Later that night, the training room was a pool of quiet determination. Ray turned to Rina, who had been practicing her evasive forms with a new, grim intensity since learning of the impostor. His tone was serious, that of a commander, not a friend.

“Rina, your training is no longer about just evasion and escape. That is a passive, reactive strategy. From now on, your training is about fighting back.”

She looked up, her eyes wide, a flicker of fear mixed with a new, hard determination.

“If our enemy can be anyone, anywhere,”

Ray continued, his voice cold and steady,

“then you are no longer just my aide; you are my last line of defense. You must become a weapon.”

A swift, pragmatic debate began in the committee of his mind, a search for the most effective offensive tool to give her.

Healer: “Anatomical Strike is an option. It is precise and non-lethal.”

Assassin: “Negative. The skill requires a deep, intuitive understanding of anatomy to be effective. Her current knowledge base is insufficient. The probability of failure in a high-stress scenario is too high.”

Veteran: “She needs something simple. Something reliable. A weapon. You don't hand a recruit a sniper rifle; you hand them a standard-issue blade and drill them until they can use it in their sleep.”

Courtier: “I concur. A concealable weapon is also a political tool. It provides an element of surprise and an unspoken threat. A dagger, I think. Elegant, easily hidden, and psychologically effective.”

The consensus was swift and unanimous. He needed to give her a solid, versatile foundation.

"Rina,"

Ray said, his voice softening slightly,

"my patron has authorized me to unlock another aspect of your potential. I am going to give you a new skill. Not one for seeing, but for fighting. It will be jarring, but it is necessary."

She met his gaze, her expression unwavering. She simply nodded.

"I understand. I'm ready."

He stepped before her and gently placed his hand on her forehead.

System, initiate Understudy Protocol. Impart skill: Basic Weapon Proficiency.

The familiar, draining pull of cognitive energy flowed from him. For Rina, the experience was not a rush of clarity, but a sudden, intuitive understanding of violence. Her mind was flooded with the core principles of balance, grip, and the lethal arc of dozens of different weapons. She suddenly understood the heft of a shortsword, the reach of a spear, the brutal impact of a mace, and the precise, cold geometry of a dagger's fatal strike. While the foundational knowledge of all weapons was now embedded in her mind, she felt a natural, immediate affinity for the dagger. It felt like a seamless extension of the quick, precise movements she was already learning.

Rina, her mind still reeling from the sudden influx of martial knowledge, saw his distress.

"Ray! Are you alright?"

she asked, her voice laced with concern.

"I am fine,"

Ray said, his voice a little breathless. He reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a dense, honey-sweetened nut-bar.

"Just... a side effect. It takes a lot of energy."

He took a large bite, the Crimson Weaver's Neural Gastronomy skill immediately converting the calories into a wave of soothing mental stamina that pushed back his exhaustion. After a moment, the color returned to his face, and his posture straightened.

Moments later in the training room, once a place of quiet, patient instruction, felt different now. The air was charged with a new seriousness, a heavy, unspoken understanding of the stakes. Ray walked to a weapons rack and returned with a pair of perfectly balanced training daggers, their edges blunted but their points still sharp. He handed one to Rina.

“This is your first real lesson,”

he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

He began to teach her a new set of drills, his instruction a strange, translated echo of the cold, clinical voice of the Stoic Assassin in his mind.

Assassin: “Her stance is unbalanced. The right foot is turned two degrees too far outward, creating a vulnerability on her left flank. Correct it.”

“Your stance is too open,”

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Ray said aloud, his voice firm as he physically adjusted her footing.

“Keep your weight centered. A balanced stance is a strong stance.”

He guided her through a series of aggressive parries, blocks, and sharp, economical counter-strikes drawn directly from the Assassin’s brutal efficiency.

Assassin: “The block is inefficient. She is using her entire arm. A waste of energy. The block should originate from the wrist, a simple redirection of force, not a contest of strength. Demonstrate.”

“Don’t try to overpower the attack,”

Ray instructed, demonstrating the move.

“Just turn their blade. Use your wrist, not your shoulder. Let their own strength become their weakness.”

He taught her how to turn a block into a wrist lock, how to use an opponent's lunge to create an opening for a strike to the ribs, and how to end a fight with a single, decisive action. With each move, the Assassin’s perfect, inhuman theory was translated through Ray into a practical, achievable lesson for Rina.

A profound change came over her as she practiced. The hesitant, slightly scared girl who had learned to run and hide was gone. Her face, once a canvas of open, honest emotion, became a mask of cold, determined focus. She practiced the new moves with a grim intensity, her every motion fueled by the memory of the impostor who had worn her face. Her fear was being forged, blow by blow, into a new kind of strength, the quiet resilience of a girl who had decided she would never be a victim again.

The next morning, as Ray was reviewing his notes in the study, a quiet, discreet chime emanated from the Custodian's Crest in his pocket. It was not a general notification, but a private, high-priority message.

