Chapter 21: Night Work
Marcus stood on a hillside overlooking Baron Aldric Blackwood's estate, using a telescope enchanted with night vision. The estate was impressive—a small mansion surrounded by manicured gardens, guard posts at regular intervals, and magical wards that glowed faintly in his enhanced vision.
The Baron was Silver Rank - Low Stage, wealthy from tax fraud and treasury embezzlement, and paranoid enough to maintain serious security. Twelve guards visible on patrol, probably more inside. Detection wards covering all obvious entry points. This wasn't going to be a simple infiltration.
But Marcus had learned from his previous contracts. He'd spent the afternoon gathering intelligence—questioning servants in nearby taverns, bribing a delivery person for information about interior layouts, using his newly purchased merchant intelligence network to obtain the estate's architectural plans.
The Baron had a predictable routine. Every night at 11 PM, he retired to his private study on the second floor to review financial documents. The study had one entrance from the main hallway and one window facing the gardens.
That window was Marcus's target.
At 10:45 PM, Phantom moved. He'd circled wide around the estate to approach from the forested hillside, avoiding the main road where detection wards were strongest. His Wraith Cloak made him nearly invisible in the darkness, and his Shadowstep Boots muffled any sound.
The outer wall was twelve feet high, topped with iron spikes. Marcus scaled it using handholds between stones, his strengthened Bronze Rank body making the climb manageable despite his actual weight. He dropped silently into the garden on the other side.
A guard patrol passed twenty feet away, two Iron Rank soldiers chatting about the tournament at Luminaris Academy.
"Did you see that Aldrich kid's match today? Brutal efficiency."
"Heard he's got odds to win the whole thing now. Made a killing on that."
Marcus waited until they rounded a corner, then moved toward the mansion. The gardens provided good cover—decorative hedges, statuary, ornamental trees. He navigated through them like a ghost, avoiding sight lines and patrol routes he'd memorized.
The study window was on the second floor, above a first-floor balcony. Marcus climbed the balcony support pillar, his muscles straining under his real weight, then pulled himself onto the stone railing.
Through the window, he could see Baron Blackwood sitting at his desk, reviewing papers by candlelight. The Baron was a heavyset man in his fifties, wearing expensive robes, with rings on every finger. His Silver Rank - Low Stage aura was relaxed—he felt safe in his own home.
Mistake.
Marcus tested the window. Locked, naturally. And likely warded against forced entry.
He pulled out his detection ward disruptor—a 15,000 gold device that created a small null zone in magical barriers. He activated it and placed it against the window frame. The detection wards flickered and died in a three-foot radius.
Then Marcus used his glass cutter to carefully remove a pane from the window. Slow work, silent work. Five minutes to cut through and remove the glass without sound.
He reached through and unlocked the window from inside, then slipped into the study.
Baron Blackwood was so focused on his embezzlement ledgers that he didn't hear the intrusion. Marcus moved behind him silently, his poisoned Hellfire Dagger drawn.
Three feet away. Two feet. One foot.
The Baron's head turned slightly, some instinct warning him. His eyes widened as he saw Phantom's masked reflection in a nearby mirror.
"Guards—"
Marcus's hand clamped over the Baron's mouth while his dagger cut across the man's throat—a shallow cut, just enough to break skin and inject the Legendary-grade Serpent's Whisper poison.
The Baron struggled, his Silver Rank strength making him difficult to hold. He reached for a panic button on his desk, fingers inches away.
Ten seconds. His movements became sluggish.
Fifteen seconds. His struggles weakened as paralysis set in.
Twenty seconds. Baron Blackwood slumped in his chair, his Silver Rank aura flickering and dying as the poison destroyed his mana channels.
Thirty seconds. Dead.
Marcus released him and immediately began the next phase. He placed his right hand on the corpse and activated his Midas Touch.
The Silver Rank - Low Stage cultivator transformed into a massive mana crystal, roughly the size of a large dog. It pulsed with concentrated power, calling to Marcus's cultivation base.
He sat down cross-legged and began absorbing immediately.
The mana flooded into him, pure Silver Rank energy that his Bronze Rank channels struggled to contain. But his foundation was solid, built on paranoid over-preparation and careful advancement. He could handle this.
BRONZE RANK - MID STAGE: 84%... 93%... 100%
BREAKTHROUGH DETECTED. ADVANCING TO BRONZE RANK - HIGH STAGE.
His body transformed, channels expanding and reinforcing. His physical capabilities increased dramatically. His Midas Touch range extended to thirty feet. The world became clearer, sharper, more detailed.
