The spoils from the Sunken Temple had given them capital, but capital was just dead weight if it wasn't put to work. Zane knew this better than anyone. In his first life, he’d watched countless promising players squander early windfalls on flashy gear and temporary power-ups, only to be left destitute when the game’s economy shifted. He would not make that mistake. True power wasn't just about levels and loot; it was about infrastructure, influence, and the foresight to control the market before it controlled you.

  They were back in Argentis, the sprawling, multi-layered capital of the Adamantine Union. Zane led them not to the gleaming halls of the central auction house, but to the grimy, chaotic bazaar in the Rustways, the city’s underbelly. The air here was thick with the smell of cheap ale, industrial runoff, and desperation.

  Liam, ever the bastion of straightforwardness, wrinkled his nose. "Zane, are you sure about this place? The commission rates at the Silverheart Exchange are better, and you don't have to watch your coin purse every second."

  "The Exchange logs every transaction," Zane replied without breaking stride, his eyes scanning the crowded stalls. "Every major purchase is flagged and analyzed by the corporate guilds. We don't exist. We're ghosts. Ghosts don't use the front door."

  He stopped at a stall run by a grimy-looking man with a nervous tic. The stall was overflowing with junk—cracked goblin teeth, bundles of frayed rope, and stacks of what looked like shriveled, useless organic sacs. A crude sign read: "Crawler Parts - CHEAP."

  Zane pointed at the sacs. "The [Crawler's Silk Gland]. I'll buy all of them."

  The merchant’s eyes widened. "All of them? Son, are you sure? They're… well, they're useless. Barely good for making cheap twine."

  "I am aware of their current application," Zane said, his tone flat. "How many do you have?"

  Before the merchant could answer, Liam stepped forward, his expression serious. "Zane, hold on. This is basically all the money we have. Evie's family could use some of it, and we need better gear if we're going to take on bigger threats. Are you sure this is the best use for it?" It wasn't a challenge to his authority, but a genuine, practical concern.

  Evie remained silent, but her gaze sharpened. She watched Zane, her mind working. This move seemed illogical, almost reckless. But she had seen this same illogical certainty before—in the forest where he'd saved her family, in the temple where he'd navigated traps no one else could see. His methods were chaotic, but his results were absolute. She was observing, gathering data, reserving judgment until the outcome was clear.

  Zane’s internal monologue was a cascade of cold, hard numbers. Current market price: 2 copper per unit. Total investment: 44 gold. In three months, the ‘Wings of Argent’ expansion will be announced. The primary crafting component for the new high-speed glider chassis will be spun crawler silk. Demand will skyrocket. Market price will stabilize at approximately 2 gold per unit. A ten-thousand-percent return on investment. This capital will fund our armory, our intelligence network, and our safehouses for the next year.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  He offered none of this to his companions. He simply met Liam's concerned gaze. "It is," he said, his voice leaving no room for doubt. "Trust me on this."

  Liam held his gaze for a moment longer, then gave a slow nod, stepping back. The trust was still there, but now it was layered with a healthy dose of bewilderment.

  The deal was done in a flurry of activity. Zane’s initial investment vanished into the pockets of the Rustways’ most desperate merchants. As they carted their bizarre purchase away on a rented grav-sled, Zane finally offered a sliver of explanation. "The value of an asset is determined by its future utility, not its present perception."

  Their next stop was a discreet, automated guild registration terminal tucked away in a forgotten corner of the city's administrative district. Using a series of anonymous data chips and encrypted fund transfers, Zane began the process.

  [Enter Guild Name:]

  He typed: Phantasm.

  [Confirm Guild Name: PHANTASM?]

  He confirmed.

  [List Founding Members:]

  He entered three names: his own, Liam Corbin's, and Evelyn Reed's. He set the membership to private, the guild’s existence hidden from all public registries. To the rest of the world, they were just three unaffiliated players. But in the deep, unseen architecture of the Oracle System, they were now a recognized entity.

  "It's done," he announced, turning away from the terminal. "We have a name. We have a foundation."

  Just as he finished speaking, a series of notifications chimed in their vision, visible only to the three of them.

  [You have founded the guild 'Phantasm'.] [As a Founding Member, you have received the permanent title: 'Phantom Founder'.] [Title Effect: +5 to Clarity. Your presence is subtly masked from system-level observation skills.] [You have learned the Guild Ability: [Ghost Network (Tier 1)] - Allows secure, untraceable communication between guild members.]

  Liam's eyes widened. "Whoa, a founder's bonus? I didn't even know that was a thing! Plus five to Clarity? That's huge!" The tangible, immediate reward—the panel growth—was a language he understood perfectly.

  Even Evie allowed a small, rare smile to touch her lips. The title, the effects—it all fit. It was another piece of Zane's impossibly intricate plan falling perfectly into place. This wasn't just a guild; it was a system-recognized advantage.

  "Phantasm," Liam said, the name now feeling heavier, more real. He clapped a hand on Zane’s shoulder. "I like it. It suits us."

  At that exact moment, a secure communication channel on Zane's data-slate chimed. It was a sound he had configured himself, one he had been waiting for. The message was from the anonymous contact he’d been carefully feeding information to, the obsessive truth-seeker who went by the handle "Glitch."

  Zane’s expression sharpened. He opened the encrypted file.

  From: Glitch Subject: Found One.

  Your tips paid off. It's not just a rumor. Found a dungeon in the old industrial sector, Sector Gamma-7. The code is breaking down. Visibly. Players go in, but their data-logs come out corrupted. Some don't come out at all. The locals are calling it the 'haunted dungeon.' This is bigger than a simple glitch, boss. This is a hemorrhage.

  Zane’s mind raced, connecting the information to a half-forgotten memory from his past life. A dungeon where the system itself was unstable. An entity that fed on player data. A soul-binding artifact of immense power.

  He looked up from the slate, his eyes cold and clear. The market was a long-term game. This was immediate. This was a critical piece of the puzzle, a chance to acquire a power that could cheat death itself.

  "Change of plans," Zane said, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the district, now filled with a new energy from their shared victory. "Our new guild's first mission starts now."