Daniel

The Imperial Academy looked less like a school and more like a sanctum built to withstand time itself. Vaulted gates rose above him, carved from pale spiritstone veined with gold and laced with mana-etched runes. The entire front plaza was a performance of legacy—statues of sages, fountains that bled charm-fed mist, and banners that shimmered with illusions of the Empire's greatest victories.

Daniel had never seen it before. Obviously, being from another world and all that. And yet… he could feel something familiar in the stone. A pressure. A rhythm beneath the ground. Like stepping into a temple built not to worship gods—but knowledge.

“Straight ahead,” Ethan said from the back of his mind. “Left of the main fountain. You’ll pass a row of planters. Third one’s hiding a ward stone that glitches during core sync pulses. Used to prank people there.”

Daniel blinked. “You remember that?”

“I lived here,” Ethan replied. “Or tried to.”

Beside him, Nathan Li stretched with his arms folded behind his head. “Brother-in-law, you didn’t really go here, did you? This place is for a bunch of people who can’t throw a proper punch.”

Daniel sighed at his younger brother-in-law. He’d been halfway through recalibrating a mana tracer when Nathan leaned into the lab with a grin and a bottle already in hand.

“Brother-in-law. You’ve been in that lab for weeks. Your wife is gone. Come on—drinking, gambling, a bit of tasteful whoring. My treat.”

“Sorry, little brother. I’m heading to the Imperial Academy,” Daniel replied without looking up.

Nathan blinked. “You’re what? Academy? Why would you want to do that?”

“Vault access. I need some of my old equipment.”

Nathan had stared for a long moment. Then, with a shrug and a grin, said, “Fine. I’ll take you. But it would be way more fun to go whoring.”

“I notice you cut out the other stuff.”

Nathan ignored him. “Imperial Academy—that’s near the Jaidan Sun. Perfect. There is a fantastic whorehouse there that has foreign beauties. We’re taking one of the flight fleet carriages. They are expensive to operate, but Father will understand. And I’m not getting blamed if you get mobbed by nerds on the way.”

That was two days ago. He’d been like a kid in a candy store ever since.

As they walked deeper into campus, Daniel’s eyes scanned everything—the flow of students, the courtyard conversations, people studying, laughing, arguing in central squares. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he was back at a college on Earth.

Excluding the fact that everyone was dressed like a Chinese fantasy novel.

That fact was actually a bit eerie.

Dozens of students milled about the open courtyard. And as Daniel and Nathan crossed into view, heads began to turn. The whispers followed.

“Is that… Ethan Zhou?”

“Didn’t he get exiled?”

“I heard he married into House Li.”

“No way… that’s the same guy?”

Daniel ignored them all. He walked with the calm of someone who didn’t need to explain himself—chin level, pace steady, hands clasped behind his back. Not out of arrogance. Out of control.

“You’re not exactly popular,” he said to Ethan, inwardly.

Ethan chuckled. “I had the whole moody genius thing down when I was younger. Honestly, I was just awkward and… if I’m being honest, a bit of a dick.”

“So these people knew you as awkward Ethan. And you haven’t been back since you… regressed?”

“Didn’t seem important at the time. I spent my first couple of weeks just trying to catalog everything leading up to the Demon Clan war. That’s really why Caleb had his window with Claire

.”

“Smart,” Daniel murmured aloud. “You should show me that list.”

Ethan flinched. “Of course. It’s stupid I haven’t as of yet. Sorry. I’m used to working alone.”

“Brother-in-law?” Nathan said, frowning. “Did you say something?”

Daniel glanced at him as they passed a stone gate lined with shimmering ward glyphs.

“Let me ask you something,” he said. “You being a martial prodigy and all.”

Nathan grinned. “What is it? Of course I’m always happy to bless you with my insights.”

“I’ve been thinking about technique execution,” Daniel said casually. “Cycling them, specifically.”

Nathan blinked. “Cycling?”

“How quickly you can execute a martial technique, recover, and fire again. Not just physical readiness—the full chain. Mana infusion. Intent alignment. Activation sequence.”

Nathan gave a thoughtful look. “Huh. Never broke it down like that.”

