Arthur didn’t sleep.
He tried.
For approximately twelve minutes.
Then he gave up.
The room was dark except for the thin moonlight coming through the window.
Mira was asleep across the room.
The other beds were occupied too, though their owners had learned the valuable skill of pretending not to listen whenever Arthur moved.
Arthur sat at his desk.
The black box from the Headmaster’s chamber wasn’t with him.
He had left it there.
That bothered him.
Not because he wanted the box.
Because he had deliberately left something important in another person’s possession.
That was unlike him.
He looked at his hands.
The hands of Arthur Vale.
At least, according to every record he’d seen.
He flexed his fingers.
Nothing strange happened.
No hidden memory.
No voice.
No golden light.
Just fingers.
He picked up the piece of paper he had copied from memory before leaving the Headmaster’s chamber.
Three words.
DO NOT TRUST ME.
Arthur stared at them.
His handwriting.
His warning.
His problem.
He turned the paper over.
Blank.
“Wonderful.”
A quiet voice came from the other side of the room.
“You talk to yourself.”
Arthur looked up.
Mira was sitting on her bed.
“I’ve noticed.”
“You’ve been awake for hours.”
“Apparently.”
She pulled her blanket around her shoulders.
“Are you all right?”
Arthur considered lying.
Then decided against it.
“No.”
Mira looked surprised.
Arthur gave her a tired glance.
“I don’t know what I am supposed to feel about that.”
She was quiet for a moment.
“That’s probably normal.”
“Normal is overrated.”
“You say that about everything.”
“I’ve only known you for a few days.”
“And you’ve already decided.”
Arthur almost smiled.
Mira studied him.
“Did you remember what happened?”
“Some of it.”
“Did you hurt Darian?”
Arthur looked down.
“I don’t know.”
Mira frowned.
“You don’t remember?”
“I remember him being there.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
Arthur rubbed his temple.
“I remember reaching for him.”
“And?”
“And nothing after that makes sense.”
Mira didn’t press.
That was one of the things Arthur was beginning to appreciate about her.
She knew when information wasn’t ready to be given.
“What did the Headmaster say?” she asked.
Arthur looked toward the window.
“He said I believed I could control every outcome.”
Mira snorted softly.
“Sounds like you.”
Arthur glanced at her.
“You’ve known me for less than a week.”
“I’ve watched you negotiate with a man who tried to embarrass you, interrogate an archivist, challenge an instructor’s assumptions, and turn a magical monster’s contract against itself.”
She paused.
“You’re predictable.”
Arthur stared.
“That’s insulting.”
“It’s an observation.”
“Those are often worse.”
Mira smiled.
For a few seconds, the room felt almost normal.
Then the academy bell rang.
Morning.
Arthur looked toward the window.
He had slept less than an hour.
“Excellent.”
Mira stood.
“Breakfast?”
Arthur looked at his exhausted reflection in the glass.
“Is that a suggestion or a threat?”
“Both.”
The dining hall was louder than usual.
The barrier breach had become the only subject anyone wanted to discuss.
Arthur heard at least seven different versions of the previous night’s events before reaching his table.
According to one student, Julian had killed the creature alone.
According to another, Instructor Voss had cut it in half.
A third insisted the monster had been a dragon.
Arthur sat down.
Mira placed a cup beside him.
“Tea.”
Arthur looked at it.
“You’re becoming dangerously useful.”
“I’ll survive.”
Across the hall, Julian entered.
His uniform was torn at the shoulder.
A bandage wrapped around his left forearm.
Several students immediately gathered around him.
Julian ignored them.
His eyes found Arthur.
He walked over.
Mira sighed.
“Here we go.”
Julian stopped beside the table.
“You.”
Arthur looked up.
“Good morning.”
“Don’t.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t what?”
“Do that.”
“Say good morning?”
“Act like nothing happened.”
Arthur glanced at Julian’s bandaged arm.
“You survived.”
“So did you.”
“Apparently.”
Julian pulled out the chair.
Mira looked at him.
“You’re sitting here?”
Julian ignored her.
He looked at Arthur.
“That thing.”
Arthur waited.
“You knew how to stop it.”
“I found a way.”
“You knew where to look.”
“I observed the contract.”
Julian leaned forward.
“You made me hold that badge.”
Arthur nodded.
“Yes.”
