At midnight, Phantom stood in Old Harbor warehouse three, his Silver Rank aura carefully suppressed to appear Bronze Peak. His new equipment was ready, his poisoned Dragon-Steel Daggers within easy reach, his Enhanced Guardian Amulet charged and active.
A figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the warehouse—cloaked, masked, deliberately concealing their identity.
"Phantom," the figure said, their voice magically distorted. "Or should I say, Marcus Aldrich?"
"You have ten seconds to explain who you are and what you want before I decide you're a threat worth eliminating."
"Bold words for someone whose entire life could be destroyed with one message to the academy administration." The figure pulled out what appeared to be a memory crystal—a magical device that could record and replay events. "I have footage of you transforming from Marcus to Phantom. Clear evidence linking your identities. One word from me, and you're executed for being an assassin."
Marcus calculated odds. The figure's aura was Silver Rank - Low Stage, same as his current level. They'd come alone, which suggested either extreme confidence or poor planning.
"What do you want?"
"Partnership. You're an exceptional assassin who's eliminated over two dozen targets. I represent an organization that could use someone with your talents. Work for us, and we ensure your secret stays secret. We even provide additional resources—better contracts, insider information, protection from authorities."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then your life as Marcus Aldrich ends. The memory crystal gets delivered to Headmaster Thornsworth, you're arrested, tried, and executed. Your choice—partnership or destruction."
Marcus laughed. "You made several mistakes. First, you assumed I value my Marcus Aldrich identity enough to be blackmailed over it. Second, you came alone to threaten a Silver Rank assassin. Third, you think you're the only one with leverage."
"What do you—"
Phantom moved with Silver Rank speed, crossing thirty feet in a blur. His Dragon-Steel Dagger was at the figure's throat before they could react.
"Memory crystals work both ways," Phantom said coldly. "I've been recording this conversation. You just admitted to blackmail, threatened a student, and revealed you represent a criminal organization. That's enough evidence to have you arrested."
"You're bluffing."
"Am I?" Phantom pulled out his own memory crystal, its surface glowing with active recording. "Here's my counter-offer: you tell me who you work for, give me that crystal with footage of my transformation, and leave the city permanently. In exchange, I don't kill you right now and don't report your blackmail attempt."
"The organization won't accept that—"
"I don't care what your organization accepts. I care about eliminating threats." Phantom pressed his dagger slightly harder against their throat. "You have five seconds. Four. Three—"
"Wait! Alright! I'll tell you!" The figure's confidence shattered. "I work for the Crimson Hand—an assassin syndicate operating throughout the kingdom. We recruit talented killers, provide resources, assign high-value contracts. My orders were to recruit or eliminate you before you became too independent."
"Who gave the orders?"
"Someone high up. I don't know names—we use code identifiers. Mine is Red Seven. My handler is Red Three. That's all I know, I swear!"
Phantom considered killing them anyway—safer to eliminate all threats. But information about an assassin syndicate could be valuable. And letting one person escape with a warning might draw out more of the organization.
"Give me the memory crystal."
Red Seven handed it over with shaking hands. Phantom examined it, confirmed it showed his transformation, then crushed it to dust.
"Now leave Astoria. If I see you again, you die. If the Crimson Hand sends anyone else after me, I'll hunt your organization systematically and eliminate everyone I find. Make sure Red Three understands that."
"Y-yes. Understood."
Phantom let them go, watching as Red Seven fled into the night.
After they left, Marcus removed his mask and examined the situation. An assassin syndicate was aware of him, trying to recruit or eliminate him. That was bad. But he'd also learned their name, their structure, and sent a clear message that he wasn't easy prey.
The question was whether the Crimson Hand would accept his warning or escalate.
Marcus suspected escalation. Organizations like that didn't tolerate independent operators who rejected their control.
Which meant he'd need to prepare for a war he'd just inadvertently started.
He pulled out his communication crystal and contacted Lucian: "We need to talk. Tomorrow. Bring weapons. We have a new problem."
The response came quickly: "How big of a problem?"
"Big enough that my anonymity just became a liability. We might need to go hunting."
"I'll be ready."
Marcus headed back to his warehouse, his mind already planning contingencies. The Crimson Hand represented a new level of threat—organized, resourced, experienced in hunting people like him.
But they'd made the mistake of threatening him openly, giving him time to prepare. And Marcus's entire existence was built on preparation.
Let them come. He'd show this syndicate what happened when they tried to control someone who'd already died once and refused to do it again.