Chapter 151 – Scrying and Lead.

Morning at the Lower Cauldrons Estate began with the acrid smell of powdered silver and mineral solvent being mixed in the inner courtyard.

Aurelia-Elysia and Seraphina had returned from the magic market early, carrying a wooden crate with six opaque quartz crystals and two bags of runic silver powder.

Diana was kneeling on the gravel, using a ceramic bowl to mix a viscous paste of metallic powder and purified linseed oil. With her proficiency in Level 20 Alchemy, she knew the exact density required for the compound to adhere to granite without flaking off under the valley's heat.

“Apply the mixture to the seams of every upstairs window, Aurelia,” Diana instructed, handing a stiff-bristled brush to the priestess. “Cover the fireplace frames and the cistern's air duct as well.”

Seraphina stepped onto the porch ledge with two crystals in hand, mounting the runic stones onto the roof's support beams.

The protection was purely preventative: a closed-circuit anti-scrying barrier.

Once the masonry was sealed, any clairvoyance spell or long-range magical eye cast against the manor would bounce off the silver film, perceiving only gray fog and empty rooms.

Diana climbed the back stairs to the roof eaves to apply the runic paste to the chimney flue.

Zarek sat atop the black shingles, one of his moon swords resting across his knees and four chitin arms idle on his thighs. The swordsman looked out toward the city's eastern sector, all six eyes blinking in a slow rhythm.

“No need to waste silver on that corner of the chimney, Diana,” Zarek said in a low voice, without turning his head. “The fellow watching us isn't using magical clairvoyance spells.”

Diana paused the brush in midair, her obsidian horns picking up the shift in his tone. “Where is he?”

“On the cooling tower of the old decommissioned foundry.” Zarek pointed with his gray chin toward a rusted iron structure rising two hundred meters away at the end of the southern avenue. “He has been perched on the third-tier catwalk since six in the morning. He's using an ordinary crystal-lens spyglass to look down here.”

***

Diana set the bowl of paste on the roof and activated [Command Eye].

Backed by her 92 Perception points, the Commander narrowed her vision onto the abandoned foundry's metal framework.

The lenses of her vertical pupils adjusted to the distance with mechanical precision, piercing the smoke from the chimneys until she made out a crouched silhouette behind an iron sheet on the tower catwalk:

It was a slender demon in a dark gray cloak, holding a long brass cylinder with magnifying lenses aimed straight at the courtyard of the Lower Cauldrons Estate. On the lapel of the spy's cloak gleamed a small metal brooch bearing the crest of an iron scale twined with crimson flames.

Diana recognized the crest from the archives she had studied in the Second Circle.

It was not the outpost's ordinary patrol guard.

It was the insignia of House Morvath, one of the wealthiest noble clans in the Third Circle, proprietors of underground arenas and direct sponsors of several gladiators competing in the Conquerors' Bracket.

The Commander descended from the roof with quiet footfalls and called Rhea over to the side of the porch.

“There is a scout on the iron tower two hundred meters to the east,” Diana murmured to the wolf girl. “He's using ordinary lenses. I want you to circle through the dry sewage channel, climb the blind girders of the foundry, and confirm whether he is alone or if there is a support squad at the base of the tower. Do not engage. Just observe and return.”

Rhea pulled the collar of her night-blue coat up around her neck, silver ears flattened in total focus.

“I'll be back in ten minutes, Diana.”

The girl slipped through the side gate with the invisible speed of her 124 Agility points, melting into the shadow of the walls without raising a single speck of dust from the gravel.

***

Rhea returned ahead of schedule.

She stepped through the kitchen door soundlessly, brushing a cobweb from her shoulder, and stopped before Diana in the dining room:

“He's alone on the catwalk,” Rhea reported with steady breath. “But he has a leather clipboard strapped to his belt. He's noting the times Kael drills in the courtyard, the types of spells Aurelia casts, and the size of the golems Seraphina summons. He already has two pages of notes on our movements.”

Kael slammed his iron gauntlet onto the table in anger: “That bastard is scouting our tactics to sell to the arena fighters!”

“Let him take notes,” Diana said with an icy smile on her lips.

She sat back in the cedar chair, resting her chin on her gloved hand:

“He thinks he's gathering useful intelligence. But he has only seen what we display in the courtyard under low gravity. He doesn't know Aurelia possesses over a thousand mana, doesn't know Kael reflects physical damage back at the attacker, and doesn't know Rhea has reached one hundred and twenty-four speed.”

Diana looked at Mai, who was sitting on the floor chewing a strip of jerky, tail swaying:

“Tomorrow morning we will train in the open courtyard again. But we will drill with false rotations.”

Kael blinked, curious. “False rotations, Commander?”

“Yes,” Diana explained with analytical chill. “Kael, you will pretend your left arm still struggles to absorb impacts high on your shield. Aurelia, use only basic barrier spells with long casting times. Let the House Morvath spy fill his report with weaknesses we do not possess.”

Zarek chuckled from the stairwell, clapping with four hands: “You're truly wicked on the inside, Diana. That clan's champion will march into the arena thinking he's facing a pack of limping rookies.”

***

By nightfall, the manor was completely shielded by the film of silver and quartz over the windows.

The spy on the tower remained perched on the cold iron, watching the property through his brass spyglass, piously believing he was invisible in the shadows of the abandoned foundry.

Diana went up to the house's upper terrace before turning in.

She wore her black leather coat, the Crown of Arcane Sovereignty resting firm between her black horns.

The Commander walked to the edge of the parapet, standing beneath the reddish light of the valley sky. She did not hide behind boards and did not pull her hood over her face.

Diana turned her head squarely toward the cooling tower two hundred meters away.

Backed by her 92 Perception points, she locked eyes onto the glass lenses of the spy's telescope in the dark.

Diana raised her right hand slowly.

She touched two fingers to her temple in an ironic military salute and allowed the two golden rings of her vertical pupils to flare into a phosphorescent yellow glare that sliced straight through the night's darkness, locking with the eye of the man behind the lens.

Across on the distant tower catwalk, the brass spyglass rattled violently in the spy's hands, and he jerked his body back behind the iron plate in sheer terror, realizing he had been spotted from the very first second.

Diana lowered her hand calmly, giving a quiet, dry chuckle through her nose.

The balance of 540 Silver Coins (54 Gold Coins) remained untouched in the vault.

The pieces were set. The trap was sprung. And the Red Cauldron Arena would soon see what happened when someone tried to study Arcane Greed from the shadows.