I opened my eyes. The sterile scent of disinfectant and clean linen immediately greeted me, a smell I recognized all too well from Fravikveidimadr's underground facilities. A thin blanket covered part of my body. There was no mistaking it. I was back in their medical cage.
"Oh, you're awake?" That gentle voice was followed by a cold touch on my forehead. Nurse Hela. Her face bore professional relief, not genuine warmth. Every movement she made was efficient, every smile precisely calibrated. She was part of the machine, a friendly warden.
"Yes, perfectly," I replied, my voice still hoarse. "How long has it been?"
"Almost five days. Your condition was critical when you were first brought in." She helped adjust my pillow. "You're lucky you made it through. Your friends at Fravikveidimadr were very worried about you."
"They're not my friends," I said flatly. "They're handlers. And I'm their valuable asset. Their concern is financial, not emotional."
Hela only gave a faint smile, offering no rebuttal. "So then, can I resume my education?" I asked as I slowly shifted into a sitting position, leaning back against the soft headboard.
"You'll need Captain Dales' approval. I don't have that authority."
Of course. "Right, I forgot. Thank you for taking care of me." I paused as my stomach let out a loud, honest protest. "May I have a bowl of porridge?"
"Of course. Wait here a moment." Her smile was a touch more genuine this time before she turned and walked away.
I stared at the closed door. Hela was an intriguing variable. Beautiful in a quiet way, and her efficiency masked something deeper. I doubted she was just an ordinary nurse. Perhaps another observer, assigned to monitor my psychological responses.
Moments later, the door opened again. Captain Dales entered, but he wasn't alone. Beside him stood a man whose presence made the room feel smaller. He was likely around 190 centimeters tall, with broad shoulders and the posture of a seasoned soldier. His dark hair was buzzed close to the scalp, nearly bald, and his skin was a warm tan. His brown eyes looked at me with a calm, dangerous intensity.
"Welcome back to the world of the living, Welt," said Dales. "This is First Lieutenant Gerald Vahtrein. He'll be overseeing your physical training. I know you might refu—"
"No," I cut him off quickly. "I'm willing, Captain."
My immediate agreement silenced Dales for a moment. He exchanged a glance with Gerald before continuing. "He'll be your mentor at the academy. He'll monitor your progress and ensure you don't cause any more trouble."
Gerald stepped forward, extending a large, scarred hand. "Good to meet you, kid." His voice was deep and heavy, matching his physique.
I shook his hand. His grip was firm and controlled. "Welt Rothes. An honor, sir." I could use this. Physical training was the perfect cover to access other academy facilities and gather intel on their military methods.
"Of course, before we begin," Gerald said, "I'll need to test your limits. Once you've fully recovered." He released my hand, nodded at Dales, and left the room, waiting outside.
Once Gerald was gone, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Dales sat in the chair beside my bed, his posture turning serious. "So, Welt. Tell me what really happened. The report from the academy says 'Resonance Backlash,' but I know that's just part of the story. How did it get this bad? Did you encounter an Aberration?"
I looked at him, carefully layering my lie with fragments of truth. "At first, I sensed a sudden drop in Essence around the academy gate. I told Irene and Finnian to find a safe route. That's when I got trapped." I paused, showing a hesitant expression. "I tried using my power to survive, a mistake. That's when I realized my opponent was Forre. When I tried to manipulate his dream realm, he counterattacked, stole a small fragment of my power, and left a black trace in my nadir circuit. That triggered the backlash."
"Forre…" Dales repeated the name, eyes narrowing as he pulled from memory. "The Kingdom's most wanted fugitive? An Archetype 6 from The Rebel Channel?" He looked genuinely shocked. Naturally, an Evolver of the sixth degree was a major threat, even to Fravikveidimadr.
"This also explains this?" he asked, pointing to my hair and eyes.
I touched a strand of my now-pale white hair, eyes gleaming red. "In my dream after I passed out, I saw him crawling on the wall, spitting some strange fluid onto my hair and eyes. I guess as an Archetype 6, he could manifest such illusions into the real world."
Dales pondered, his expression unreadable. My story, though fantastic, fit Forre's unpredictable and anti-structural profile. "Makes sense," he finally said. "Rest here until you're fully recovered. Once you're ready, return to the academy and meet Gerald at the staff office. Understood?"
"Fully understood, sir," I replied firmly.
As he left, I allowed myself to relax slightly. The bait was swallowed whole. They now had a logical explanation for my condition, one that framed me as the victim of a known enemy, not an unexplainable anomaly. I was no longer just an asset. I was a valuable witness and a survivor.
...
In her quiet dorm room, Irene Cheva stared at a complex diagram sketched in her notebook. It mapped patrol movements around the academy, staff rotation schedules in the medical wing, and passively intercepted communication flows.
