Daniel

Daniel was half-listening to Nathan argue with a logistics aide about tent placements when the crystal in his sleeve pulsed—three short beats, a private message.

He stepped back from the conversation and turned, letting the others interpret it however they wanted. A quiet hum, almost imperceptible to anyone not attuned to mana signatures, emanated from the crystal. He already knew who it was.

His wife had finally written him. Now seemed like a strange time.

The message unfolded across the crystal’s glyph array in a tight, elegant script.

Vivian: Your recruitment poster in Yenlun is drawing attention. When did you decide you needed an army? Hopefully my father doesn’t think you’re planning a rebellion. Do you have permits for the southern city-states, or are you planning to simply charm your way through border checks? Also—the Machine. I need to understand it. The part behind the feedback loop. If you expect Imperial and even public support, you’re going to have to explain it better. And not just to Path Icon anchors or mage-engineers. To people like me.

Daniel blinked. A familiar, almost fond exasperation tightened his jaw. Her directness was always disarming. Just like her to cut straight to the core of the matter, bypassing pleasantries.

He thought he should mess with her. Because, why not.

Ethan: Ah. So my wife remembers I exist. Here I was, thinking the sword seclusion had claimed you for good. Glad to hear from you. You’ll be proud to know I’ve caused only two minor national incidents since you left. Three, if you count recruitment posters. Why on earth are you all the way down south? Aren’t you supposed to be on Lotus Peak?

“You can just say you missed me,” Daniel said to himself. He considered what to write next. What would throw her off? He smiled.

“Daniel,” Ethan said. “Are you actually flirting with our wife?”

Daniel shrugged. “Yeah, just teasing her a bit.”

Ethan: As for the Machine—yes, I’ll explain it. But you’ll owe me. Something formal. Possibly with tea. Also, it’s been long enough that I can’t remember if your eyes were more silver or violet. Hard to calibrate the memory without updated visuals.

Daniel grinned. The message was clear: I don’t really remember what you look like.

Let’s see how she handles that.

He was not expecting what happened next.

A second message hit. An image. Direct transmission. He tapped it open, and for a second, the world went very quiet.

It was Vivian.

She hadn’t smiled—but her expression was soft. The angle was just high enough to make her eyes the focal point: luminous, violet, steady, holding the challenge he expected. Her flawless ivory skin and sharply defined cheekbones were bathed in soft light, highlighting the contours of her face. Her collar was loosened slightly, deliberately, drawing a clean line to the hint of pale skin and the elegant curve of her collarbone. The pose was refined.

And then he noticed the exposed curve at the top of her chest.

Slightly on the scandalous side, but not distasteful. She looked lethal. And completely out of his league.

Damn. Just damn. This woman. Seriously. Sometimes he forgot that Vivian was named one of the most beautiful women in the Empire for a reason.

Daniel exhaled, suddenly aware of how still he was standing. His pulse, normally a steady drumbeat, quickened imperceptibly. He felt a faint, amused hum from Ethan within his mind.

Shut up, Daniel thought.

What? I didn’t say anything, Ethan said innocently.

We both know what you were thinking.

I can assure you I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Ethan sounded smug.

Nathan’s voice echoed faintly from the other end of the ridge, still barking instructions, blissfully unaware of the silent, personal skirmish unfolding.

Daniel typed slowly, a small smile playing on his lips. This was a game he could play.

Ethan: Appreciate the calibration. I remember now. Didn’t know accented capture angles were standard issue. Is that in the Li wife manual, or did you improvise?

Then he added:

Ethan: Yes. Permits are handled. And I’ll explain the Machine. Soon.

He didn’t expect a response right away. He wasn’t sure he wanted one. He still needed an explanation for her venture southward, but that could wait. He was sure she had her reasons.

He slid the crystal back into its sleeve, the smooth, cool surface a comforting weight against his skin, and turned toward the ridge.

Below, the camp was finally taking shape.

What had once been a rocky plateau was now a buzzing half-circle of tented pavilions, spirit-thread rope lines, mobile forge carts, and a handful of recruits doing warm-up drills around an array target. Mana scorch marked the dirt in concentric arcs. There were voices calling cadence, spell crashes, someone arguing over scroll formatting.

It was a mess. A beautiful, chaotic, unorganized mess.

But it was his mess. And it was working.

Daniel made his way down the slope toward the field. A pair of instructors saluted him as he passed—one from the Imperial Military School, the other an independent rune-tech who used to lay siege defensive arrays in the border provinces’ main military installations.

They didn’t salute Ethan Zhou, son-in-law of House Li, but the man running the Framework.

“Progress?” he asked as he reached the target ring, observing a group of recruits struggling with a basic targeting glyph.

The instructor nodded. “The joint glyph-casting is making more progress than we anticipated—the connected array is a game changer. Group A’s spellcasting lag dropped by fifteen percent after integrating the simplified intent-based targeting glyph. Group C is still overloading the input channel—we think they’re pushing too much raw intent through without buffering it.”

