Chapter 25
"So, let's summarize," I said, standing with my arms crossed, feeling like a CEO presenting to a key investor.
"Five injectors of enhanced combat stimulant, which I've dubbed 'Ultimate Predator Serum.'"
Not me — the System came up with it, I mentally corrected myself, but Blade didn't need to know that.
"And two muscle stimulants. Plus, I've reserved a Potion of Intellect for you in exchange for a future trade. Is that all correct?"
"Yeah," Blade nodded, leaning against his Charger.
"If you weren't so stingy, you'd sell more stimulants."
"I don't have much myself yet. It's not mass-produced," I said, spreading my hands.
"And since you can only offer money right now, this is my maximum."
Seven stimulants.
Ten thousand dollars each.
Seventy thousand total.
Blade agreed without even blinking.
Though, behind those sunglasses, you couldn't really tell — maybe he did blink.
"I'll bring you something interesting this week. It'll definitely be worth trading for that miracle potion of yours," he promised.
"You'd better stock up on supplies so I don't have to waste pocket change on them."
I choked on those words.
"Pocket change?! That's seventy thousand dollars! Is vampire hunting really that profitable?"
"Heh."
He chuckled and gently patted the hilt of his katana.
"If you only knew what this thing cost me — and what it costs to maintain... But yeah, some of it comes from ghouls, some was inherited from my late father, and some I earn on special missions from up top."
Here, Blade raised a finger meaningfully, implying that whatever "up top" meant was not a place for me.
"Whoa, okay," I sighed.
"Honestly, I inflated the price of the stimulants to discourage people from buying them outright. I planned to focus on smelting metals. But who knew it would backfire in your case."
"Kid, I understand that you could shut this whole operation down at any moment," his tone turned serious.
"Your potions are a tactical advantage that can't be measured in money. As long as the opportunity exists, I'll take it."
"How will you pay? Cash? I doubt you carry a suitcase of money around."
"Nah, that's inconvenient," he scoffed.
"It's the digital age. Why haul around kilograms of paper when there are secure accounts and all the other perks of civilization?"
"So you won't be tracked down and caught by the tail..."
"When you've got connections from up top," Blade grinned, pointing at the sky again, "you become practically a ghost in the system. Untouchable. Here, take this."
He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a plastic card.
Matte black, no name, no number — just a golden chip and a tiny, barely noticeable engraving of a crown.
"It's linked to an account protected by the British Crown. Expenditures of up to a million bucks a month won't attract extra attention. Even if you spend more, you're safe — the people up top will handle it. I'll re-link it to you through online banking now and send you the details. Seventy grand will be in the account today."
"Convenient..."
I had to admit, taking the card.
It was heavier than regular plastic.
I slipped it into my pocket, feeling my financial reality had just made a quantum leap — as the Instagram influencers from my old world would have put it.
"By the way, you wouldn't happen to buy gold or platinum, would you?"
The ore needed to be sold.
Expenses would only keep climbing, and going to pawnshops was becoming increasingly risky.
"Do I look like I've got a long nose and a yarmulke?" he chuckled.
"Nah, kid, that's not my thing. But I know a trusted buyer. Takes only 20% below market price, works with any volume, pays in any form, and doesn't ask extra questions."
"Great! I'll be waiting on his contact, Frankie's contact, and the bank account details."
"Word."
Blade pulled out his smartphone, and a moment later two messages landed on my phone.
"I'll send the account details later."
"Is that... normal? Sending sensitive information by SMS?"
"People from up top," Blade said with a meaningful smile.
"Damn, now I'm worried about attracting their attention..." I muttered.
"Don't sweat it," he patted me on the shoulder.
"I work with dozens of guys like you. But there's only one of me. I'm the sword. You're the blacksmith who sharpens it. They're interested in the sword, not the blacksmith. As long as you stay in your garage and don't go flaunting it, you'll be fine."
That was the problem, though.
Sooner or later I'd have to step out of the shadows.
But we'd deal with that when the time came.
Blade climbed into his Charger, the engine roared, and the car sped off, leaving me in the quiet of a Sunday afternoon.
I looked at my OP balance.
At the card in my pocket.
At the new contacts in my phone.
Then I mentally tapped the icon in the System interface.
And no, I'm not a gambler.
"Forge the Universe! 450 OP."
I stared at the result.
