Nolan tapped the table with a fork. “Last time we rushed while I was crafting. This time we plan properly. Board meeting. Breakfast included.”
He spread three newly inked cards across the table. Their faint glow signaled the system had already recognized them:
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Iron Ladder – Utility Card
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Effect: Extends to any height the user perceives. Never falls, always stable.
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Restriction: Only usable while in hand.
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Crowbar of Access – Utility Card
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Effect: Can pry open any sealed door, gate, or barrier once per activation, ignoring locks—mundane or magical.
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Restriction: Only usable while in hand.
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Hook & Line – Utility Card
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Effect: Grappling hook that anchors to the safest visible point. Can also pull small objects to hand.
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Restriction: Only usable while in hand.
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“These,” Nolan said, sliding the cards forward, “aren’t glamorous. But they’ll get us in.”
The Goddess frowned, picking at bread. “Tools? This is your big plan? Hooks and sticks?”
The Akashic Record, without lifting her gaze from her notes, cut in: “We just want to get in. We don’t need to make it look glamorous.”
The Goddess huffed, unimpressed. Vaelreth smirked. The Lich, however, was quiet, his skeletal hand resting on a roll of parchment. His empty sockets gleamed faintly as if he had been waiting for this pause.
The Lich finally unrolled his parchment, pushing Nolan’s tools aside to make space. Ancient runes and concentric circles spread across the page.
“Entry tools are good,” he said in a dry tone. “But they won’t matter if you can’t bypass this. The Academy’s barrier.”
The parchment pulsed faintly. At the table’s center, the Akashic Record snapped her fingers and a faint projection shimmered into being—a pale-blue dome of light over their breakfast, reflecting plates and quills on its surface.
Nolan leaned forward, squinting. “So this is the firewall, huh? Still looks intact.”
The Lich’s skeletal finger traced a rune. “Tiered access. It doesn’t block everyone. It filters. Only those with the Academy’s mark are allowed unrestricted entry. Everyone else gets denied—or funneled into choke points.”
The Goddess perked up. “Like a velvet rope at a party? Cute.”
Nolan deadpanned. “More like login rights. Students get guest accounts. Teachers get admin. Outsiders? Error screen.”
Vaelreth chuckled, tail flicking. “And we’re the malware?”
The Lich ignored her. “My intent was control. Layered authority. They never updated it because they don’t know how. That is our leverage.”
The Akashic Record leaned forward. “He’s right. I can simulate the system, but only he can manipulate it—because he designed it. That’s why we’re listening to him now.”
The Goddess sighed dramatically, resting her chin on her hand. “So boring. Can’t you just make it sparkle?”
The Record’s voice cut sharp: “We’re not here to make it sparkle. We just want to get in.”
The faint projection shimmered, cracks spreading where the Lich tapped his finger against the rune. The barrier flickered like a program glitching.
Nolan tapped his fork against the plate again. “Alright. Then this is our next step. You’ve got the key. Use it.”
The barrier projection still shimmered faintly above the table, a translucent dome that reflected the flicker of lanternlight across plates and forks.
The Lich raised his skeletal hand, long fingers moving with deliberate precision. “You want proof? Watch.”
The Akashic Record tapped her ledger. “I’ll stabilize it. This is only a simulation, but it will respond as the real barrier would.”
The Goddess leaned forward like a child at a puppet show, elbows on the table. “Finally, something fun.”
The Lich ignored her and pressed one fingertip against the rune circle etched into the parchment. Immediately, a ripple ran through the projection. The dome warped, creating a jagged tear down one side, as if an invisible knife had sliced it open.
Nolan raised a brow, chewing bread slowly. “So you can make a door wherever you want.”
“Not a door,” the Lich corrected. His voice was calm, but there was something sharp beneath it. “A keyhole. One only I can unlock, because I designed it. No one in the Academy understands the layers. They only know how to maintain the surface.”
Vaelreth whistled low. “And if they notice the tear?”
The Lich flicked his hand, and the tear vanished seamlessly. The dome glowed whole again. “They won’t. It rewrites itself to cover my tampering.”
The Goddess clapped lightly, crumbs scattering from her hands. “So you’re their hacker, then. Malware and hacker, what a pair.”
Nolan set his fork down, eyes still fixed on the projection. “That means the faculty won’t even know we’re inside until we’re already in position. Good. That’s the stage we want.”
