The name she had uttered was not just known—it was feared.

  Her father's rea had been instinctive, visceral. The very mention of the Emperor's name sent a ripple of fear through the room. Lay saw the way the disciples stiffehe way her mother turned away, as if shielding herself from an uhreat. Even her father, a man who carried the weight of a dyi upon his shoulders, had trembled.

  This was not the man she had known in her past life. Something had ged.

  She lowered her gaze, schooling her expression into one of innoce. "Five me," she murmured, f hesitation into her tone. "I did not know his name carried such weight."

  Her father hesitated, the out a heavy sigh. "It is not your fault," he said at st. "You have been asleep for so long... There are many things that have ged since you st walked among us."

  Lay tilted her head. "Then," she asked carefully, "what has not ged?"

  A shadow crossed his face, but he did not avoid her question. "The world still belongs to the strong," he said. "And those without strength are destio be swept aside."

  Lay let the words settle, then, after a pause, asked, "And what of my siblings?"

  Her mother flinched. Her father's expression darkened, his jaw tightening as if weighing whether to speak the truth or ceal it. "They..." He hesitated. "They have carved their own paths."

  Lay's fingers curled slightly. "And aths are those?"

  Her father let out a long sigh, standing from his seat and walking to the window. The ntern light flickered, casting elongated shadows along the wooden walls. Outside, the sect's courtyard stretched before them, a relic of better days. The training grounds, once filled with eager disciples, now y barren, save for a few determiudents practig stances beh the oonlight. Cracked stone pilrs, moss creeping along their bases, whispered of a time when this pce had been respected.

  Finally, he spoke. "Your elder brother, Jian, serves within the Imperial Court. He has pledged himself to the Emperor."

  Lay kept her expressioral, but inside, her mind ed. "A court official?"

  Her mother's voice was quiet, almost pleading. "It was the only way for him to survive. After the war, after... everything, he had no choice."

  Her father's lips thinned. "Perhaps he saw it as a way to preserve what little we had left. Or perhaps he simply saw no other road but to kneel."

  Lay remained silent. Her elder brother, Jian, had once spoken of honor and dignity. To think that he now stood in service of the man whose ruck fear into even the elders of the sect—it was almost ughable.

  "And my younger sister?" she asked at st.

  This time, the answer did not e immediately. Her mnced away, while her father's grip tightened around the wooden frame of the window. "No one knows where she is," he admitted. "She left years ago, refusing to accept our dee. Some say she sought refuge in another sect. Others whisper that she turo the Demonic Cults."

  Lay narrowed her eyes. "And you? What do you believe?"

  Her father's shoulders slumped, as though the weight of his years had doubled. "I believe she is alive. But whether she is the same girl you onew... that, I ot say."

  The room felt colder. Lay let the sileretch, abs the revetions. Her siblings—one iude to a tyrant, the other vanished into the unknown. Ohey had been family. Now, they were nothing but pieces in a grander game.

  She exhaled softly and looked up at her father. "Then it seems I have much to learn. If I am to recim what was lost, I must uand the power that rules this world."" he said. "And those without strength are destio be swept aside."

  1. Qi Cultivation

  "Qi is the foundation of all power," he said. "It flows through our bodies in energy circuits known as meridians. Through meditation, refi, and tempering, one expand their internal reserves and streheir core."

  Lay absorbed this carefully. "Is qi something one is born with?"

  "Yes and no," her father said. "All beings have qi, but some are born with a greater affinity. However, talent is not absolute. A dedicated cultivator with determination surpass a genius who cks discipline."

  Lay filed that information away. So, like in my past life, hard work could overe birthright.

  "The ranks of Qi Cultivation are as follows:" He lifted his fingers, marking each stage as he spoke.

  Foundatioablishment – The beginning of all cultivators. The stage of refining and stabilizing the body's e to qi.

  Qi densation – The first step toward true strength. The cultivator presses qi into a denser, more potent form.