BRONZE RANK - HIGH STAGE: 27%
Still the crystal had more. Marcus kept absorbing, pulling every drop of power from the Baron's remains.
BRONZE RANK - HIGH STAGE: 48%
Finally depleted. Marcus stood, feeling the new strength coursing through him. Bronze Rank - High Stage. He'd jumped an entire sub-rank in minutes.
But he needed to move. The assassination had taken less than two minutes, but the absorption had taken nearly fifteen. Guards would eventually notice the Baron hadn't responded to check-ins.
Marcus grabbed the Baron's ledgers—evidence of his crimes—and moved to the window. He was halfway through when he heard voices in the hallway.
"My Lord? Is everything alright? You missed your scheduled check-in."
The door handle turned.
Marcus dropped from the window just as guards entered the study. He heard their shouts behind him as he hit the ground, rolled, and sprinted for the garden hedge line.
"INTRUDER! The Baron is dead! Alert everyone!"
Alarms began blaring throughout the estate. Magical lights flared to life. Guards poured from the barracks.
Marcus ran through the gardens, his Bronze Rank - High Stage speed making him significantly faster than before. Guards spotted him, shouted alerts, began pursuit.
An arrow whistled past his head. Another struck his Guardian Amulet, which absorbed the impact with a flash of light. One charge consumed.
Marcus reached the outer wall and leaped. His enhanced strength let him clear the twelve-foot height easily—something that would have been impossible at his previous rank. He landed on the other side and kept running.
More guards emerged from the main gate, cutting off his escape route. Marcus counted six Iron Rank guards, two Bronze Rank, and one Silver Rank officer in the distance.
The Silver Rank was the problem. At his previous Mid Stage cultivation, Marcus would have needed his 100x Effect to fight Silver Rank opponents. But now at High Stage, with his actual combat experience...
He might manage without it.
Chapter 22: Escape and Advancement
Marcus drew both Hellfire Daggers, their blades igniting with magical flames. The six Iron Rank guards approached cautiously, forming a semicircle.
"Surrender and you'll get a trial," one called out.
Marcus didn't respond. He moved.
His Bronze - High Stage speed caught them off guard. He was on the first guard before the man could raise his weapon, Hellfire Dagger cutting through his shoulder armor—not lethal, but the poison on the blade would paralyze him within seconds.
The second guard swung a sword at Marcus's head. He ducked under it, struck the guard in the ribs with a controlled punch, then moved to the third guard.
Ten seconds later, all six Iron Rank guards were down—paralyzed, injured, but alive. Marcus didn't kill unnecessarily when poison could do the job without leaving corpses.
The two Bronze Rank guards looked at each other nervously, then charged together. Better trained, better coordinated, enhanced with Bronze Rank mana reinforcement.
Marcus parried the first one's sword strike, his Hellfire Dagger leaving a burning cut along the guard's forearm. The second guard tried to flank him, but Marcus had trained in multi-opponent combat during his assassin work.
He used the first guard as a shield, forcing the second to adjust his attack. Then Marcus kicked the first guard into the second, and both went down in a tangle. A quick slash with his poisoned blade across each of their exposed arms, and they were finished.
Paralysis would set in before they could recover.
But now the Silver Rank officer had arrived, and he wasn't some pampered noble like the Baron. This was a military veteran, sword drawn, moving with the confidence of someone who'd survived real combat.
"Phantom," the officer said, recognizing the mask and reputation. "You've made a mistake killing Baron Blackwood. House Blackwood has connections. They'll hunt you."
"They can try," Marcus replied, his masked voice cold.
The officer attacked with Silver Rank speed and power. His sword came in a blur of strikes, each one enhanced with cutting mana. Marcus blocked with both Hellfire Daggers, the force of each impact rattling his arms.
This was the difference between ranks. Silver Rank - Low Stage versus Bronze Rank - High Stage. The officer was stronger, faster, and more experienced.
But Marcus was venomous.
He parried a particularly strong strike, letting it push him backward. The officer pressed the advantage, not noticing when Marcus's blade left a shallow scratch on his sword hand during the exchange.
The officer's next strike was slightly slower. His third strike slower still. By the fifth strike, his sword arm was shaking.
"What... what did you do?" The officer looked at his hand, seeing the small cut. Realization dawned. "Poison..."
He collapsed to his knees, sword falling from nerveless fingers. His Silver Rank constitution fought the poison, but Legendary-grade Serpent's Whisper was too potent. He'd survive—Silver Rank recovery was impressive—but he'd be paralyzed for hours.