The Akashic Record snapped her ledger shut. “Exactly. He’ll bypass the outer shell. I’ll handle the Principal and the Alchemist to keep them occupied. That leaves you three to enter and play your parts.”
The Goddess, still smirking, waved her hand lazily. “Fine. Fine. But it still needs drama, or no one will remember it.”
Nolan exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to rub his temple. “We’re not writing a play. We’re writing a breach plan.”
The barrier projection flickered once more, then faded out. The Lich rolled his parchment closed, sliding it aside as if that matter were finished.
“Next,” he said simply.
The barrier projection faded. In its place, the Lich unfurled a long scroll, blackened edges flaking slightly, but the diagrams within pristine. Architectural lines stretched across the table: circles, staircases, drainage routes, rune-marked walls.
“I hacked their archive,” the Lich said, tapping one skeletal finger against the center ring of the Coliseum. “These are the official blueprints. And unlike their architects, I know what to do with them.”
The Goddess blinked. “You can… steal blueprints? That’s cheating.”
“It’s called strategy,” he replied flatly.
Nolan leaned forward, ready to start drawing, but the Lich raised his hand. “Let me.”
One by one, the Lich pointed at choke points, his words snapping like commands:
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Outer Wall: “Here. Too high for soldiers. The Iron Ladder card makes this irrelevant. Extend it where scaffolding connects—less visibility, less risk.”
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North Gate: “Locked and reinforced. The Crowbar of Access goes here. Don’t waste time elsewhere—it’s their strongest door, which means no one expects a breach there.”
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Support Beams Above the Arena: His finger dragged across thin lines near the roof. “Hook & Line. Grapple across, anchor at safe points. It also lets us pull sentries silently.”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
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Drainage Conduits: He tapped lower on the page. “These lead into the Academy’s underbelly. That’s my route. Barrier choke points are built into the pipes. I’ll open them as if they were never there.”
Nolan uncapped his pen anyway, scribbling notes where the Lich indicated. “You’re treating this like a war map.”
“Because it is,” the Lich said simply. “You understand the cards. I understand the board they’ll be played on.”
Vaelreth leaned over the parchment, tail thumping. “So I just crash the roof?”
The Lich’s eye-lights glowed faintly. “Not just crash. Spiral down, collapse the supports here”—he circled three red points—“to funnel their candidates toward the center. That forces them into my closing formation.”
The Akashic Record gave a short nod, her ledger hovering slightly. “Efficient. You’re forcing them into the kill zone before they even realize it.”
Nolan paused, then gave a small smirk. “Fine. You win the strategy award. But I still get to draw on the map.”
He dragged his ink across the blueprints, overlaying timings and annotations where the Lich had pointed. The system flickered in acknowledgment, glowing faintly around the card references as if validating the plan.
The Goddess chewed idly on bread, unimpressed. “It still looks boring. Numbers and lines.”
“Boring wins battles,” the Lich said, rolling his sleeve back. His tone carried no humor, only fact.
The schematics still glowed faintly under Nolan’s ink when the Akashic Record snapped her ledger shut with a crisp sound.
“You’ve mapped the entrances,” she said, tone brisk, “but there are two names missing from this discussion: the Principal and the Alchemist. If you ignore them, they’ll dismantle this plan before it even begins.”
The Goddess waved lazily, sipping from a glass of water. “They’re just teachers, aren’t they?”
“No,” the Akashic Record cut in sharply. “They are the Academy’s strongest safeguards. The Principal anchors the city’s barrier system. The Alchemist keeps the Academy supplied with living reagents. Between them, they can detect and choke any anomaly before it breaches. They are the ones who decide if anyone gets in or out.”
The Lich’s skeletal fingers tapped against the blueprint. “And you’re saying…?”
“I’ll handle them,” the Record said matter-of-factly, adjusting her glasses. “They still respect authority. I’ll deliver warnings in my way—bureaucratic, veiled threats, administrative red tape. Enough to keep their eyes turned elsewhere.”
Nolan gave her a long look. “So, divine paperwork.”
“Exactly,” she replied without irony.
Then, with a flick of her quill, she traced a glowing sigil into the air. The room shimmered. Between them appeared a semi-translucent wall of hexagonal tiles, faintly humming with golden light—like honeycomb stretched across space.
The Lich leaned forward, interest sparking in his eye-sockets.
