Jett eyeballed the massive stack of folders, unsure where to even begin.
He needed to start from the very beginning.
The task was simple: find and eliminate a spy within the student population.
That one task was anything but simple.
Three separate years of classes, each with over 300 students, meaning he had to identify a needle in a haystack. That haystack was 1000 people, all of varying backgrounds and situations.
'I need to whittle this down into something more manageable.'
For that, Jett needed to filter these by certain criteria.
And for that, he needed to know his enemy.
His enemy was the Divine Crusaders.
Power. That was the one word that summarized the Divine Crusaders.
They were located on the very edge of the Northern Ridge. Though they exerted control on the northern section of the Mound's Valley, without a defensive barrier they were forced to build their capital in the Northern Ridge.
It was a kingdom dominated by religion, believing that the power of the individual would bring people closer in spirit to the gods.
This fanatic worship of power led to several cultural impacts.
One was their strict power hierarchy—much worse than Strata's—but still not too far off.
With a strict hierarchy based on power, the strong were respected while the weak were outcasted, or even culled to make way for the strong.
Along with the nation being extremely aggressive in warfare, they were neither especially subtle nor thoughtful regarding espionage, almost like a lost art.
This was due to a certain intellectual and technological gap between the two rival nations.
While most facets of Crusader life were forged around fostering power, due to their beliefs, their definition of power was kept limited to Soul rather than technology, economics, and diplomacy,
'Perhaps this gargantuan task is doable after all.'
What could Jett pull from the information he knew about the enemy?
'I must assume that the spy is a citizen of Strata rather than a Divine Crusader in disguise.
Jett felt that a Divine Crusader in disguise wouldn't have the proper channels or resources to even be effective as a spy.
Also, a Divine Crusader would be severely out of their element in a school full of pompous nobility, easily discovered through any real social interaction.
'Social outcasting along with the unpredictable nature of Imprints could bypass this situation, but that would open a whole new can of worms.'
Notably, hiding as a Stalwart in a majority Acolyte school would be quite difficult. Teenage Stalwarts were exceedingly rare.
Jett had to make bold assumptions if he wanted to make any progress, there was no brute-forcing this, though it seemed like Maros heavily implied such an approach.
'I can eliminate almost all of the first years and some of the second years.'
Collaborating with their enemy, the Divine Crusader's own criteria would include the strong and influential.
Being strong was a basic requirement; how could they work with a Soul Released?
They couldn't for this mission. Should they fail, the next spy would have double the trouble of the previous spy.
Influence would be important for the spy's effectiveness. Every spy had to count. And should a spy of high standing be found, it would sow the seeds of discord through noble families and Upper City society.
If one highly influential family could be targeted and persuaded, then other families could be next.
Jett thought he might be overestimating the Divine Crusaders, but the textbook information he regurgitated regarding them was likely very biased, underestimating their capabilities.
'If a kid from Shacktown can outthink them this quickly, then they have no right to exist.'
He chose to overestimate his enemy, though not enough to completely demolish his criteria.
So after limiting his search to those in the Acolyte stage, along with families of significant influence, his search was cut from 1000 to…
100.
After an hour of sifting through extremely detailed profiles, Jett had managed to cut 90% of his potential targets.
'It's still not good enough…'
Jett's job was to root the spy out, but that didn't mean he could take forever to complete it.
Surveiling 100 students would still be a tall task.
'Wait, what about the instructors?'
At the very bottom of the pile were roughly 60 profiles of the academy's staff.
He groaned in anticipation of another grueling session of intense reading.
Though to his delight, a vast majority of the teachers were flagged for being properly vetted and trusted.
'But those would be the best inside men for espionage…'
Jett was conflicted. It was difficult for him to dumb such a delicate process down to this extent.
He had to trust that the Wardens had done their job well, which seemed to be the case with how detailed the documents were.
'Maybe Maros is just a lousy teacher with his secret squad…'
There was only one staff member that wasn't vetted, and that was the headmaster.
'Weird.'
Jett had his work cut out from him.
'It's only one hundred students.'
***
The staircase leading up to the Spire was wide, and massive. The Founder was ridiculous about his obsession with the construction of large structures.
All Maros could do during the climb was curse the Founder's dead spirit. It was completely inaccessible to the elderly.
Eventually, he reached the top, standing in front of the Spire's entrance.
Guarding the door of the Spire was a pair of its Hands, draped in intricate, layered robes, holding their steel spears vertically against the ground.
They were void-like, the only speckle of color coming from the eye slits of their black masks, which were further covered by pointed hoods.
The massive obsidian doors of the Spire rumbled as they opened, welcoming Maros into its depths.
He stepped into the dim tunnel.
Those doors slammed shut, leaving Maros in total darkness.
It was entirely dark and devoid of sound. His own pumping heart and blood echoed in his ears.