  Core Formation – The cultivator forms a golden core within themselves, a source of boundless energy.

  Soul – The core evolves into a soul-bouy, giving the cultivator deeper trol over energy and thought.

  Spirit Assion – The cultivator sheds their previous limitations, being a force that influence reality itself.

  Divine Maion – A realm beyond mortals, where a cultivator's will shape the world itself.

  Her father paused, then tinued, his tone heavy with reverence.

  "Many have walked these paths before you," he said. "Some rose to greatness, their ched into history as paragons of cultivation. Others... succumbed to the allure of power, their legacies drowned in blood and madness."

  He lifted his gaze to meet Lay's. "Let me tell you of them."

  Famous Cultivators

  "There was Zhao Wujin, the Jade Dragon Immortal. They say he reached Divine Maion at the age of thirty, his golden core so deh qi that he could reshape entire ndscapes with a flick of his sleeve. He was a man of wisdom, one who sought to uplift weaker cultivators instead of crushing them beh his feet. His greatest feat? Holding back the colpse of the Easterial Mountains by weaving qi into the very air, creating an unshatterable equilibrium that still holds to this day."

  "Then there was Lady Xuanyin of the White Lotus, who piohe art of dual-core cultivation, allowio wield both Yin and Yang qi in harmony. With her mastery, she could heal the gravest wounds or unleash destru in equal measure. It was said that during the Warris Era, etlefields fell silent at her arrival, knowing that either salvation or annihition would soon follow."

  Lay listened ily, itting their o memory. But then her father's expression darkened.

  Infamous Cultivators

  "But not all who reach the pinnacle of cultivation remain just. Some fall into ruin, ed by their own ambitions."

  He exhaled, then spoke the first name in a whisper. "Hei Long, the Abyssal Tyrant."

  Lay frowned. She had never heard the name before, but the weight of it in the air was enough to send a chill down her spine.

  "Once a prodigy, once a hero," her father said bitterly. "They say he was the first to reach Spirit Assion in an era where others barely touched Soul. He sought absolute trol over the flow of qi in others, turning warriors into lifeless puppets. Wheacked the Holy Monasteries, he ehousands, using their very life force to sustain his own. The heavens struck him down in the end, or so the legends say. But there are whispers... whispers that his teiques did not die with him."

  Lay remained silent as her father tinued.

  "And then, there was Mo g the Devourer. He did not cultivate qi—he stole it. His teiques draihers, siphoning years of hard work in an instant. He fed upon the meridians of weaker cultivators, draining them to fuel his own power. He became so feared that entire sects abaheir nds rather than risk being his prey."

  Lay exhaled slowly. For every legend of honor and wisdom, there were those of terror and ruin.

  Her father studied her face carefully. "Power does not make a person just, Meilin. Remember that."

  2. Martial Teiques

  "Qi alone does not make one powerful," her father tinued. "Without refi, it is like possessing an o but g the ability to wield a sword."

  Lay nodded. Discipline and teique over raw strength.

  "There are three primary bat styles:"

  Pure Martialists – Those who refiheir bodies through releraining, capable of splitting mountains without ever using qi.

  Qi Warriors – Those who blend martial arts with qi, using enhaeiques to perform supernatural feats.

  Dao Seekers – Those who dedicate themselves to the uanding of the world's principles, wieldiy itself as a on.

  "The stro warriors walk multiple paths," her father said. "One who refines only their qi will fall against a master of bat. One who hones only their body will break against true power. Bance is the key."

  Famous Martial Artists

  "There have been many who stood at the pinnaartial arts," he tinued. "Legends who shaped the world not with raw qi, but with teique hoo perfe."

  "Shen Tian, the Heavenly Spear, was a warrior so refined in spear arts that his strikes could pierce through reality itself. It is said that at his peak, his spear could travel beyond space, striking down enemies before they even realized they had been attacked. He never relied on overwhelming qi, but on precision, footwork, and mastery of angles."

