Marcus left Luminaris Academy as the sun began its descent, carrying a satchel filled with alchemy supplies
and his latest potions. To anyone watching, he was simply heading to his rented room in the student quarter—a cramped space above a bakery that constantly smelled of fresh bread.
What they didn't see was him taking a detour through three different districts, doubling back twice, and finally
entering an abandoned warehouse he'd purchased under a false name for five thousand gold.
This was his preparation space. His arsenal. His sanctuary of paranoia.
The warehouse's exterior was deliberately dilapidated, but inside, Marcus had converted it into a functional base
of operations. Workbenches lined one wall, covered in alchemical equipment far superior to what the academy
provided. Weapon racks held backup gear. A locked vault contained his growing hoard of mana crystals—
currently numbering in the thousands, representing wealth that would make merchant princes weep.
Marcus set down his satchel and immediately began his pre-contract routine.
First: alchemy. He set up his portable cauldron and began preparing components. Tonight, he'd create three
Platinum-grade healing potions using his 100x Effect. The base recipe was Bronze Rank—something well
within his capability as an Iron Rank alchemist. But with his talent activated, the quality would skyrocket.
He measured out ingredients with obsessive precision: Moonpetal essence, crushed phoenix feather (expensive
as hell at three thousand gold per feather), liquefied high-grade mana crystal, purified spring water collected
during a full moon, and seven other components that had to be added in exact sequence.
Marcus activated his 100x Effect.
100X EFFECT ACTIVATED. DURATION: 30 MINUTES.
Power flooded through him, but this time he directed it specifically toward his alchemy skills. His Bronze Rank
alchemical knowledge suddenly expanded to what felt like Diamond Rank mastery. He could see the molecular
interactions, understand the mana flows at a level that should have taken decades to achieve.
His hands moved with supernatural precision. Each ingredient was added at the perfect moment, the
temperature adjusted to fractions of a degree, the stirring pattern executed flawlessly. The potion in his cauldron
began to glow with an inner radiance that was almost blinding.
Twenty-eight minutes later, he carefully decanted three vials of liquid that shimmered like captured starlight.
Platinum-grade healing potions. Each one could regenerate lost limbs, cure fatal poisons, or bring someone back
from the brink of death. Each one would sell for fifty thousand gold on the open market.
Marcus had just used ingredients worth about eight thousand gold to create potions worth one hundred and fifty
thousand gold total.
He'd keep all three for himself.
"Paranoia tax," he muttered, carefully storing the vials in his enchanted belt. The belt had cost him ten thousand
gold but could keep potions at perfect stasis and protect them from breaking even if he took a fall from a
building.
With two minutes left on his 100x Effect, Marcus turned his attention to his equipment. He infused his NullSteel daggers with enhanced sharpness enchantments, pushed additional power into his Guardian Amulet to
strengthen its protective matrix, and reinforced the Wraith Cloak's light-bending properties.
The power faded, leaving him panting but satisfied. His gear was now even better than before—temporary
enhancements that would last for about a week before fading back to baseline.
Next: intelligence review. Marcus spread out the documents about Victor Thornbeck across his workbench. The
merchant had a pattern. Every three days, he visited his warehouse alone between 10 PM and midnight to
personally check inventory. His guards didn't accompany him inside—Thornbeck was paranoid about his own
employees stealing from him.
That paranoia would be his downfall.
Marcus studied the warehouse layout, memorizing exits, noting ward placements, calculating approach vectors.
He'd already scouted the location twice in his normal identity, once while buying bread from a nearby bakery,
once while apparently lost and asking for directions.
The wards were Bronze Rank, meant to detect intruders and alert the guards outside. But they were old,
standard models. Marcus had found their specifications in the academy library. He knew their blind spots.
Finally: gear check. Marcus went through every piece of equipment methodically.
Shadowstep Boots: enchantments active, no wear on the soles.
Wraith Cloak: light-bending matrix functioning perfectly.
Null-Steel Daggers: edges sharp enough to split hairs, enchantments stable.
Guardian Amulet: fully charged, three fatal hits protected.
Healing Potions: three Platinum-grade in belt, plus two Master-grade backups.
Antidotes: full set, properly sealed.
Smoke Bombs: all six functional, triggers tested.
Emergency Escape Scroll: charged and linked to safe house three.