Maros continued forward in total darkness, rows of torches on both sides of the hall guiding his way.
Though, he could only see the torches, for the walls refused to reflect any light. It was akin to walking through a claustrophobic void.
A long, straight walk later revealed a visible platform in a vertical shaft, its underside glowing a subtle white.
His feet stepped atop the raised circular platform.
…ZZZTTT
The platform groaned out an otherworldly, high-pitched rumble.
Then it rapidly ascended in a low hum, along with a flurry of wind.
The ascension continued for some time.
…
Eventually, the platform decelerated, arriving at its destination.
It was the Founder's Throne Room.
A grand hall of stone and obsidian, covered in a central, pristine white carpet.
There were four others, standing below the stairs leading to the throne.
Behind the throne was a near-indescribable sight.
A massive white sphere: bright, perfect, radiant, and unfathomably powerful.
Surrounding the sphere were a dozen, similarly white, revolving rings. They were disjointed, yet their revolutions were perfectly synchronized.
It was the barrier's core, made of the purest Soulstone.
"Maros," one of the four voices called out as he walked to their sides. "Could you make the King's favor more obvious? He would lop my head off if I were late to a summons."
"Apologies, I was dealing with the messy assignment you forced onto us."
Maros' towering frame stood close to the smaller, weasely leader of the Spire's Hand, who wore robes akin to his Hands.
"You'll regret the day you ever fucked with me, Thealin," Maros spat menacingly.
The deceptively young, black-haired man laughed to himself. "Good to see you too."
Maros stepped back, standing in the line the others had formed.
The first to arrive was the leader of the Swords, Strata's army.
Augustine Mathurin was a cold and dutiful woman, her long, platinum hair elaborately tied high. Long wisps draped down the front, adorning her stunning yet stoic face. She wore a black military uniform with golden trim lining the edges.
Second to arrive was the mysterious leader of the Vaulters, a regiment responsible for underground Valley expansion.
Cross Bednar was likely of mutant blood—though passed for human—as he was nearly half a man taller than the average. His tall and lanky frame was covered in long, hanging robes, with a constant dumbfounded smirk, thin eyes, and slick dark green hair.
The last leader was that of the Vale Rangers, a group specifically dedicated to the patrol and protection of Strata's external dominion.
Alyson Lalonde was the young replacement to the Ranger's previous leader, who died in the last bout for the crown. Her short, strawberry-blonde hair complimented her happy-go-lucky facade and civilian clothing.
None of the Five spoke nor looked at one another, waiting patiently for the King's arrival.
It felt like an eternity of listening to the core's hum before the King finally exited the chambers, walking to his throne.
"Fuck, that thing is bright," Isaak complained, shielding the core's light from his eyes before taking a seat on the throne.
The Five all took a knee, bowing their heads in formality.
"Stand, stand," the Isaak beckoned with his hands, to which the Five complied.
The King wore casual, average clothing, unbefitting of his status and ceremonial setting. Though, the power of his presence was enough to grab anyone's attention.
"To keep it short and simple, I've decided that I must utilize my wartime right to delay the Crown's Passing Ceremony."
Though Maros didn't look at the reactions of the Hand and Sword, he didn't need to. They were livid.
This was a move that greatly benefitted Maros. It gave him more time to catch up, while contrarily the others would stagnate or weaken under the stress of war.
"Though under the restrictions of the Ceremony, those abstaining will be forced to declare now." the King continued.
Two hands rose.
"The Vaulters abstain."
"The Vale Rangers abstain."
Maros' eyes rose in pleasant surprise.
He had anticipated the Ranger's abstention due to their leader barely being a Maven, but the Vaulter's decision hadn't nearly been as expected.
Though they would be the most impacted by war, the leaders weren't foolish enough to risk everything for a dangerous and unlikely outcome.
"No one else?"
The rest remained silent.
The Warden, the Hand, and the Sword remained, their eyes smoldering with a concoction of ambition and hatred.
Next year's Ceremony for the crown would end in a bloodbath.
Anything else but obtaining the crown was a failure
And Maros rejected failure.
***
Jett's next two days were spent tirelessly reviewing the remaining 100 students.
He had come down to a list of 4 students, ranked based on their likelihood to be the spy.
And at number two on his list was none other than Niko Brunet.
The son of the man he killed.
…
This wasn't personal, it was pure coincidence that Niko happened to fit the criteria.
Jett found the circumstances of his mother's 'death' to be vague.
The fact that the Brunet family had jewelry connections in other kingdoms including the Divine Crusaders, and that Patrice Brunet oversaw those routes, made it a real possibility that she had been kidnapped and used against Niko.
Regardless of whether his wild speculation was true or not, Niko was currently orphaned, only cared for by distant relatives.
The ones who were the most isolated and broken were the easiest to control.
Jett scoffed at the irony.