The night before the semifinals, Eldavia's dormitories were quieter than usual, most students retiring early to prepare for the next day's spectacle. Marcus had spent the evening reviewing footage of potential opponents, particularly focusing on Team Ravencrest, a primarily noble-composed group that had demonstrated impressive coordination in their quarter-final victory.
Edwin had fallen asleep hours ago, surrounded by his usual chaos of notes and analytical diagrams. The theoretical specialist required more rest than his combat-oriented teammates, his mental exertions during matches demanding significant recovery time.
Marcus finally set aside his tactical preparations around midnight, knowing that adequate rest would serve him better than additional analysis at this point. Tomorrow's semifinal would test their team's limits regardless of how much preparation they conducted.
As he settled into bed, his thoughts drifted briefly to the mysterious stat in his interface—now at 17 and slowly advancing toward whatever threshold would reveal its true nature. Just as sleep began to claim him, a subtle shift in the room's ambient magic pulled him back to awareness.
The change was imperceptible to most—a slight fluctuation in the dormitory's protective wards that wouldn't trigger any alarms. But Marcus's counter-magic sensitivity had been honed through years of practice, allowing him to detect the subtle intrusion attempt.
He kept his breathing steady and eyes closed, feigning sleep while extending his aura sense throughout the room. Someone was carefully dismantling the window's security enchantments—not breaking them, which would trigger alerts, but temporarily suspending them through precise magical suppression.
The window slid open silently, admitting a dark figure who moved with practiced stealth across the room. Even in the darkness, Marcus could detect the distinctive magical signature of concealment enchantments—expensive ones designed to mask presence from both conventional senses and magical detection.
The intruder paused briefly by Edwin's bed, apparently confirming the roommate remained deeply asleep, before approaching Marcus's side of the room. From a hidden pocket, the figure withdrew a small vial containing a faintly luminescent liquid that gave off no scent but radiated subtle magical energy.
A potion or toxin of some kind, professionally crafted and likely designed for specific effect rather than immediate lethality. Tournament sabotage rather than assassination—something to weaken him for tomorrow's match without leaving evidence of foul play.
The figure leaned over Marcus's apparently sleeping form, carefully unstoppering the vial and preparing to administer its contents. In that moment, Marcus struck.
His left hand shot out with enhanced speed, catching the intruder's wrist in a grip that immediately immobilized the poisoning attempt. Simultaneously, his crimson aura flared to life, illuminating the room with blood-red light that revealed his attacker's features—a lean, professionally-equipped individual wearing the specialized stealth gear favored by high-end security contractors.
Not a student, then. A professional.
"Bad timing," Marcus said quietly, maintaining his grip on the intruder's wrist. "I'm not in a patient mood tonight."
The assassin reacted with trained precision, dropping the vial—which Marcus caught with a hastily manifested construct limb—while using his free hand to draw a thin blade from a sheath at his belt. The weapon gleamed with enchantment, likely designed to penetrate magical defenses.
Marcus didn't give him the opportunity to use it. Surging upward from the bed, he drove his shoulder into the intruder's midsection while maintaining his grip on the captured wrist. The assassin's attempt to counter the move demonstrated professional combat training, but Marcus's enhanced strength and the advantage of surprise proved decisive.
With a controlled application of force, Marcus drove the intruder backward toward the open window. The assassin tried to twist free, but Marcus adjusted his grip and executed a precise throw that sent the intruder crashing through the window frame and out into the night air three stories above the ground.
Edwin remained asleep through the entire confrontation, his exhaustion combined with what was likely a sleep-enhancement enchantment from the assassin ensuring he'd witness nothing.
Marcus moved quickly to the window, scanning the grounds below. The assassin had managed to land with reasonable control, already sprinting toward the academy's outer walls. Clearly, the professional had contingency plans for mission failure.
Without hesitation, Marcus vaulted through the window, manifesting his crimson arsenal to control his descent. Three hovering weapons positioned themselves beneath him, allowing him to step from one to another like temporary platforms until he reached the ground.
The fleeing figure had a significant head start, but Marcus's enhanced speed quickly began closing the distance. Whatever employer had hired this professional assassin needed to answer for the attempt—and the assassin himself would provide those answers, willingly or otherwise.
