There had been nothing overtly alarming inside Ludger's suitcase.
When I first opened it, I found exactly what one would expect from a high-level academic: tailored suits, a collection of dense magic theory books, and several peer-reviewed theses. I had sorted them neatly, placing the research on mana-conductivity to one side and the personal effects to the other.
Ludger seemed to be a man of varied tastes. Alongside the complex grimoires were popular adventure novels and essays by contemporary philosophers. He had a portable tobacco pipe that doubled as a focus for magic casting—a common affectation for wizards of a certain status—and a heavy silver pocket watch.
I had scrutinized his identification papers with a hunter's eye.
Ludger Chelysie. Fallen aristocracy from the Kingdom of Queoden. No living siblings. Parents deceased.
'Perfect,' I had thought at the time. A man with a title but no tether. No one to come looking for him, no family to point at my face and scream "imposter." His record was impeccable—Rank Four at twenty-six, military service, twelve published papers. He was a model citizen of the Empire.
For two weeks, I played the part. I spent my days walking the sprawling, impossible grounds of Sorenth Academy, memorizing the geography. I learned the shortcuts between the faculty towers and the student dorms. I sat in quiet cafes, sipping bitter coffee and watching the students—young, gifted, and blissfully unaware of the war-torn world outside these walls.
But today, the peace shattered.
The Shadow at the Table
I was sitting at an outdoor table of a small cafe on the edge of the Academy's residential district, watching two female students giggle as they hurried toward their next orientation session. I was mentally preparing for my own introductory lecture when a woman sat down at the table next to mine.
She didn't look at me. She simply adjusted her wide-brimmed hat and spoke in a whisper that cut through the morning air like a chilled blade.
"I'm glad you're safe. Why didn't you contact us for two weeks?"
My hand, reaching for my coffee cup, stilled for a fraction of a second. I didn't turn my head. My instincts—the ones that had kept me alive in the trenches—screamed at me to stay still.
'Is she talking to me?'
I scanned the perimeter. The patio was nearly empty. There was no one else within earshot. This woman wasn't a stranger making a mistake; she was a contact.
"I was worried you'd encountered trouble," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "The other members are wondering what happened to Mr. First Order."
My stomach did a cold, slow roll.
First Order.
The pieces of the puzzle I hadn't even known I was solving began to click into place with a terrifying thud.
"I had things to check," I replied. I didn't plan the words; I let my "Ludger" persona take the lead. My voice was a cold, aristocratic rasp. "Information that needed verifying."
"The terrorist incident on the train?" she asked, finally glancing toward me. "It was an unplanned variable. No one knew the rebels would strike the same rail line Mr. First Order was using."
"I needed to see Sören for myself," I said, leaning back. "There is a difference between a briefing and reality."
The woman nodded, seemingly cowed by my tone. "I... I understand. You're as thorough as they said."
I took a sip of my coffee, though it tasted like ash. "And your progress?"
"The preliminary stage is complete," she whispered. "We have successfully removed several key figures among the Academy staff—mostly low-level employees to avoid immediate suspicion."
I almost choked. Assassinations.
"And the traitor?" I asked, testing the waters.
The woman's face paled. "Disposed of. The Second Orders pulled his limbs and crammed them into his own throat before feeding the rest to the hounds. It was... a fitting end for a turncoat."
I felt a bead of sweat roll down my spine. These weren't just rebels. They were a cult. A secret society of monsters.
"Good," I said, my heart hammering. "How many are currently settled in?"
"Thirty-one Third Orders. Seven Second Orders. And the other First Order is already embedded in the administration, as planned."
'Forty of them,' I thought. 'An entire cell of fanatics inside the Empire's greatest fortress.'
"I'm done checking," I said, standing up. I didn't want to hear another word. I needed to get away before my mask cracked.
"Oh! Will you be attending the secret meeting tonight? The designated cellar?"
I turned to her, my eyes narrowing. I didn't know where the cellar was. If I asked, I was dead.
"Do you really think," I said, lowering my voice until it was a lethal silk, "that I take orders from someone like you? I will decide the time and place of my meetings. If I am needed, I will be summoned by another First Order—or the Zero Order itself. Am I clear?"
The woman shivered, her eyes widening in terror. "Y-yes! I'm sorry, Mr. First Order! I made a slip of the tongue!"
"Don't let it happen again. This is your only warning."
I walked away without looking back.
The Code
The moment I reached my cottage, I bolted the door and raced up to the bedroom. I tore Ludger's suitcase out of the closet and dumped the contents onto the bed.
I grabbed the letters—the formal, boring exchanges between "acquaintances"—and spread them out. I looked at the strange phrasing I'd dismissed as academic dryly.
'It's not dry,' I whispered, my hands shaking. 'It's a cipher.'
I used a basic military decryption pattern. Every third word after a vowel. The first letter of every fourth sentence.
The letters weren't about book recommendations. They were coordinates. Kill lists. Instructions on how to bypass the Sören mana-wards.
Ludger Chelysie. The fallen aristocrat. The youngest Rank Four. The perfect citizen.
It was all a lie. The real Ludger wasn't a professor who happened to be caught in a raid. He was the spearhead of a secret society. An executive-level terrorist sent to rot the Empire from the inside.
And now, I was wearing his face. I was living in his house. I was drawing a salary from the school he was meant to destroy.
I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as the magnitude of my situation sank in.
"I'm an imposter... inside a sleeper cell... inside a magic academy," I groaned, covering my face with my hands.
If the Empire found out, they'd execute me. If the secret society found out I wasn't the real First Order, they'd feed my limbs to the dogs.
I was "riding the tiger," but the tiger was currently inside a powder keg.
"Two years," I whispered, the absurdity of the situation almost making me laugh. "I just have to survive two years of teaching magic to geniuses while pretending to be a terrorist mastermind."
I looked at the black envelope I had found earlier. I hadn't opened it yet. I reached for it, my fingers hovering over the seal.
"Let's see what the 'First Order' is actually supposed to do."