer: “Perhaps... perhaps in a world this sick, the only way to protect someone is to give them a stronger poison to fight the infection. But make no mistake, Ray. You will be taking her innocence. It's a wound that will never truly heal. Be prepared to treat that scar.”

Torn by this internal conflict, Ray knew he couldn’t make the decision based on his own feelings. He had to test her, not for loyalty, but for mindset. He subtly shifted the conversation, his tone becoming more serious.

“Eliza, if you had a secret… a powerful tool that could help an ally, but sharing it would also place them in immense danger they might not be prepared for, what would you do?

Eliza did not answer immediately. Instead of a quick, emotional response, her sharp, intelligent brown eyes narrowed slightly. Ray could almost see her mind at work, deconstructing his question, analyzing its premise, and weighing its ethical and strategic implications.

After a long, thoughtful moment, she gave her answer. It was not a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ It was a strategic and ethical framework that revealed the very core of her character.

"That depends,"

she said, her voice calm and firm.

"Does the ally have a choice? It's not your decision to make for them. You present the facts: the tool, the benefit, and the danger, in unflinching detail. Then, you let them choose. To hide the danger from them is manipulation. To withhold the tool because you fear for them is condescension. True alliance is built on informed consent."

Eliza’s answer was more profound than Ray expected. It was a perfect synthesis of pragmatism and ethics that silenced his own internal committee. It perfectly satisfied the moral concerns of the World-Weary Healer and the strategic requirements of the Scheming Courtier. Her response proved she was not just smart, but wise.

Ray's internal debate ended. He had his answer.