Chapter 206: Chapter 206— Pursuance of Individuality

Adam couldn’t really think of how to get the faction thing going.

It was a huge undertaking on his part. A mission he hadn’t explicitly told the main people involved in—Bright, Duncan, Mara, and the rest. They knew he was building something. They didn’t know the scale of what he was planning.

And honestly? He was way over his head.

Because in the end, it came down to something painfully simple.

Money.

Hard-earned currency. Liquid assets. Resource flow. Material backing that could transform their loose student cooperation into a structured, sustainable organization.

And as students—

they had none of it.

Adam had merit points, yes. The squad had pooled resources before when necessary. But merit points were Academy currency—excellent for purchasing cores, equipment, and training access.

Useless for building institutions.

Useless for hiring personnel outside campus jurisdiction.

Useless for establishing supply chains, safe houses, political leverage, or anything that could rival a noble house network fortified by generations of accumulated wealth.

He could ride the wave of grievances that outpost recruits had with the nobles to start up the faction. That grievance was real. Valid. Growing stronger with every week of systematic exclusion.

But the mind of men was very fickle, as Adam would know.

He was the most fickle of all.

That self-awareness was uncomfortable but necessary. He’d built intelligence networks on transactional relationships and watched them collapse when better offers appeared. He’d seen temporary alliances dissolve when individual interests diverged. He understood, intimately, that people defaulted to self-interest when organizational loyalty wasn’t reinforced through tangible benefits.

Most people were individualistic. Always calculating the benefits they would personally possess. Always asking: What’s in this for me?

And in the disturbing world they found themselves in—where death was constant, advancement was brutal, and institutional support was conditional—most people would rather receive a daily cool night breeze for only themselves while burning with the rest of their peers in hell, than till on a farm in heaven alongside others.

That was the fundamental problem.

Building collective organization required convincing people that shared struggle was more valuable than individual comfort. That mutual support would generate better outcomes than selfish optimization.

And Adam wasn’t sure he could make that argument convincingly when he himself struggled to believe it most days.

He sat in his study chamber, documents spread across the desk, staring at incomplete hierarchies and resource allocation frameworks that assumed cooperation he hadn’t secured.

How do you build a faction when you can’t pay people?

How do you create loyalty when you’re offering future benefits instead of immediate rewards?

How do you convince individuals to subordinate personal interests to collective goals when the world has taught them that survival requires selfishness?

Adam didn’t have answers.

Just increasingly complex diagrams that represented aspirations rather than reality.

He needed to talk to Bright about this. Soon. Before the momentum from Johnmark’s defeat faded and the opportunity window closed.

But that conversation would force him to admit uncertainty. Vulnerability. The acknowledgment that he was attempting something he didn’t know how to accomplish.

Adam had built his reputation on competence. On having answers. On being the person who analyzed situations and provided solutions.

Admitting he was lost felt like admitting weakness.

But maybe weakness was necessary right now.

Maybe asking for help was the first step toward actually building something sustainable.

Adam closed his organizational notes and stood.

Tomorrow. He’d talk to the squad tomorrow.

Tonight, he’d just accept that he didn’t have this figured out yet.

That was okay.

Probably.

—–

James hadn’t had the time to pull off any stunts so far.

“Stunts” being the euphemism he used internally for espionage. For betrayal. For the assignments his Valdris handler kept sending through encrypted correspondence.

He always felt he was being watched but couldn’t tell from where.

Not literally watched—he’d checked for surveillance, had used counter-intelligence techniques he’d learned from smuggled manuals. Nothing obvious. No tails. No monitoring cores that he could detect.

But the feeling persisted.

Like invisible eyes tracked his movements. Like someone was cataloging his routines, his contacts, his behavior patterns.

It was exhausting.

“Man, James, you’ve been acting weird lately.”

The voice startled him. Xander—another Ashmar student from Crownspire, mid-tier Initiate, a decent guy who’d been trying to befriend James since the exchange program started.

They were in Sparkshire’s dining hall, sitting at one of the tables designated for foreign students. A dozen Ashmar recruits occupied nearby seats, eating and talking with the careful camaraderie of people in potentially hostile territory.

James forced a smile. “I get that I don’t like the new environment and all, but I’m trying to loosen up a bit.”