Satisfied, Marcus pulled out the Mask of Metamorphosis. He stared at it for a moment, as he always did before
putting it on. This mask was the key to everything—the boundary between his two lives, the wall that kept
Marcus Aldrich and Phantom completely separate.
He placed it over his face.
The transformation rippled through him. His reflection in a polished shield showed Phantom: lean, dangerous,
cold-eyed. His voice dropped to that smooth, emotionless tone. His posture shifted to something more
predatory.
But underneath, Marcus could still feel his real body—every pound, every inch. The disconnect never stopped
being strange.
Phantom moved through the warehouse, performing mobility drills. Step, pivot, roll, climb. His real weight
made everything harder, but months of practice had taught him how to move efficiently. He'd developed a style
that worked with his actual mass rather than against it, using momentum and technique to compensate.
At 9:30 PM, Phantom left the warehouse through a concealed exit that opened into a different alley. He moved
through the city like a shadow, using his knowledge of patrol routes and blind spots to avoid detection.
The merchant quarter was busy even at night—taverns full of drinking workers, street vendors selling late-night
food, groups of adventurers heading to or from the guild halls. Phantom navigated through it all, just another
cloaked figure in a city full of them.
Victor Thornbeck's warehouse came into view at 10:15 PM. It was a large, square building of gray stone with
few windows. Four guards stood at the entrance, all Bronze Rank based on their aura signatures. They were
alert but bored—this was routine duty for them.
Phantom settled into position on a rooftop across the street and waited.
At 10:47 PM, a carriage pulled up. Victor Thornbeck emerged—a portly man in expensive merchant's clothes,
Bronze Rank - Peak Stage based on the power radiating from him. He spoke briefly with the guards, then
entered the warehouse alone.
The door closed behind him.
Phantom waited five more minutes, giving Thornbeck time to get deep into his inventory check. Then he
moved.
The warehouse's rear wall faced an empty alley. Phantom dropped from the rooftop, his Shadowstep Boots
muffling the impact of his landing—compensating perfectly for his actual weight. He approached the wall,
studying the ward patterns visible to his trained eye.
There. A blind spot where two wards overlapped imperfectly, creating a gap about three feet wide. The gap was
eight feet off the ground—the ward-setter had assumed nobody would come in that high.
Phantom scaled the wall using handholds between stones. His real weight made his fingers ache, but he'd
strengthened them through months of training. He reached the window at the blind spot and found it, as
expected, latched from the inside.
He pulled out a thin wire, slipped it through the gap in the window frame, and carefully manipulated the latch.
Click. The window swung open silently—he'd oiled the hinges two days ago during his scouting.
Phantom slipped inside.
The warehouse interior was dark, lit only by a single lantern near the center where Thornbeck was examining
crates. Phantom could see him clearly—the merchant was making notes in a ledger, completely focused on his
inventory.
Phantom moved between stacks of crates and barrels, silent as death. His Wraith Cloak bent the shadows around
him, making him almost invisible in the darkness. Each step was calculated, weight distributed perfectly to
avoid creaking floorboards.
He circled around behind Thornbeck, drawing his Null-Steel daggers. The plan was simple: close the distance,
incapacitate quickly, then use his Midas Touch to finish it. Clean, efficient, no struggle.
Phantom was ten feet away when Thornbeck spoke without turning around.
"I know you're there."
Phantom froze.
Thornbeck slowly turned, and his face wore a cold smile. "Did you really think I wouldn't prepare for assassins?
I've been expecting someone like you for months." He raised his hand, and the warehouse exploded with light.
Hidden enchantments activated throughout the building. Ward lines flared across every surface, creating a cage
of magical energy. Detection spells swept through the space, highlighting Phantom's position even through his
Wraith Cloak.
"Bronze Rank - Peak Stage," Thornbeck observed, studying Phantom's aura. "Same as me. This will be
interesting."
Phantom's mind raced. This wasn't in the intelligence. Thornbeck had upgraded his security without anyone
knowing. The wards now active were Silver Rank quality—expensive, powerful, and completely enclosing the
warehouse.
"Nothing to say?" Thornbeck pulled out a wand, Bronze Rank enchantments glowing along its length. "The
guild told you I sell watered-down potions, didn't they? Made me sound like an easy target. But they didn't tell
you that I know exactly who's been targeting merchants in this city. Phantom. The assassin who turns his
victims to gold."