Their pursuit path took them away from the main dormitories, across the darkened training grounds, and toward the less frequented eastern perimeter. The assassin's route suggested detailed knowledge of Eldavia's layout, including blind spots in the magical surveillance network that monitored the campus.
As they approached the boundary wall, the assassin produced a small device and activated it with a quick gesture. A section of the supposedly impenetrable magical barrier flickered momentarily—not enough to create a full opening, but sufficient to weaken its defensive properties.
Marcus wasn't about to let his target escape. With a precisely timed burst of speed, he closed the final distance and tackled the assassin just as the man prepared to slip through the compromised section of the barrier. They crashed to the ground together, Marcus using his superior strength to pin the professional against the frost-hardened earth.
"Who sent you?" Marcus demanded, his voice low and dangerous as he secured the assassin's arms.
The man's face remained professionally impassive despite his capture. "No one you'd know, boy."
Marcus applied additional pressure to the assassin's shoulder joint, finding the precise point that would cause maximum discomfort without permanent damage. "Wrong answer. Let's try again. Who hired you to poison me?"
Pain flickered across the professional's features, but his training held. "Client confidentiality is a professional standard. Nothing personal, just business."
"This became personal when you entered my room," Marcus replied, his patience thinning rapidly. With his free hand, he manifested a crimson blade that hovered inches from the assassin's eye. "I'm competing in the semifinals tomorrow. I don't have time for extended negotiations."
The implied threat hung between them, the assassin's eyes calculating his options. Marcus wasn't bluffing—there were limits to his patience, especially when dealing with someone who had just attempted to poison him in his sleep.
"Tournament outcomes have significant financial implications," the assassin finally offered, apparently deciding limited information might preserve his immediate well-being. "Betting pools, sponsorship arrangements, political capital. Your team's unconventional success threatens several investments."
"That's not a name," Marcus pressed, the crimson blade moving closer.
"I deal through intermediaries," the assassin replied, his professional composure finally showing cracks. "The contract came through the Veiled Hand network. Payment from an anonymous source, though the specifics suggested noble backing."
Marcus knew of the Veiled Hand by reputation—a loose network of professionals specializing in discreet services that skirted legal boundaries. Not quite an assassin's guild, but an underground connection point between clients requiring "problems solved" and those willing to solve them for sufficient compensation.
"What was in the vial?" Marcus demanded, retrieving the captured container with his construct arm.
"Performance suppressor," the assassin admitted. "Targeted magical formula designed to disrupt aura manifestation for approximately twelve hours. Enough to ensure poor performance in tomorrow's match without triggering medical detection. Expensive and specifically calibrated to your magical signature."
That confirmed both professional resources and significant advance planning. Someone had obtained his magical signature and commissioned a customized formula—neither cheap nor easily arranged.
"How did they get my signature?" Marcus asked, suspicion already forming.
"Combat practicals are monitored and recorded," the assassin replied, apparently deciding cooperation improved his odds of walking away intact. "Tournament organizers maintain detailed magical profiles of all participants. With the right connections, such information is... accessible."
Inside job, then. Someone with access to tournament records working with whoever had commissioned the attack. The conspiracy apparently extended beyond merely Blackwell and his immediate associates.
"The noble faction," Marcus stated rather than asked. "Which houses are involved?"
The assassin's hesitation spoke volumes. "I don't ask questions beyond operational parameters. But the payment channel utilized House Ravencrest's traditional methods. Take from that what you will."
Roland Dragonheart and Blackwell's other allies, then. Their concern about his team's success apparently extended to professional interference rather than merely tournament competition.
"You're going to tell me everything you know about who hired you," Marcus decided, his crimson blade maintaining its threatening proximity. "Then you're going to leave Eldavia and never return. And you're going to ensure the Veiled Hand network understands that I am permanently off-limits for future contracts."
The professional assassin studied him carefully, perhaps recognizing that this fifteen-year-old student was offering a more reasonable arrangement than the situation warranted. "And in exchange for this cooperation?"
"You walk away with all your limbs functioning," Marcus replied simply. "A courtesy you wouldn't have extended to me had your poison done its work."
Something like professional respect flickered across the assassin's features. "Information for mobility. Acceptable terms."
