That was why he had dared to reach out and seize treasure from the world's throat. Even if the nobles discovered it, even if they raged and plotted against him, he could simply retreat behind his doors and laugh.
But now? Now he felt exposed, a wealthy man standing in the open with pockets full of gold but no weapon in hand.
His current strength? It was laughable. He was a mage barely able to cast a Level 2 spell without exhausting himself.
He had survived the dungeons through improvisation and sheer madness, not because of any real power. Compared to true noble enforcers, knights with bodies honed like weapons and mana veins as strong as steel, he felt smaller than an ant.
In the presence of a genuine powerhouse, he wouldn't even have time to chant. His heart raced painfully, thoughts spiraling out of control. He could already envision how the noble houses would react.
First came suspicion, then investigation. After that would be anger, followed by a quiet gathering of blades.
