Chapter 68: The Interrogation, Aira’s Suspicion

"You walk very quietly for a C-Rank commoner," Aira said.

Her voice was smooth, carrying the quiet, unquestionable authority of someone groomed to rule. She did not shout. She did not raise the alarm.

Saile calculated the distance between them. Six feet. He could channel his kinetic energy into a forward dash. He could slip inside her guard, clamp his hand over her mouth, and drive his knee into her sternum. The strike would shatter her ribs and puncture her lungs before she could utter a single syllable.

"Do it," Naicul whispered in the dark abyss of his mind. The ancient God’s tone was sterile and pragmatic. "She is a threat. Snap her neck and hide the body in the library basement."

Saile felt a sudden, involuntary twitch in his right hand. His fingers curled, eager to draw blood. It was a lingering psychological scar from the thirty-percent combat synchronization in the desert. The God’s ruthless instincts were bleeding into his own reflexes.

Saile forced his hand to relax. He unclenched his fingers, rejecting the lethal

urge. Killing the Church’s greatest prodigy in the middle of the Vanguard Academy would trigger a lockdown that no stealth cloak could bypass.

He needed to play the game.

"I was just taking a walk," Saile replied softly. He pitched his voice to sound defensive, letting his shoulders slump into the familiar posture of a nervous street orphan.

Aira did not flinch. She raised her free hand and wiped the blood from her cheek with her silver gauntlet. She looked at the red smear on her glove, then back at him.

"Drop the act," she commanded. "The slouch. The trembling voice. It is an insult to my intelligence."

Saile fell silent. The timid facade melted away. He straightened his spine, lifting his chin. His plain blue eyes met her glowing golden gaze with cold, dead apathy.

Aira’s grip tightened on her sword. The subtle shift in his posture changed his entire presence. The boy standing in front of her no longer looked like a starving peasant. He looked like a veteran executioner assessing a target.

"I watched you dismantle Julian Vance in the arena," Aira stated, pacing slowly to her right, keeping the distance between them exact. "You parried enchanted steel with a brittle wooden scabbard. You struck his vagus nerve with a measured, clinical fraction of force."

She stopped pacing. Her golden eyes narrowed into sharp, dangerous slits.

"A slum orphan does not learn anatomy and kinetic redirection in the dirt," she continued. "A true C-Rank Light user would have been burned to ash by Julian’s opening spell. You did not even sweat."

Saile listened to her dissect his victory. She was not an arrogant noble blinded by ego. She was a scholar of violence. She observed details the rest of the school ignored.

"My Eyes of Truth see the flow of mana in all things," Aira whispered. The glow in her pupils pulsed, sending a sharp, scraping sensation behind Saile’s ribs.

The Endless Devourer writhed in response. The dark core fought against the silver elven choker, eager to lash out at the probing holy magic. Saile clamped down on his soul, strangling the dark magic until only the fake yellow spark remained on his skin.

"I look at you, Gabriel, and my eyes show me a weak, fractured core," she murmured, a hint of deep frustration coloring her tone. "But when I look deeper... my eyes bleed. I see a shadow so dense it breaks my sight. I see an ocean of compressed mana hiding behind a dying candle."

She leveled her sword at his throat.

"What are you?" she asked. "An assassin from the extremist Heretic Cults? A shadow operative sent by the Cardinals to test the students?"

Saile’s heartbeat remained slow and even. He processed her accusations carefully.

She saw the abyss, but she did not understand what lived inside it. She thought

he was human. A highly trained, disguised human operative, but human nonetheless. She did not suspect that the soul of the Fallen God was currently listening to her every word.

"If you believe I am an assassin, why haven’t you shouted?" Saile asked. His voice dropped the nervous pitch, returning to its natural, flat cadence.

Aira lowered the tip of her broadsword just a fraction of an inch.

"Because Headmaster Benedict is a Level 85 Demigod," she answered clinically. "If I sound the alarm, the Inquisitors will drag you to his office. He will crush your bones and extract the truth from your screaming mouth."

"A noble gesture," Saile replied dryly.

"It is not mercy," Aira corrected, her tone hardening. "The Church relies too heavily on raw elemental output. Our instructors teach us to stand still and throw fire until the enemy burns. It is a flawed doctrine."

She pointed the blade at the ground.

"I saw the truth in your movement today," she admitted. A strange, obsessive light flickered behind her golden eyes. "True power lies in absolute physical control. You moved without a single wasted breath. You defeated a senior without drawing a weapon."

Saile tilted his head, calculating her angle. "You want to learn my technique."