While he genuinely couldn't identify his ultimate employer with certainty, the circumstantial evidence pointed clearly toward House Ravencrest's involvement, likely coordinating with other noble families concerned about the tournament's outcome.
When the interrogation concluded, Marcus released the assassin with a final warning. "If I see you again, or if any additional 'professionals' approach me or my teammates, I'll assume our arrangement is void. The consequences will be significantly less pleasant than tonight's conversation."
The assassin adjusted his equipment with practiced efficiency, professional dignity somewhat restored now that immediate threat had passed. "For what it's worth, this was strictly business. But I'll ensure your name is marked restricted in the network. Bad for business when targets prove... unexpectedly capable."
With that, the assassin slipped through the temporarily weakened section of the boundary ward, disappearing into the darkness beyond Eldavia's grounds. Marcus remained at the perimeter for several minutes, ensuring the professional had truly departed rather than doubling back for another attempt.
As he made his way back toward the dormitories, Marcus considered the implications of the night's events. The noble faction's opposition had escalated from tournament competition to actual sabotage, suggesting his team's success represented more than merely competitive threat. Something about their unconventional composition and demonstrated capabilities apparently challenged assumptions fundamental enough to warrant extreme measures.
By the time he reached his room, Edwin remained peacefully asleep, completely unaware of the drama that had unfolded. Marcus secured the window with additional warding, then carefully examined the captured poison vial. The luminescent liquid inside represented significant investment—specialized performance suppressants tailored to specific magical signatures required both rare ingredients and exceptional alchemical skill.
Tomorrow's semifinal match had just acquired additional significance beyond mere tournament advancement. If the noble faction was willing to employ professional assassins to prevent his team's success, the symbolic importance of their unconventional group clearly exceeded what he had initially recognized.
Marcus stored the poison vial securely among his possessions, potential evidence should further escalation make formal accusations necessary. For now, however, he would keep the night's events to himself—sharing them with his teammates would only create additional stress before their most challenging match yet.
As he finally returned to bed, sleep now considerably more elusive than before, Marcus found himself reflecting on how much had changed since his arrival at Eldavia. What had begun as preparation for the dimensional convergence had evolved into something equally complex but more immediately personal—a challenge to entrenched hierarchies that apparently threatened enough powerful interests to warrant elimination attempts.
The mysterious stat in his interface had remained at 17 throughout the confrontation, suggesting that whatever it measured wasn't connected to combat capability or threat assessment. Another puzzle piece without context, waiting for sufficient connections to reveal its significance.
Tomorrow would bring the semifinals, with his team facing increasingly desperate opposition both within and outside the formal competition. For now, however, he needed what rest he could salvage from the remaining hours before dawn.
The assassin had been right about one thing—Marcus had indeed proven "unexpectedly capable." He intended to continue surprising those who underestimated him, whether in tournament competition or clandestine confrontation.
[Status Update] [Name: Marcus Phoenix] [Age: 15 years, 3 months] [Level: 81] [HP: 525/525] [MP: 875/875] [Class Placement: Advanced Class, A-Rank] [Right Arm: Missing] [Arsenal Manifestation: 13 simultaneous constructs] [Construct Arm: 14 minutes duration in simplified form] [Arm-Weapon Manifestation: Developing] [Left-Hand Swordsmanship: Level 18] [Skills:] [Left Hand Dominance - Level 2] [Construct Stabilization - Level 1] [Mana Efficiency - Level 2] [Arsenal Expansion - Level 1] [Weapon Integration - Level 1] [Memory Fragments - Level 1] [Remaining Skill Points: 5] [Stats:] [Strength: 152] [Dexterity: 143] [Constitution: 130] [Intelligence: 165] [Wisdom: 148] [Charisma: 75] [???: 17] [Quest Update: Assassination Attempt Thwarted] [New Objective: Compete in Semi-Finals Despite Escalating Opposition]
[System Message: Nothing says "we're threatened by your existence" quite like sending a professional assassin with custom-made poison! Good thing you were paying attention instead of, I don't know, SLEEPING like a normal person before a major tournament match. At least now you know just how desperate the noble faction is to maintain their precious hierarchy. Almost makes you forget about dimensional convergences and mysterious stats, doesn't it? Almost.]