The days following the visit to the fletcher’s shop were an exercise in supreme self-control. On the outside, Ray was the epitome of the quiet, convalescing child. He sat for hours in the library, a heavy tome open on his lap, his expression placid and distant. He took his meals in near-total silence, his gaze fixed on his plate. He was a ghost in his own home, so unremarkable that the household staff moved around him as if he were another piece of fading furniture.

This placid exterior was a mask, a carefully constructed performance to conceal the raging storm within. Every fiber of Ray’s being screamed with impatience. Has the coin been found? Did Tiber recognize its strangeness? Was the rumor spreading, or was his gilded lie sitting forgotten in a dusty corner, a failed opening move in a game he could not afford to lose? The uncertainty was a physical torment, a low-grade fever of anxiety that he had to constantly suppress.

His only refuge was his secret training. The discipline of the Stoic Assassin became his anchor. Each night, he would sit cross-legged on his bed and meditate, not just to practice the skill, but to actively battle his own crippling impatience.

“The hunter does not pace before the trap,”

The Assassin’s silent instruction would flow through his mind.

“He waits, he watches, he trusts the trap is well-made.”

“Impatience is a scent the prey can smell, stillness is victory.”

It was during these sessions that he felt the subtle but tangible benefits of his Cognitive Aegis. The mental fortitude required to suppress his anxiety was immense, but it no longer left him feeling utterly drained. The system was adapting to him, and he to it. His window to the outside world, his only source of intelligence, remained Rina. He knew he couldn’t ask her about the coin directly; the question would be too specific, too suspicious. He had to lay a different kind of trap, one baited with childish concern. Four agonizingly long days after the visit, he found his opportunity. Rina was in his room, collecting his supper tray.

“Rina?”

He asked, his voice small and hesitant.

“Yes, young master?”

Rina responded.

“My bowstring,”

He said, looking at the small practice bow in the corner.

“Did Tiber ever fix it?”

“I forgot to ask him to.”

It was a perfect, innocent question.

Rina paused, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow.

“Oh, I had forgotten all about that, with everything that’s happened.”

“I can ask one of the guards to fetch it tomorrow.”

Then, her expression shifted, her eyes lighting up with the juicy thrill of village gossip.

“It’s the oddest thing, though.”

“The whole village is talking about Tiber.”

Ray’s heart gave a single, hard thump against his ribs, but he kept his face a mask of mild curiosity.

“Why?”

“They say he found a coin!”

She said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“A strange one, not a sovereign or a stag, old, they say, and made of a pale, silvery-gold.”

“He found it while sweeping up his shop a few days ago.”

“He’s been showing it to every traveler and merchant who comes through, asking if they’ve ever seen anything like it.”

“I also heard that Tiber believes it’s a lucky coin.”

It was working. It was working better than he could have possibly hoped. Tiber hadn’t just found it; he was actively advertising its existence. The bait was not only taken, it was being paraded around town. Ray had to physically restrain himself from smiling. He looked down, feigning shyness.

“A lucky coin?”

He murmured.

“That’s nice.”

[SKILLED APPLICATION DETECTED]

[EVENT: INDIRECT INFORMATION GATHERING]

[PERFORMANCE EVALUATION: ADEPT]

[Host successfully manipulated a trusted asset to acquire critical intelligence without revealing his own interest or knowledge. The line of questioning was subtle and effective. Standard Mastery Gain.]

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

[Mastery Gain: Information Gathering +6%.]

A genuine smile touched Ray’s lips as the blue notification faded. The plan was working. He felt a sense of control that had been absent for so long. He leaned back against the cool stone wall of the hallway, taking a moment to simply think, letting his mind process the next steps. It was then that he noticed it, something he had been subconsciously aware of for days, but hadn't stopped to truly analyze. The "inner committee" in his head felt different. Before the system shutdown, the constant chatter of the personas had been a chaotic, overlapping noise he had to struggle to parse.

But now, since the system had rebooted and granted him the Cognitive Aegis skill, the voices were clearer, more distinct. He could listen to the Conman's assessment of Rina's trust, the Detective’s analysis of the rumor's spread, and the Courtier’s calculation of his father's reaction as three separate, orderly streams of thought. It was still a committee, but a committee that had finally learned to follow parliamentary procedure. Most importantly, it was effortless

. It didn't come with the pounding headache or the draining pressure of the Tri-Concurrent Immersion he had used to create the Magus concept. This was something else entirely. Driven by a sudden, intense curiosity, a familiar tick from the Eccentric Scholar, he posed a direct question to the system in his mind.

"System, analyze this current mental state.”

“The presence of multiple archetypes is not inducing significant cognitive strain, why?"

The system responded instantly, its text cool and informative.

[ANALYSIS COMPLETE. The state you are experiencing is defined as 'Ambient Presence'.]

[DEFINITION: 'Ambient Presence' is a low-cost cognitive state where integrated archetypes provide passive, advisory-level commentary without being channeled for active skill execution. It is the default operational state for a host with a stabilized system.]