“Let’s take Wind Lotus Gale Palm. How many times could you cast it in succession—say, five times in fifteen seconds?”

Nathan rubbed his jaw. “I can run that technique in my sleep, so pretty fast. But honestly? A better answer for your question is: it depends. You should think of it based on the individual technique. First—difficulty. That sets your mana drain and build-up window. Long or complex techniques take longer to recover.”

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Daniel nodded. All that made sense. He expected as much.

“And alignment,” Nathan added. “Battlefield alignment, mental prep, activation flow—it all matters. Intent, breathing, mana pull, and the specific technique script. If even one of those is off, even if you’ve got the mana, the cast stutters.”

“So the recovery window,” Daniel said slowly, “depends as much on internal cohesion as it does raw power and the actual ability to execute? You need the right mind state to maximize performance.”

“Right,” Nathan agreed. “Battle recovery. That’s as good a term as any.”

He shrugged. “Push a technique when you’re not aligned? You’ll burden your core. That’s why even experts drill basics until they’re second nature. The more ingrained the technique, the faster you can reset. That’s why high-end Users cast like they’re breathing.”

Daniel gave a low hum. “So trained mana and muscle memory reduces the recalibration threshold.”

Nathan gave him a blank look. “I don’t know what that means.”

Daniel smirked. “Thanks. That answered exactly what I needed.”

Nathan shrugged. “Only you would treat technique cooldowns like a math problem.”

Daniel smiled, but his mind was already elsewhere.

“He doesn’t even look at anyone.”

“I heard he was a prodigy—before he lost it.”

“Maybe marrying Vivian Li fixed him.”

Daniel let the words drift past. He wasn’t here for attention. He was here to recover his tools.

Their whispers didn’t matter; he didn't know or care about these people.

The reception hall rose before them—glass walls curved like an open scroll, threaded with gold-fused runes. Inside, a young administrator in silver-trimmed robes approached, ledger in hand, unsure whether to bow or run.

“Honored guest,” he said. “May I ask your business with the Academy?”

“I’m here to access a vault under the name Ethan Zhou,” Daniel replied.

The attendant froze. “That account… was sealed.”

“It’s still mine. Unseal it.”

The man hesitated. “One moment. I’ll notify the senior archivist.”

As he turned away, Nathan let out a low whistle. “You’ve got them twitchy.”

“It’s probably you, little brother, the Great Nathan Li,” Daniel said. “But if you’re bored you don’t have to stay.”

“I like that you understand people—and me, brother-in-law. Still, these scholar types need to be taught respect. I will make sure they respect you. Besides, I want to see why this vault of yours gets a reaction like that,” Nathan replied. “And the gambling den’s closed until dusk.”

They waited.

Five minutes. Then ten.

Finally, an older man arrived—distinguished, robed in muted red with a golden sash of authority. His hair was graying, but his mana presence was sharp and disciplined.

“Zhou Ethan,” he said with practiced warmth. “Or should I say… Lord Zhou?”

Daniel inclined his head. “Administrator Jian.”

“You’ve returned after a long absence,” Jian said. “The Academy remembers its own.”

Daniel said nothing.

“May I ask what stirs your memory now?”

“I’m here for some of the contents of my vault. Papers, mostly.”

Jian’s smile thinned. “Those projects were… sealed. Some believed they posed undue risk.”

“They were sealed by people who didn’t understand them. I’m not here for the projects. Just my notes.”

“Still, access is not simple.”

“I’m not asking to publish. Just to retrieve.”

Nathan leaned in. “Mr. Scholar man. This is my brother-in-law. He is recognized by my father, General Li. He gets what he wants. Do not make me intervene on behalf of the Li Household.”

Nathan’s mana flared and his eyes went cold. “You wouldn’t like that.”

Jian’s eyes widened in surprise. “Ethan. You realize marrying into House Li doesn’t make you immune to scrutiny.”

Daniel met his gaze evenly. “True. But it does give me room to impose… consequences. Hypothetically.”

A long pause.

Then: “Temporary clearance. Limited hours. No assistants. No object removal without inventory record.”

“That’ll work.”

Jian turned to leave. Then paused. “One more thing. Some of your old colleagues are still here. They will be interested in your return.”

