GAVIN LI

The moment his father arrived, Gavin knew they’d been fools.

The General didn’t announce himself. He didn’t ride in with banners. He simply appeared—standing at the edge of the ridge like he’d been carved from it. The plateau went still. Recruits stumbled mid-form. The instructors went rigid. Even the air seemed to tighten.

Gavin didn’t make a scene, content to let Ethan and Nathan interact with Father. Gavin shouldn’t have been surprised that his father was there. He was surprised, but really he shouldn’t have been.

It was clear that their father knew exactly what they were doing. Gavin suspected he’d known the whole time.

They’d thought—wrongly—that they could run the gamut of their plans—the medicine, the Framework, the military testing—without attracting notice. Mobilization of resources, the alchemy guild for the production and distribution of elixirs, the Small Swords sect and military conscription—all of it conceived and executed by the brothers. Gavin knew they would have to let their father know eventually; they were, after all, trying to get ready for a war. But Gavin didn’t want to bring a failure to his father. He thought if Ethan’s machine, or testing, or elixirs failed they could simply fade into the background.

What Gavin hadn’t planned for was the success. Everything his brilliant brother-in-law had proposed and suggested worked, and now they would probably have to apologize to his father for being idiots and trying to deceive him.

Gavin stood beside Lucas, watching from a distance as Nathan and brother-in-law, Ethan issued calm, clipped orders. Ethan was in the command ring, sleeves rolled back, relaying form-sync instructions like a general mid-campaign. The bands and visual glass—those strange devices Ethan had engineered—glowed faintly with mana and potential.

Ethan had given him and Lucus some yesterday. The mana tech was bloody brilliant, simple, easy to use and effective; if people could be trained.

The recruits were using them effectively and getting better every time they ran through the drills. They weren’t perfect. Some lagged. Some overshot. But they were working. When the recruits moved, they moved together.

Incredible.

Gavin watched as his father and the elders spoke with Ethan.

Lucas elbowed him lightly. “You think the old man’s going to gut us?”

Gavin shook his head. “No. Not this time. He knew what we were up to. I don’t know how long, but he isn’t shocked, and he brought weapons. He knows exactly what is going on.”

He couldn’t have been more right. Zhenhua wasn’t angry. He was watching, considering… calculating.

The General observed with careful consideration. He didn’t bark questions or demand explanation. He simply stood and let the silence settle like ash.

It was Ethan who broke it. Gavin and Lucas couldn’t hear their brother-in-law, but he could tell he was issuing orders.

The drills resumed.

Gavin’s eyes didn’t leave his father. He watched Zhenhua’s stance—how still he stood. How quiet. Not a flicker of motion out of place.

The General folded his arms and watched the synchronization unfold. Unit leaders pulsed mana into their wristbands and visual glass and followed Ethan’s instruction, given from his command module.

Gavin and Lucas, along with their father, watched as a group of low-ranking cultivators moved together, attacked together, and cast together.

They were able to throw up barriers, cast spells, and layer cold-weapon enhancements with the combined strength of the group.

It was raw, yes. Crude. But it was effective.

Gavin narrowed his eyes.

This could work.

No—this would work.

If the synchronization channels could be scaled. If the grouping array Ethan created could be stabilized and expanded. If mana draw could be standardized across differing core levels… and effectively used for group casting and fighting, then warfare as they knew it—would change.

The prospect was terrifying.

He glanced sideways at Nathan, who was throwing imaginary punches and yelling encouragement.

Lucas smiled at their idiot youngest brother.

“They’re utilizing mana even better than the outer disciples,” Gavin murmured.

Lucas snorted. “Master Shen is going to be upset.”

“He’ll be delighted—he can basically retire,” Gavin said.

The brothers looked at each other.

Gavin nodded toward the field. “We’re watching the shape of a new era. You understand that, right? Most of those cultivators have barely formed their core.”

Lucas frowned. “It’s even more impressive than you think. Ethan was able to design a mana siphon. Most of those individuals are Level Three, but Ethan gave a few of the more promising prospects a gauntlet that allows them to draw external mana without a core.”

Gavin gawked. “Wait. Are you serious? That should be impossible.”

Lucas shrugged. “Our brother-in-law seems to have a knack for the impossible. I sure hope he decides to stay—especially with how chilly our sister is. Once this gets out every single sect, tiered family and institution in the Empire is going to want our brother-in-law. We have to try to convince him to stay.”

Gavin had considered this. Ethan’s genius and innovation seemed to be just getting started. The House couldn’t lose a talent like that. Maybe they should start looking for additional companions for him. Ethan was handsome and famous now. There should be any number of women who would like to marry him.

Gavin thought of the Princess; she had seemed to express some interest in him, and there seemed to be some sort of connection. Oh, that wasn’t a bad idea. Though that might be tough with their sister. Shen Minhua wasn’t a bad option either. She was not only beautiful but wicked smart. Gavin and his father had actually considered the Princess of the Peacock Clan for Nathan, though ulimately decided against it. Nathan was many things, but probably not sophisticated enough to keep Shen’s interest.