  "Then there was Jiang Yue, the Flowing Moon, a woman whose swordpy was like water—impossible to predict, yet endlessly adaptable. She defeated entire sects without ever being touched, flowiween their attacks like a phantom. Even when faced with cultivators wielding immense qi, her bde always found the gap between their defenses, striking where no amount of energy could protect them."

  Lay listened, intrigued. These were not cultivators who relied on sheer power. They turned martial teiques into an art, a philosophy.

  Infamous Martial Artists

  Her father's expression darkened.

  "But not all who perfect their teiques use them for honor."

  "Wu Xun, the Thousand Hands Executioner, was said to have mastered every form of hand-to-hand bat, his strikes so fast that he could tear through armor like paper. But instead of being a protector of the weak, he became a butcher. He sold his skills to the highest bidder, wiping out entire s in a single night. Some say his teiques still live on, hidden within the underworld, passed down among assassins."

  "And then there was Bao Shuren, the Laughing Demon, whose fists could break mountains, but whose mind was even more terrifying. He believed that suffering created strength, and so he crushed tless challengers just to watch them rise again. He left behind no students, only ruins. Some say his spirit lingers in cursed battlefields, whispering forbiddes to those desperate enough to listen."

  Lay exhaled slowly. To master martial teiques was to walk a path of discipline and refi, but it was also a path that could lead to unchecked destru.

  Her father studied her carefully. "Strength is not defined by power alone, Meilin. It is defined by how it is used."

  3. Dao prehension

  "And then," he said, his voice quieting, "there is the Dao."

  Lay frowned. "The Dao?"

  "The Way of All Things."

  Unlike qi and martial teiques, which could be measured and practiced, Dao prehension was enlighte itself.

  "To uand the Dao is to uaence," her father expined. "Each cultivator seeks a different truth. Some prehend the Dao of Fire and wield fme as aension of their will. Some follow the Dao of the Sword, making their bde an unbreakable w of the universe. Others follow the Dao of Nothingness, fading into oblivion beyond the reach of time."

  Lay sidered this carefully. The Dao was not just power. It was the philosophy of the world itself.

  Famous Dao Seekers

  "Many have glimpsed the true nature of reality," her father tinued. "But only a few have ever dared to embody it fully."

  "Master Tianlu, the Whispering Wind, uood the Dao of Emptiness. He could erase his presence from existenpletely that even the heavens could not record his prese is said that he walked between battlefields unseen, his enemies falling as if struck by fate itself."

  "Then there was Lady Yunqing, the O's Refle, whose mastery of the Dao of Mirrors allowed her to create infinite refles of herself. Each was as real as the inal, indistinguishable and deadly. She once fought aire sect alone, her illusions turning every enemy against each other, until none remaianding but herself."

  Infamous Dao Seekers

  His expressirim.

  "But not all who seek enlighte use it for wisdom."

  "The Bck Sage, Xu Mo, followed the Dao of Decay, believing that all things must return to nothingness. He did not fight wars—he simply touched cities, and they crumbled. He whispered words, aire bloodlines withered. Even now, the ruins of his passage are pces where no life dares to grow."

  "And then, there was Gao Lan, the Thousand Truths, a man who glimpsed the fual ws of existence. But instead of guiding others, he sought to reshape reality itself. His Dao of Dominion allowed him to impose his will upon the world, twisting nature to obey his thoughts. When he was finally defeated, it took seven Grandmasters and the sacrifice of aire sect to bind his existeo aernal prison."

  Lay exhaled. The Dao was not just strength—it was knowledge. And knowledge could be the greatest on of all.

  Her father watched her carefully. "To walk the Dao is to glimpse the truth behind the illusion of power. It is to wield the fabric of reality itself."

  She tilted her head slightly, feigning uainty. "If all cultivators must progress through the known stages, and if evero fall, then where do I stand? What level have I reached?"

  Her father exhaled, studying her carefully. "You have been in an unwakeable slumber for weeks, Meilin. Your meridians should have withered, your qi should have stagnated."

