The message was simple.
"I can help you."
Clayton stared at the words on his wristband, eyes narrowing slightly.
It was from an unknown account. No name. No tag. Just text.
A second later, the message vanished on its own—disappearing like a ghost whispering into a storm.
For a heartbeat, Clayton didn't move. Then his lips slowly curved into a grin.
They think I've taken the bait.
He leaned back against his chair, chuckling under his breath.
This sealed it. The observers—whoever they were—had watched his reaction to the Mirage Cascade card, seen the "happy and clueless" act he'd put on, and assumed their job was done. Probably reported back to some handler or faction operative: Target has received the card. Target is predictable. Surveillance concluded.
That's the main problem with big organizations; they become complacent after some time, thinking about the win even before the rules are decided. When you are small, you pay attention, and you try to compensate for the scale or money with spirit and work, but the moment you grow, you start losing your edge, you ignore variables, and your hunger dies. That's how I became a hedge fund manager by identifying and betting against companies like that.
And now came the next stage.
The message wasn't just a lure.
It was a probe.
They wanted to see if he'd bite—if he'd respond, if he'd engage, if he'd ask for more. It was layered and careful, just like everything else about this whole game.
He flicked the message screen off with a flick of his fingers, keeping his expression neutral now. No cameras could see inside his thoughts.
Let them think they're in control.
He still wasn't sure who "they" were—Black Veil? Rogue agents? A breakaway group inside his own supposed Antigonus backing?
But now he was sure of one thing: whoever it was… they were playing a long game.
And they weren't alone.
Later that morning, Clayton found himself walking into his optional class about Runes .
The room was round and tiered, like an amphitheater made of polished onyx. Carvings of ancient spells and seal markings were etched across the ceiling, glowing faintly. A new Professor stood at the center of the hall wearing long black robes and a wizard-type hat, which just made her more adorable. Most of the students were here just because they liked to attend her lecture and Clayton smirk just grew after seeing her because he already knew her, Rachel.
"Today," she began, "we move beyond the basics. It's time you understood the scaffolding beneath our world's arcane logic."
Clayton straightened in his seat. Vyrith 's classes weren't easy, but they were rarely dull.
She waved a hand, and an intricate diagram bloomed in the air—a web of symbols, runes, and color-coded layers.
"Some of you think of runes as mere symbols. That's a mistake. Runes are not just language. They are binding laws, etched into the lattice of arcane flow. You don't write them—you evoke them. They are conceptual truths distilled into form."
She walked slowly as the diagram rotated.
"Each rune you see inscribed on your cards—those aren't just art. They're coded input commands for the arcane system that governs reality. You don't cast fire because you want to. You cast fire because a rune is forged to authorize you to."
Clayton's brows furrowed. So the power system wasn't just about force—it was about permission. Like getting access keys.
Professor Rachel's voice turned sharper. "That's why powerhouses hoard old runes. Because the deeper, older ones don't just bend reality… they rewrite it."
Someone in the front row raised a hand. "Professor, how are new runes discovered then?"
Reese smiled thinly. "They aren't. Not by students, anyway. New runes are either decrypted from forgotten civilizations… or bargained for."
Clayton tapped his finger on his desk, his mind racing.
So that's what it is.
That's what they're after.
After class, he walked through the stone archways of the central spire, thoughts circling like hawks.
It wasn't the Mirage Cascade card that haunted him anymore.
It was the timing.
Whoever sent it didn't just give him a high-tier card.
They knew about the midterm reschedule.
That single fact unsettled him more than any illusory duplicate ever could.
He knew about it, of course—because he'd read it in Arcane Gambit. In the novel, the academy postponed midterms due to "environmental instabilities," a vague excuse that was later revealed to be a cover for inter-factional skirmishes happening outside the academy walls.
But the person who sent the card?
They weren't supposed to know. It hadn't even been announced yet.
Which meant only two things:
Either someone within the academy administration was leaking information…
Or whoever sent the card had predictive capabilities far beyond what was normal.
Clayton's jaw tightened.
This wasn't just a game of politics anymore.
It was a chessboard, and someone had already moved four turns ahead.
It wasn't just factions anymore, either. It was the powerhouses backing them.
In the novel, Clayton had skimmed through mentions of the great families and factions vying for control. He remembered thinking it was a cool backdrop for the story. Flavor text. Worldbuilding.
But now, it was different.
Now, he understood.
These powerhouses weren't interested in the academy for prestige or charity.
They wanted control over:
Runes, because they were programmable keys to reality.
Students, because talented weavers could be groomed into loyal assets.
Artifacts, because the academy sat on sealed vaults that housed ancient legacies.
And maybe most of all—they wanted influence over Arcane Imprints.
He'd learned last week that advanced weavers could stabilize and evolve their imprints with special bindings—like the Binding Name or the Shard Ink Tattoo method through Cynthia. But those weren't public knowledge. And some of the strongest methods were only available through family secrets or political favors.
So when the academy gave you power… they also gave you a leash.
And whoever controlled the leash… controlled the future.
Clayton rubbed his temples.
It made sense now why someone might want to groom him early.
He was a golden goose, yes—but more importantly, he wasn't claimed. His apparent connection to Antigonus gave him a shield, but not a direction. He wasn't tied to any faction yet, which made him the perfect investment opportunity for brokers. Besides Antigonus, they are known to be profit-thirsty and can switch sides as fast as a chameleon changes his color.
And the Mirage Cascade card?
That was their opening bid.
By the time he reached his dorm, the sun was starting to set behind the distant glass peaks that marked the edge of the academy's warded territory. The sky shimmered with threads of violet and orange.
Clayton looked out from his balcony, clutching the message in his mind again.
"I can help you."
Whoever sent that…
They weren't just trying to bribe him.
They were recruiting him.
Or worse—
Testing him.
And the real question wasn't whether he'd respond.
It was whether he could afford not to.