The intent issue continued to haunt them, and they couldn’t use hardware in this case to block it. He was going to have to find another solution. He had tried to form an intent filter, made from scratch, to add to the greater array but was completely baffled on how to get them to fit together. Thus far it had been a disaster.

Daniel knelt by the practice node recorder—one of his newer designs. A flattened arc-disc of copper-laced alloy inscribed with converging lines of command script. It was taking in all the data produced by the recruits through the wireless wrist modules the Framework—and he—had fashioned. They were crude but effective. Hopefully the information would help them analyze and come up with solutions to the bevy of problems that continued to plague them.

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Turning the units into groups that could fight higher-level cultivators (or demons, but they didn’t need to know that) was the objective here. And that required coordination, auxiliary power sources, and the ability to cast spells beyond a single caster’s limits. The individuals needed to move better, layer buffs for speed, strength, perception, and agility—and do it fast enough, in real time, for it to matter.

It was daunting.

He traced a finger over the edge. “What about the field comms test?”

The assistant flinched. “...It worked. Technically. One-way signal completed, but the receiver got echo distortion.”

Daniel stood. “Well, we’re fixing that today; I’ve got something new. But first, run through the drills—show me what you’ve got.”

The training plateau buzzed with energy by midmorning. Daniel stood at the center of the field, boots planted just behind the chalked command ring. The air smelled faintly of scorched stone and iron dust, mana drifting like static between drills. Around him, thirty recruits moved through staggered fighting formations—shouting attack incantations, casting buffs and reinforcement spells, ducking behind barrier wards and the giant shields of their comrades.

It reminded Daniel of his computer-gaming days—Age of Empires or classic Warcraft II.

Good Lord, he missed Earth.

The progress did make him happy, though it was chaos. Better than yesterday, but still chaos.

Nathan jogged up beside him, jaw clenched. “Group Two just tried to switch targets to beat back a flanking maneuver from Group Five. They did it mid-cast and nearly blew up their backline.”

Daniel didn’t flinch. “The grouping array for the spellwork isn’t flexible enough—especially if we continue to use the captain as the focal point and main caster. I wonder if we could divide that—have each person create a part of the grouping array. If we’re going to keep it the way it is, they’re going to have to communicate with each other better.”

“Not surprising,” Nathan said. “Most are barely Level Three. Half can’t even manage their own mana flow. Brother-in-law, are you sure this is wise? We’re asking cultivators to fight like legionnaires. Do you really think they can do it?”

Daniel didn’t respond immediately.

Instead, he pulled a narrow black case from his coat—spirit-threaded leather, etched with faint shimmering wards. He opened it carefully, revealing about sixty wristbands, each embedded with a silver-threaded crystal and a coiled mana-weave core. Each band had a glass monocle attached that connected to the mana-tech. Lightweight, durable. He turned them on with a flick of mana, tuned to the Framework and the assigned system back in his tent.

He held one up, then tossed it to Nathan.

“What is it?” Nathan asked.

“An updated relay node,” Daniel said, “for battlefield communications.”

“For messaging? Better than the last one?”

“Similar, but hopefully cleaner,” Daniel said. “This one has a visual pulse sync. Once they’re attuned, each unit leader can push short-form signals directly into the peripheral eye array through mental intent only. Direction, momentum, formation shifts—flashed as overlays, not words. They’ll know when to institute maneuvers and when to throw up barrier or attack spells.”

Nathan blinked. “Wait—like… visual cues?”

“Exactly,” Daniel said. “Simple glyphs that hover just long enough to be felt and seen. Simple commands that don’t leave anything to interpretation—real-time combat messaging, all with mental commands.”

“You want them seeing the battlefield like you do.”

“I know we’re asking a lot. Cultivators aren’t used to fighting this way. But scale matters—especially if you can scale in a way that uses your reserves and numbers.”

Daniel looked out at his budding army. He continued:

“I know individual strength is important. We won’t be able to win without it. But low levels are often used as cannon fodder. We cannot afford to think that way. I want every soldier to have what you and I have—input, spatial flow, instant awareness. If we use this right, our people will have just enough information at just the right time to act without thinking and in tandem with their squad and the rest of our forces.”

Nathan turned the node over in his hands, whistling low. “Brother-in-law... you have to stop doing this.”

Daniel slid a band onto his wrist. “Doing what exactly?”

“Stop rewriting the rules. Someone is going to burn you at the stake for being a witch; tell me—do you weigh the same as a duck?”

Daniel paused. “A duck? What? Wait—a witch? They do that here?”

He said it without thinking; luckily Nathan didn’t catch the slip.

Nathan just snorted. “Brother-in-law, everyone knows that if you weigh the same as a duck you’re a witch. They need to be burned at the stake. That’s science.”

Daniel was speechless. “Science? I’m not sure you know what that word means. And where on earth did you get that? You realize that doesn’t make any sense, right?”

Nathan gave a serious look. “Brother-in-law, I read that in a book once and everything you read in books is true. You taught me that.”

Daniel tried not to facepalm. “Little Brother, you are one of a kind.”