Marcus heard more guards approaching in the distance. Time to leave.
He activated one of his Emergency Escape Scrolls, crushing it in his hand. Space warped around him, and suddenly he was three miles away in a pre-designated safe location—an abandoned building he'd prepared weeks ago.
Marcus removed his mask and became himself again. His heart was pounding from adrenaline, but the contract was complete. Baron Blackwood was dead, the evidence of his crimes secured, and Marcus had gained another rank advancement.
He checked his system status:
Cultivation: Bronze Rank - High Stage (48%) Starfall Guild Contract Payment: 45,000 gold (pending deposit) Guardian Amulet: 2 charges remaining Tournament Match: Semi-finals in two days
Good progress. Though the escape had been closer than he'd liked. He'd need to purchase a new Guardian Amulet tomorrow—25,000 gold, but worth it for the protection.
Marcus made his way through the dark city streets back to his warehouse, taking a circuitous route to avoid detection. By the time he arrived, it was 2 AM.
He still needed to prepare for his tournament semi-final match, sleep at least a few hours, and maintain his academy student persona tomorrow.
The dual life was becoming more demanding as his reputation in both identities grew. Marcus the alchemist student was now a tournament competitor attracting attention. Phantom the assassin was becoming legendary, with higher bounties attracting more dangerous contracts.
Eventually, something would have to give. He couldn't maintain both identities forever at this intensity level.
But for now, he'd keep pushing. Keep advancing. Keep accumulating power and wealth and security.
Marcus performed his nightly cultivation routine, absorbing three more high-grade mana crystals he'd created.
BRONZE RANK - HIGH STAGE: 54%
At this rate, he'd reach Bronze Peak Stage within two weeks. Then Silver Rank would be within reach—a goal that should take years, but Marcus could achieve in months through his methods.
As he lay down to sleep, Marcus thought about Lyra's words from earlier: "You have walls, Marcus. Big ones."
She was right. His entire life in this world was walls—barriers between Marcus and Phantom, between truth and lies, between who he appeared to be and who he really was.
Those walls kept him safe. Kept him alive. Kept anyone from getting close enough to discover his secrets.
And he'd keep building them higher, thicker, stronger.
Because walls weren't weakness—walls were survival.
And survival was all that mattered.
Chapter 23: The Genius and the Glutton
The day after defeating Darius Ironforge in the tournament semi-finals, Marcus was summoned to the Headmaster's office. He arrived carrying his usual assortment of pastries, prepared for another lecture about maintaining proper appearances or controlling his public image.
What he found instead was Headmaster Thornsworth sitting with a young man Marcus had seen around campus but never interacted with.
The young man was strikingly handsome with sharp features, intelligent amber eyes, and silver-streaked black hair despite appearing only eighteen or nineteen years old. His Bronze Rank - Peak Stage aura was perfectly controlled, refined in a way that suggested years of expert training. He wore expensive but understated academy robes, and carried himself with unconscious nobility.
"Mr. Aldrich," Thornsworth began, "allow me to introduce Lucian Ashford. Top student of the second-year class, ranked first in Combat Theory, Advanced Mana Manipulation, and Strategic Warfare. He's expressed interest in meeting you."
Marcus sat down, taking a bite of his pastry. "Why?"
Lucian's eyes narrowed slightly at the blunt question, but he answered smoothly. "Because you won the tournament. Because you went from Iron Rank to Bronze Peak in less than two months. Because despite having no formal combat training background, you defeated opponents who've trained since childhood." He leaned forward. "You're an anomaly, Marcus Aldrich. And I want to understand how."
"Talent and hard work," Marcus said simply.
"That's not enough. I've had talent my entire life. I've trained harder than anyone else in our year. I've studied under masters, absorbed knowledge from every available source." Lucian's frustration was evident. "Yet you, an alchemist who supposedly focuses on potion-making, defeated Darius Ironforge—someone I struggled against for ten minutes last year—in under five minutes. How?"
Marcus studied Lucian more carefully. There was something underneath the polished noble exterior. Desperation, perhaps. Or hunger for something he couldn't achieve despite all his advantages.
"You want me to train you?" Marcus guessed.
"Yes. In exchange, I can offer compensation—gold, resources, family connections. The Ashford family may be minor nobility, but we have influence in certain circles." Lucian's amber eyes were intense. "I'll pay whatever price you ask. Just teach me how you fight."
