Fendrel's boots crunched on broken glass as he approached the corpse sprawled beneath his window. The morning sun caught the crystalline sheen of Witherfang Resin coating the windowsill. Where the intruder had touched the frame, their hands had melted into a pulpy mess.

This is going to become a problem.

He'd applied the resin last night after the Blackthorn visit, carefully coating the glass and metal surfaces. The wooden parts of the frame hadn't survived the test - the resin had eaten straight through. But the glass and door handle held the deadly coating perfectly.

Fendrel crouched next to the body. "Which one are you?"

A silver pin glinted on the corpse's collar - a broken jawbone design. He sighed.

Well, I told Eryndra to send word in first.

"You got any coins on you?"

His search yielded a pouch with twenty silver pieces, along with two familiar bottles. The midnight blue of Silkslither Toxin and dark green of Xytherium Poison caught the light as he held them up.

Right. Haven't made this for a while but I guess they still have some supply of it.

The sight of his old formulas triggered a memory of yesterday's strange update. Fendrel pulled up his status window.

[CODEX]

* Glyph Healing Potion

* Glyph Mana Recovery Potion

* Shadowroot Draught

* Rotvine Fire Glyph Elixir

* Soulcoil Essence

* Venomshourd Extract

* Eclipsebane Toxin

* Witherfang Resin

* Gravebloom Tincture

* Xytherium Poison

* Ashrot Infusion

Interesting. Would this work then?

Without hesitation, Fendrel uncorked the Silkslither Toxin and drank it down.

[EFFECT]: You have been poisoned.

[STATUS]: You neutralized the toxins effect

[STATUS]: You have analyzed new poison. Silkslither Toxin added to the Codex.

He stared at the empty bottle, turning it slowly in his hands.

What happened to me really? How far can I go with experimenting on myself or pushing my status beyond reason?

Fendrel circled the corpse, hands on his hips. "What to do with you?"

The body had started to stiffen, blood pooling beneath it where the Resin had eaten through flesh and bone. The stench of decay filled his workshop, mixing with the chemical tang of his brews.

He poked at the corpse with his boot. Moving it would be a challenge - the same as Kaelor would have been.

His gaze drifted to his shelves where Nyssara's grimoire sat. She'd know how to handle this, but she operated on her own schedule, same as all of the people who just come and went as they pleased. Last time she appeared only after his transformation, drawn by the death energy. No point waiting for her now.

Do I just melt the whole corpse with Resin? The amount will melt the floor again, but do I have much choice?

His stomach growled, interrupting his deliberation. Fendrel moved to his small cooking area and ladled out a bowl of vegetable soup he'd left simmering. The broth was thin, the vegetables overcooked. He spooned it mechanically into his mouth, mind still on his problems.

The coins from the corpse clinked in his pocket.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Fendrel stared at the meager pile of coins on his workbench. Twenty silver from the corpse doesn't make much difference when he will need to pay upwards of ten gold for the mana equipment.

Fendrel set his empty bowl down with a clatter. His workshop shelves despite being full, held barely enough ingredients for what he actually needed to make. The rest of his supplies wouldn't cover half of what the Blackthorns expected, let alone the Cabal's demands.

The corpse by the window served as a stark reminder - the Cabal's patience had limits. They wanted their potions, regardless of his arrangement with the Blackthorns. And now he had nothing to give either group.

His hands shook as he gripped the edge of his workbench. The Blackthorns would come looking for their healing potions soon.

How long would you take shit from someone who never delivers what you wanted?

"Fuck."

His eyes traced the familiar formulas for Silkslither and Xytherium. Simple in comparison, and cheap to produce. The black market would likely take them both, especially given their reputation. He could start tonight, maybe even-

"What am I thinking? Am I really just going to try to get back to what I did at the start of this?"

The corpse by the window caught his eye. No, that path led right back here - more bodies, more problems, more people wanting their cut.

He paced the length of his workshop, boots scuffing against the floor. His gaze swept across the shelves of ingredients, past the grimoire, landing on a weathered notice board near his door. Amid the scraps of paper and old receipts hung a bronze medallion - the symbol of the Adventurer's Guild.

Fendrel froze mid-step. The Guild. They had constant demand for potions, and more importantly, they paid in legitimate coin. His hands weren't tied to just healing potions either - adventurers needed all sorts of brews.

