Strongest Pawn Of The King Project

Lady Osaia raised the pipe to her lips and took a slow, thoughtful draw.

She held the smoke for a moment, then exhaled through her nose in a long, curling stream that drifted toward the high ceiling.

Her eyes didn't leave Lucian.

"If I'm hearing you right... you're telling me you want another go at the King Project."

She let the words hang in the air for a moment, then leaned forward ever so slightly.

Her green eyes narrowed.

"You do realize that since your guild kicked you out, it's legally no different than being banished from a sovereign nation."

Her tone was still casual, but colder now.

"Under Imperial law, you're not allowed within five miles of any academy again—let alone founding your own guild."

She tilted her head, watching him like a chessmaster staring at a player who'd moved too boldly, too soon.

"You're not just burnt parchment, Lucian. You're a black mark."

Lady Osaia leaned forward with sudden enthusiasm.

"But you have other options. Lucian… come work for me."

Before he could respond, she reached beneath the table and slid over a sealed dossier, its golden trim still warm from the wax.

"Everything you need. Forget the pocket change you got off Reinhart. I would drown you in gold, personal guards, full Imperial authorization. I'll even give you your own tower if that's your thing. Just say yes."

Lucian tilted his head, amused. "A tempting box of bribes, I must say."

She chuckled, eyes sparkling. "Oh, don't make it sound so cheap. This is me valuing you. I wouldn't give another person the same deal even if my life depended on it."

She pressed a hand to her chest with mock drama. "Truly, I don't know what possessed those fools to let you go, but their loss is my golden fortune."

She leaned closer again, her tone softening. "Just name your price, Lucian. I'll make it happen. Rank, rights, even some territory—whatever you want. I know your worth. And I'll treat you like royalty."

Lucian's expression didn't change.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "It's a gracious offer. But working under someone just isn't going to cut it for me anymore."

Osaia blinked, her smile flickering. "...You're serious?"

"I am."

The warmth in her eyes vanished.

"So... you're refusing me?"

Lucian nodded once. "Yes."

She stared at him for a moment, then let out a low hum and tapped her fingers once on the table.

"You do know I can use force, right?"

Lucian smiled.

"Let's not go down that path, Director. No one wins that way."

And for a flicker of a moment—so brief it could be mistaken for a trick of the light—Lady Osaia swore she saw it: the faint outline of a glowing blue serpent coiling lazily around Lucian's shoulders, his eyes lit with ghostly white rings that pulsed like ripples in deep water.

She inhaled sharply, then looked away with a sigh.

"Don't look at me with those eyes," she muttered. "I might accidentally rip them out."

Lucian gave a light laugh. "Fair enough."

The white rings vanished.

She paused, then spoke again.

"So what exactly will you do now? Never thought I'd ever get to say this, but your plan won't work, Lucian. Drop it."

Lucian didn't argue right away.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling as he let the weight of her warning settle between them.

"You're right. Of course you are. If I step one foot into academy territory, it's treason. Branding, exile. If I'm caught leading a guild? It's execution, no trial."

He tilted his head, letting the weight of her words settle in the air.

"The Inquisitors would hang me from the gates as an example. That would be a very short-lived dream."

Then his smile returned—slow, sharp.

"But..."

He sat forward again, eyes gleaming now.

"You see… all it takes to found a guild is one thing."

He held up a single finger.

"Legitimacy."

He let that word linger in the room like a note struck on a piano.

"And legitimacy, Osaia, doesn't come from power, or reputation, or birthright. Not in Vaelgard. It comes from the system itself. The form. The seal. The signature. The rules were designed for fairness... and like all things designed for fairness, they're painfully easy to exploit."

He paused, then said:

"What if a guild was founded by a student of the academy? One of the many who haven't enrolled yet—still in the intake window."

He spread his hands slightly.

"There are hundreds of young fools arriving at the academy gates every semester. Wide-eyed, unranked, unsure. Pawns with nothing but potential and delusions of glory. All I need is one. Just one."

He tapped a finger on the edge of her desk.

"Someone poor. Someone with talent. Someone with dreams too big for their shoulders. And thanks to Reinhart's gracious send-off gift, I approach them not as a stranger… but as a sponsor. I fund their registration. I buy their equipment. I feed them, house them, guide them. I offer them everything."

His voice dropped a little, but grew even more intense.

"And in return, they build a guild. Their name on the paper. Their hands on the seal. But make no mistake—it's my guild in everything but name. Once it's established, once it's active and protected under guild law, all they have to do is invite me, as a Pawn, then sign a transfer of leadership."

He leaned back again, spreading his arms slightly.

"No bloodshed. No rule broken. No law technically violated. I will be entering academy grounds again—and I'll do so moving through a legal structure already recognized by the Empire itself. And when it's done…"

His grin sharpened.

"I'm back in the game, Osaia. Officially. Fully. And no one can say otherwise."

Lady Osaia sat in silence for a moment, pipe frozen near her lips.

Then, with a quiet, breathy laugh, she finally exhaled a slow ribbon of smoke.

"Gods above... you really are insufferable."

She leaned back in her chair.

"I should've expected as much. It's almost shocking no one else has found a loophole like this before. If word gets out…"

She glanced away briefly, brows furrowing.

"…the whole King Project could be ruined."

Lucian smiled faintly, resting his chin in his hand.

"Relax," he said smoothly. "They won't get the chance."