  He reached out, pressing two fingers against her wrist. Lay braced herself, expeg to feel a surge of energy, a remnant of some hidden power.

  But there was nothing. No hum of boundless strength, no f wave of qi flowing through her veins. Only the fai flicker of energy, weak and dormant, like dying embers struggling tnite.

  Her father frowned, withdrawing his hand. "Your cultivation... it is not gone, but it is fragile. Whatever put you in that state has severed your progress. You will o start again."

  Lay let out a slow breath, pushing aside any lingering delusions of an easy return. If she had truly retained her strength, then why did she feel so... unrefined? Her body did not pulse with overwhelming energy, nor did she sense any newfound power c through her meridians.

  She ched her hands. If anything, she felt weak.

  Her father watched her carefully before speaking again. "Regaining what was lost will take time. Effort."

  Lay straightened, her voice firm. "Then I will train. I will restore what was lost and rebuild our sect."

  The air in the room grew heavy. Her father looked away. Her mother, who had remained silent for most of the versation, exhaled shakily. The few elders lingering in the background averted their gazes.

  "Meilin..." her mother finally spoke, her voice tinged with sorrow. "There is nothio rebuild. The world has moved on. We are a dyi."

  Lay met her father's eyes. "But not dead."

  He hesitated. "Not yet. But we are hanging by a thread. Resources are scarce, our numbers dwindle, and the other sects do not see us as a threat."

  "Then that is an advantage," Lay said immediately. "If they do not see us as a threat, they will not see us ing."

  Her father sighed, rubbing his temples. "This is not just about strength, Meilin. It is about time, about resources, about whether those who remain have the will to fight. Tell me, do you think a starving man who has lost everything will have the strength to wield a swain?"

  Lay remained silent, but inwardly, her mind raced. She would find a way. She had to.

  Her mind worked rapidly, calg possibilities, drawing from her past life as a ruler. What does a fallen natioo rise again?

  First—stability. The people needed food, security, and a reason to believe in the sect again. A dyi did not attract disciples, and without new blood, the Silver Lotus Sect would wither into obscurity.

  Sed—resources. If cultivation was the foundation of power, then herbs, ons, and training grounds were the pilrs supp it. They had her the nd nor the bag of any major fas. Would trade be an option? Or would they have to seize what they needed?

  Third—strength. A sect's power was judged by its stro warriors. She had none. If they were to survive, they needed cultivators who could stand against the tides of destru.

  Fourth—alliances. No kingdom, no empire, survived alone. If the Silver Lotus Sect had no allies, then Lay would create them. By force or by persuasion.

  Her fiwitched slightly, the echoes of a past life guiding her instinctively. A dying kingdom and a dyi… are they truly so different?

  She turo her father, ready to speak, when the doors to the hall burst open.

  A figure staggered in, covered in blood, his robes torn, his face barely reizable beh the bruises and cuts. Gasps filled the room as disciples rushed forward, but the man—barely standing—forced himself to speak.

  "Sect Leader…" he rasped. "They're ing. The Crimson Serpe… they io annihite us."

  Silence fell, thid suffog. Lay swore internally, a sharp pulse of frustration running through her. Damn it. This ges everything. All her careful pnning, her measured steps—it meant nothing if they didn't survive the night. She had been strategizing a future, but now the present was threatening to erase them entirely.

  She ched her fists beh the table, nails digging into her palms. Obsolesce was not an option. If she couldn't act, if she couldn't turn this around, then all her grand ideas were worthless. She would not be worthless.

  Arouhe room was sinking into despair.

  The elders exged grim gheir shoulders heavy with resignation. One of them, an old man with hollowed-out cheeks, shook his head. "So it has e to this at st."

  Her mother covered her mouth, her eyes gssy. "We ot fight them. We barely have twenty capable disciples left. Even if we resist, it will only dey the iable."

  Lay g her father, searg for defiance, for something other than helplessness. But his face was unreadable, his silence more damning than words.

