Headmaster Andrade’s eyes swept over the grim scene, her expression hardening into an unreadable mask. She looked at Ray, who was kneeling calmly beside the hysterical attendant.

"Report, Novice Croft. What exactly is the situation here?"

Andrade demanded, her voice carrying the chill of absolute authority.

"Head Butler Ramada is dead, Headmaster. My attendant discovered him and attempted first aid. I have conducted a preliminary examination. The cause of death was catastrophic blunt-force trauma to the cranium. Additionally, his tongue has been severed at the root. However, there is no weapon present in this room that matches the impact geometry for the skull fracture, nor a blade for the excision."

Ray answered, his voice steady and clinical.

Jane Starr let out a muffled, horrified sob, leaning heavily against the cold stone wall as the brutality of the crime set in.

Ray gestured to the tiny, curved glass shard wedged beneath the wine cask.

"Furthermore, I believe the killer used a rapid-acting paralytic or neuro-suppressant to lower his guard before striking the fatal blow. Mr. Ramada, with his dying breath, intentionally pointed directly to that vial fragment."

Andrade absorbed the report instantly, her eyes narrowing at the glass shard. Ray then turned his golden-flecked eyes toward the distraught matriarch.

"Lady Jane, you mentioned a frightened staffer ran up to you to report an attack. Who was it?"

Ray asked gently but firmly.

Jane wiped her eyes with a trembling hand, trying to focus.

"It... it was Hanna. One of our junior staffers. She came running to the main hall, completely frantic."

In the Ambient Presence, the Gritty Detective struck a phantom match.

Detective: "Hanna, huh? Down in a secluded cellar where no one upstairs can hear a struggle? That girl either has X-ray vision, or the killer used her as a pawn to orchestrate this exact moment."

Before Ray could ask for Hanna's exact location, the heavy, rhythmic thud of armored boots echoed down the stone corridor.

Svane tensed instinctively. However, remembering his orders from the Headmaster to stand down, the Gold Aegis remained at attention.

Master Alvon Brekka marched into the cellar, flanked by two heavily armored Academy Guards.

"I sent word to Master Brekka the moment Jane informed me just in case."

Andrade explained quietly to Ray, preempting his question.

"As the Department Head of the College of Valor and the academy's Head of Security, this falls under his direct purview. Given the situation, I deemed it necessary to bring our highest level of security and get this situation under control."

"I understand, Headmaster,"

Ray replied calmly, his mind already calculating the variables of the security chief's presence.

Master Alvon took in the room with a sweeping, critical gaze. He signaled his guards to secure the door and slowly approached the body, his eyes scanning the floor, the wine casks, and finally, Rina.

Andrade gave him a rapid, clipped summary.

"The dead body is the House Starr’s head butler. Massive blunt-force trauma to the cranium. Suspected neuro-suppressant. And Master Alvon... the victim's tongue has been severed."

Alvon crouched slightly, examining the shattered skull without touching the corpse. He scoffed, his voice laced with professional arrogance.

"A gruesome display, but an unnecessary mystery. We do not need to guess who did this. We will simply ask him."

Alvon reached into a pouch on his belt. He drew out a small stick of dark, resinous incense, snapping his fingers to ignite it. Thick, cloying smoke immediately began to fill the immediate space, masking the copper stench of blood. Alvon placed two heavy copper coins over Warren’s closed eyes, then pulled a piece of white chalk from his coat, drawing a rapid runic boundary on the stone floor around the corpse's head.

Ray watched intently. A sudden, localized chill swept through the cellar, causing his breath to fog in the air.

A soft, telepathic whisper echoed directly into Ray's ear. It was Headmaster Andrade, utilizing the cantrip spell: Message to speak privately.

He is preparing a 3rd-Circle spell: Speak with Dead,It borders heavily on Necromancy, which is highly frowned upon by the Arcane Council. However, there are some exceptions in cases of investigating a murder, The investigators are permitted to use it to extract a final record. Watch closely."

Andrade’s voice echoed in Ray's mind.

Alvon knelt beside the runic circle. He reached out and physically forced the Head Butler's rigor-mortis-locked jaw open. The air grew freezing cold.

"By the authority of the waking world, I halt your descent, Anchor the residual psyche. Reconnect the vocal cords. State your final record!"

Alvon chanted, his voice taking on a heavy, forceful resonance.