“You could have told me what it would do.”
“I didn’t know until I saw it.”
Julian stared at him.
Arthur took a sip of tea.
Julian’s expression shifted.
“You really didn’t.”
“No.”
That seemed to bother him more than if Arthur had lied.
Julian leaned back.
“You could have gotten me killed.”
Arthur put the cup down.
“Yes.”
Mira stared at him.
“I could have gotten myself killed as well.”
Julian’s eyes narrowed.
“You didn’t hesitate.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“When you attacked the creature before I understood its behavior.”
Julian looked away.
Arthur watched him.
“You nearly died.”
“I know.”
“You were reckless.”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
“And you weren’t?”
Arthur considered that.
“No.”
Julian laughed.
“You pulled a magical contract apart with a thread that could barely move a stone.”
“It worked.”
“That doesn’t make it sensible.”
Arthur nodded.
“Fair.”
Julian looked almost disappointed that Arthur hadn’t argued.
Then he reached into his coat.
A small mana crystal landed on the table.
Arthur looked at it.
“What’s this?”
“The one from yesterday.”
“You gave it to me.”
“I know.”
“You said it was an investment.”
“It was.”
Arthur pushed it back.
“Then collect your return.”
Julian frowned.
“You haven’t used it?”
“Not all of it.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t owe you yet.”
Julian stared at him.
“You’re strange.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Julian picked up the crystal.
Then stopped.
“Keep it.”
Arthur looked at him.
“Why?”
Julian shrugged.
“Consider it payment.”
“For what?”
“For not letting that thing tear my head off.”
Arthur thought about it.
“That isn’t a very precise transaction.”
Julian stood.
“Get used to it.”
He walked away.
Mira watched him leave.
“He’s changing.”
Arthur looked at the crystal.
“So am I.”
The morning’s first lesson was magical theory.
Arthur arrived early.
He took the same seat.
Opened the same notebook.
And prepared to be confused.
The instructor began explaining mana channels.
This time, Arthur understood the first part.
Then the second.
By the third diagram, he was lost.
He frowned.
The instructor noticed.
“Something unclear, Vale?”
“Several things.”
A few students laughed.
Arthur ignored them.
The instructor pointed to the diagram.
“Mana enters through the core and circulates through the primary channels.”
Arthur looked at the illustration.
“Why?”
The room went quiet.
The instructor stared at him.
“Why what?”
“Why does it circulate?”
“Because that’s how mana works.”
Arthur frowned.
“That’s not an explanation.”
The instructor’s expression tightened.
“Mana follows the body’s natural channels.”
“Why?”
“Because—”
The instructor stopped.
Arthur waited.
The instructor finally said:
“That question belongs to advanced theory.”
Arthur wrote it down.
Why does mana circulate?
He underlined it.
Not because it was immediately useful.
Because he had learned something important.
This world had knowledge.
It also had assumptions.
And assumptions could be wrong.
By midday, Arthur had filled six pages of notes.
Most of them were questions.
He didn’t mind.
For the first time since arriving at Gallows Edge, he wasn’t pretending to understand something he didn’t.
That was progress too.
Unfortunately, his body disagreed.
After three hours of lessons, his head was pounding.
His mana reserves were low.
His muscles still hurt from the previous night.
When the afternoon training bell rang, Arthur seriously considered pretending to be dead.
Then he remembered the ranking board.
He went anyway.
Combat training was held in the lower courtyard.
Today, cadets were paired for controlled sparring.
Arthur received a wooden sword.
His opponent was a girl he didn’t know.
She looked at him.
Then at the instructor.
“Me against him?”
The instructor nodded.
The girl sighed.
“Fine.”
Arthur raised his sword.
She attacked.
He blocked.
The impact nearly knocked the weapon from his hand.
She attacked again.
Arthur stepped aside.
The wooden blade clipped his shoulder.
Pain.
He countered.
She blocked easily.
Again.
Arthur tried to remember yesterday’s stance.
His feet were wrong.
His shoulders were tense.
His grip was too tight.
The girl struck his wrist.
The sword fell.
A few students laughed.
Arthur stared at the weapon on the ground.
His first instinct was irritation.
His second was embarrassment.
His third was to analyze what happened.
He picked up the sword.
“Again.”
The girl blinked.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
The instructor nodded.
They began again.