  The battered disciple coughed violently, blood staining his lips. "They gave us an ultimatum," he wheezed. "Surrender and dissolve the sect... or be sughtered."

  A sharp, rattling inhale filled the room. Someoifled a sob. Another disciple sank to his knees, shaking his head as if he could will away the reality of their situation.

  Fear spread like a disease. Lay could see it—fraying the st threads of resolve, ing around throats like an unseen noose.

  Hopelessness.

  She had seen this before, in another life. In the eyes of generals who realized the battle was lost. In the voices of rulers who kheir cities would burn.

  But she had never let it stop her before.

  And she wouldn't now.

  And she wouldn't now.

  Lay inhaled sharply, log her emotions aanic is the enemy. Fear is the first defeat.

  Her gaze so the wounded disciple. "How much time do we have?" Her voice was steady, sharp.

  The man swayed but forced himself to answer. "A day... two at most. Their vanguard was already moving when I escaped."

  A day.

  Lay's mind burned with calcutions. Not enough time to mount a full defense. Not enough resources to hold a siege. Not enough warriors to fight head-on.

  Lay hesitated for the briefest moment, sidering the weight of what she was about to do. Should she take and? She was not the sect leader. Her father was. The elders had more experience. Yet, in this room filled with despairing faces, no one had stepped forward. No voice had risen in defiance.

  She uood human nature—fear paralyzed, uainty killed before the enemy even arrived. They were waiting. For someone, for ao tell them they were not doomed.

  If no one else would take that role, then she must.

  But by doing so, she would reveal something else entirely. Something uling.

  They would see her not as Meilin, the daughter they had known, but as something else. Someone else.

  Then they wouldn't.

  She turned sharply, barking orders without hesitation. "Get him to the infirmary—now. his wounds, apply a pain suppressant, and make sure he lives. We will not lose another soul today."

  The room jolted, startled by the authority in her voice. Even her parents looked momentarily stunned.

  This was not their Meilin. The quiet, obedient daughter who had once hesitated behind their prote was gone. In her pce stood something else entirely—a ruler, fed in fire.

  A, as her voice rang through the hall, something darker stirred within the room.

  The way she spoke, the raw and, the sharpness of her words—it was too remi of him.

  Her father's fie his sides. The elders exged wary gnces, unease creeping into their gazes. They had heard this kind of authority before, this kind of unyielding will. And it had e from the very man they feared.

  The tyrant.

  Jinhai.

  For a fleeting sed, doubt flickered in her mother's eyes. Nnition—no, not yet—but something that made her look at Lay as if she were seeing a stranger wearing their daughter's skin.

  Lay felt her chest tighten, her body still weak from her slumber, but she pushed through it, stepping forward. "Those who are uninjured, gather what supplies we have! Rations, medie, ons—anything usable. We do not have the luxury of waste!"

  No one moved. The weight of despair still g to the room, suffog, paralyzing. They had already accepted death.

  Lay gritted her teeth. Fine. If they would not move, then she would force them to.

  She took a deep breath, and then she shouted.

  "DO YOU WISH TO DIE AS CATTLE, OR AS WARRIORS?"

  Her voice was raw, powerful, tearing through the air like a war drum. Paihrough her throat, her weakened body screaming in protest, but she did not stop.

  "THE CRIMSON SERPEHINKS WE ARE NOTHING! THEY THINK WE WILL KHAT WE WILL WAIT FOR THE EXECUTIONER'S BLADE! BUT I TELL YOU NOW—THEY ARE WRONG!"

  The torches flickered. Something shifted.

  Disciples who had slumped in despair now sat straighter. The elders, once filled with silent resignation, looked uain. Even her parents—who had seen her as nothing more than their daughter—stared at her with something unreadable in their eyes.

  Lay pressed on, f her voice to hold firm. A ander does not waver. A leader does not break.

  "We have one day before the Crimson Serpe arrives. One day to decide whether we kneel and wait fhter or rise and carve our own path!"