Thornsworth cleared his throat. "I've approved this arrangement if you agree, Marcus. Mr. Ashford's request is unusual but not against academy policy. You would maintain your current class schedule while providing supplementary combat instruction to Mr. Ashford during free periods."
Marcus considered. Lucian Ashford was clearly skilled, intelligent, and driven. He was also desperate to improve, which suggested he had reasons beyond simple competitive pride.
"Why do you need to be stronger?" Marcus asked directly.
Lucian's expression hardened. "That's personal."
"Then no deal. I'm not interested in training someone whose motivations I don't understand."
"Marcus—" Thornsworth began.
"It's fine, Headmaster." Lucian's jaw clenched, then he spoke. "You want honesty? Fine. I'm a bastard. My father is Marquis Theodore Ashford, one of the most powerful nobles in the kingdom. My mother was his mistress, a commoner woman who died when I was six. The Marquis acknowledged me, gave me his name, but I'll never inherit. Never have real power. Never be anything more than the 'talented bastard' people whisper about."
His hands clenched into fists. "I need to be stronger because strength is the only thing that matters in this world. If I'm powerful enough—Gold Rank, Platinum, maybe even Diamond—then it won't matter that I'm illegitimate. People will respect me for my power, not dismiss me for my birth."
The raw honesty caught Marcus off-guard. This wasn't noble arrogance. This was someone fighting against a system that had decided his worth based on circumstances beyond his control.
Marcus could relate to that. He'd been dismissed as the fat kid in his previous life, ignored and underestimated. Now he was using that same underestimation as camouflage.
"How much are you willing to pay for training?" Marcus asked.
"Five hundred gold per week," Lucian said immediately. "Plus I'll owe you a favor from the Ashford family—limited but legitimate claim to their resources."
Marcus did the mental math. Two thousand gold per month just for teaching someone to fight? That was excellent passive income, and the family favor could be useful.
"Deal. But understand—my training methods are unconventional. I won't explain my techniques or share my secrets. I'll teach you what I think will make you stronger, and you follow instructions without questioning why. Accept those terms or find another instructor."
"Accepted." Lucian stood and offered his hand. "When do we start?"
"Tomorrow morning, fifth bell. Meet me at the eastern training yard. Bring practice weapons and prepare to get hit. A lot."
After Lucian left, Thornsworth studied Marcus with interest. "That was surprisingly compassionate of you. I expected you to refuse."
"He's paying well. That's just business."
"Of course. Just business." Thornsworth's knowing smile suggested he didn't believe that entirely. "One piece of advice, Marcus—Lucian Ashford is brilliant but also carries considerable emotional weight from his background. Be patient with him."
"I'm not a therapist, Headmaster. I'm a combat instructor. He'll learn to fight better or he won't. His emotional problems are his own."
Marcus left before Thornsworth could respond, already mentally reviewing what training regimen would actually help someone as skilled as Lucian improve.
The truth was, Lucian's fundamentals were probably better than Marcus's—years of formal training versus Marcus's self-taught assassination techniques. What Marcus had that Lucian lacked was practical experience fighting for his life against opponents who wanted him dead.
He'd need to share that mindset without revealing he was an actual assassin. Tricky, but manageable.
Chapter 24: Training the Talented
The next morning, Lucian arrived at the eastern training yard exactly on time, wearing training clothes and carrying practice weapons. His amber eyes were alert, eager, ready to learn.
Marcus was there first, finishing a meat pie. "Good. You're punctual. First lesson—mentality."
"Mentality?"
"Most academy students train in a safe environment. Protective wards, healing potions on standby, instructors who stop fights before serious injury. They never experience real combat fear." Marcus set down his food. "That makes them predictable. They fight with the assumption they'll survive, which creates hesitation and wasted movement."
"And your training will be different?"
"Yes. When we fight, I won't hold back significantly. The wards will prevent death, but you'll feel pain. Real pain. You'll learn what it's like to fight someone who's actually trying to hurt you." Marcus drew a practice sword. "Attack me."
Lucian didn't hesitate. He moved with textbook-perfect form, his Bronze Peak Stage power flowing smoothly through enhanced strikes. His combination was sophisticated—high feint, low sweep, thrust sequence.
Marcus blocked the feint, sidestepped the sweep, and slammed the practice sword into Lucian's ribs hard enough to crack them.
Lucian gasped, stumbling back, the protective wards absorbing fatal damage but leaving the pain intact. "You—"
"Again," Marcus said coldly. "Attack me."