For a fraction of a second, the dead, gray veins in Warren's neck pulsed with a sickly, pale silver light. The magic strained, attempting to seize the lingering echo of the butler's soul. And then... it fizzled out. The silver light died. The cold air dissipated.

Warren remained perfectly, silently dead.

Alvon frowned, his hands hovering over the body.

"What? The anchor failed. The spell isn't taking hold."

"By the Founders… Master Alvon, the spell didn't fail. It was blocked. ‘Speak with Dead’ can only be cast on a corpse once every ten days."

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Andrade said as she looked at the corpse with a newfound, chilling respect for the killer.

Alvon stood up slowly, his eyes narrowing.

"You think the killer cast it first? To interrogate him before we could?"

"Perhaps, or they cast it purely to trigger the magical cooldown, ensuring we couldn't use it. And even if they hadn't..."

Andrade said grimly as she pointed at Warren's open, bloody mouth.

"The spell reconnects the vocal cords, but a corpse still requires the physical mechanics of speech to articulate words. The severed tongue wasn't just a message, Alvon. It was a mechanical failsafe. The killer knew exactly how investigators work."

Detective: “A professional. They covered every single angle.”

The Gritty Detective tipped his phantom hat. Frustrated and humiliated that his quickest avenue to the truth had been expertly sabotaged, Alvon stood up, turning his sharp, angry gaze to Lady Jane.

"Lady Jane, is this girl authorized to be in this wine cellar?"

Jane, leaning heavily against the stone wall, shook her head through her tears.

"No... she is not. Only Warren and some senior staffers have the keys to this wine cellar."

Alvon’s eyes snapped to Rina, who was shivering on the floor with her arms coated in the victim's blood.

"Then explain to me, attendant, how you bypassed a locked door and why you are down here."

Rina trembled, her voice barely a whisper.

"I... the door was already open. I was with Mr. Ramada earlier when he left to come down here, he said he will be back right but he never did so after a while I got worried and came down here and I saw him lying down on the floor bleeding. So I… I tried to stop the bleeding."

Alvon’s expression hardened into cold suspicion. He looked at Headmaster Andrade.

"Lady Jane stated that a junior staffer, Hanna, ran to the main hall to report an attack. Yet this attendant claims she saw no one else down here."

He turned back to Rina, his voice dropping to the harsh, unforgiving tone of an interrogator.

"You admit to tracking the Head Butler here which you have no business to enter. You admit you were the last person to speak with him upstairs. You are covered in his blood. And you expect me to believe you simply 'got worried' and stumbled upon an open door? It points to a premeditated altercation. You struck him down, and the junior staffer likely interrupted you, causing you to panic and claim you were providing medical aid."

Alvon drew his polished silver baton, leveling it directly at Rina.

"The scene requires further processing, but the immediate protocol is indisputable. By the authority of the Arcane Council, seize the Croft attendant as the prime suspect for the murder of Warren Ramada!"

Rina froze, paralyzed by shock and terror, unable to even formulate a denial. The two armored guards stepped forward, raising heavy mana-suppression cuffs.

As the guards reached for Rina, Ray stepped forward. He moved with such sudden, fluid grace that he placed himself squarely between the armored men and his attendant before they could even blink.

Svane moved simultaneously, stepping to Ray's flank. The Gold Aegis let out a low grunt, heavily implying that if the guards took another step, he would tear their arms from their sockets.

"Stand down, Novice Croft, Captain Orben"

Alvon warned, his grip tightening on his baton.

"This is an academy security matter. Your attendant was found with the victim, soaked in his blood. The evidence is irrefutable."

Ray ignored Alvon completely. He didn't even look at Master Alvon. Instead, Ray’s gaze locked directly onto Headmaster Andrade, who stood just behind the guards, her eyes analyzing the impossible scene.

"Master Brekka is mistaken, My attendant is attempting to administer first aid. She is not the killer."

Ray said, his voice cutting through the damp air like a blade of ice.

"That is for the investigation to determine! Guards, take her!"

Alvon snapped.

As the armored men took a step forward, Ray initiated a ‘Concurrent Partial Immersion.’ He tapped directly into the deepest, most lethal archetypes he has.

He activated the Grizzled Commander’s ‘Command Aura’ skill and the Primal Naturalist’s ‘Apex Predator Aura’ skill.