[MESSAGE FROM: HEADMASTER SALOME ANDRADE]

[Initiate Croft, I have received Sergeant Orben’s report. This requires our immediate and private attention. Please secure your room. I will open a secure channel in five minutes.]

Ray immediately dismissed Rina and posted Sergeant Svane outside his study door. A moment later, a shimmering, translucent window of light appeared in the air before his desk, the face of Headmaster Andrade materializing within it. Her expression was grave, her usually warm eyes now cold and hard. She did not waste time with pleasantries.

“I have seen the sketch, Ray,”

she said, her voice a low, serious tone.

“The abilities Sergeant Orben described, combined with a face designed to defy memory… this is an operative of a caliber we have not seen within these walls before. My intelligence assets are already working to identify this ‘K,’ but we must assume the worst.”

She paused, her gaze intense.

“Our previous agreement was based on discretion, and I will honor that. Overtly increasing your guard would be a signal to our enemy. However, inaction is not an option. Therefore, I am assigning a team of my personal elite ‘Shadow Guards’ to your detail.”

Ray remained silent, absorbing the information.

“You will not see them,”

the Headmaster continued.

“They will operate from the periphery, from the rooftops and the crowds. They are the best intelligence and counter-intelligence agents the academy possesses. They will be your unseen shield. While they operate under my authority, I am granting you a single-use command phrase. In a dire emergency, if you are separated from Sergeant Orben and require immediate intervention, speak the words ‘Sanctuary Protocol,’ and they will reveal themselves to extract you.”

The Headmaster looked at him, her expression a mixture of deep concern and grim resolve.

“I am hoping their presence will be a sufficient deterrent for this agent. But make no mistake, Ray. We are dealing with an unknown of the highest order. Be vigilant.”

The window of light faded, leaving Ray alone in the silent room. He felt a chill run down his spine. He was more protected than he had ever been, yet he had never felt so hunted. He now had a team of ghosts to guard him against a ghost who could wear any face. The shadow war had just acquired a new, terrifying dimension.

Ray alone in the silent study. He felt a measure of gratitude for the new, unseen protection. The ‘Shadow Guards’ were a powerful asset, a shield he hadn't known existed. But that gratitude was a thin blanket over a deep, chilling dread. Kaelen Thorne’s warning, once a distant, abstract threat, had now become his terrifying new reality. This ‘collector’ that Kaelen had mentioned had arrived.

A grim council of war convened in the quiet of his mind.

Veteran: “An unseen guard for an unseen enemy. It’s a sound tactical response from the command structure, but it’s still a defensive posture. You can't win a war by hiding in a fortress.”

Detective: “And we know nothing. We have a face that is so common it could be anyone and a codename, ‘K.’ It’s a ghost case. No leads, no witnesses, no motive beyond ‘curiosity.’ We’re blind.”

Courtier: “That is not entirely accurate, we do not have zero leads. We have one, we have a source who knew of this ‘Collector’ before he ever arrived. An operative from the same organization who gave us a warning.”

The conclusion was instant and unanimous. They needed information, and the only possible source in the entire academy was Kaelen Thorne. Ray knew he had to seek her out, to try and get more information. He had only had brief, tense interactions with her, but one fact was undeniable: she had been looking out for him. She had warned him. She might be willing to help him again.

He focused his will, his mind interfacing with the Custodian's Crest. It was time to stop waiting for their paths to cross. He needed to find her.

System, access the academy database. Pull all records for the student ‘Kaelen Thorne’.

The system complied instantly, the authority of the Custodian’s Crest slicing through the academy’s privacy protocols. A detailed file bloomed in his mind’s eye.

[STUDENT PROFILE: THORNE, KAELEN]

[Age: 17]

[Lineage: Main Branch, House Thorne (A recently ennobled Tier 3 house whose immense wealth, derived from strategic control over cross-continental shipping and rare material imports, bought their entry into the aristocracy. They are considered "new money" by the old guard and are under constant pressure to legitimize their status.)]

[College: Arcanum]

[Rank: Third Circle Adept (Specialization: Kinetic & Transmutation Magic)]

[Current Class Schedule:]

[- Advanced Mana Weaving (Auditorium 7)]

[- Transmutation Theory (Magic Application Hall 3)]

[- Inter-College Strategic Sparring (Valor Training Grounds - Sector Gamma)]

[- ... ]

Ray’s eyes widened slightly as he read the rank. Third Circle Adept. The first time he had seen her in the academy , she had been a Second Circle Apprentice. Then later on Ray vividly remembered how she had infiltrated his supposedly secure suite, moving like a ghost past his wards and senses. She had possessed a level of skill and confidence that far outstripped her official rank even then.

She was that powerful as an Apprentice,

he thought, a new chill running down his spine.

To reach Adept is impressive, but is it the truth? Or is this just a bigger tip of the iceberg she's willing to show the academy?

The promotion wasn't a clarification of her power; it only deepened the mystery of how much she was truly hiding. He scanned the rest of the data, his gaze locking onto her schedule. He now knew exactly where to find her.