Sacral Clone headed toward the underground fields to water the crops. After that, he planned to continue working on a space‑controlling technique.
The idea was clear in his mind—if he could grasp space itself, it would be a terrifying advantage—but in practice he couldn't even properly sense space, let alone control it.
He had been trying to treat it like any other element, using the same methods he used to command fire, water, earth, wind, lightning, metal, wood, light, and darkness, yet space, time, gravity(He had read in almost all novels) all slipped through his fingers like smoke.
He sighed, collected his thoughts, and glanced at Solar Clone. "Ahh… I have so much more work than you," he complained.
"I'm exhausted, but I still can't rest. Every day it's the same—first help the family train, then train ourselves, then lunch and dinner, then watering the fields, then creating new techniques… this is going to be our routine forever at this rate."
Solar Clone was about to leave to work on new strengthening techniques, but when he heard that, he stopped. "You're right," he admitted after a moment. "If this keeps up for many days, even we'll be overwhelmed. Let me think of something."
Sacral Clone fell silent, watching him. Can he really reduce our workload? Is he planning to split our tasks differently? Or does he have some other idea entirely? He wondered, waiting to see what Solar Clone would decide.
Just then, Solar Clone said, "Why don't we make these things automatically, like machines? This is going to be a repetitive task daily. We can't always stay with our family and help them, so why don't we create something that can work automatically without our involvement?"
Sacral Clone nodded in agreement. They both fell silent, trying to imagine a machine that could move wind, heat, pressure, and healing power on its own.
They couldn't use elemental puppets; those drained their minds just to operate. What they needed was something that remembered orders and repeated them endlessly.
Solar Clone's gaze swept over the platform. "Formations," he murmured. "In those novels Ankit read, great cultivators carved arrays into the ground. Once powered, those arrays attacked, defended, trapped enemies—like tools made of symbols instead of metal.
The memory clicked into place. "If arrays can handle battle by themselves, why can't we design ones that handle training?"
Sacral Clone's eyes lit up. "Not just training," he added quickly. "If we can arrange runes and lines to guide elements on their own, we can build systems for everything: defense around our home, attack arrays for war, large‑scale battle formations, even support structures for farming and healing." The more he spoke, the more possibilities unfolded in his mind.
Solar Clone nodded, ideas accelerating. "Exactly. Think of every rune as a tiny soldier. On its own, it's weak, but when we arrange thousands of them into patterns, they become a Vyuha—a formation like the battle arrays from old legends. One Vyuha to train, another to guard the Fortress, another to respond if enemies invade. Once we create them, they'll run on their own as long as they have power."
Sacral Clone repeated the word softly. "Vyuha… training Vyuha, defense Vyuha, attack Vyuha, battlefield Vyuha." He looked at the bare stone under their feet and, in his mind, saw circles of runes locking together, channels for elemental laws weaving like ranks of soldiers. "Then our job isn't to personally do everything every day," he whispered, "but to design the first Vyuhas."
Both clones looked at the platform again, no longer seeing empty rock. In their eyes, countless invisible "soldiers" were already taking their positions, waiting for the first Vyuha to be carved and brought to life.
"I am going to watering, you think of how the Vyuhas are going to work," Sacral Clone called out over his shoulder. He did not even glance back, sprinting away as if one more task might physically stick to him.
Solar Clone sat in the soundproof room and forced himself to calm down. Tracing a small square on the floor with his finger, he made a decision: no healing, no cold, no wind—just fire. If he couldn't even create a single safe fire‑training spot (Which he specialized in), there was no point dreaming about grand Vyuhas.
Solar Clone sat in the soundproof room and forced himself to calm down. He drew a small square on the floor with his finger and decided: noplatform, no gravity, no wind—only fire. If he couldn't even make a safe fire‑training spot, there was no point dreaming about grand Vyuhas.
He remembered how formations in stories always started with the simplest "runes," each one carrying a single command. So he tried to copy that logic in his own way. The first rune he carved into the stone with compressed fire was a crude spiral with a tail—its meaning in his mind was gather fire element here.
The moment he injected a bit of power, the rune did respond, but it worked like a greedy beast instead of a disciplined soldier: fire element rushed in from the surroundings, heated the air in front of him, and then exploded in a messy puff of hot wind that cracked the floor.
The second attempt, he added a second rune beside it, a crooked ring that meant stophere, hoping it would limit the heat. Instead, the two runes fought each other, energy jammed between them, and the stone blackened before the formation collapsed.
Failure after failure followed. Sometimes the rune gathered nothing. Sometimes it overheated and scorched the wall. Sometimes it refused to stop even after he cut the power.