  Her body trembled from the exertion. Damn this weakness. Damn this body for failing her. But she pnted her feet, straightened her back, and lifted her .

  She had been a ruler once. She would be one again.

  She turo her father, her voice quieter now but no less powerful. "Give me one day. One day to prepare, to rally, to turn this battlefield into our advantage. If by nightfall tomorrow we are still standing, then you will see what the Silver Lotus Sect is truly capable of."

  A heavy silehen her father exhaled slowly. "One day."

  The decision had been made. Lay ched her fist at her side. Now, let's see if I make them believe it.

  Unnoticed by her, her mother turned slightly, whispering to her father, "Meilin… she's never spoken like this before."

  Her father did not respond. He only watched his daughter, a shadow of unreadable thoughts behind his gaze.

  Crimson Serpe

  The chamber was suffog with the mingling sts of blood, inse, and damp stoorches flickered against the cavernous walls, casting grotesque shadows that danced with the dying embers of the fire pit at the ter. Above it all, seated atop an obsidian throne adorned with serpent motifs, Shen Mu observed his captive with a zy, almost indifferent gaze.

  The half-dead disciple of the Silver Lotus Sect hung from iron s, his face battered beynition, his body bearing the cruel artistry of meticulous torture. His breaths were ragged, but he still lived—for now.

  "You made it far," Shen Mu murmured, swirling a goblet of spiced wine in his hand. His tone was almost admiring, but ced with mockery. "But not far enough."

  The disciple coughed weakly, blood spttering onto the stone floor.

  Shen Mu leaned forward. "You knoe are ing, don't you? It is not just for nd, not just for resources."

  He crouched, gripping the disciple's between his fingers, f their gazes to meet. "It is because your sect harbors something far more dangerous than weakness. Hope."

  He stood, his voice carrying across the chamber. "Hope is a disease. It spreads like wildfire, iing even the most broken of people. It vihe weak that they defy the strong. That is why we must eradicate them."

  He turo his trusted lieutenants, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "But let's not pretend this is merely about philosophy." His gaze darkened. "Your sect leader—Lin Wuye—he e dearly years ago. He was a thorn in my father's side before I tore that old bastard's heart out myself. I will not suffer the same mistakes. The Silver Lotus Sect should have been wiped from history long ago, but the old man refused to die. Now I will correct that."

  A messenger entered, bowing low. "My Lord, our spies report movement in the Silver Lotus Sect. They have not fled. They are preparing to fight."

  Shen Mu smirked. "Oh? How ued. Perhaps they have found their ce after all. No matter. We will teach them what happens when the weak mistake desperation for strength."

  He turo a hooded figure standihe edge of the chamber—silent, unmoving. "Ehe message reaches our informants. Let it be known that the Silver Lotus Sect is resisting. And ehe Underlord of the West receives this… personally."

  The figure did not bow. Did not speak. He simply turned and vanished into the darkness.

  [Unknown]

  Beyond the endless dunes and jagged ridges of the western frontier y a bastion of steel and ambition—a hidden outpost standing at the edge of civilization. A pce of trade, refuge, and unseen dealings.

  This was no grand city, no gilded empire of courts and politics. It was a waystation of y, a wless bordernd where gold and power spoke louder than names. Merts came to barter. Meraries sought employment. Smugglers whispered secrets behind closed doors. And above it all, deep within its fortified heart, the great engine was being built.

  From the worn stohs leading to its gates to the t scaffolds surrounding its core, the outpost thrived in anized chaos. Every brick, every beam of steel was aep toward something greater—a mae unlike any the world had seen before. A creation that would either fe a new era or be lost to the sands of time.

  And at its ter, seated within a dimly lit chamber lined with maps and ledgers, Zafira al-Rahim ruled.

  No deal was made, no caravan moved, no war erupted without her knowing. Her spies were not merely paid informants—they were merts, beggars, schors, soldiers. They were everyone and no one.

