Daniel

Daniel stood over the sequencer array, adjusting the calibration threads for the third time. The lattice responded sluggishly—old hardware, worn runes—but still precise enough to give him what he needed.

A clean signal. Just once.

He made a final adjustment, triggered a soft mana pulse, and watched as the glyphs aligned in near-perfect sync. No bleed. No chaotic spikes. Just clean structure. A certain foundation.

The array hummed quietly. Stable.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was real.

The test gave him a better sense of Ethan’s original intent—and, in the process, helped clarify his own. Every iteration taught him something new. Every failed sync brought him closer to what this system could be. It was amazing how much this stuff was like circuit boards but at the same time not. It was close to the concepts they were exploring—like a dream of something familiar with the ridiculous and unexpected thrown in.

He wondered if this was how Bill Gates felt all those years ago in his garage.

“Yeah, it was a good idea to come here,” he said softly. “Even if the administration is a bunch of clowns.”

“Agreed. No one here is going to help us. They’re outdated. It’s like they want to sharpen a sword with a spoon while pretending it’s innovative.”

Daniel snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

Ethan didn’t reply right away. Daniel traced one of the calibration threads absently. “You built all this without help. No team. No funding. Half the time, you didn’t even have permission.”

A pause.

“You took raw instinct and tried to turn it into architecture. That’s not just impressive—it’s borderline insane. And I mean that in the best possible way.”

Ethan exhaled quietly, which was interesting, considering he didn’t have lungs. “Well. I had time.”

“Sure. When you’re an outcast, that happens,” Daniel said. “But more than that—you had vision. My world was built because of people like that. And you should know, those people are the ones who change everything.”

Another silence. Not awkward—thoughtful.

“You saw the problem years before anyone else even realized there was one. You tried to fix it with tools no one understood. And now? You’ve given me a foundation that might actually get us where we need to go.”

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“You’re doing more with it than I ever could.”

Daniel shook his head. “I would’ve been lost without you here. Not just because of the memory bleed. But your insight—your proximity to the issues. I like to think I’ve adapted well, but there’s no way I’d have come this far without your input.”

He paused.

“I think the hardest part is asking the right question. And on that front? Mission accomplished.”

A beat. Then Ethan, quieter: “I never thought anyone would see it. Let alone... this.”

Daniel smiled as he gathered up the notes. “You weren’t wrong, Ethan. Just early.”

The heavy footsteps came before the voice. Familiar weight. Familiar rhythm.

Nathan Li strolled into the vault, hands tucked into his belt sash, wearing the expression of a man who’d spent the morning doing absolutely nothing useful—and was deeply proud of it.

“Packing up already?” Nathan asked. “Hope the nerds didn’t drain the fire out of you.”

Daniel looked up. “Done here.”

Nathan gave the sequencer a once-over. “You ever going to explain what this thing does?”

Daniel closed the housing panel. “Not without diagrams. And a translator.”

Nathan grinned. “Right. In that case—good news. Life-changing. Possibly painful.”

Daniel arched a brow.

Nathan clapped a hand on his shoulder with all the subtlety of a warhammer.

“You, my brilliant, brooding, not-so-secret genius of a brother-in-law—have just been officially assigned a sword instructor.”

Daniel blinked. “You?”

Nathan gave an exaggerated bow. “Me. And Master Shen. Father gave the word. You’re coming back to the estate. Training starts tonight. Li Sword Method. Full instruction. No half-steps.”

Daniel considered. “Didn’t your last student get carted off to the medical sect?”

Nathan’s grin widened. “That was an accident. He blinked during a parry drill.”

“Oh. Well, in that case.”

Nathan leaned against the central column. “We leave by Second Bell. I drag you in. You sweat before dinner. You’ll thank me eventually.”

Daniel began securing the sequencer into its travel case. “That’s not all, is it?”

Nathan looked pleased. “Smart and paranoid. I like it.”

He held up two fingers. “Tempering Master. Inner Hall. She’ll read your body type, core purity, breath rhythm, the whole thing. Help you lock in a proper Tempering Mantra.”

Daniel nodded. That would help. A poorly matched cultivation method was one of the most common causes of meridian degradation across all stages of practice. Having someone analyze his body mechanics, breath structure, and internal rhythm could shave years off his training curve.

“And?”

Nathan flipped up a third finger. “Technique Master. Basics. Forms. Footwork. Rhythm. Arrays and activation sequences. The stuff most sects bury in poetic metaphors. We’re skipping the pretty words. Just real drills.”

Daniel paused.

“You’re giving me a team.”

Nathan beamed. “No. I’m building you into the kind of badass who deserves one.”

Daniel let the silence stretch.

Then: “Fine.”

Nathan blinked. “That’s it? No protest? No sarcasm? No muttering about meathead mysticism?”

Daniel shrugged. “I’ve seen the logic. Now I need the rhythm.”

“You’re about to get beaten into enlightenment. It’ll be good for you.”

Daniel closed the case. “I am all for this. So long as I’m still walking after the first week.”

“No promises,” Nathan said, already striding toward the door. “Pack fast. Two bells. I want to see you wobble into the courtyard.”

Daniel watched him go, the grin still trailing behind like a war banner.

Then he looked back down at the sequencer—the still-glowing grid of runes and light locked in silent calibration.

“Swordsmanship and system design,” he murmured. “Let’s see if they can coexist.”