The Inquisitor's final words hung in the air. A verdict.
Edward felt a cold, sinking sensation. The performance, the pain, the desperate gamble—all of it was for nothing. Jackhad seen through the facade. He hadn't been testing Edward's power. He had been confirming a conclusion he had already reached.
Edward kept the Shadowfang Dagger pressed against the Inquisitor's throat. His mind raced. He held the man's life in his hands. He could end it right here. One quick motion.
But what then? He would be a fugitive. A murderer of a holy man. The entire weight of the Inquisition would come crashing down on him. Hunted to the ends of the earth.
Killing him was not a solution. It was just a different, faster path to damnation.
Jackseemed to read his thoughts. The cold, predatory smile never wavered. "Go on, boy," he whispered. A mocking dare. "Do it. Fulfill your monstrous nature. Prove me right."
He was being goaded again. Pushed to become the very thing the Inquisitor wanted him to be.
And in that moment, Edward knew what he had to do.
He had to play the long game. He had to be the one thing Jackdidn't expect.
Patient.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Edward lowered the dagger. He stepped back. He put a respectful distance between them. A slight, imperceptible bow of his head. A gesture of a student yielding to his superior.
He was conceding the match, even though he had won. A calculated submission. A final, desperate gambit to stay on the board.
Jackwatched him. A flicker of genuine surprise finally broke through his serene mask. He seemed momentarily thrown. He had expected a cornered animal to lash out. Instead, he got a calculating player who had just made a surprising move.
The Inquisitor stooped down. He cradled his broken wrist. He picked up his fallen silver sword. He sheathed the blade with a soft, metallic whisper.
"A fascinating choice, Mr. Ross," Jacksaid. His voice was thoughtful. Analytical. The moment of open zealotry had passed. Replaced by the calm, chilling demeanor of the examiner. "You continue to be a puzzle."
He didn't say another word. He turned and walked towards the chamber door. His posture was as erect and dignified as ever, despite his injury. He paused at the exit. He looked back at Edward one last time.
"The Headmaster will inform you of my official findings," he said. His voice echoed. "Do try to stay out of trouble. Anomalies that draw too much attention have a tendency of being… corrected."
And then he was gone.
The heavy door thudded shut. Leaving Edward alone in the sterile, oppressive silence. He stood there for a long time. The adrenaline slowly drained away. Leaving a cold, hollow exhaustion. He hadn't been executed. He hadn't been arrested. But he hadn't been cleared, either.
He had simply survived another round. His fate was still hanging in the balance.
He made his way back to his supply closet. The academy halls felt more like a prison than ever. Every shadow seemed to hold a watchful eye. Every whisper seemed to carry his name. He was a dead man walking.
He didn't have to wait long for the official verdict.
An hour later, the same nervous instructor appeared at his door. The man wouldn't look at him. His eyes were fixed on the wall just over Edward's shoulder.
"Examiner Jackhas concluded his assessment," the instructor recited. His voice was a flat, robotic monotone. "He has filed his report with the Headmaster." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Your official status has been classified as 'Unidentified Threat - Level 3.' You are to be placed on a secret, internal watchlist. Your movements will be monitored. Any further… anomalies… are to be reported directly to the Headmaster's office."
Edward just stared. Unidentified Threat. Watchlist. It was a suspended sentence.
Jackwasn't exposing him. Not yet. Why? Was it a game? Was the Inquisitor a cat who preferred to play with his food before the final kill?
"That is all," the instructor squeaked. He turned and practically fled down the corridor.
Edward closed the door. A wave of temporary, hollow relief washed over him. He wasn't free. He wasn't safe. But he was alive. For now, that was enough.
He sat down on the floor. He felt a desperate need to quantify his own existence. To see the cold, hard numbers that defined his precarious state.
He pulled up his HUD. The familiar blue screen was a strange comfort.
[Edward Ross]
Class: [???]
Level: 5
HP: 35/90 (Injured)
MP: 60/60
SP: 5
[Stats]
STR: 11
VIT: 4
DEX: 16
INT: 12
WIS: 12
LCK: ?
SPD: 10
[Status Effects]
- Internal Injury (Moderate): Result of Cursed Soulblade usage. Natural VIT recovery is halved.
- Soul Corruption (5%): A minor but persistent stain on the soul. May have unforeseen consequences.
He stared at the numbers. A grim accounting of his self-destruction. His Vitality was a catastrophic 4. The "Internal Injury" debuff was a constant, physical reminder of his desperate gamble. He was a wounded animal. A predator limping on three legs.
But as his eyes scanned the screen, he noticed something new.
A line of text he had never seen before. Listed right at the very top. Written in a faint, silvery script. It made his blood run cold. A quiet, terrifying confirmation of his new reality.
`[Passive Status Effect: Inquisition's Gaze]`
`[Description: Your actions are being monitored by a higher authority. Use of forbidden abilities increases detection chance by 10%.]`
He was marked.
The system itself was now acknowledging his status. It wasn't just the academy staff watching him. It was a metaphysical, systemic surveillance. The gaze of the Inquisition was not just the eyes of Valerius. It was a curse. A debuff. A permanent, passive weight on his every action.
He let out a long, slow breath. The temporary relief vanished. Replaced by a cold, hard certainty. This was not a reprieve. It was a tightening of the leash.
Jackhadn't let him go. He had simply placed him in a larger, more invisible cage. He was waiting for him to reveal his true nature. And now, he had the system itself helping him watch.
Edward looked at the Shadowfang Dagger lying beside him. Its black blade seemed to drink the dim light. He could hear its faint, hungry whispers in the back of his mind. ...Feed me...
He picked it up. The cold, familiar weight was a strange comfort.
The Inquisition thought they were the hunters. They thought they had him trapped. But they had made one critical miscalculation.
They had left the monster alive.
And a monster, no matter how wounded or how closely watched, would always, eventually, need to hunt.