"I demand it," Aira said. "I am surrounded by sycophants and pampered children who hold back when we train. They fear my title. They fear my talent. You clearly fear nothing."

A distant, rhythmic clanking of armor echoed from the far side of the plaza. An

Inquisitor patrol was approaching. The heavy footsteps of their tracking hounds

scraped against the cobblestones.

Aira stepped closer, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper.

"Here is the deal, Gabriel," she offered. "You will meet me in the secluded training halls after midnight. You will become my personal sparring partner. You will fight me without holding back your martial skill."

"And if I refuse?" Saile asked.

"I expose your fake Light aura to the Headmaster," she promised. "I do not know

your objective in this academy. But if you decline my offer, your mission ends tonight on an execution block."

Saile stared at the Saintess. The cold logic of the situation settled in his mind.

Fighting her meant exposing his physical habits. It meant giving the Church’s greatest weapon a front-row seat to his combat style. But stalling her bought him time. More importantly, an SSS-Rank Saintess possessed the highest security clearance in the entire Vanguard Academy.

"She is a skeleton key," Naicul noted. The God’s dark amusement returned. "She can open the doors the blind boy spoke of. We can use her."

Saile agreed. Merit Points alone could only buy so much access. To reach the deepest, most restricted floors of the Underground Labyrinth, he needed a high-ranking sponsor.

"I will fight you," Saile stated. He kept his hands at his sides, showing no aggression. "In secret. But a one-sided threat is not a pact. If I am giving you my time, I require compensation."

Aira frowned, clearly unused to being given terms. "What do you want?"

"Access," Saile replied smoothly. "The lower zones. The restricted archives. My C-Rank token limits where I can go. You have clearance. You will act as my sponsor when I need doors opened."

The sounds of the approaching patrol grew louder. The glow of their white lanterns spilled across the manicured hedges of the library plaza.

Aira searched his face for a long, heavy moment. She was looking for a crack in his demeanor. She found nothing but cold, unyielding stone.

"Agreed," Aira whispered.

She sheathed her glowing broadsword with a sharp click. The golden light in her eyes dimmed, returning to a normal, pale amber.

"Be at the seventh training hall tomorrow at midnight," she instructed, turning away from him. "Do not be late, Gabriel."

Aira walked out of the shadows, stepping directly into the path of the incoming

Inquisitor patrol. The armored guards stopped immediately, bowing their heads in

deep reverence to the Holy Saintess. She spoke to them in a calm, dismissing tone, leading the patrol away from the library archway.

Saile waited until the plaza was entirely empty.

He pulled the hood of his stealth cloak back over his head. The dark fabric swallowed his silhouette, merging his body with the night.

He moved quickly across the academy grounds, retracing his steps toward the lower wing. The cool wind dried the cold sweat on his neck. The burn of the silver choker throbbed steadily, a constant reminder of the cage he was forced to wear.

He navigated the twisting corridors and slipped quietly back into the damp cellar of Class F.

The room was still dark. The rhythmic breathing of his classmates had not changed. He approached his rusted iron bed in the far corner.

Saile sat on the thin mattress. He pulled the thick, canvas-wrapped bundle from beneath the frame. He rested his hand on the hidden hilt of the Calamity Fang, drawing comfort from the cold metal.

The infiltration had escalated faster than he anticipated. He held the blueprint to the Labyrinth in his storage ring, and he had just secured a high-level sponsor to get him through the doors.

But the psychological toll of the night weighed heavily on his mind.

He had almost killed Aira without thinking. The urge to snap her neck had felt entirely natural. The lingering scars of Naicul’s combat synchronization were actively rewiring his instincts, prioritizing lethal efficiency over human restraint.

"You did well tonight," Naicul whispered in the silence of the dorm. "You used the enemy. You secured a path to my arm."

"I am not your puppet," Saile thought back fiercely. His grip tightened on his wrapped sword.

"We are partners," the God corrected smoothly. "But remember this, kid. The girl

is sharp. If you drop your guard during these spars, her eyes will peel back the illusion. Keep the beast chained."

Saile laid back on the uncomfortable mattress. He stared at the cracked stone

ceiling, his mind racing through the tactical requirements of the coming days.

He had to spar with an SSS-Rank prodigy without using his dark magic. He had to compress his power so tightly that it perfectly mimicked a C-Rank Light user, all while defending against lethal holy strikes.

It was a dangerous, razor-thin line to walk. But he had no choice. The hunt for the second Divine Fragment demanded it.

Saile closed his blue eyes, listening to the water drip from the pipes. Tomorrow night, the real test of his discipline would begin.