Stepping out of the apartment, Richard let out a long sigh of relief.
He'd nearly been assaulted—the Grand Arcanist, brought low by some street thug. If the other Grand Arcanists back in Mothrella found out, they'd probably laugh themselves to death.
From that bald creep, Richard had managed to gather some intel. It was now 1999.
After learning the basics of this world, he decided to lay low, recover from his injuries, and slowly rebuild his strength.
Modern firearms were not something his current weakened self could deal with.
He found an unoccupied house nearby to stay in for a few days. Thankfully, in this part of the old district, there were plenty of abandoned properties. It didn't take him long to break in—thanks to the lockpicking skills he had learned from one of his former companions, a legendary rogue.
Pity that rogue was a little too light-fingered and met his end abandoned on the Abyssal battlefield.
With his mana reserves depleted, Richard could only rely on minor cantrips. Still, his bloodline power gave him some means of self-defense.
During one of his past astral expeditions, he had stumbled upon a remote crystal sphere world. Unlike other planes, the spellcasting civilization there had stuck to a path similar to the ancient Witch-King era. Over time, they had developed a bloodline-based sorcery system—users could cast spells and had the physical prowess of elite warriors.
Though they lacked the refined mastery of arcane manipulation that Arcanists possessed, their overwhelming physical strength made them formidable.
Richard had studied that system thoroughly and even integrated parts of it into his own body. Thanks to that, even now—while severely weakened—he retained enough power to survive.
---
[Status]
Name: Richard
Race: Human (Draconic Bloodline / Divine Bloodline)
Alignment: Lawful Neutral (Morally Flexible)
Class: Grand Arcanist, Astral Mage, Witch-King / Favored Soul Sorcerer, Scholar, City Lord
[Attributes]:
Strength: 21 (–5)
Dexterity: 17
Constitution: 22 (–7)
Intelligence: 27
Wisdom: 20 (–5)
Charisma: 20 (–5)
Divinity: 5
Status: Severely Injured, Mana Depleted, Soul Sea Damaged, Weakened
[Abilities]:
Spellcasting: Unavailable (Mana Depleted)
Draconic Constitution (Weakened)
Personal Demi-Plane: Damaged, Currently Inaccessible
---
This "system" was actually a personal AI construct Richard had created himself. It was based on his extensive research into tower spirits and divine god-cores, combined with game interface concepts from his past life. In essence, it was a simplified god-core—a high-end tool only Grand Arcanists could afford, requiring at least a legendary-grade soul crystal to operate.
Seeing his current attribute panel made Richard cringe.
All his arcane rituals, rune enhancements, legendary gear, semi-divine artifacts—gone. Even his bloodline power had been nerfed.
Once upon a time, he had used Wish Magic to push his stats to absurd levels. Much of his astral wealth had been traded to elemental gods, making him widely known—and even respected—by many elemental deities.
Now? He was broke and broken.
His soul injury would take a long time to recover. The worst damage was internal—especially to his demi-plane.
"Who knows what's left of it after that storm..."
Aside from the few hundred dollars he'd looted, he had nothing.
All his spatial storage gear had been destroyed in the dimensional storm. The only thing that might still hold some of his belongings was his personal demi-plane—but he didn't currently have the strength to access it.
Richard had spent over a hundred years cultivating that demi-plane. Roughly the size of a small continent, it had been terraformed into a massive ecological sanctuary housing magical beasts, arcane resource fields, and enchanted facilities. Even if 90% of it had been destroyed, the remaining assets could still turn his fortunes around—if only he could reach it.
But until then, there was only one thing left to do: heal the old-fashioned way—sleep.
---
The next day, after regaining a bit of energy, Richard began planning long-term. Given his current condition, he'd be stuck in this world for a while. If he wanted to recover properly, he needed a secure base of operations.
Obviously, a run-down squat wouldn't do.
At the very least, he needed a proper mage's hut—one with a lab and workshop.
This meant he'd need space. A hidden location. And—unfortunately—money.
Which he didn't have.
Fortunately, not all was hopeless. During yesterday's interrogation, the bald thug had mentioned this was an old industrial area near the city's edge. Many abandoned factories were left over from a previous economic crash. The original owners had either fled or died, and the buildings had long been deserted.
To Richard, that was a gift from nature
Time to build a new base.
---
Richard moved fast. He found one of the larger factory buildings and began clearing it out, reinforcing walls and sealing off weak points.
By the end of the day, sweaty and tired, he decided to go out, scavenge some furniture, and pick up supplies.
But fate wasn't done testing him.
Inside the abandoned facility, two groups had gathered—one African-American, the other likely Mexican or Latino. About a dozen men in total. They were mid-deal… for drugs.
Richard had walked into a cartel transaction.
Drug dealers often came armed. Richard had no interest in provoking them right now. He turned to quietly leave—but he'd already been spotted.
"Who's there?!"
The guards had seen him.
Weapons drawn, several gangsters rushed over after realizing he was alone.
"A guy."
"Wrong place, wrong time," sneered one of the men. "No gun? Perfect. Grab him—we'll deal with him after the deal's done."
Richard sighed, shrugging. "Guess I'm moving again."
The gang members surged forward. Richard cracked his knuckles, took a deep breath—then let out a sharp shout.
A sudden wave of pressure exploded from his body.
What had looked like a harmless vagrant a moment ago now radiated dragon-like majesty.
The gangsters froze, paralyzed by an instinctual terror. One pissed himself.
"Cantrip-enhanced Draconic Aura. Still works like a charm," Richard smirked.
Fear. Panic. Paralysis.
These thugs were addicts with frail minds. The fear effect hit them like a truck.
Richard grabbed a steel pipe and struck them down one by one. He showed no mercy.
Each hit was a guilty soul sent peacefully to eternal sleep.
The last two tried to run. Richard moved faster.
---
With all enemies down, Richard inspected the leader's body. Definitely the head of the deal. Strong, maybe. Durable, certainly. He'd taken several blows and was still conscious.
"You'll regret… stealing from the Wolves. Our boss will—"
Thwack.
Richard silenced him with another pipe strike.
"Thanks for telling me who to kill next," he muttered. "He'll be joining you soon."
Richard didn't believe in giving gangsters a second chance. If they were armed and ruthless, the only answer was to act first.
If word spread that someone had robbed the Hungry Wolves, they'd flip the city upside down. He wasn't ready to solo a small army with guns.
Battle done, it was time to loot.
Say what you will about criminals, but they had cash.
After ransacking the place, Richard counted $173,367.
That was enough to massively boost his base-building plans.
"Thank you, Mother Nature, for this bountiful gift."
He wiped away all traces of his presence and left.
This base, newly cleaned and reinforced, was now compromised.
Richard abandoned it immediately.
This time though, he finally had money.
He could afford better.
Still, the gang would be on the hunt soon. Even if he left no clues, he looked like an outsider—and once someone tracked the cash or spotted him, things would spiral.
So he decided: eliminate the Hungry Wolves before they became a problem.
He headed toward the city center to shop for tools and components to craft new items.
But as he reached the bustling downtown and looked up…
A massive Stark Industries advertisement flickered across the side of a skyscraper.
Richard froze.
"Wait... this is the Marvel Universe?!"
This was a realm of alien invasions, global wars, and that lunatic Thanos—the universe's self-proclaimed population control director.
Had he been at full strength, he would give no sh*t.
But now?
Now, he was terrified.