[Received Information Package (Uncommon) — Temporal Principle of Antimatter Manipulation — TPAM (Final Fantasy XIII-3). Unlock Cost: 900 OP]
Description: You can master the forbidden technology of the Academy of Gran Pulse, which combines antimatter and Chaos to control time. Without equipment, you can locally stop time for 3 seconds within a small area, but doing so will severely exhaust you and slow your movements, and repeated use will completely drain your body. With the right tools and materials, you can create devices that slow, accelerate, or halt time entirely. Fal'Cie Pandemonium has banned this power, fearing it could destroy reality — but perhaps you can unlock its secrets.
What?
No, not like that.
WHAT THE HELL?!
Is that even legal?!
Stimulants are one thing, but bending the fundamental laws of the universe is something else entirely.
Even three measly seconds of stopped time is too much.
Way too much.
What kind of bargain-bin Dio is this?
Granted, judging by the description, it's a very, very stripped-down version, propped up by a ton of crutches and side effects.
But still.
And this is just an "Uncommon" item.
The first time I've gotten anything above "Common" rarity!
So I'm not cursed after all.
The euphoria of realizing I'd just acquired a god-tier power quickly gave way to cold pragmatism.
What was I actually going to do with this?
Clearly I'd unlock it eventually — that wasn't the question.
But did I need it here and now?
I had 620 OP left and needed another 280 to unlock it.
Meanwhile, I could do another spin for 500 and get something more practical.
A bird in the hand in the form of time manipulation, or a crane in the sky?
I spent ten minutes thinking it over.
The temptation was real.
But TPAM's true potential lay in technology — and that required resources, laboratories, and knowledge I simply didn't have yet.
Three seconds of stopped time could save my life, but Peter's "Proteus" fabric, the stimulants, and Frank's guns would give me far more reliable, lasting protection.
And against something like the Hulk, three seconds meant nothing.
No.
This was an endgame skill.
And I wasn't even in the midgame yet.
"Forge the Universe! 500 OP."
[Attention! The user has reached the 500 OP price threshold. The chance of obtaining rarer items has increased. Item descriptions created by the user have been improved. Descriptions of dropped System items have been improved.]
Now that was interesting.
The System rewarded big bets.
I couldn't help but be pleased by that.
I wondered if there'd be another upgrade past 1,000 OP too.
We'd find out in time.
What mattered right now was what I'd actually gotten.
[Received Information Pack (Uncommon) — Technological Modernization (Terra Formars). Unlock Cost: 700 OP]
Description: You are a master of technological reinterpretation — capable of disassembling any piece of laboratory equipment down to the last screw and rebuilding it into something entirely new. A centrifuge becomes a launcher of deadly projectiles. A spectrometer becomes a laser capable of cutting titanium. An industrial 3D printer becomes an antimatter generator. Your deep understanding of mechanisms allows you to create innovative tools and weapons from the most ordinary devices, limited only by available materials and your own ingenuity. With this information pack, you turn a laboratory into an arsenal and every tool into a masterpiece.
You are now able to rework a jewelry furnace into a mini-forge for smelting unique ores, transform a laboratory mixer into a pulse generator for stunning enemies, and modify an oscilloscope into a detector of alien energy. And that's only a fraction of your true potential.
Note: Before studying this information pack, keep in mind that physical equipment (laboratory or industrial) is required. Results are limited by the materials and complexity of the original device. You are not capable of creating magical effects — only technological. Only science.
God bless the System.
A second Uncommon skill in a row.
And this one — it was a thousand times better suited to where I was right now than TPAM.
Just reading the description, I already felt my world expanding.
With this skill, I would stop being just a craftsman blindly following someone else's recipes.
I had the potential to finally become an Inventor.
Damn.
My head was already buzzing with ideas, each one more insane than the last.
I looked at my welding machine and already mentally pictured bolting on magnetic coils to turn it into Isaac's plasma cutter.
I saw my Marx Generator and capacitor array becoming the foundation for Shocker's Vibro-Gauntlets.
But forget just weapons — I'd be able to assemble miniature scout drones!
Improve the Proteus suit by adding an active thermal control system, or even better, adaptive camouflage!
And that Protective Field Generator I'd been putting off?
With this skill, it no longer seemed impossible.
This skill.
I had to get it.
As soon as possible.
And then I remembered.
The healing potion for Uncle Ben.
I'd been planning to unlock it from the Arcanum set for 200 OP within the next few days.
My current balance was 120 OP, meaning I needed another 580 to unlock the Technological Modernization skill.
Sorry, Peter.
Your uncle is in relatively stable condition — he has months, if not years.
And I needed this power now, so that we'd actually have those months and years at all.
With a skill like this, earning those 200 OP would be nothing.
Ugh.
Okay.
Calm down, John.
Just calm down.
Yes, the System had handed me a jackpot.
But that wasn't a reason to celebrate like a kid.