Lucian came again, this time more cautiously. Marcus broke through his defense and hit him in the shoulder with enough force to dislocate it. The wards reset the injury immediately, but Lucian felt every moment of pain.
"You're treating this like academy sparring," Marcus said. "Measured, controlled, following rules. Real combat has no rules. Attack me like you want to kill me."
"But—"
"No buts. If you want to learn how I fight, you need to understand that I fight like every opponent is trying to end my life. Because in real combat, they are. Now attack me properly or I'll just keep hitting you."
Something shifted in Lucian's amber eyes. Frustration, pain, and determination combined. He attacked again, but this time with genuine aggression. His strikes came faster, harder, less concerned with perfect form and more focused on landing hits.
Better. Marcus actually had to defend seriously now. They exchanged blows for a full minute before Marcus found an opening and struck Lucian's leg, buckling his knee.
"Improvement," Marcus acknowledged as Lucian stood, wincing. "You stopped fighting like a student and started fighting like someone who wants to win. That's the first real lesson."
Over the next hour, Marcus pushed Lucian hard. Every time Lucian fell back on safe, predictable patterns, Marcus punished him. Every time Lucian took risks and showed creativity, Marcus gave encouraging feedback.
By the end, Lucian was bruised, exhausted, and had been "killed" by protective wards seven times. But his eyes were bright with understanding.
"I see it now," Lucian panted. "You don't think about fighting safely. You think about fighting effectively. Damage to yourself is acceptable if it means damaging your opponent more."
"Exactly. Most opponents aren't willing to trade hits because they're afraid of pain. If you're willing to take damage to land killing blows, you have psychological advantage." Marcus handed him a water flask. "Same time tomorrow. We'll work on reading opponent patterns."
As Lucian left, Marcus noticed several students had gathered to watch the training. News would spread fast—Marcus Aldrich was training Lucian Ashford using brutal, unconventional methods.
More attention. Always more attention.
But at least this attention came with two thousand gold per month.
Three days of training later, Marcus noticed Lucian was improving rapidly. The genius's natural talent combined with Marcus's practical lessons was creating a more dangerous fighter.
On the fourth day, Lucian arrived with a question. "Can I ask about your background? You fight like you've experienced real combat, not just academy sparring. Where did you learn?"
Marcus had prepared for this. "Mercenary work. Escort missions, guard duty, occasional contracts. Nothing glamorous, but it taught me that real fights are messy and brutal."
"I see." Lucian paused. "Have you ever killed anyone?"
The directness of the question surprised Marcus. "Why do you ask?"
"Because there's a difference in how you move. People who've killed have a certainty in their strikes. They don't hesitate at the final moment because they've crossed that line before." Lucian's amber eyes studied him carefully. "You have that certainty. I want to know if I'm right."
Marcus could lie. Probably should lie. But Lucian's perceptiveness reminded him of Lyra—dangerously observant people who noticed details others missed.
"Yes," Marcus said simply. "Self-defense situations during mercenary work. The world is dangerous. Sometimes you kill or die. I chose to live."
"Good." Lucian's response was unexpected. "Then you can teach me that too. How to cross that line without hesitation. Because I know eventually I'll need to."
"That's not something you can teach. It's something you experience."
"Then create the experience. Use your connections, find a contract that needs doing, take me along. I'll pay triple your normal rate."
Marcus stared at him. "You want me to bring you on an assassination?"
"I want real combat experience. If that means hunting criminals with you, fine. If you're doing mercenary work anyway, let me assist. I need to understand what actual fighting feels like without academy safeties."
This was dangerous. Bringing Lucian into his Phantom identity risked exposure. But it was also an opportunity—Lucian was talented, motivated, and offering excellent payment. Having backup on a contract could be valuable.
"I'll consider it," Marcus said carefully. "But understand—if I agree, you follow my orders exactly. No questions, no hesitation, no mercy. Real targets don't surrender because you feel bad about killing them."
"Understood. And Marcus? Thank you. For treating me like someone worth investing in rather than just the talented bastard everyone whispers about."
After Lucian left, Marcus sat thinking. He'd just accidentally acquired a student who was asking to participate in assassinations. The paranoid part of him screamed this was a trap, a setup to expose Phantom's identity.
But the pragmatic part saw potential. Lucian Ashford was brilliant, powerful, and desperate to prove himself. If Marcus could mold him into a reliable ally, the benefits could be substantial.
He'd need to test Lucian carefully, reveal information gradually, and maintain absolute deniability if things went wrong.
Just another calculated risk in a life built on calculated risks.