"Fifty thousand gold for a single consultation? You've lost your mind, Deluca."Marco leaned back in his chair, golden eyes fixed on the elderly woman standing across from him in the safe house's newly reinforced command center. She was ancient—easily eighty years old—with silver hair pulled into a severe bun and leathery skin weathered by decades of exposure to magical energies. Her name was Architect Morwenna Vane, and she was the most expensive defensive formation specialist in the city."No," Marco replied calmly, "I've decided to stop losing lives. Fifty thousand gold for your expertise, another two hundred thousand for materials, and a bonus of one hundred thousand if the formation is completed within forty-eight hours."Morwenna's wrinkled face remained impassive, but her sharp gray eyes flickered with something between greed and curiosity. "You're the one the Santoros want dead. The rich commoner who embarrassed Dominic at the auction.""I'm the one who's still alive despite t

The Dockside district had transformed into a war zone by the time Marco reached the old wharf.Behind him, the narrow streets echoed with the sounds of distant explosions—carefully placed scroll detonations that had been triggered by his retreating guards. Ahead, the moon hung low over the harbor, casting silver light across the wooden piers and abandoned warehouses. Salt wind carried the scent of blood and smoke.Marco's lungs burned as he ran. His Novice Rank 9 body could handle the exertion easily enough, but the adrenaline surging through his veins made his hands shake. Behind him, Vargas kept pace, the A-rank bodyguard's sword still dripping crimson from the three Santoro warriors he'd cut down in the last alley."How far to the wharf?" Marco asked, not slowing."Two hundred meters. Maybe less." Vargas's voice was grim. "But they're herding us. The Santoros want us cornered."Marco had known that ten minutes ago, when the first wave of warriors had appeared at the Merchant's Quar

"You want me to do what?"Marco leaned back in his chair, golden eyes fixed on Vargas's incredulous face. The safe house's command center had been transformed over the past twenty-four hours—maps covered every wall, defensive formation diagrams littered the table, and the faint hum of magical wards now permeated the very walls. Architect Morwenna's team worked somewhere below, their hammers and chants echoing through the floorboards."I want you to recruit twenty Novice-rank warriors," Marco repeated calmly. "Full-time employment. Competitive salary, benefits, and training opportunities."Vargas stared at him like he'd suggested hiring a dragon as a house pet. "Lord Deluca, do you have any idea what you're asking? Twenty Novice-rank warriors don't just exist on street corners waiting to be hired. They're contracted to noble houses, mercenary guilds, or the military.""Then find the ones who aren't.""Even if I find them—" Vargas stopped, running a hand through his graying hair. "The c

The morning light filtered through the safe house's reinforced windows as Marco stared at the three documents spread across his command table. Each one represented a trading company. Each one was currently controlled by Santoro allies. And each one was about to change hands.Fiora stood across from him, her face pale from a sleepless night of research and calculation. Vargas leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the door. Alessandro hunched over a secondary table, his alchemical equipment bubbling softly as he brewed detection countermeasures for the coming Shadow attack."I've verified the numbers three times," Fiora said, her voice hoarse. "The Santoros don't own these companies outright. They have controlling shares, but not full ownership. The remaining shares are held by minor investors—people who could be bought."Marco's golden eyes scanned the documents. "How much?""To buy controlling stakes in all three? Approximately four hundred thousand gold." Fiora hesitated. "

The Merchant Guild headquarters occupied a sprawling complex in the city's financial district—a building of white marble and gold leaf that shouted wealth from every surface. Marco had passed it dozens of times in his previous life's memories, always from the outside, always as a spectator. Today, he walked through the front doors as a supplicant seeking recognition.Fiora walked beside him, her merchant's coat freshly pressed, her face composed despite the nervous tremor in her hands. Behind them came Vargas and Kaelen—muscle and wisdom, respectively—and behind them, a contingent of the newly hired Novice-rank warriors. Marco had insisted on bringing witnesses. The Merchant Guild might be corrupt, but even corruption had limits when eyes were watching."Lord Deluca." The receptionist—a thin man with spectacles and an ingratiating smile—bowed as Marco approached the main desk. "We weren't expecting you. Guildmaster Valerius is in meetings all day, perhaps if you scheduled an appointme