The early spring thaw reached the northern plateau late, melting the thick layers of ice that had blanketed the valleys for months. Rivers once frozen solid flowed freely again, carving paths through the forests and cliffs below. Kaelen stood at the edge of the plateau, overlooking the distant roads—roads that, until recently, had been tombs of abandoned caravans and rotting wagons.
Now, under his command, the roads were coming to life.
His disciples marched in formation along the narrow cliffside path, escorting a train of merchants and craftsmen from the southern valleys. The merchants rode nervously at first, wary of the bandits and beasts that still prowled the forest. But with more journeys completed and fewer casualties reported, word began to spread: the northern roads were safe under the protection of the Demon Sect.
Kaelen had deliberately chosen this route as the first trade artery. The cliffs offered natural choke points, the forests provided cover, and the open fields at the valley's end created ideal staging grounds for merchant exchanges. It was not merely a trade route—it was a controlled territory.
By establishing it early, Kaelen ensured several advantages. First, the sect had access to food and supplies that could not be grown or crafted in the north. Second, the merchants themselves became sources of intelligence, bringing news of orthodox sects, unorthodox clans, and power shifts across the continent. Third, coin—precious and versatile—began accumulating within the sect's treasury.
Kaelen received the merchants at a makeshift wooden pavilion at the foot of the plateau. The leader of the caravan, Master Ilhan, dismounted with visible relief.
"Young Master Kaelen," he said, bowing politely, "I had my doubts at first. But your men are disciplined, sharp-eyed, and surprisingly well-coordinated. Not a single beast even approached us this time."
Kaelen nodded, his expression unreadable. "Protection is simple. If I fail, you die. If you fail, I lose coin. Mutual interest breeds reliability."
Master Ilhan chuckled awkwardly. "Direct and honest. Merchants appreciate that more than you might think."
Kaelen motioned to a Senior Disciple, who brought forward crates of dried furs, medicinal herbs, and foraged minerals unique to the northern wilds. These resources, largely worthless to untrained eyes, had immense value in southern markets where orthodox sects paid exorbitant prices for rare cultivation catalysts.
In exchange, Kaelen received iron tools, leather goods, lamp oil, wheat, salted meat, and coin. The transaction was completed with efficient precision, the way Kaelen preferred.
As the merchants departed, a Junior Disciple approached cautiously. "Master Kaelen, is it wise to arm the caravans? What if they betray us?"
Kaelen glanced toward the receding caravan. "Betrayal is inevitable at some point. But armed merchants attract more merchants. And betrayal teaches us more than loyalty. If they turn, we kill them. If they stay, they profit. Either way, we do not lose."
The disciple bowed, absorbing the lesson.
Later that afternoon, Kaelen inspected the plateau. Construction continued steadily—walls thickened, trenches deepened, and training yards expanded. Senior Disciples drilled formations designed for small skirmishes rather than duels. The Demon Manual favored adaptation and overwhelming momentum; formations capitalized on that.
But not all movement came from allies.
At dusk, scouts dragged a hooded figure into the training yard. The man kicked and cursed, but his wrists were bound with iron wire.
"Master," a scout reported, "we found him near the river, sketching the watchtowers and paths."
Kaelen removed the hood, revealing a young man adorned in dark purple robes with silver stitching—an unorthodox clan insignia. Not a mere scout, but a trained disciple.
Kaelen crouched before him. "Who sent you?"
The man spat blood into the snow. "You think the clans don't know? A sect rising in the north, outside the reach of the orthodox and unorthodox? You upset balance. They won't permit it."
Kaelen's eyes narrowed. "Balance is the language of the scum who benefit from stagnation. If they want stability… they should stay far from the north."
With a flick of his wrist, Kaelen struck the man's pressure points. The disciple convulsed, then fell still—alive, but immobilized. Kaelen addressed his own disciples.
"Learn from him. Tomorrow, you will interrogate and extract knowledge. Spies are not execution targets—they are libraries."
Understanding dawned in the disciples' eyes. The Demon Manual taught not only combat, but leverage.
As night settled, Kaelen returned to the ridge. The first trade route was secured. The first spy had been captured. The first whispers of continental unrest had begun.
Step by step, the northern Demon Sect was transitioning from survival to influence—and influence would soon become power.
Kaelen closed his eyes, feeling the qi circulating through his meridians. Every skirmish, every transaction, every interrogation accelerated his growth. The Manual thrived on adaptation, and the world was finally providing opponents worthy of study.
And beneath the shimmering northern sky, Kaelen whispered the words that would become the sect's first doctrine:
"Strength without ambition is wasted. Ambition without strength is suicide. We hold both—therefore the world will kneel."