Then, without another word, he slipped one of the relays on his wrist and stepped forward. “Group One. Reset.”

The ten recruits straightened—scuffed, tired, but listening.

Daniel passed out his latest inventions and then walked them through sync protocol—the term he used for a group fighting together and trying to align their mana, turning it into both a weapon and a shield through the grouping array. It took a few moments, but then they were ready to fight.

They would need to do that faster in the future.

“They are basically doing the impossible. Give them a break,” Ethan said. “It’s still amazing to watch. That grouping glyph array is a revelation.”

You’re just as responsible for that as I am; your modification of the array to allow mixed mana, then running it through a tempering module to even out power and purity—that was genius.

If I had legs, I would take a bow. I do my best.

“All right, boys—let’s see what you’ve got,” Daniel called. “Show me. Without the new device first.”

The group came together, and when one moved, they all moved. It wasn’t perfectly clean or coordinated—still rough, but progressive. It gave Daniel hope. The team leader raised a hand, signaling the lead caster, who—with two flanking supports—responded instantly, casting in sync. The shieldbearer pivoted with the spellcaster instead of lagging. The formation held, and the casters sent out a massive fire spell.

It was high-grade, too.

Nathan let out a low whistle. “You just made squad-based heavy spell formulation viable, Brother-in-law. This is awesome. I’ve only seen Gavin pull something like that off. Please tell me we can go and blow some shit up!”

Daniel rolled his eyes but was still pleased.

He and Nathan continued to observe until he noticed who had arrived at the edge of the ridge.

The recruits slowed. One fumbled his stance.

General Li Zhenhua stood at the upper trailhead—flanked by two guards, cloak motionless in the wind, face unreadable.

He said nothing.

But his presence said everything.

Daniel’s spine straightened.

Behind him, three elders approached. One carried a long chest marked with House Li’s seal.

The General and the elders came—and they came bearing weapons.

And judgment.

Daniel’s breath caught. He hadn’t anticipated this. The General hadn’t warned anyone. Daniel thought—wrongly—that they could test this quietly.

Zhenhua didn’t speak—simply watched.

Daniel looked up, then turned back to his squad.

“Again,” he said. “I want you to pretend you’re taking on a pair of Level Seven cultivators. Remember the timing—five-second intervals. Cast to transmit.”

The recruits moved, apparently sensing the importance of this exercise. They moved well, cast even better, and timed their physical melee with precision. It was all around cleaner. Tighter.

After the test, the elders and a group of assistants set down a series of chests at the edge of the command ring. The boxes were ironwood and absolutely brimming with mana. One elder stepped forward and flicked the clasps open as others did the same on the other boxes.

“These,” he said, voice like rusted silk, “are the gifts of House Li. Meant for function; we are told you intend to revolutionize warfare. We intend to see if that is true.”

The elders nodded toward the boxes. Inside were weapons. Blades and bows. Sky-iron gauntlets. Arrows tipped with forged mana-aspected crystal. A war fan inscribed with compressed glyph arrays. All high-grade—the type of weapons mid-tier cultivators received if they were lucky. There were even some bordering on prototype.

Zhi, one of the younger recruits, whispered, “That’s a three-tier compression spear. I’ve only seen those in dwarven stock shows.”

The elder’s gaze turned to Daniel.

“House Li doesn’t fund dreams. These tools are to prove your vision.”

A second elder stepped forward. “If your recruits can make them sing with your system, you’ll have more.”

“If not,” the first added, “we reclaim them.”

Daniel bowed and gave the traditional show of respect with a fist to his palm. Nathan actually did the same. “I will not disappoint, honorable elders.”

The General interrupted then. “Leave us, Elders. I wish to speak with my son-in-law.”

The elders bowed, then turned and retreated.

Zhenhua’s voice was quiet, measured in a way that only he could pull off. “You’ve been busy, Ethan.”

Daniel swallowed.

The General stepped forward—alone. Past the guards. Past the ring. Into the drill field itself. His boots made no sound.

“You thought you’d test this without me,” he said—not unkindly. “You thought I’d object.”

Daniel froze, because the General was absolutely right. He didn’t know how traditional the General was and couldn’t allow this to be stopped.

Zhenhua stopped just short of the ring, his gaze sweeping the recruits. “You’re not wrong to question hierarchy. Command and respect are earned, not assumed. But you assumed wrong here, my son-in-law. I am not blind to strategy or progress. I do not loathe innovation. I simply feel we must monitor it.”

A beat.

“You forget I was once a student too.”

Daniel bowed lower. “Apologies, my lord. I meant no offense. I only desired to make sure our people are ready for what’s to come.”

Zhenhua looked toward the recruits again.

“They’re rough,” he said. “But they’re learning. If they sync with this system—if your theory holds—then you’ll have done what the Empire hasn’t managed in two hundred years.”

He turned to Daniel fully.

“So. Show me, Ethan. Show me what you and that machine of yours can do.”

Daniel straightened. “By your command, my lord.”