“I’m not here for them.”

They walked away without another word. Nathan and Daniel entered the stairwell to the lower vaults. Nathan exhaled dramatically. “You know, this whole place feels like it wants to spit you out.”

“It did,” Ethan said quietly.

Daniel walked faster. The vault door opened with a deep thrum, mana locks disengaging layer by layer. Daniel stepped inside.

The air was dry. Still. The space beyond felt more like a tomb than a lab. Dust shimmered in the filtered mana-light. Shelves lined the walls—sealed scrolls, etched slates, forgotten apparatuses under draped cloths.

Nathan stepped in behind him. “Cozy. Brother-in-law, are you sure they didn’t hold you prisoner? Do you want me to burn this place to the ground?”

Daniel tried not to laugh. The funny thing was Nathan was serious.

Daniel just shook his head. “It’s okay, little brother. They cannot hurt us.”

He looked around—not at the objects, but the structure. This was a place built not for discovery, but containment.

He moved to the nearest table. Stacked scrolls. Sealed cases.

Ethan’s handwriting curled across the labels—technical, precise, quiet.

Waiting. Daniel didn’t open a single one.

“These aren’t what you need, are they?” he muttered.

“No,” Ethan said in his mind. “This is the visible. Important, but broken and not very helpful

.”

A picture suddenly came to Daniel’s mind. He turned toward the back wall. A flat surface—too flat. No shelving. No console. Just reinforced stone.

“Back there?” Daniel asked.

“Left corner. There’s a crack along the baseboard. Looks like a structural fault. It isn’t.”

Daniel crouched and ran his fingers along the stone. He found it—hairline-thin. A segment that didn’t vibrate quite like the rest.

He pressed.

A faint click sounded. A rune flashed briefly.

A small panel recessed into the wall shifted aside, revealing a hidden storage alcove lined with black crystal.

Inside were three cases.

No labels. No imperial seal. No obvious locking mechanism—just layered reinforcement wards that pulsed faintly, like they were holding their breath.

Daniel reached for the first case.

“Carefully,” Ethan said. “That one houses the sequencing lattice.”

Daniel opened it.

Inside, resting on dark velvet, was a device unlike anything else he’d seen in this world.

It looked like a scroll frame—but layered with carved glyph-circuitry, mirrored spirit glass, and a double coil of channel wire fused with golden thread. Dozens of switching nodes branched outward like a circuit tree. At its center, an embedded crystal flickered faintly, dormant but not dead.

“What is it?” Daniel whispered.

“My first attempt at a sequencing engine,” Ethan said. “It was designed to track and organize embedded spells by execution pattern—not glyph sequence. Input tracking. Loop variation. Recursive glyph modulation. At the time, I didn’t even have the right language to explain what it was doing.”

Daniel stared at it. “You built this here?”

“I built it in pieces. Hid it before the deans could classify it. If they’d understood what it did, they would’ve destroyed it outright.”

Daniel closed the case gently.

“What about the others?”

“Middle case has the language binder—early prototype for symbolic intent parsing. Don’t open it without gloves. The mana started acting strange. Dirty, almost. I think it was polluted somehow. Right case is a data slate. Notes, design logs. Experimental compression methods for multi-threaded spirit techniques. They are dangerous—theoretical, but dangerous if implemented correctly. Some of those entries are banned.”

Daniel sat back on his heels, staring at the hidden cache.

“So you weren’t just trying to learn spells,” he said. “You were trying to rewrite what a spell even is.”

“I didn’t want to cast faster,” Ethan replied. “I wanted to cast smarter. Cleaner. I wanted to build a system that made the structure visible—not just the result. I also wanted to try to tamper with Tempering mantras to see if we could create more specific variations for individuals. Those were my two main goals with the Framework.”

“Tempering Mantras,” Daniel thought with a grin.

Daniel could feel Ethan’s annoyance. “You’d call them Cultivation Methods. But I hate that.”

Daniel chuckled as he reached out, laying his hand on the sealed case.

“This is what we needed,” he said. “The scaffolding.”

“Exactly.”

Nathan stepped forward, peering over Daniel’s shoulder. “This the part where I pretend to understand what you’re doing?”