But Ethan…

He would have to put a chopstick in that for the moment.

Gavin’s attention returned to the drills as the group unleashed a massive Level Six fire spell. It was really impressive.

Though the group looked visibly exhausted after.

Lucas whistled. “I am pretty sure that last spell could have killed a Level Six cultivator. That was incredible.”

Gavin nodded; he thought the same thing. “In cultivation, level matters. A single Level One cultivator is unlikely to ever be able to hurt a greater cultivator—even a Level Three. They simply cannot do enough damage because of how much stronger their opponent’s mana and regeneration is.”

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Lucas nodded. “I remember my lectures.”

“Ethan’s system is removing the weakest point in combat: the ability to connect an attack and the power concentration associated.”

Lucas’s brows furrowed. “You think this could scale? He’s working with groups of ten right now. What if we had groups of fifty or a hundred?”

Gavin considered the question, already calculating mana loads and the willpower to maintain an array.

“I think,” Gavin said slowly, “that at some point a grouping array would have scaling problems: inconsistencies in purity of mana and intent, and the will to keep the array together would be too difficult. However, I bet that could be challenged if you have one upper-level cultivator to lay the bare bones of the array and have the others provide the mana.”

Lucas let out another whistle. “Ethan mentioned something like that; he is already trying to redesign the spell reservoir so not only does it purify, but compresses the mana. It's seriously some of the most genius spell work I have ever seen. I cannot believe those idiot scholars at the Imperial Academy tried to blackball Ethan. We should send some people out to find those responsible and make sure they understand there are repercussions for hurting our brother-in-law. It pisses me off that they haven't been punished.”

Gavin chuckled. “Their idiocy is our gain; but I agree. Those who attack the Li family need to be dealt with. We will not let this go little brother. ”

The watched as the lower level recuits did manveners with spears the lot of them perfectly empowered from external sources sharing mana across equally.

It was bloody insane to watch.

It was absolutely true when he said this could change warfare.

The reality was: if ten low-tier recruits could move in unison—could channel into a grouping array and relay positioning through a stabilized visual input—and actually cast mana skills with some level of synchronization, then strengthwouldn’t be defined by the individual spellcaster anymore.

They’d be defined by synchronization of mana techniques and the effective use of them in real time.

And if that worked—

They wouldn’t need to outmatch the enemy. They’d just need to outnumber them efficiently.

Gavin let out a breath he’d just now realized he was holding. This change was going to be literally life-changing for the average cultivator. War had always tried to avoid turning cultivators into soldiers. The individual powerhouses usually locked each other down while the weaker ranks fought and died. You conscripted low-level warriors to hold the line. You conscripted them to die in it.

But if Ethan’s system worked?

If someone could train, have individual instruction for improvement and figure out how to work together while synchronizing mana, weapon techniques and attack coordination then entire families of minor bloodlines could contribute to frontlines without being wasted. Small sects could deploy meaningful squads. Whole formations could operate —without needing a high-level anchor to lead every single clash.

That was what Ethan Zhou had built.

It wasn’t a simple device or tactic. It was a reformation of how they perceived—and would eventually participate in—conflict, at least in large-scale engagements. And it would change everything.

There was a problem; it was on the tip of his tongue. Something that seemed glaring. What was it…

The drills ended, and their father talked with recruits as Nathan stood just off to the side.

It was then that Gavin really understood the weight of what Ethan was trying to do. Zhenhua had seen it too.

The doctrine of their world was about to shift.

And Gavin didn’t know whether to be proud, furious, or afraid. Probably all three.

The Li family had always been in the action—always at the forefront of conflict. It was strange, because for the first time in years… someone else was changing the game.

Still, there was something on the tip of his consciousness that he thought he was missing.

Gavin watched as Lucas joined his father and Nathan and they walked back toward the hills and the elders.

The drills had long since ended. The recruits were dismissed. The wristbands were collected. The war weapons were returned to their rune-sealed chests.

But Gavin’s mind refused to go still.

He didn’t speak to the elders. Didn’t linger to hear Nathan’s praise or Lucas’s cautious optimism. He let the others disperse, let the echoes of formation calls fade into the stone pathways of their base camp.

Then he turned and headed to a stand-alone secure building on the outskirts of their general encampment—where he knew Ethan would go.

Not to rest or celebrate, but to work. Because that was the one thing no one seemed to grasp about Ethan Zhou.

He never stopped.

The outer gates of the east training annex opened at Gavin’s approach. He didn’t knock. The mana signature registered his presence instantly—part of a new, experimental access protocol Ethan had quietly installed.

Figures.

The room inside was softly lit—ambient lantern arrays floating overhead like fireflies suspended mid-breath. The training floor gleamed beneath a mesh of inlaid glyph lines, subtle and pulsing with restrained energy.

And at the center—alone, barefoot, breathing slow and deep—stood Ethan.