“Good. Because it’s not like we’re going to be stuck here forever.” Xander gestured vaguely at the Republic students filling the rest of the dining hall. “Some months. Maybe a year. Then we’re back home.”

“Don’t jinx it, man.” Another Ashmar student—Lia—leaned over from the adjacent table. “That’s like a sure-fire death flag. The moment you say ’what’s the worst that could happen,’ the worst happens.”

Xander laughed. “Fair point.”

James smiled and nodded but said nothing.

He felt that his handlers were testing the waters with him.

The assignments so far had been relatively benign. Gather information about Sparkshire’s training schedules. Document which students were advancing quickly. Report on instructor capabilities and teaching methods.

Nothing directly harmful. Nothing that would get anyone killed immediately.

But James recognized testing when he saw it.

Valdris was evaluating his compliance. His competence. His willingness to follow progressively more compromising instructions.

And he knew—with the kind of sick certainty that kept him awake most nights—what their main goal was.

Disrupt the Republic’s joint operation with Solhaven and Ashmar.

Make its cooperation fail. Create friction. Turn the diplomatic initiative into a political disaster.

James was one tool among many being used toward that objective.

He wondered how many other students at this table were also compromised. How many were reporting to their own handlers. How many layers of espionage were operating simultaneously beneath the surface of friendly conversation.

“Where’s Johnmark?” someone asked.

“He went to deliver the message,” Lia answered.

“I mean, why did they give that kind of sensitive job to him?” Xander sounded genuinely baffled. “He literally has no sly bone in his body. The guy’s about as subtle as a siege weapon.”

“Well, in our country’s case, he is the least likely of us to die here, so…” Lia shrugged. “As far as the messages are being delivered, it’s a win for Ashmar. Any slight intelligence we can provide would be spectacular. Remember that.”

James’s attention sharpened.

Messages?

Intelligence gathering?

Ashmar was running their own operation, he had just forgotten about it. Of course they were. Every nation involved in the exchange program would be gathering intelligence. That was just a rational strategic behavior.

But hearing it discussed so casually—in a public dining hall, with Republic students potentially in earshot—suggested either extreme confidence in operational security or dangerous carelessness.

“Although our stay here can be termed as dangerous,” Lia continued, lowering her voice slightly, “this can be the fastest track to higher positions in the army once we’re back home. Keep your wits about you and stay sharp.”

Several Ashmar students nodded in agreement.

James nodded along with them, maintaining his cover as a loyal Ashmar recruit.

But behind the scenes, in the back of his thoughts, he wondered what else his fingers were primed to disfigure.

What other intelligence would Valdris demand?

What escalations were coming?

How many more lines would he cross before this was over?

He’d already stolen classified Shroud manipulation research.

What came next?

Active sabotage? Assassination? Something even worse that he couldn’t imagine yet?

James finished his meal mechanically, tasting nothing, and excused himself early.

He needed to check his dead drop. See if new instructions had arrived.

And he needed to prepare himself mentally for whatever fresh horror his handler would demand.

The dining hall noise faded behind him as he walked toward the maintenance corridors.

Behind him, Ashmar students continued their conversation about intelligence gathering and career advancement.

None of them knew James was betraying them all.

None of them knew that Valdris had operatives in every faction, playing every side, ensuring chaos regardless of individual loyalties.

And James was too deep to stop now.

So he’d keep going.

Keep betraying.

Keep wondering what else his fingers—his actions, his reports, his cooperation—would destroy before this nightmare ended.

If it ever ended.

The maintenance corridor was empty and dark.

James checked his dead drop with hands that barely trembled anymore.

Treason, it turned out, got easier with practice.

That realization was the worst part.

—–

In his study chamber, Adam stared at his documents and wondered how to build loyalty when everyone had learned that betrayal was safer.

In the dining hall, Ashmar students discussed intelligence gathering like it was just another assignment.

In the maintenance corridor, James retrieved encrypted instructions that would push him further into moral compromise.

And throughout Sparkshire Academy, dozens of similar calculations were happening simultaneously.

Everyone pursuing individual advantage.

Everyone assuming they were the only one playing games.

Everyone wrong about how many layers of deception were operating beneath surface interactions.

The exchange program continued.

And the foundations of cooperation crumbled a little more each day.

Exactly as Valdris intended.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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