“A mock barrier,” the Record explained. “An imitation based on the Academy’s current system. I can’t interfere directly with their barrier, but I can model one here. Show me what you can do, strategist.”
The Lich rose from his chair, skeletal hands weaving through the air. He produced a black card etched with fractal lines—his Barrier Key. With a flick, he pressed it against the glowing construct.
The tiles rippled. One section bent open like paper folding, leaving a gap just wide enough for a person to slip through.
The Goddess blinked. “That’s it? You just… open it?”
“Not open,” the Lich corrected. “Redirect. The system believes the wall is still intact. Alarms remain silent. This is how I’ll move through the school’s conduits without drawing eyes.”
He shifted his fingers again. The tiles re-formed seamlessly, closing the breach as if nothing had happened.
Nolan leaned back, arms crossed. “So you really built their barrier in the first place.”
“I did,” the Lich said calmly. “Which is why I know how to unmake it.”
The Akashic Record let the construct flicker away, satisfied. “Good. Then that piece is covered. With me distracting the Principal and Alchemist, and you dismantling barriers from the inside, the Academy won’t even know it’s under siege until you’re standing in the arena.”
Vaelreth stretched, tail flicking lazily. “I like this plan. Less waiting, more breaking.”
The Goddess yawned, unimpressed. “It still sounds boring. Less drama than I expected.”
Nolan glanced at her dryly. “Drama gets you killed. Logistics gets you through the door.”
The mock barrier dissolved into nothing, leaving only the table cluttered with schematics, parchment overlays, and half-eaten plates. The Lich smoothed the scroll flat once more, his skeletal finger lingering over the central ring of the Coliseum.
“This is the convergence point,” he said firmly. “We strike from three vectors—roof, conduits, and rear gates—then collapse into the center before the candidates can regroup.”
Nolan adjusted the schematics, adding a few arrows with his blunt ink strokes. “Fine. Then here’s how it breaks down.”
He tapped his pen against the map like a pointer:
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Vaelreth — “Roof. You’re the hammer. Crack the center wide open and force them to scatter.”
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The Lich — “Conduits. You lock down the faculty by cutting the wards and slipping your summons inside.”
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Me — “Back door. Martial entry, silent until it’s not. I’ll take down guards and pick apart the strong candidates one by one.”
The Goddess raised her brows. “And me?”
Nolan didn’t even look up. “You’re the audience. Keep your mouth shut until it matters.”
She pouted, but the Akashic Record gave a faint smile behind her quill.
Then Nolan leaned back, staring at the scattered cards fanned across his side of the table: Hero’s Journey, Glory Road, Return of the Hero. His search engine trio. The cards he had built his whole system around.
“Two months,” Nolan muttered, voice edged with irritation. “That’s all it took me to put this together. Sleepless nights, pushing myself, running test after test. And now? I’m expected to hand it all off like it’s nothing.”
Vaelreth cocked her head. “You sound bitter.”
“Of course I’m bitter,” Nolan snapped, then reined his tone back. He looked down at the parchment, eyes narrowing. “It’s like working overtime for a project, building the entire infrastructure from scratch in record time—then losing admin rights the moment it’s finished. I’m just the guy holding the keys until the new manager shows up.”
The Lich studied him quietly, then asked, “And after you lose it?”
Nolan exhaled through his nose, tapping the edge of a blank card. “Then I rebuild. No more engines. No more search functions. Just a pure martial deck—hand-to-hand, tokens, momentum. If they strip me of the tools, I’ll rely on fists. That much they can’t take.”
The Goddess tilted her head, chewing her bread slowly. “You talk like a clerk cleaning out his desk.”
“Because that’s what it is,” Nolan said flatly. “Two months of my life, burned into these cards, and now I have to pass them on. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
The table went quiet for a beat. The only sound was the Lich’s pen scratching faint annotations into the schematic margins.
Finally, the Akashic Record broke the silence, her voice calm but edged with weight. “Then let’s make sure the handoff counts. Because once you lose those cards, you won’t get them back.”
Nolan’s jaw tightened. He stared at the glowing card that flickered faintly between Excalibur and its unstable state. “Yeah. I know.”
The parchment maps were nearly buried beneath coffee rings, crumbs, and quills by the time Nolan finally dragged Excalibur onto the table. The blade flickered—sometimes steel, sometimes card—its presence pulling the air taut like an overstretched wire.