Sword in hand—not the standard training blade, but the sword his lovely sister had given Ethan as a gift and a test: Qinglan’s Silence. The starforged weapon pulsed with a low hum—barely audible, but unmistakably feeding on the power Ethan was giving it.

The mana rolled off it like it was a portal ley line.

Gavin didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just watched his brother-in-law.

Ethan shifted, and then struck. The motion was seamless—an overhead diagonal slash followed by a reverse pivot, then a low sweep that circled into an elegant backstep repose.

Gavin blinked.

It wasn’t just beautiful. It was... clean. Effortless. Like the sword was shaping the motion for him.

No—helping him shape it.

The amount of mana packed into the blade and gathered at Ethan’s joints was nothing short of miraculous. A subtle shimmer ghosted behind Ethan’s blade—like a visual echo trailing every strike by a split second.

It was an advance version of the visual feedback. The system was feeding him data mid-motion with a holographic projection that mirrored and corrected his movements. Ethan flowed into a side stance—breath steady, center low—and executed a flourish Gavin hadn’t seen him attempt before. It was a difficult one. High-risk, high-difficulty, adapted from the fourth movement.

He nailed it.

The glyphs on the floor adjusted instantly—calibrating pulse timing within the mana flow and adding direction concerning the rotational force.

And Gavin finally understood.

Ethan wasn’t just training—he was being taught—by the system, making adjustments based on Ethan’s individual capacity, desire and need, which the system learned, in real time, imparted to his brother-in-law and then his brother-in-law used to improve and help the system learn.

Damn; it was amazing. Everytime he saw it.

Gavin stepped forward, slowly. “Hows the sword practice?

“Adequate,” Ethan said. "I still need alot of work."

“Adequate? I watched you fumble a less complex sequence when you were sparring with Nathan,” Gavin said. “That pivot loop you just accomplished? There was no way you could have done that a week ago.”

“Indeed,” Ethan agreed. “The Framework showed me what I was missing. Suggested a micro-breakpoint for mana application mid-strike. Three percent less force. Eight percent sharper angle. I’ve been too aggressive with my application.”

He turned. Finally looked at him. “The correction overlay is pretty incredible when you apply it in real time.”

Gavin stared. “I will never get over it. You’re getting live calibration on a martial form. While casting.”

Ethan nodded.

“It works on mana flow, too,” Ethan added. “Every strike runs an efficiency scan—recommends adjustments. Breath pacing. Anchor-point correction. Mana output. I’m still not completely sold on the mana flow adjustment, but maybe that’s because I don’t fully understand the vision. I swear the mana-application technique of the Li sword has to be the most complicated thing I’ve ever seen—it’s literally one part consciousness effort, one part muscle memory. Your founding patriarch was either a bloody genius or a sadist; I’m not sure which.”

He held out his hand. Mana flared, then compressed into a tight orb.

Gavin swallowed. The machine had run a diagnostic, broken down, and analyzed the most difficult sword technique in the Empire—with its accompanying mana flow.

Oh yeah just another day at the office. No big deal. Just changing the world one impossible task at a time.

“How is the test to try to get it to be more efficient with individuals?” Gavin asked.

Ethan tilted his head. “Slow. I’m just testing its limits right now. I have some additional plans for this once I get the right materials. The system’s learning from my patterns—adjusting to my unique resonance. I need to adjust seemingly to others.”

“But once it’s done learning,” Gavin said. “Once it has a full map—”

“—then anyone with compatible implants or attunement modules could tap in,” Ethan finished. “Theoretically.”

“Even freshbloods?”

“Especially freshbloods.”

Gavin turned away, pacing.

“You realize what this means,” he said. “If you can standardize this...”

“I know.”

“It’s not just about battlefield synchronization anymore. This... this could teach the most common of people how to fight. From nothing. You could mass-produce culivators.”

“Yes.”

“You could build entire strike teams—ranked by compatibility, not bloodline prestige. Equip them. Train them. Drop them into a war zone with enough sync nodes and half a dozen calibration bands and—”

“They hold the line,” Ethan said.

“Or more,” Gavin said.

Ethan turned back and activated another form—Li Sword Form Six, advanced.

He moved through it with terrifying precision.

“Just upgrading.”

The words rang like steel against stone.

Gavin didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then he walked across the floor. Stood across from his brother-in-law.

Ethan turned toward him, sword at his side.

Gavin wanted to voice his concern. Help him understand the issue he was formulating.

“What do you think our chances are in war with the Tide?” Gavin asked. He wasn’t sure where that question came from.

Ethan considered the question. “You’re thinking the same thing I am. This unit is powerful, but how well will these strike units really do against thousands of orcs?”

Gavin had been thinking that—but not completely. “Well.”

“I think that we have a fighting chance, but numbers still matter, as do power levels. I want to give us an edge. But I think I’m going to need you and the brothers’ help to pull it off.”

Gavin smiled. “What did you have in mind, brother?”

Ethan smiled. "Something that might change the game. Again."