  The test reports y before her, scattered across a worn oak table. Prices of rare alchemical reagents fluctuating in the east. A war brewiween two sects in the north threatening trade routes. A noble family in the empire purchasing vast quantities of refieel. The emperor's schors seeking rare metals for something undisclosed.And then, the most curious report of all—the Silver Lotus Sect had chosen to resist.

  Zafira's eyes flickered with i. The Silver Lotus Sect, a hat onanded respect, had been a crumbling relic for decades. Its disciples were few, its resources dwindling, and worst of all—it had no successor worthy of its name.

  Lin Wuye, the curre leader, was a man respected for his wisdom, not his strength. A father before a warrior, a teacher before a ruler. He had spent more time nurturing his disciples' minds than sharpening their bdes. His decision to lead with passion rather than fear had left the sect vulnerable, a mb amongst wolves.

  For years, their dee had beeable, their fate seemingly sealed. But now… resistance? Why?

  Zafira tapped a finger against the part. This was not the behavior of a dyi. Something—or someone—had ged the equation.

  The emergence of a new leader? A secret alliance? A on, perhaps? No, too sudden. There had to be a catalyst, a shift that had reighe embers of defian a sect that had long been written off.

  A calcuted smile curled her lips. "Iing."

  She traced a gloved finger over the part, reading it owice. A slow, calg smile curled upon her lips. "Iing."

  A figure k before her, head bowed low. "The message was delivered as requested."

  Zafira leaned ba her chair, eyes half-lidded. "And the one who sent it?"

  The spy hesitated. "Unknown. The message ged hands several times before reag us."

  Zafira's smile thinned. Clever. Someone didn't want her knowing who pulled the strings.

  "A," she mused, tapping a finger against the part, "it still found its way to me. How very siderate."

  She let the thought settle, filing it away. If someone wished to obscure their involvement, that meant there was more at py than a simple sect extermination.

  But she would uhe truth in time. She always did.

  She shifted her attention back to the table, where a sed report y—a list of materials requested by Emery Voss. Sulfur, saltpeter, refieel, precision instruments. The foundation of something grahan war, if his theories held.

  From the far end of the chamber, beyond the ns draped in silk and reinforced steel, Emery was hunched over a workbench, etg calcutions into papers and his quill. His brow furrowed as he muttered under his breath, adjusting his sketches—schematics of a on unlike anything this world had seen before.

  "Your materials are being arranged," Zafira called to him without looking up.

  Emery barely aowledged her, his focus unwavering. "Good. The refining process will take time. Precision is everything."

  She g him, amused. "I thought you only ed yourself with discovery. Since when did you care about precision in war?"

  Emery finally turned, adjusting his spectacles. "Discovery without precision is nothing but wasted potential. Besides…" His eyes flickered to the discarded message oable. "If war is iable, I'd rather not let brutes like Shen Mu dictate how it unfolds."

  Zafira tilted her head slightly. He had heard. He observed me through the smallest movement. He was always listening, always thinking. Alutting pieces together.

  She smiled. "So tell me, schor. If Shen Mu is pying his game, and the Silver Lotus Sect refuses to fall… what do you think happe?"

  Emery exhaled, gng back at his notes. "That depends," he murmured. "On who truly holds the pieces."

  His fingers drummed against the wooden surface of his workbench as his mind began weaving through the possibilities. Why now?

  The Silver Lotus Sect has been in dee for years. A faili with nal successors and no great warriors to their heir leader, Lin Wuye, was no tacti, no warlord—merely a schor who had g to old ideals for far too long. If Shen Mu's forces had already been pressuring them, then logically, surrender or retreat would have been their best options. Ahey resisted.

  Was there an outside influence? Another fa bag them? No, the sect had been isoted for too long, with no known allies willing to stake their own standing for a dying cause. A new beor? Possible, but unlikely. A suddehrough in cultivation? No, power did not e ht.

  Which meant—something ged internally.

  His mind cycled through the possible catalysts.

