A heavy, oppressive silence anchored the Grand Hall. The Duke's piercing gaze bore into me, frantically searching my face for a microscopic trace of deceit or hesitation. He found nothing but a freezing, abyssal void.
"A mine... Tier-4 beasts... Safe operational vectors," my father murmured, slowly steepling his fingers on the mahogany table. "Your claims entirely lack empirical precedent, Adrian. You have practically never left the manor grounds. How could you possibly map the terrain of a restricted quarantine zone that our most elite scouts haven't dared to breach?"
"Data collection does not require physical proximity, Father. It merely requires a processor capable of properly connecting the variables," I replied, my tone dripping with an icy, aristocratic condescension. "While my vessel was supposedly 'bedridden', I was actively charting the erratic, ambient mana frequencies bleeding into the estate's perimeter. The telemetric results unequivocally point to a hyper-dense, pure energy core deep within the forest."
Silas let out a loud, grating laugh, tilting his chair back with insufferable arrogance. "Oh, listen to this! Now he's a 'mana telemetry analyst'! Father, he's orchestrating a mass suicide mission just to camouflage his humiliating dismissal by Alicia."
The Duke raised a single hand, instantly cutting off the room's murmurs. His eyes locked onto mine with lethal severity. "I will not authorize a military deployment. I will not gamble the foundational wealth of this House on your 'calculations'. But I will grant you one single parameter: A preliminary scouting operation. Return with empirical, physical proof of this mine's existence, and we will negotiate the next phase. Fail... and your permanent exile is an absolute, irreversible certainty."
I offered a shallow, measured nod. "A perfectly balanced equation. However, I have one non-negotiable condition: I personally select my operational unit."
"Granted," the Duke stated coldly. "Proceed to the training grounds. Select five personnel. I will not waste a single asset more on a highly volatile gamble."
[The Training Grounds]
I stepped out into the sprawling, dust-choked courtyard. The moment my black-clad silhouette appeared, accompanied by the suffocating weight of my chilling gaze, the aggressive clashing of steel violently ceased. Whispers ignited across the ranks like a spark in dry brush.
I passively engaged [Analytical Vision], my eyes sweeping over the vanguard. I wasn't scanning for crude muscle mass or aggressive, wasted mana output. I was running a strict diagnostic on their "combat architectures."
I entirely bypassed the heavily armored, arrogant squad captains who sneered at my approach. Instead, my gaze zeroed in on the absolute fringes of the courtyard. I halted before a ragged young man quietly polishing a chipped, half-broken broadsword, and a lone girl systematically firing arrows at a target in absolute, isolated silence.
"You. And you," I pointed with a black-gloved finger. "Along with three personnel from the logistical support division."
A collective, mocking laughter erupted across the courtyard. A towering, heavily scarred veteran knight stepped forward, grinning maliciously. "Planning to use the rejects and supply rookies as meat shields against the forest beasts, Little Lord?"
I slowly turned my head to face him. My gaze was so terrifyingly devoid of human warmth that the laughter began to immediately choke and die in their throats.
"Applying brute force within the Gray Shadows is mathematical suicide," I stated, my voice echoing with absolute disdain. "I have zero use for defective meat-heads blindly swinging oversized iron. I require hyper-precise instruments capable of executing operational commands without a microsecond of hesitation."
I shifted my attention back to my newly drafted unit. They looked profoundly bewildered, yet a faint, desperate spark of hope flickered in their eyes.
"Calibrate your gear. We mobilize at dawn," I commanded, turning my back on the paralyzed courtyard. "By tomorrow evening, you will fully comprehend that the deciding variable between life and death is not the crude length of your blade... but the absolute precision of your calculations."