Ray funneled the terrifying, suffocating pressure directly in front of him. He created a focused, conical blast of sheer willpower that intentionally spared the already shocked and panicked Rina cowering behind him.

"Touch her, and you will have a problem with me,"

Ray promised.

The threat was delivered quietly, but the physical weight of his combined auras slammed into the two guards like a solid wall. They froze mid-stride, their breath catching in their throats.

Their eyes went wide with instinctual terror, completely shocked that a thirteen-year-old boy was radiating the heavy, blood-soaked pressure of an ancient, battlefield beast. They actually hesitated, glancing nervously at Alvon, unable to force their bodies to move forward.

Even Master Alvon took a reflexive half-step back, his eyes widening in genuine surprise. He felt the crushing weight of the primal presence washing over the room. It was terrifyingly familiar.

By the Founders, This pressure... It feels exactly like standing in front of Master Hadrick Stoneblade when I fought him. Did the old Valorian secretly teach the boy this technique?

Alvon thought, his mind racing as he stared at the boy.

"Enough!"

Andrade’s voice boomed, shattering the tense, heavy atmosphere and echoing off the stone walls with the crushing gravity of a Master Mage.

"Novice Croft, Captain Orben, step aside. The law must be followed."

Ray held his ground. He stared into the eyes of the most powerful woman in Solhaven Academy.

In his mind the Ambient Presence, the Scheming Courtier smiled a grim, ruthless smile, smoothing his phantom cuffs as he assessed the political board as if he could see where the situation was headed.

Courtier: "A Master Mage's oath is forged in iron. We handed her a treasonous prince and the Kingdom's greatest shadow war to earn this coin, and now we must spend it to save a servant. A disastrous return on investment politically... but absolutely necessary. Play the card. Pin her to the wall with her own promise."

Ray agreed. He hadn't expected to cash his ultimate trump card on the exact same night he acquired it, but there was no other choice.

"Headmaster, a couple of hours ago. You acknowledged an immeasurable debt to me. You made a promise."

Ray said softly, ensuring his voice carried only to her.

Andrade froze. Her breath caught slightly in her throat as she realized exactly what Ray was doing.

"You told me that if I ever had a request, a favor, a need, or a door that required opening, I was to come directly to you."

Ray continued, his voice unwavering, devoid of any plea or desperation. It was a cold, contractual demand.

"You swore to me that you would do everything within your considerable power to accomplish it. No questions asked."

Alvon looked back and forth between them, completely bewildered by the exchange.

"Headmaster? What is he talking about?"

Andrade didn't answer. She stared at the thirteen-year-old boy standing defiantly in the bloodstained cellar. She felt the immense, suffocating weight of the shadow war pressing down on her. Ray had handed her the identity of the Shadow Patron. He had mapped the Argent Hand’s secret route and arsenals. He had likely saved the entire Kingdom from a sudden, catastrophic civil war. The debt not only she but the kingdom owed him was monumental.

And now, he was calling it in to save a servant.

"I am cashing my favor, Headmaster. Call off Master Brakka. Grant me temporary jurisdiction over this crime scene. Give me until dawn to find the real killer."

Ray demanded, his golden-flecked eyes burning with absolute resolve.

Silence fell over the cellar, broken only by Rina’s quiet, terrified weeping.

Alvon Brekka scoffed in sheer disbelief.

"Have you lost your mind, Croft? Temporary jurisdiction? You are a 1st-Circle Novice! Headmaster, order them to stand down so we can process the murder suspect!"

Andrade slowly closed her eyes. She calculated the political fallout. The sheer audacity of a student demanding control of a murder investigation. But she also calculated the value of Ray Croft's loyalty, and the absolute truth of her own oath. A Master Mage’s word was iron.

When she opened her eyes, they were forged steel.

"Master Brekka. Stand your guards down. Put away your weapon."

Andrade commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Alvon’s jaw dropped.

"Headmaster, you cannot be serious! The protocol…"

"I am overriding protocol! You and your men will secure the corridor outside. You will not touch the girl, at least not yet."

She turned her intense gaze back to Ray.

"You have claimed your favor, Novice Croft. The debt is settled in full, I will delay the academy’s official investigation. You have temporary jurisdiction in this case. But hear me well: the sun rises in exactly seven hours. If you do not hand me the true killer, with irrefutable proof, by dawn... I will personally place the shackles on your attendant, and there is nothing in this world that will stop me."

Andrade said, her tone heavy with consequence.