  A hidden expert resurfag? Unlikely. There were no known grandmasters from the Silver Lotus Sect who had vanished rather than perished. A forbidden teique, a final gamble? That would be a desperate move, but not an impossible one. His mind, however, did not stop there. His thoughts drifted, shifting gears from war to something more fual—resources, sustainability. If war was iable, then supplies would be paramount. He g the scattered parts on his workbench, the cost calcutions, the sheer amount of leather and silk being ed for record-keeping alone.

  His fiapped absently against the desk as he stared at the scattered parts before him. The ink smudges on his fingers, the half-dried quill lying discarded at the edge of his workbench—it was ineffit, frustrating. Knowledge was meant to be recorded, refined, expanded upo here he was, fined by the limitations of ink and paper, stantly rewritiire ses when a simple corre was needed. His face getting visibly annoyed.

  "This is absurd," he muttered. "There has to be a better way."

  Zafira, watg him with idle amusement, arched a brow. "Why the sudden fuss?."

  Emery reached for a piece of charcoal, rolling it between his fingers. "Paper is fragile. Ink is perma. Corres are messy, aing information over and ain is a waste of time and resources. What if there was a way to record knowledge temporarily—something reusable, something that doesn't require endless stacks of part?"

  He sketched a quick design oable, his movements precise and calcuted. "A ste board—coated in a fine yer of dust or mineral-based residue. Write with a chalk-like substance, erase with a simple cloth. It would allow for rapid aking, teag, calcutions—without the need for ink or wasted part."

  Zafira's fingers stilled against the part she had been idly trag. Her business-minded intuition fred. "You mean to tell me that all this time, schors have been wasting resources because no one has thought to use something temporary for writing?"

  Emery smirked slightly. "No one has o. Until now. But if I refihe process—find the right materials, ensure durability—it could ge everything. Education, engineering, logistics... even military strategy."

  Zafira leaned forward slightly, her gaze calg. "And you do it?"

  Emery adjusted his gsses, his mind already spinning through the possibilities. "Given the right minerals and a stable surface? Of course. The only question is how long it will take to perfect."

  Zafira exhaled, the out a low, knowing chuckle. "And here I thought you were just a schor obsessed with ons. Turns out, you might be the most dangerous man in this room."

  Emery said nothing, only smirking slightly as he returo his sketches. The world was on the brink of war, and he was about to ge it—not with swords or cultivation, but with the stroke of chalk on ste.

  Emery's mind is always running and right now he is thinking again about the Silver Lotus situation.

  The Silver Lotus Sect. A faili, a weak leader, a history of steady dee—none of it made sense. Why now? Why resist?

  He exhaled sharply, adjusting his spectacles. Cultivation, as far as he was ed, was little more than glorified mysticism. People cimed to refine 'qi' and prehend the 'Dao,' but at the end of the day, strength was determined by the same rules g everything else—biology, physics, strategy. The stro warriors were the ones with discipline, knowledge, and the ability to adapt. No divine forces, no fate, just cause and effect.

  A, here they were, dealing with a sect that should have already crumbled yet had chosen to stand its ground. The logical part of his mied the idea of some 'miraculous resurgehere had to be something tangible behind it. Was it a st desperate act? Or had something truly ged?

  His fiapped against the table as he sidered the possibilities. A sudden shift in leadership was the most pusible. But leaders did not appear out of thin air, especially not in a se the verge of ruin. If someone had stepped forward, that meant they had power—not necessarily cultivation, but influence, intelligence, or the ability to make others believe in them.

  A tacti? A war strategist? He scoffed at the notion. Such a mind would have been noticed long before now. Unless...

  Uhey had been uimated. Hidden in pin sight.

  His smirk faded slightly. If that were the case, then the Crimson Serpe might be walking into something far more dangerous than they anticipated.

  Emery shook his head. "People don't ge ht. As don't rise from the ashes without reason. Keep an eye on them, Zafira. See who es out on top. That will tell us everything we o know."