It was a reason to be even more careful.
The more power you have, the greater the temptation to use it — and the higher the cost of a mistake.
Plus the whole responsibility thing, of course.
At that moment, a message came in on my phone, cutting through my thoughts.
Blade.
"Your login and password for UK-International Bank. It's already linked to your number. 70k greenbacks in the account."
I downloaded the app and went through quick authentication.
The number lit up on screen: $70,000.00.
Not just a number.
That was freedom.
Freedom to act, to build, to protect.
Freedom from taxes, on top of everything else.
Excellent.
Time to go shopping.
"Yo, Peter, hey — am I bothering you?" I dialed his number.
Geez.
How embarrassing.
Why did I open with "yo"?
A couple of days hanging around Blade and I was already picking up his habits.
"Hey, John! No, not at all! What's up?"
His voice on the other end was cheerful and full of energy.
"I've been thinking — since we decided to make 'Proteus' in the near future, why wait? We need to buy everything we need. Can you give me the exact list? I'll try to get it all today."
"Sure, of course! But, John, I'm serious — you can't buy most of this at regular stores. You'd need to go through industrial and laboratory suppliers directly, and that takes time..."
"I have my own suppliers," I replied confidently, thinking of Lucas.
I hoped Blade hadn't been exaggerating about what the man could get.
"So give me the full list, no compromises. Include rough prices so I don't get ripped off. We're starting work tomorrow, so let's make it happen."
An awed silence fell over the line, and then Peter, rustling papers, began dictating with the professionalism of a seasoned project manager.
"Alright, if you're serious, then great! So — the components for the fabric itself. The base is a 3D mesh of aramid fibers. A square meter runs around $70 to $100, depending on weave density."
"Got it. I'll take 50 meters with room to spare."
I figured I'd need several suits — one for testing, one for field use, one spare, possibly one for Peter.
"Fifty?!" Peter exclaimed.
"John, that's enough to outfit a small tactical squad! Okay... for that volume of fabric, you'll need 10 to 12 kilograms of hydrophilic amorphous silica. Nanopowder, particle size 7 to 15 nanometers — the smaller the better, but also the more expensive. For the liquid base, polyethylene glycol, 30 liters. All together, somewhere around $2,500 to $3,000."
"Manageable," I nodded to myself, jotting it down.
"Next. Membrane fabric for the outer layer. Another $800 to $1,000 for your volume."
"We're going all the way, so noted."
"You'll also need polyurethane hot melt adhesive — that's inexpensive. With consumables, that's basically everything."
"Great. Now equipment. Go ahead, scare me."
"A high-speed homogenizer — not just any mixer, it needs to be precise enough for a perfect suspension — around $2,000. A vacuum chamber large enough to accommodate a roll of fabric — brace yourself, around $4,000. An industrial oven for heat treatment with precise temperature control, another $2,500 to $3,000. A thermal press, about $1,500. An industrial sewing machine with a walking foot that can actually punch through aramid — another $3,000. And odds and ends: specialized scissors, needles, Kevlar thread, seam sealant — roughly another $1,000."
"Holy crap..." I breathed out.
"Just estimating roughly, that's twenty grand."
"Yeah..." Peter confirmed grimly, a sum that was clearly astronomical to him.
"Okay, thanks, Peter. I've got it all. I won't keep you. I think by tonight, or tomorrow at the latest, I'll have everything."
"You're actually going to buy all of this?!"
Shock and admiration collided in his voice.
"I'll make every effort," I said.
"Alright, talk later."
After hanging up, I dialed Lucas immediately.
I read him the entire list — from the aramid mesh to the homogenizer — and waited.
Lucas took his time on the other end, the quiet clicking of a keyboard the only sound.
I didn't rush him.
"Twenty-five thousand seven hundred dollars," he finally said in a flat, emotionless voice.
"With truck delivery straight to your house — exactly twenty-six thousand. Everything anonymous, any time today after six. Payment: either cash to the courier, or full prepayment to my account."
"Delivery and full prepayment," I agreed without hesitation, exhaling inwardly.
The markup for that kind of service was surprisingly reasonable.
I transferred the money to Lucas from the new card and confirmed delivery for 6:30 PM, then hung up.
The first major investment in my safety and my future had been made.
The second still remained.
The offensive side.
I got into the Honda and headed out to pick up weapons.
To Frank — who might be the Punisher.
Thoughts were already turning in my head.
I needed more than just guns.
I needed reliable platforms I could theoretically modify once I unlocked Technological Modernization.
I hoped I could find common ground with him.
Blade's description of "a guy with his own principles" had sounded more than a little ominous.
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