[CATALYST: Host development of the 'Cognitive Aegis' innate skill has sufficiently fortified your neural pathways. This allows for multiple personas to remain passively accessible without causing cognitive dissonance or a significant drain on your mental resources.]

[NOTE: This state is distinct from 'Active Immersion' (e.g., Concurrent or Tri-Concurrent Immersion), which requires conscious power channeling for simultaneous skill execution and incurs a high cognitive cost.]

The explanation clarifies everything. The system wasn't just a set of tools he had to activate one by one; it had started to become a part of his very thought process. The Cognitive Aegis wasn't just a shield against backlash; it was the key that had organized the chaos in his mind. He wasn't just juggling personas anymore. He was hosting a functional, efficient council of war.

The next day, he received further confirmation. While “playing” in the main hall, he overheard two household guards talking near the armory.

“I swear it’s true,”

The first guard, a burly man named Hobb, was saying.

“I saw it with my own two eyes when I went to pick up a new sheaf of arrows.”

“It’s pale gold, and it feels heavier than it ought to.”

“Has a funny-looking eye on one side, fairy gold I reckon,”

The second guard scoffed.

“From one of the old barrows on the west hill, Tiber’d best be careful.”

“That sort of treasure brings bad luck.”

“He thinks it brings good luck,”

Hobb chuckled.

“He’s already convinced it’s why he won three straight hands of cards last night.”

The rumor was growing, evolving. It was no longer just a coin; it was becoming a legend, a piece of local folklore. This was the power of a good story, the Conman’s voice purred in his mind.

“You give ‘em a good hook, and they’ll write the rest of the script for you.”

The final, most crucial test of the rumor's reach came at supper that evening. The oppressive presence of the assessor, Silas, was gone, but a new, anxious tension had taken its place. Lord Alistair, in an attempt to fill the silence and project a sense of normalcy, brought up some local news.

“It seems our fletcher has become the village spectacle,”

Alistair said with a dismissive sneer.

“Going on about some strange coin he found.”

“Peasant superstitions, as if a piece of metal could change one’s fortunes.”

Ray kept his eyes on his plate, his heart giving a small, triumphant leap. He had to suppress a smile. Corbin scoffed, uninterested, while Lady Eileen, now more lucid and present, looked intrigued by the local tale. The real analysis, however, was happening in Ray's mind. The Gritty Detective persona assessed the situation with cold clarity.

“The rumor has breached the keep's walls,”

The Detective noted.

“Alistair dismisses it as superstition, which is the perfect cover.”

“He sees it as meaningless, so he won't investigate.”

“But the servants hear him talking, the guards hear, and The Hand has ears everywhere.”

Ray knew a man like Silas didn't need to be physically present to receive intelligence. The network of local assets, the weaver, the new stable master who replaced Loric, Tiber himself, would ensure any significant anomaly was reported. A strange, unique coin of unknown origin appearing in the fiefdom of a house under review was a significant anomaly.

“The report is already on its way,”

The Detective concluded.

“The anomaly has definitely been logged.”

The first stage of the deception was a complete success. The seed was not only planted but had begun to sprout in the exact way he had intended. But he knew a single coin was not enough. A single anomaly could be dismissed. To build the legend of House Lumina, he needed to reinforce the narrative. He needed a second breadcrumb. That night, Ray lay in bed, not sleeping, but planning. He used Ambient Presence, allowing his "inner committee" to debate the next move.

Courtier: “The second piece of evidence must be more substantial than a coin. It must hint at a craft, a skill that is unique to the patron we have invented. It must suggest a different kind of power than mere wealth.”

Conman:“And it’s gotta be found by someone else. We can’t keep having ‘accidents’. The audience will get wise to the trick. It has to appear naturally.”

Scholar:“The answer is in the research. House Lumina’s specialty was not metallurgy. The texts were clear. Their art was ‘Aetherial Weaving’, the infusion of light into physical objects. Their tapestries, the histories said, were famous for glowing with their own inner light.”

An image flashed in Ray’s mind: the single, perfect Moonpetal Rina had brought him, still resting in a cup of water, its faint luminescence a secret light in his darkened room. He had used most of it for his mother’s palliative tea, but he had saved a few petals, just in case. The plan formed, audacious and elegant. He would create a second piece of evidence. He would find a scrap of old, forgotten silk, perhaps from one of the damaged tapestries in storage. He would use the remaining Moonpetals, grinding them into a paste, not as a medicine, but as a pigment. He would paint the symbol of House Lumina, the unblinking eye with its seven rays, onto the scrap of silk. The result would be a small, ancient-looking piece of fabric that, in the dark, would glow with a soft, ethereal light.

Detective:“But how does it get found? We can’t plant it again.”

Conman:“We don’t have to. We just have to lose it. The keep is old, drafty. Things get lost all the time. A small piece of cloth could get swept into a corner by a breeze, picked up by the wind in the courtyard, found by a servant in a dusty hallway days or weeks later. It’s the perfect, untraceable discovery. We create the evidence, and then we let the world handle the delivery.”

The new plan was set. He had the method, he had the materials, and he had the legend. He would weave a lie, not of gold this time, but of light.