This time Arthur lasted longer.
Not much longer.
But longer.
He was hit seven times.
He landed one strike.
Then the instructor stopped them.
“Enough.”
Arthur lowered his sword.
The girl looked almost apologetic. Get faster updates on g.com.
“You’re improving.”
Arthur glanced at her.
“That sounded painful for you to admit.”
She smiled.
“Don’t get used to it.”
Arthur returned the sword.
His arm was shaking.
He hated that.
Not the pain.
The weakness.
But he was beginning to understand something.
His old professional skills had worked because the world he knew rewarded preparation.
This world rewarded preparation too.
It also demanded things he couldn’t fake.
Strength.
Reflex.
Mana control.
Experience.
No negotiation could substitute for all of them.
He needed to build those abilities from the ground up.
That was going to take time.
That evening, Arthur returned to Room 417.
He placed the remaining mana crystal on his desk.
Shadow Thread formed between his fingers.
It was steadier than yesterday.
He tried the new technique.
Clause Severance.
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
Arthur frowned.
The ability wasn’t responding.
He focused.
The thread trembled.
Then snapped.
Arthur stared at his fingertips.
“Interesting.”
He tried again.
Nothing.
The system appeared.
[Clause Severance]
[Current compatibility: 7%]
[Activation condition incomplete.]
[Target requirement: Contractual structure.]
[Direct application unavailable.]
Arthur leaned back.
So it wasn’t a free cutting technique.
It needed an actual contract.
He smiled faintly.
“Good.”
Mira looked up from her book.
“Why is that good?”
“Because if it worked on everything, it would be boring.”
She stared at him.
“You’re impossible.”
“Probably.”
Arthur looked at the crystal.
Then at his notebook.
He had three pages of magical theory questions.
Four pages of academy regulations.
One page concerning West Tower.
And one page containing the words:
DO NOT TRUST ME.
He opened a fresh page.
At the top, he wrote:
Things I Know
1.
My memories were deliberately sealed.
2.
I entered the lower archive three months ago.
3.
Something behind the black door recognized the Court.
4.
The creatures respond to me differently.
5.
My current identity doesn’t completely match the academy’s records.
6.
Someone wanted me to forget.
7.
Someone wanted me to remember.
Arthur stopped writing.
There was one more thing.
He added it beneath the others.
8.
I don’t know whether old Arthur was protecting me or protecting everyone else from me.
He stared at the sentence.
Then closed the notebook.
A knock came at the door.
Mira looked up.
Arthur opened it.
Nobody stood outside.
He looked down.
An envelope rested on the floor.
Black.
No seal.
No name.
Arthur’s expression changed.
He picked it up.
Mira approached.
“Is that—”
“Yes.”
The same kind of envelope from the memory.
Arthur opened it carefully.
Inside was a single sheet.
This time, the handwriting wasn’t his.
COME TO THE LOWER ARCHIVE ALONE.
Arthur read it twice.
Mira looked over his shoulder.
“Absolutely not.”
Arthur folded the paper.
“I agree.”
She blinked.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
Arthur placed the letter on the desk.
“I’m not going.”
Mira stared at him.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Why?”
Arthur looked toward the door.
“Because whoever sent this knows exactly what I want.”
Mira nodded slowly.
“And?”
Arthur’s eyes hardened.
“Which means they expect me to walk into a trap.”
He paused.
Then added:
“So naturally, I won’t walk into it alone.”
Mira stared at him.
“Arthur.”
He looked at her.
“You said alone.”
“I know.”
“You just said you wouldn’t.”
“I also said I wasn’t going.”
Mira folded her arms.
“Then what are you planning?”
Arthur picked up his notebook.
“To make them come to me.”
A faint smile appeared.
Not confident.
Not arrogant.
Just interested.
For the first time since waking in this world, someone else had made the first move.
Arthur intended to find out why.
Far below Gallows Edge Academy, behind a door that had not appeared on any modern map, a figure sat alone in darkness.
A black envelope rested on the table.
Beside it lay an old academy record.
The page had been opened to Arthur Vale’s name.
A hand turned the page.
Underneath the academy record was another document.
Older.
Much older.
Its writing had faded almost completely.
Only one sentence remained legible.
THE GENTLEMAN MUST ENTER THE COURT WILLINGLY.
The figure closed the book.