"Spirit-Arousing Flower: 280 Gold per stem. Three stems total 840 Gold."

  "Heavenly Jade Water: 250 Gold per 100 milliliters. 500 milliliters total 1250 Gold."

  "As for these basic recipes, the Antidote and Stamina Potions are both 300 Gold, totaling 600 Gold."

  "The current subtotal for these items is 2690 Gold."

  The bald, burly man behind the counter flicked his fingers across a heavy abacus, the crisp metallic clacks echoing through the quiet shop. Pierce listened to the tally with a calm expression, then added fifty sets of base materials for each of the three universal potions. After a meticulous calculation, the proprietor provided the final transaction amount.

  "A total of 5310 Gold. Esteemed guest, to celebrate this pleasant deal, I shall round down the figure. A payment of 5300 Gold will suffice." The man looked up with a smile, his eyes reflecting the slick pragmatism of a seasoned trader.

  Pierce did not hesitate, promptly paying with bags of heavy gold. As the coins vanished into his Dimensional Pouch, his liquid capital shrank instantly, leaving just over a thousand gold. In this world where truth was sold at a premium, the flow of wealth was always breathtaking.

  According to the academy’s strict regulations for the Freshman Trials, magic items of Glimmer-rank and above were strictly forbidden. Initiates were permitted to carry no more than three Alchemy-grade creations. Pierce calculated that with his Dimensional Pouch and Ring of Protection already in his possession, he had one final armament slot remaining before the trials commenced.

  Lost in thought, he navigated the dim main thoroughfare of the Black Market, arriving at the desolate fringe bordering the Outer City slums.

  Just as he was about to step into the narrow alleyway leading back to his apartment, the black bracelet on his wrist suddenly disintegrated.

  Caw!

  Mistfeather’s piercing, needle-sharp screech erupted in the silent night, carrying a violent warning unique to a supernatural familiar. Every hair on Pierce’s body stood on end—a survival instinct honed through countless mental simulations of death.

  With no time for logical thought, his body reacted before his mind—he threw himself into a frantic roll to the side, his shoulder colliding heavily with the damp stone wall.

  Whish!

  A cold streak of silver light grazed the tip of his ear, followed by a heart-shaking thud. A steel arrow, half a meter long, buried itself deep into the cobblestone ground, its fletching vibrating violently under the dim lamplight. The hum sounded like the hiss of a viper in his ear.

  An ambush.

  Pierce’s eyes turned ice-cold, his fingertips already gripping a ready-to-deploy Strangling Vine seed.

  In the murky shadows, four figures draped in voluminous black cloaks and wearing crude bone masks emerged like specters. They fanned out in a professional formation, sealing all of Pierce’s retreat paths with clinical precision.

  "Not bad for a newcomer who dares to openly liquidate Exquisite potions in the Black Market. That reaction speed indeed justifies your status."

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  The leader of the cloaked men let out a raspy, cold laugh.

  The familiar voice caused Pierce’s pupils to constrict slightly. He instantly identified the man as the Great Knight who had purchased all his Brute Strength Potions in the shop just moments ago. Clearly, the man never intended to pay—this was a low-cost hunt: buy first, rob later.

  Omniscience, analyze, Pierce commanded silently.

  The data returned caused his heart to sink slightly: all four individuals before him had crossed the power threshold known as "Great Knight," with an average Physique attribute exceeding $12$.

  Four Great Knights. Their positioning was meticulous; not only were their eyes locked on Pierce’s fingertips, but they also remained vigilant of his lips—a textbook stance for countering casters. In their understanding, as long as they stifled the incantation timing of this Rank 2 Initiate, the target was nothing more than a lamb for the slaughter.

  "Leave the Dimensional Pouch, and we might consider letting you walk out of these slums alive," the leader approached step by step, his heavy broadsword dragging against the ground, kicking up sharp sparks.

  Pierce remained silent. He knew this psychological gambit common to the underworld. These outlaws offered the lure of "mercy" merely to shake the prey’s resolve and mask the true killing blow.

  He glanced coldly toward the roof of a dilapidated house in the distance. In the vision provided by the Omniscient Eye, an infrared heat signature showed a living entity currently in a state of held breath.

  A sniper of Peak Knight rank.

  "Since you feel you have me cornered, why haven't you struck yet?" Pierce finally spoke, his tone so steady it made the four Great Knights uneasy.

  "I suggest you don't engage in futile resistance, Initiate. Your spiritual shield won't withstand two volleys," the leader threatened again.

  Pierce offered a faint, mocking smile. "You are waiting for the second arrow from your companion on the roof, aren't you? What a coincidence. So am I."

  The moment those words fell, a short, exceptionally eerie sound of bone snapping drifted from the shadows of that distant house.

  The four Great Knights' expressions shifted violently. They had been staring unblinkingly at Pierce’s every move; he had made no casting gestures, nor had there been any eruption of spiritual power.

  They soon received their answer.

  A thread of extremely fine, nearly transparent black mist shot back from the night, and the moment it landed on Pierce’s shoulder, it rapidly condensed into a blood-eyed crow. Its cold pupils looked down upon the four men, its plumage even bearing a few fresh drops of blood belonging to the sniper.

  "A familiar!"

  The leader spat the words through his teeth, his voice tinged with an unmistakable shock.

  He could not comprehend it. How could a Rank $2$ Initiate’s companion familiar silently and instantaneously erase the life of a veteran Peak Knight without a sound? Even in the textbooks of the Arcane Academy, no familiar possessed this level of stealth and explosive lethality.

  Pierce gently stroked Mistfeather’s cold feathers. With the darkness of night as an ally, Mistfeather’s "Mistform" trait was equivalent to the Grim Reaper’s cloak.

  "Because of your existence, I have been forced to waste a bit of my rest time to clear out the trash," Pierce sighed softly, his gaze turning predatory and sinister behind his mask. "Now, it is your turn."

  "Kill him!"

  The leading Great Knight let out a hysterical roar. Realizing the advantage of stealth was lost, the Aura within him erupted like a volcano. His broadsword whipped up a gale, carrying a cold gleam capable of shearing through armor as it hacked down toward Pierce.

  However, it was not the roar of a spell that met them.

  Mistfeather, on Pierce’s shoulder, spread its wings once more. Amidst that brief screech, the dense black mist surrounding its body suddenly fractured. One, ten, fifty... hundreds of slightly smaller, translucent "Mist-Crows" surged forth from the void like a breached dam of black torrents, accompanied by shrill, mournful cries.

  One of the Great Knights instinctively swung his sword at the approaching swarm, the blade passing effortlessly through the black mist. He initially thought it was mere illusion, but a second later, the visceral pain of flesh being torn by physical talons pulsed through his nervous system.

  Rip!

  A large chunk of flesh was instantly torn from his cheek, crimson blood spraying across his mask like a fountain.

  "This is impossible! They are physical? No... they have no form!"

  The Great Knight roared in terror, his Aura flaring wildly in an attempt to disperse these inexhaustible phantoms. Yet, the pervasive torrent of Mist-Crows was consuming the lives of these four underworld powerhouses in a manner that defied all reason.