1. The First: An elderly man in a majestic military uniform, his face marked by a jagged scar—a silent testament to a thousand battles.
2. The Second: A woman appearing like an ancient sage, her sharp intellect hidden behind thin-rimmed spectacles and scholarly robes.
3. The Third: A corpulent tycoon, his fingers heavy with gold rings and diamonds that sparkled with every breath he took.
4. The Fourth: A mysterious youth clad in dark leather, a recurve bow slung across his back like a coiled serpent.
5. The Fifth: A figure entirely shrouded in a seamless black suit, possessing eyes so piercing they felt like needles pressing against the skin.
Silence reigned until the figure in black broke it. Leaning forward slightly, he asked in a voice of deceptive calm:
"Mr. Kaelen... I trust you are well?"
Gideon felt the air turn to ice. The man's predatory gaze was locked onto his. In that heartbeat, the true weight of the burden Kaelen Voss had placed on his shoulders became terrifyingly clear.
'I am... impersonating Kaelen Voss.'
Though his heart drummed against his ribs like a war cadency, Gideon forced his features into a mask of absolute stillness. He remembered Kaelen's instructions: Shoulders back, chin slightly tilted—the posture of a king.
The man in black swirled his wine, his voice dropping an octave. "You seem... different today, Mr. Kaelen. I was just thinking about that grand manor you're residing in. Do you happen to remember the original owner?"
Gideon swallowed hard, the taste of copper in his throat. Before he could falter, the man provided the answer himself.
"The original owner, Mr. Watt, was a close kinsman of mine. A man of iron discipline and ruthless resolve. I find myself quite curious as to how such an estate fell into the hands of a man like you..."
It was a trap—a test disguised as small talk. Gideon was on the precipice of exposure when Julian, sitting beside him, intervened with a sly, knowing smile.
"Ah... Mr. Watt," Julian remarked smoothly. "A remarkable man, indeed. But you seem to have forgotten one minor detail." Julian paused to take a sip of wine. "No matter how much of a lion Mr. Watt was in public, he was famously a lamb before his wife at home. Is it not poetic justice that the manor of such a henpecked man should end up in the hands of one destined to build an empire?"
A ripple of dry laughter broke the tension around the table. The man in black's eyes narrowed, but the lethal edge in the room softened. Gideon threw a quick, grateful glance at Julian.
The clock struck 6:30. The hour of the hunt.
Gideon picked up a silver spoon and surveyed the table with the cold authority of a commander. "Eat," he commanded. "The hour is late."
He began to eat, every movement calculated to mimic the grace of a true protagonist. Emboldened by his poise, the five strangers exchanged meaningful looks and joined in.
Throughout the dinner, the salvos began. They attacked Gideon with complex questions on territorial trade, economics, and military stratagem.
"Mr. Kaelen, what is your move if the trade routes of Realm 3 are blockaded?"
"How do you intend to dismantle the pharmaceutical monopoly held by the tyrants?"
Each question made Gideon break into a cold sweat. But Julian was a phantom shield. Whenever Gideon neared a breaking point, Julian would lean in, ostensibly to pour wine or adjust a dish, while weaving an answer into the conversation.
"That particular issue is already addressed in our Phase Two initiative..."
"Mr. Kaelen has envisioned a much more profound solution than simple retaliation..."
By the end of the night, Gideon—who knew nothing—appeared to be the sage who knew everything. As they finally exited the hall into the biting night air, Gideon found his back was drenched in sweat despite the frost.
Once safely inside the carriage, he let out a jagged breath. "Julian... if it wasn't for you, I'd be a dead man. That man in black looked ready to swallow me whole."
Julian smiled as he signaled the driver toward the manor. "This is only the beginning, Gideon. Master Kaelen intends to place you on a much grander stage. What you achieved tonight was a necessary victory."
The carriage sped through the darkness, racing toward the sanctuary of the manor.
Inside the manor's drawing room, the flames in the hearth danced with a rhythmic crackle. Kaelen Voss sat regally upon his black leather sofa, a silent sentinel awaiting their return. Moments after they arrived, the tailor in the scarlet suit also strolled in, casually whistling as if he had merely taken a light evening walk.
Gideon collapsed onto a sofa the moment he entered the room. Wiping the perspiration from his brow, he let out a heavy, ragged sigh.
"I'm exhausted, Master..." Gideon confessed, his voice weary. "Acting as Kaelen Voss for even a second felt like an eternity. If Julian hadn't been there to intervene so skillfully, I would surely have returned in total disgrace."
Julian nodded in agreement from the side. "It's true, Master. Gideon gave his absolute best, but the pressure exerted by those five was formidable indeed."
Kaelen savored a sip of his wine, his piercing gaze locking onto Gideon with unyielding intensity before he spoke with measured calm.
"Gideon... your exhaustion does not stem from your body; it comes from your mind," Kaelen began, his voice dropping to a resonant baritone. "The moment you step into the role of Kaelen, you must utterly annihilate the identity of Gideon. The realization that 'I am Kaelen' must permeate your very blood and bone."
Kaelen rose from the sofa and paced slowly toward Gideon, his presence looming like a shadow over the hearth.
"The fear you felt back there was a lack of Mental Power. Understand this: Mental Power is not sorcery. It is the capacity to think and reason with absolute courage. Even if the opposition strikes you with a question you cannot answer, do not let the realization of your ignorance shake you. Instead, pivot. Redirect the very essence of their question back at them. To manipulate the narrative is the hallmark of a true ruler."
Kaelen rested a steady hand on Gideon's shoulder, delving deeper into the mechanics of the human psyche.
"People look at your eyes and listen to your tone far more than they weigh your actual words. If you possess absolute conviction in your soul, then whatever you utter becomes the Truth. In the forging of an empire, the force of will is far more lethal than the edge of a blade."
The midnight air within the manor grew heavy with the weight of Kaelen's philosophy. Julian, who had been listening intently, suddenly interjected with a curious spark in his eyes.
"That reminds me, Master... while we were risking our lives playing charades at the hotel, where were you? What were you doing?"
Kaelen set his wine glass onto the table with a soft, clinical click and replied with icy indifference.
"While you were serving as my distractions at the dinner table... I was in the Deputy Minister's bedchamber, stealing the Official Seal from his private vault."