The Poet's System
Chapter 61: Translation of Bait

Chapter 61: Translation of Bait

"You’ve made quite a few enemies, I must say,"

Captain Rhea said as she adjusted her seat, eyes fixed on Daylan through the call gate.

"I don’t know what you’re mixed up in, and frankly, I don’t want to. Just remember—if it goes against the law, then that makes you my enemy too."

Daylan stared at her, his expression unreadable, as Rhea rose from her seat and left with a salute—and a wink.

Daylan didn’t need Rhea to flaunt her authority to know that something was brewing behind the scenes.

Astara’s decision to leave—and the sudden visit and arrest by Medora’s mother, Lyra—still lingered in his mind.

He sat on the floor, rats nibbling at the shards of his bread beside his legs. His back rested against the wall, head tilted slightly upward, lost in thought.

He couldn’t rule out the possibility that Astara was somehow involved. Her actions and decisions suggested she knew something—but at the same time, it was hard to believe. Or maybe he just didn’t want to believe it.

It was already late into the night, nearly five hours since his arrest. Rhea had said they’d decide what to do with him the next day.

Not wanting to make things worse, he had no choice but to wait and see what fate the next day would bring.

It was a restless night, filled with spiraling thoughts, unease, and anxiety about the future.

Was this how the system dealt with punishment for breaking its rules? Giselle still didn’t know he was alive—so how? Or were her followers still watching through the thick mist of hell just to reach her? If that was the case, then did it mean the spy was a chivalry?

He yearned for something solid to hold onto throughout the night, but there was none. Before he knew it, morning had come—and he hadn’t slept a single moment.

Despite being a prisoner, the guards still showed him respect. While the other prisoners were doused with cold water to wake them up, Daylan remained undisturbed—he was instead served hot porridge and bread.

Daylan braced himself for news of his release, hoping to return home to a calm environment where he could finally think things through. However, each time he asked, Captain Rhea simply told him to be patient.

He was frustrated but kept his cool, turning to workouts to kill time. He started with push-ups but hadn’t even reached his 500th when Rhea appeared again, positioning her seat in front of the prison gate.

He was eager to hear what she had to say, but he didn’t want to stop his push-ups halfway.

"Am I free to go now?" he muttered, without breaking his rhythm.

"I’m afraid I don’t have permission to release you just yet."

Daylan immediately paused, turning to her with a frown.

"Huh?"

"You heard me. I can’t let you go—I haven’t had the chance to speak with Captain Stanley yet."

"What? Then talk to Astara or one of the lieutenants. Anyone."

Rhea refused to say another word. Instead, she picked up her seat and walked away.

Daylan watched as she placed it behind her desk, sat down, and leaned back with a smirk.

"What the fuck is going on?" He muttered to himself and sat on the floor.

At that moment, the first thought that came to mind was that Captain Stanley was simply trying to get him out of the way to investigate the Fools on his own. But no—something about that didn’t sit right with Daylan.

He rose to his feet and began pacing back and forth across the room, desperate for something concrete—something he could hold on to now.

Stanley was unlikely to pull something like this—if he wanted Daylan out of the way, he could’ve ordered it from the start. That meant someone else didn’t want him to solve the case.

But that also meant whoever it was knew Captain Stanley had given him a deadline. Rhea’s flimsy excuse wasn’t cutting it.

Nevertheless, he was only willing to wait a little longer. If nothing was done about his release, he would leave and solve everything himself—before the case ended up pointing back to him.

Daylan sat back down on the floor, snapping his fingers repeatedly. With nothing left to do for what felt like an eternity, he decided to use the time to figure out exactly how he could alter people’s thoughts.

Mastering the ability to alter people’s minds wasn’t just about completing the mission—it was also his first step toward reshaping the Spiral Force System into something of his own.

Something he could control, rather than something that controlled him—just as Pry had suggested.

Daylan had a clear vision of what he intended to create—what he would turn Spiral Mind into. To reshape it, he needed access not just to a person’s thoughts, but to their emotions as well. Fortunately, he had already been gifted with both abilities.

The best course of action was practice—but that was nearly impossible with the guards making noise in the guardhouse and constantly roaming the prison corridors, which were practically part of the same hall.

With so many obstacles in his way, he wanted to spend the entire afternoon refining his theory—to avoid countless trials and errors later.

What was his target thinking? What did they trust, and what did they question? What were their beliefs, their internal logic? What triggered their emotions? And more importantly, what were their traumatic experiences and memory anchors?

These were the questions Daylan believed he needed to answer right from the start—just by reading someone’s mind.

But he already knew it wouldn’t be easy; he could barely maintain the connection for a minute. He needed shortcuts—tricks that would help him reach those answers faster.

By now, the night was fast approaching. Since their last conversation, Rhea hadn’t come by to check on him—not even once.

And Daylan hadn’t tried to see her either, not even a glance. He was too busy pacing back and forth in his cell, focused on straightening out his theory.

As he thought, he found himself mumbling aloud—often speaking his thoughts without realizing it. A few guards occasionally checked on him, asking if he needed anything.

However, that didn’t stop him from putting together the final pieces to form a workable theory.

When it came to emotions—the most crucial part of his entire theory—his strategy was to loop the target’s thoughts back at them, but subtly altered.

He would reinforce their dependency with just a few carefully chosen words, like ’No one understands you but me.’ He’d associate safety and comfort with his presence while linking danger and doubt to everyone else.

With that, he could weaponize their guilt, love, fear—even their loyalty. After all, who wouldn’t trust someone who told them exactly what they’d been longing to hear for years?

But what he was planning required more than just exploiting emotional instability to shake someone’s identity or thoughts.

He needed something darker—something truly sinister, capable of breaking people down completely.

His eyes lit up with a sudden spark of excitement the moment he recalled something.

This, he believed, was where he needed both Dark Spiral and Spiral Form to succeed.

Once Dark Spiral was activated, with the right concentration, he could use Spiral Form to create objects and place them wherever he desired.

He first realized this during the tournament, when he formed a metal ball and embedded it into a hellhound’s skull, causing it to bleed from the head.

Later, when captured by Enzo, he did something similar—creating a metal cube and placing it inside one of the guards’ heads.

But now, things were different—and potentially much easier. He believed it might even allow him to directly replace thoughts.

The system now claimed that with Spiral Form, all he had to do was imagine it, and it could be his. Whether that was true or not, he would find out later that night.

Not long after he finished brainstorming, his meal was brought to him. Just one glance at it was enough to make him realize how much he had begun to miss Medora and Astara.

He had done his best not to expect a visit from either of them, but in that moment, he couldn’t help it—the emotions sank in, heavy and uninvited.

However, he couldn’t afford to let the emotions linger. He had to focus on his mission—before he lost either of them for good if they were caught.

Once Daylan finished his meal, he distracted himself with a few workouts, trying to pass the time and push deeper into the night—waiting for the right moment to act.

Before long, everything settled. The distance was filled with silence, broken only by the soft whisper of the wind echoing between the walls.

The guard on night duty sat slumped in his chair, fast asleep, while the other prisoners had also drifted off into quiet slumber.

Daylan took a deep breath and activated Dark Spiral, then silently teleported into the cell to his left.