Phantom assessed the situation coldly. The ward cage prevented escape. The doors were sealed. The guards
outside would respond to any major magical discharge. And Thornbeck was prepared for combat.
This had become complicated.
"You're going to try to kill me," Phantom said, his masked voice emotionless. "I'm going to stop you. One of us
won't leave this building alive."
"Confident." Thornbeck raised his wand. "Let's see if you can back that up."
Fire erupted from the wand—not a simple fireball, but a cone of flames that swept across the entire space
between them. Bronze Rank power infused the flames, making them hot enough to melt steel.
Phantom dove behind a stack of crates, feeling the heat wash over him. His Wraith Cloak's enchantments
strained against the flames. The crates caught fire instantly.
He came up throwing. A smoke bomb arced through the air, exploding into magical smoke that filled the
warehouse. The smoke interfered with detection spells, buying him seconds.
Phantom moved, circling through the smoke. He could hear Thornbeck casting—a wind spell to clear the
smoke. Fast.
Phantom activated his 100x Effect.
100X EFFECT ACTIVATED. DURATION: 30 MINUTES.
Power exploded through him. His Bronze - Peak Stage suddenly multiplied a hundredfold. The sensation was
overwhelming—his mana capacity expanded exponentially, his physical abilities enhanced beyond recognition,
his transmutation range extended to nearly fifty feet.
The smoke cleared, and Thornbeck's eyes widened as he felt the surge of power.
"That's impossible! You're—you're Platinum Rank?! No, higher! Diamond?!"
Phantom thrust out his right hand.
The transmutation wave that exploded from his palm was massive. Crates within twenty feet crystallized
instantly. The stone floor became crystal. Even the air seemed to solidify into crystalline structures.
Thornbeck threw up a barrier—a sophisticated Bronze Rank shield that should have stopped most attacks.
The barrier crystallized the moment the wave hit it, becoming a cage instead of protection.
"No! Wait! I'll pay—"
Phantom's left hand joined the right, directing both aspects of his Midas Touch simultaneously. Golden energy
washed over the crystallized barrier and the man inside.
Victor Thornbeck, Bronze Rank merchant and poisoner, became a perfect golden statue, his expression frozen in
terror.
The transformation was complete in seconds. Phantom released his power, panting. The 100x Effect was still
active—he had over twenty-nine minutes left.
He looked around the warehouse. The ward cage was still active, but now that Thornbeck was dead, it was just a
matter of breaking through.
Phantom placed his hand on the ward line and pushed his massively amplified power into it. The Silver Rank
wards couldn't withstand Diamond-level transmutation. They crystallized, destabilized, and shattered.
The guards outside would have felt that. Time to move.
Phantom grabbed Thornbeck's ledger—evidence of his poison operation—and ran for the window he'd entered
through. He climbed out just as he heard the warehouse doors bursting open behind him.
"Thornbeck! Sir! What—"
"By the gods! He's gold! Solid gold!"
"It's Phantom! He's here! Lock down the district!"
Phantom was already three blocks away, his Shadowstep Boots carrying him across rooftops with supernatural
speed—the 100x Effect making him faster and more agile than should be possible for someone of his actual
weight.
He made it back to his warehouse base with twenty minutes left on his power buff. Once inside, he deactivated
it early to save it for true emergencies.
The power faded, and Marcus removed his mask, breathing hard. That had been closer than he'd liked. Much
closer. If Thornbeck had been just slightly better prepared, had better equipment, had a trap Marcus couldn't
break...
He'd been lucky. Luck wasn't good enough.
Marcus looked at his equipment. The Wraith Cloak was damaged—the fire had burned through some of the
enchantments. It would need repairs. Five thousand gold, probably.
His Guardian Amulet had cracked slightly—one of the protective charges had been partially consumed blocking
heat. He'd replace it entirely. Twenty-five thousand gold.
Expensive night. But he was alive. That's what mattered.
Marcus stored his gear and pulled out Thornbeck's ledger. He'd get this to the authorities tomorrow,
anonymously. More arrests, more justice.
The Starfall Guild would credit his account with fifteen thousand gold by morning.
But as Marcus lay down on the cot in his warehouse, he wasn't thinking about the money. He was thinking
about how close he'd come to dying because his intelligence had been incomplete.
Never again. He needed better information sources. Better preparation. Better gear.
More paranoia.
Because in this world, paranoia kept you alive