It had been days since Welt Rothes vanished. The official report said he was undergoing intensive treatment in the West Wing. That story was too clean. Too neat. Irene didn't believe it.
She remembered that night, the unnatural silence. Welt's urgent and tactical request for her to leave. The boy wasn't panicked. He was cold, calculated, even in the face of an invisible threat. Welt wasn't lost. He had walked straight toward something.
"Infiltration," Irene muttered to herself. Her green eyes glowed faintly under the dim lantern on her desk. "He wasn't kidnapped. He let himself be captured, or created the conditions to be moved. But why?"
She closed her notebook. Most girls in this academy obsessed over the next dance or family marriage alliances. Irene was busy solving puzzles. To her, this academy was a broken system, full of cracks and secrets. And Welt Rothes was the most interesting anomaly ever introduced into that system.
She didn't know if the boy was friend or foe. She only knew he was a player in a game far larger than simple graduation. And Irene, with her own reasons, intended to uncover what that game truly was. She stood up and stripped off her uniform, placing it in the laundry. She removed everything except her undergarments and stockings.
She turned off the lantern, but didn't lie down right away. Instead, she pondered the future of this academy. Then she hugged the pillow beside her and pulled the blanket over her body. Ever since she arrived, she had always slept on top. She didn't want to be seen as odd just because she often slept in her underwear. After thinking through several complicated thoughts, she finally fell into a deep sleep.
...
Two weeks later, I returned to the "Prison." The Clockthon Royal Military Academy. My white hair and crimson eyes had become my new trademarks, permanent marks of my encounter with "Forre." I'd become a minor legend among the cadets: the prodigy who survived an attack from the most wanted fugitive. A tragic survivor. This reputation, built on lies, was a shield stronger than any armor.
I began Phase Two of the Grand Plan of Hundreds: the accumulation of social assets and mapping of the power network. This wasn't about making friends. It was about identifying useful pieces. Finnian was my loyal pawn, helpful for minor tasks and as an unintentional information relay. Roshtov was my fortress. I needed to watch him more closely, he might hold some interesting movement charts.
I created an informal "study group." Officially, it was to help me catch up on missed lessons while I was "sick." In truth, it was my social laboratory. I carefully handpicked its members: Finnian, Roshtov, a brilliant technician cadet from a commoner family, a girl from a minor bureaucrat lineage who had access to administrative gossip, and Lian Valerius.
Inviting Lian was the riskiest move. She still hated me for the incident in Symbology class. I didn't invite her directly. I had Finnian "accidentally" mention that we were discussing offensive applications of resonance theory, Lian's favorite topic. As I predicted, her pride couldn't resist the chance to flaunt her knowledge and perhaps humiliate me. She came to our first meeting with a look of disdain, but she came.
My goal was to create a microcosm of the academy's power structure. High nobles, low nobles, technical class, bureaucratic class. By observing their interactions, I could map fractures, alliances, and rivalries on a grander scale.
One afternoon, as our group debated in a seldom-used library corner, Irene Cheva walked past our table. She stopped and glanced at our book pile, her eyes landing on a matrix diagram we were discussing.
"Your structure is inefficient," she said abruptly, her voice clear and blunt, directed at me. "You're wasting 20% of energy at the secondary stabilization node. If you reverse the polarity of the third coil and redirect the surplus through a bypass circuit, you can increase output by 15% without compromising stability."
The whole group fell silent. Lian glared at her, jealous that another girl dared to show off her technical prowess. Finnian just gaped.
I looked at the diagram, then at Irene. "Your theory assumes uniform Essence flow," I replied. "That won't work with unstable energy sources, like the Oneiric channel. The bypass would cause uncontrolled oscillation."
"Only if you use a standard converter," she shot back, eyes glittering with challenge. "A converter based on liquid quartz crystal could absorb the fluctuations."
A short intellectual duel, right in front of everyone. We weren't arguing over a diagram. We were measuring each other's capabilities.
"Liquid quartz crystal has never been stably synthesized," I said.
"According to the books in this library," she replied with a faint smile. "Happy studying."
She turned and walked away, leaving an awkward silence behind. Lian scoffed, but for the first time, Roshtov looked at me with something resembling genuine curiosity.
I had found my new piece. A queen. Someone who could challenge me intellectually, unbound by conventional social rules. Bringing her into my plan would be difficult. But the reward would be immense.
That night, as I returned to my room, I felt satisfied. The seeds had been planted. The actors had taken their places. I hadn't yet executed a single grand plan. For now, I would observe, push, and pull invisible strings. This game was slow, full of pressure, and every move had to be calculated. The Grand Plan of Hundreds would not be as simple as I first imagined, it would be far more complex, and possibly, leak.