Night cloaked Yewell City, the streets silent under a silver moon.
Outside his mansion, Simon Harper, as James Ward, stood before two stray dogs, observing their reactions to his poison pill. The cool night air carried a faint dampness, the ground littered with fallen leaves.
One dog lay dead, its body still. The other whimpered, trembling but alive.
Simon nodded faintly. "The poisoned dog died swiftly. The other took the antidote made from ground moonbloom, keeping it safe for now."
"But without further doses, it'll die in six months."
His poison was lethal without an antidote, which delayed death for half a year if taken. Without continued doses, however, death was inevitable.
"This poison will make my plans much easier," Simon mused, cleaning up the dead dog before returning to his room.
Learning medicine was a means to master poisons, vital for his organization's rapid growth. This pill was a powerful tool to control and expand his influence.
Inside, Simon studied the vial of poison pills, his expression thoughtful. "The effect is strong, but the formula's crude, using common herbs. A skilled physician could crack it."
Marcus Grey had taught him medicine, not poisoncraft, so his methods were basic, potentially vulnerable.
Still, Simon was confident few could unravel his poison. "I need to deepen my poison knowledge to create something unbreakable."
He gathered his tools from under the bed: a steel saber, medicine vials, black night-traveling clothes, powdered scent-masking herbs, and a bronze ghost mask adorned with swirling cloud patterns.
Donning the dark clothes, Simon secured the saber and vials, then picked up the mask. Its eerie aura and empty eye holes concealed all but his piercing gaze.
He slipped it on, hiding his face. "Time to move," he said, a faint smile curling beneath the mask.
During his month with Marcus, Simon had scouted Yewell City, identifying targets—wealthy families with bloodstained hands, thriving on corruption.
A cold glint flashed in his eyes as he recalled his targets. In this era, wealth often came with cruelty, and his chosen marks were no exception.
Simon slipped out, leaving the three orphans and hired servants undisturbed. The curfew ensured empty streets, perfect for his mission.
He moved through shadows, reaching a grand residence he'd scouted days before.
"Here," he confirmed, eyeing the towering walls under the moonlight.
"Yewell City isn't Willowbrook. These families have defenses, like hand crossbows, to deter martial artists."
The Martial Realm's weaker imperial control allowed wealthy households to arm themselves, unlike his past life's ancient times.
Simon's strength was formidable, but a crossbow bolt could still pierce him. Caution was key.
He took a deep breath, leaped, and scaled the wall, landing with a soft thud.
"Woof woof!"
A dog barked in the distance, alerted by the sound. Simon scanned the courtyard—rooms, bamboo groves, rockeries—lit faintly by moonlight.
He sprinkled scent-masking powder over himself and the air, erasing his presence.
Hiding in the shadows, he waited as footsteps and rattling chains approached.
"No one here?" a servant muttered, leading a wolfdog. The dog sniffed but found nothing, shaking its head.
"Stupid mutt, wasting my time," the servant grumbled, kicking the dog before leaving.
Simon emerged, a smile beneath the mask. "Undetected. This'll be straightforward."
He moved silently, navigating obstacles without alerting anyone, until he reached his target—a large house at the estate's heart.
"This must be Cedric Holt's bedroom," he thought, crouching behind a wall.
Cedric Holt, patriarch of the Holt family, controlled half of Yewell City's taverns and shops, his wealth rivaling the city's martial clans.
"Second only to martial families," Simon noted, confirming the layout matched his expectations.
He crept to the door, listening. "All asleep."
With a flick of his saber, he eased the bolt open, slipping inside without a sound.
Moonlight spilled through the window, casting shadows in Cedric Holt's bedroom.
Simon Harper, masked in bronze, moved silently toward the bed, his steel saber gleaming faintly. The air was heavy with the scent of polished wood and silk.
He recognized Cedric Holt from a chance encounter on Yewell City's streets. The man slept soundly beside his wife.
Simon tapped Cedric's cheek with the saber's cold edge.
"Who's there?" Cedric grumbled, eyes fluttering open. He froze, seeing the masked figure, sweat beading on his brow.
His wife stirred, waking to the same chilling sight. Her breath caught, but neither screamed, their fear tempered by caution.
"Not bad," Simon said, nodding. "You've got some nerve."
He ignored Cedric's trembling and tossed two dark pills onto the bed, his voice low and altered. "Swallow them."
Cedric and his wife exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting dread. They knew the pills were trouble, but with a blade at their throats, they had no choice.
Cedric gritted his teeth, grabbed a pill, and swallowed it. His wife followed, her hands shaking.
Simon tossed two antidotes onto the bed. "These delay the poison for six months," he said, his tone hoarse to mask his identity.
Crafted from ground moonbloom and other herbs, the antidotes were complex, nearly impossible to decipher.
"Without another dose in six months, the poison will kill you."
Cedric's face paled, his wife's breath hitching. Simon smiled beneath the mask. "Obey me, and you'll get antidotes regularly."
He couldn't risk exposure. The Holt family's wealth and influence dwarfed his current strength—initial Acquired Inner Breath, bolstered by the Blood Surge Technique. A direct confrontation or crossbow volley would overwhelm him.
"Do as you're told, and you'll live," Simon said calmly, leaving the consequences unspoken.
The couple nodded helplessly. "We'll serve you loyally, sir," Cedric said, voice quavering.
"Good," Simon replied. "You're now members of the Verdant Society."
He'd chosen the name from a mysterious, powerful group in tales from his past life, hoping his organization would grow to match its legend.
"Memorize this token." He showed them a black medallion, etched with a coiled dragon in simple strokes. "Someone will contact you with this."
Cedric and his wife studied it under the moonlight.
"For urgent matters, leave this mark in Tanner's Alley." Simon handed them a paper with a jagged, sea-urchin-like sketch. "Someone will find you."
He gave a few more instructions, ensuring they understood, then sheathed his saber and left the Holt estate, scaling the wall without a sound.
Back in his mansion, Simon removed his night clothes, stowed his tools, and lay on his bed. "The Holts' wealth solves my money problem. Now, I need manpower."
He had a candidate in mind—Thomas Keen, a disciple from Marcus Grey's classes.
The next night, Simon, cloaked in black and masked, approached Thomas Keen's dilapidated home, its roof sagging under moonlight.
He'd noticed Thomas's potential while studying medicine, but waited until now to recruit him.
"Thomas's background and skills make him ideal," Simon thought, recalling inquiries made during their classes.
Thomas's family had died in an epidemic, leaving him raised by his ailing mother, bedridden from overwork. He studied medicine to afford her treatment, a filial drive Simon could exploit.
Simon leaped into the courtyard, landing silently. A dim light glowed from one room, where a figure sat at a table, reading.
He pushed the door open quietly, slipping behind Thomas, who was engrossed in a medical text.
Under the flickering candle, Thomas recited softly, his thoughts drifting to Simon. "If I had his memory, I'd have cured Mother by now."
He felt powerless, unable to envy Simon's vast talent.
Sighing, he rubbed his eyes, then froze. A tall shadow loomed on the table and wall.
Someone stood behind him, silent and unseen. His heart raced.
"Who's there?" Thomas's voice cracked, his neck stiff as he turned.
Seeing the bronze-masked figure, his pupils shrank, body trembling. "Who are you?"
Simon's voice was low. "I didn't want to disturb your reading. I know your mother needs costly tonics to recover."
"I'm here to invite you to join us. You'll learn martial arts and get funds for your mother's treatment."
Thomas froze, then knelt without hesitation. "I'm in."
Martial arts and money for his mother? He couldn't refuse.