The Goddess’s eyes gleamed at once. “At least this part is dramatic. A glowing sword, a battlefield, and a stage! Finally something with flair.”
Nolan pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not flair, it’s logistics. This thing isn’t a party trick—it’s the Glory Road, condensed. If you want drama, wave a banner. This is administration. Hope, destiny—whatever you want to call it—it’s been forced into a symbol. And symbols aren’t toys.”
The Akashic Record adjusted her glasses, nodding faintly. “He’s right. The sword itself isn’t just a weapon. It is literally destiny shaped into form. Only a hero’s system can bear it safely. Until then, it rests with him.”
Vaelreth leaned forward, tail flicking. “So how do we make it look? Do we wave it around, smash the arena, or let the kids try to grab it?”
Nolan flattened his palm against the blade’s hilt, its hum resonating up his arm. His voice cut through the room, sharp and deliberate:
“This sword isn’t just steel. It is the incarnation of hope itself. And hope isn’t a dream or a prayer—it’s the guarantee of a better tomorrow. Without this, you have no future. With it, the path forward even exists. That’s what I’ll show them.”
The Goddess blinked, taken aback for once.
The Lich tilted his skull toward the blade. “It’s ironic,” he said dryly. “The sword exists because the Goddess lost it. And now she’ll play at taking it back.”
The Goddess scowled. “I didn’t lose anything important.”
“You lost hope,” Nolan said, cutting across her, his tone clipped and merciless. “The most primal force of humankind. And now it’s in my hands.”
The table went silent. The sword flickered, almost humming in agreement, golden light spilling across the maps like veins of fire.
Nolan leaned back, his voice flat but edged with judgment: “We control the story now. The world thinks it has time, but we’ll show them the clock is almost out. And when I raise this sword in the Coliseum, they won’t see a fairytale. They’ll see judgment.”
Vaelreth smirked. “Finally sounding like a villain.”
“Good,” Nolan replied without missing a beat. “That’s the job.”
The glow of Excalibur slowly dimmed, its light sinking back into the table. The schematics and scattered plates seemed dull in comparison, like the room itself had exhaled after holding its breath.
Nolan straightened the parchments, dragging a thick line across the Coliseum layout. “Then it’s set. Three entries, one collapse point. The sword is the centerpiece. When the crowd sees this blade, they’ll realize the world’s future isn’t something to cheer for—it’s something they could lose.”
The Lich tapped the parchment, his skeletal finger circling the conduits beneath the stadium. “I’ll move first. I know how the wards are woven—I built the Academy’s barrier in life. Once I puncture the flows, the faculty won’t be able to swarm us. Only the strongest will be able to enter.”
Vaelreth leaned back, teeth flashing in a grin. “And I’ll make the sky fall. Nothing like a dragon ripping the roof off to make a point.”
The Goddess clapped her hands together. “And I get to appear at the climax!”
Nolan’s eyes narrowed. “You get to appear when the script demands it. Until then, stay quiet. This isn’t about you. It’s about pressure.”
The Akashic Record dipped her quill, jotting final notes into a ledger. “I’ll handle the Principal and the Alchemist. They’ll be the real problem if left unchecked, so I’ll keep them occupied. As for the barrier, I’ll provide a temporary simulation so the Lich can practice manipulating its layers. But the real one remains his domain.”
She glanced at Nolan. “That leaves you to anchor the act. Can you handle losing the sword when the time comes?”
Nolan’s jaw tightened. “Handle it? Sure. Like any office drone watching his admin rights revoked. Two months of overtime, gone in a heartbeat. Doesn’t mean I’ll like it. But I’ll do it.”
The Lich gave a low chuckle. “You sound more resentful than tragic.”
“Good,” Nolan said flatly. “Because resentment drives results.”
The Goddess stretched lazily in her chair, completely unfazed. “Then let’s make it flashy. Coliseum packed, students panicking, nobles gasping—yes, it’ll be wonderful.”
Nolan ignored her, gathering the maps into a neat stack. “We’re not staging theater. We’re staging judgment. Remember that.”
Excalibur pulsed faintly once more, as if sealing the pact.
The Akashic Record closed her book with a snap. “Then it’s agreed. The world will see hope—and judgment—in the same stroke. Prepare yourselves. The timetable is set.”
No one raised another word. The breakfast was over, but the weight of the boardroom lingered.