He pulled a glyph-marked healing potion from his shelf, holding it up to the light. The liquid shimmered with an inner radiance that standard healing potions lacked. This wasn't some back-alley crap, he was likely at a level of advanced alchemists.

"How did I not think about that before?"

Fendrel grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

Before closing his doors, he glanced at the corpse once more.

Well, he is not going anywhere.

The resin on the handle left slight tingling on his palm as he closed the door.

At the guild, he went to line up as usual, but before he could get to the line, a couple of men intercepted him. "Fendrel Solinar?"

He tensed, but there was only so much they could do to him inside the guild.

"What do you want?" He snapped back harder than expected, which made the two men's faces harden.

"We're with the guild. Higher-ups have questions."

Fendrel froze, staring at the two guys, unsure of what this was about. But as the tension rose, someone else approached them - a woman in a simple blue dress with light blonde hair.

"Good morning, Mr. Solinar." She glanced between the three of them before continuing. "We know you've had a rough few days, but we need to talk to you."

"If you know that, I would appreciate a little more understanding," Fendrel said despite being stiff.

"Indeed, we believe you are in danger," she said before asking if he would go with them to the back.

Fendrel's muscles tensed. After the last few meetings in secluded places, his paranoia had reached new heights. "You understand my reservation about going to a backroom somewhere out of the way, right?"

She studied him for a bit before pointing to a table behind the counter. "Is that acceptable?"

He nodded and followed her to the table stacked with papers - submitted requests and new quests scattered across its surface. The familiar smell of ink and parchment mixed with wooden polish helped ease his nerves.

"We believe you are being targeted by an assassin organization," the woman said without further delay.

Fendrel maintained his expression, though his heart skipped. The fact she brought this up now, after the corpse at his workshop...

His lack of surprise prompted her to continue. "When you didn't come to collect your order, we sent someone to remind you, but when they pushed on the doors to your workshop, they were severely poisoned."

Something must have played across his face because the woman nodded. "We figure you might be aware already."

What is her angle here? Does she want me to confirm it or is she probing?

He looked down at his hands and whispered to himself, "There is no way they are worried for me."

Fendrel's eyes snapped up to meet hers, startled by his own candid response.

"The situation is concerning," she said, straightening papers on the desk. "Like that incident last month when someone tried to rob you. The delivery party barely reached you in time."

Fendrel shifted in his chair. "I'm not even a guild member."

"But you're our patron, and your payments have never been late." She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, tilting her head. "Though punctual order pickups seem challenging, we still consider you one of our own."

Her expression hardened, smile fading to reveal genuine worry. "We can help protect you. The area around your workshop is crawling with unsavory types. Frankly, it's mystery to us, how you've remained unharmed this long."

Because I'm one of them, Fendrel thought, suppressing a bitter laugh.

"I created an antidote for their poison attempt." He leaned forward. "Did the person you mentioned survive?"

She shook her head, lips pressed into a thin line.

Fendrel kept his eyes fixed on his hands, watching the faint shimmer of the glyphs beneath his skin. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't think the guild wants to get into all out war with those people."

The thought of guild members watching his every move made his skin crawl. He couldn't risk them pocking deeper around his place.

"I came to pick up my order today and to look if there are any requests for healing potions or other alchemical products on the job board."

"Master Solinar." The woman's voice carried genuine concern. "This is dangerous. We assumed you might already be aware, but those people don't just stop pursuing their targets."

A plan formed in Fendrel's mind. "I need money then." The woman's eyebrows shot up at his blunt statement. "Or materials to produce my potions. What can the adventurers guild do regarding those?"

She studied him with calculating eyes, the silence stretching between them. Her hand disappeared into a fold of her blue dress, emerging with a crisp piece of parchment. "We can employ you on behalf of the guild. I understand you are not interested in adventuring jobs, so it's production for the guild."

Fendrel took the paper, scanning its contents. The terms seemed good enough - almost too generous. His fingers traced the guild seal at the bottom as suspicion crept through him. How convenient, but what is the catch?

The contract detailed regular material deliveries and substantial payment for potions. Yet something about the timing felt wrong. First the Blackthorns, then the rebels, now the guild - everyone wanted something. He couldn't shake the feeling he was being maneuvered into something else, again.